Today the jazz musician and blogger Camden Hughes has a post ("Why Vibing is Bad for Jazz") arguing that "vibing"–the longstanding practice favored by jazz musicians of giving another musician the stinkeye or worse if he or she isn't making it in one way or another–is never good.

I disagree.

First: I do agree that generally, yes, it's not good to be a nasty person, and there is definitely a kind of defensive vibing that is unrelated to anyone's performance and springs from a musician's own insecurities. This kind of vibing is bad. Being respectful and having a sense of humility about your place in the musical continuum is always a good goal regardless of the situation.

But the fact is that some judiciously applied instructional vibing can fulfill the very important purpose of teaching people that this music is challenging and demanding and deserves a level of competence. To elaborate:

Often young players, hobbyists, or even professional musicians from other genres will come into a jazz sit-in or gig situation thinking they are fairly hot stuff due to previous adoring crowds in schools or karaoke bars or their success in non-jazz settings. It is in the best interest of both these musicians and the music in general to disabuse them of this notion (if in fact they are making rookie mistakes) as soon as possible. Why? So they can either a) realize they really need to improve, and do the work necessary to get there, or b) realize they don't have the interest or time to improve and would be better off spending their energy elsewhere.

Because you know what's more bad for jazz than vibing? Bad jazz. I've said this before, but the music is ill-served by putting out a poor example to represent the product–when people hear a bad rock band they think, "this band is lousy," whereas when they hear a bad jazz band they think, "I don't like jazz."

So by reinforcing the seriousness required of this music to these players, the overall quality of the product improves and fewer fans are turned off by lousy performances. It can be unpleasant, I get it! I was definitely one of those youngsters with a too-high opinion of myself and have been on the receiving end of vibing many times, much of it well-deserved. But it also served two purposes that made me a better musician: it inspired me to get my ass in gear and get to work; and it helped me get used to the idea that this is just a thing that happens in life and not to lose sleep over it. (This is especially true of the defensive vibing I mentioned earlier–you're going to run into that. Better to learn to get over it and on with your own work.) It's also been my experience that a musician coming from the humble/respectful place I mentioned before who screws up will get a kinder variety of vibe than one coming from a place of arrogance.

Now, to preemptively address some objections: "What about when they smashed Ornette Coleman's horn? Was that good for the music?" Of course not, violence is bad and no, they shouldn't have smashed his horn. But imagine how Ornette must've sounded to those early bands he sat in with–what he was doing was in another world stylistically, so of course it wouldn't have fit, so it makes sense in the context of the music of that time that he would be treated like someone who couldn't play. So how did he respond? He found a group of players who could appreciate his vision and started a revolution.

And obviously vibing is not appropriate in all circumstances. In an educational setting, for example, the teacher could accomplish the same goal by just telling the student what he/she needs to work on. But in an age when jazz clubs fill up half their calendar with middle and high school bands, it is worth emphasizing that we as representatives of the hundred-plus year tradition of this music have (in my opinion anyway) a duty to put forth serious, well-executed music (in whatever style we happen to be playing at the moment). Half-assing it should be inexusable for the pro as well as the student.

One more thought: to the idea of "we're all in this together," I would say, yes we are, but that doesn't mean we get to phone it in. It's nice to say "Anyone can play jazz" but it needs the caveat "if you work your ass off at it."

In other words: it's nothing personal, man! You just need to practice! And then come back and try it again.

Don't miss Vibing, Part II: Vibable Offenses!

I am under no illusions that the Down Beat Critics Poll is an absolutely objective affair where artistic merit is the only factor (how would you even do that?)—so I absolutely am not getting the idea that I am in the "top" (whatever that means) 20 non-famous ("jazz famous," that is) trumpeters out there (since I can think of several even within a few square miles of here who regularly kick my butt all over the bandstand), but still—this is nice!

What I take it to mean is that at least a few people (somewhere between 5 and 27) who know this music very well remembered who I am, and that they enjoyed my playing, when filling out their polls—which in this day of hundreds of jazz records released every month is not something I take for granted.

However, I have to say that I'm pretty sure two very big factors contributing to my cracking this list for the first time were:

• I released two albums in two years; and

• I hired a very good publicist to promote them.

I know there are many outstanding trumpeters out there who either didn't release as frequently, or weren't able to hire someone to bug reviewers to seek them out in the deluge, and they're at a disadvantage. The whole publicity discussion is one for another time, but I've made my peace with the fact that even though a good publicist can encourage a reviewer to dig through his or her overflowing inbox and give a particular album a spin, it doesn't guarantee the reviewer will like it. (As a few reviews I could've done without can demonstrate.)

That said, I'm absolutely glad the critics remembered me (even though my last record came out way back in February—practically the stone age!), and I'm especially glad to see so many deserving friends, teachers & colleagues—Evan Francis! Dayna Stephens! Maria Schneider! Reggie Workman! Satoko Fujii! Donny McCaslin! Ben Goldberg! Howard Wiley! Kirk Knuffke! Jacob Garchik! Mike McGinnis!—showing up elsewhere in the poll. I hope we all get more gigs!

(P.S. For an interesting and very detailed breakdown on how one voter approached the ballot, read this.)

Happy New Year! (You can thank me later for not saying "jazzy.") Lots going on, so here goes:Here Comes Duocracy!Duocracy, my soon-to-be-released duo album with my good friend pianist Ben Stolorow, is being pressed as we speak! (You can read a lot more about the album here: Ian Carey, Ben Stolorow, and Duocracy.) Ben and I are currently gearing up for our two CD release shows:

• East Bay: Friday, February 21 at The Jazzschool in Berkeley
• North Bay: Friday, March 7 at Old St. Hilary's in Tiburon

If you're not going to be able to make either of those, we're also playing a private preview show in Richmond on the afternoon of January 20 (MLK Day)--email me (ian [AT] iancareyjazz.com) if you're interested in attending.Winter CircusLater this month, I'm happy to be involved in a rare off-season performance with the great Circus Bella, featuring outstanding original music by accordionist/keyboardist/guitarist/composer/"Nice Guy" Rob Reich, with the Circus Bella All-Star Band (with Rob, Greg Stephens on trombone, Ralph Carney on a potpurri of woodwinds & sundries, Michael Pinkham on drums, & me on trumpet). We'll be doing two shows on Saturday, January 26 at the Jewish Community Center in San Francisco. Last chance to see us before summertime!New to Me: Arranger EditionYou may remember I have a periodic series of posts about standout albums which, while not necessarily new to the world, are new to me. As I'm about to get to work on a new, extended composition for my Quintet+1 (funded by a generous grant from the San Francisco Friends of Chamber Music's Musical Grant Program—you should apply too!), which will be premiered this fall, I've been spending a lot of time seeking out new-to-me recordings by great arrangers and composers in order to help get my creative wheels turning. Here are a few:Clare Fischer Orchestra: Extension (1963) Ever run into one of those records where you know almost immediately it's going to be one of your all-time favorites? This one, which I picked up at a record store in San Rafael (along with some other finds including albums by Martial Solal & Don Cherry) was one of those records. Fischer, a burning pianist, has been featured in "New to Me" before, but this was my first time checking out his larger ensemble work. I remember Mike Mossman talking up Fischer's charts in an arranging class, and I can see why--tons of counterpoint, dense but beautiful harmonic language--all delivered without the use of trumpets, which serves the dual purpose of letting his phenomenal woodwind writing shine (lots of flute/clarinet lead) while keeping it away from that stereotypical "big band" sound that is so hard to avoid (no matter how hip the writing). Plus it swings, with some nice blowing by Fischer and the Warne-esque Jerry Coker. It's even got a Passacaglia, which is one of my favorite musical forms! Highly recommended. (P.S. Marc Myers did a great write-up about this album when it was reissued--check it out.) Buy here.Nathan Clevenger: Observatory (2013) Nathan & I run in a lot of the same circles (this album features my longtime collabo-friends Kasey Knudsen, Jon Arkin & Evan Francis, for example) and the frequency at which he can find opportunities to perform music like this with a band this size is nothing short of amazing. (With any luck we may have a double-bill in the future.) A great balance of inspiring blowing & thorny writing, tunes with surprising arcs (see "Sleepwalker's Anecdote"), and more bass clarinet than you can shake a stick at. I don't think it's too presumptuous to say I think Charles Mingus would like this record. Buy here. Speaking of Mingus:Charles Mingus: Mingus Moves (1973) This is one I somehow never got around to hearing until recently. Not everything here is my cup of tea (the singers and trumpet player, for example) but "Canon" is classic, and Sy Johnson's chart on "Wee" makes the trip worthwhile. Plus prime George Adams & Don Pullen, and of course the great Dannie Richmond & the man himself. Buy here.Michael McGinnis+9: Road*Trip (2013) I played with Mike a few times when I lived in NYC and we had a lot of friends in common. This album features a great new recording of Bill Smith's Third-Stream masterpiece Concerto for Clarinet & Jazz Combo--which is worth the price of admission by itself--but definitely stick around for McGinnis's extremely interesting title suite, which brings the Third Stream vibe into the present. The first movement is a personal favorite. Buy here.Andy Clausen: The Wishbone Suite (2012) Man, has this guy got compositional chops to burn. In addition to having no problem "putting the notes on the paper," Clausen brings an impressive amount of variety, with pieces ranging from hypercomposed and intricate to sections of open freeish blowing (I think)--I especially love the frequent lack of obvious lines where the improvisation begins and ends, which loosens up some very in-depth writing (something I've been working on in my own music). The interesting instrumentation (trombone, clarinet, piano, accordion, percussion) adds an extra layer of cohesion. Buy here.

Recently someone asked a question in Jack Walrath's excellent Facebook group along the lines of "What tune makes you sweat bullets every time someone calls it on a gig or at a session?" Many responders picked tunes like "Giant Steps," "Countdown," "Cherokee," etc., in other words thorny tunes with lots of intricate changes. I didn't have to think about my answer at all–firstly because tunes like those have gotten easier since I've put the work in (although the challenge then becomes how to play the tune instead of letting the tune play you–more about this here); but mainly because for at least ten years my unquestioned nemesis in improvised music has been The Slow Blues.

Yes, that's right, a regular old slow blues–the very first tune I ever improvised on, as a matter of fact. Why is it still hounding me? First, let's establish some context by going back in time for a little background vignette:

SCENE: Stereotypical "Jazz Education" rehearsal room, mid 1990s. Whiteboard with diminished scale pattern on it, acoustical foam on walls, etc. 3-4 young white American and European college JAZZ STUDENTS are "jamming" on a Bb blues because the teacher is late again. Their solos are a mix of unswinging bebop lines, self-conscious "out" pentatonic or chromatic patterns, and corny stereotypical blues licks. One AFRICAN-AMERICAN TENOR PLAYER sits in the corner, looking vaguely stoned (which he probably was), not playing. TEACHER, a grizzled older jazz musician, arrives, looking like he just woke up under a rock, listens for a minute or so, and stops the tune.

TEACHER: What are you guys playing?

STUDENT: Just a blues.

AFRICAN-AMERICAN TENOR PLAYER shakes his head.

TEACHER (to AfAm TENOR PLAYER): What?

AfAm TENOR PLAYER: They ain't playin' The Blues.

TEACHER (eyes closed meaningfully): This guy gets it.

Rest of STUDENTS go into a visible slump.

Yes, this was an actual scene from my past. (And no, I was not the hip African-American tenor player, if you hadn't already guessed.) This guy has been successfully living in my head since that day, lying low and waiting until I start soloing on a slow blues to jump back into my consciousness at the most inopportune time: "You ain't playin' The Blues."

I should mention that this guy was no great shakes as an improviser, either–he was all style and not much substance, at least as best I can remember 15 years later–but he turned into a symbol of my own inner critic. So let's unpack what exactly is going on that turned these 12 simple bars into a source of overthinking for me.

If you come up playing this music (whether you call it jazz, or BAM, or whatever), you're drilled from the get-go about the importance–more like holiness–of The Blues. According to whichever textbook you probably had, it's the magical ingredient that turned corny Euro-American band music into the "hot" jazz that took the country by storm. It's mysterious and ineffable but has to do with field hollers and Congo Square and speakeasies and African thumb pianos and The Delta and church and sin and a whole load of other things which are extremely foreign to the life experience of a late-20th-century white kid from the suburbs.

Now I should clarify that when I say "the Blues," I'm talking about both a form (usually 12 bars) and a language. (I was going to say "a feeling," but that could cause confusion with the emotional state "the Blues"–more on that later.)

It's possible to improvise accurately over a standard blues progression while using none of the blues language (it will probably not sound "bluesy"), just like it's possible to use the blues language on a form that is not technically a blues (it will still sound bluesy). ("Willow Weep for Me" is a good example of an often bluesy tune that is not a blues per se.)

(Note: I'm not making a value judgment when I say something is "bluesy" or not–just whether it sends the musical message "this is the blues." It can still be good, bad, or indifferent.)

So what makes the Blues sound "bluesy"? This brings us to what to me is the biggest challenge surrounding the Blues–the use of cliché. In order for the Blues to sound "authentic," it requires the use of elements of musical language that can only be called clichés (I'm talking mainly about blues scale licks and phrases). For musicians who play "blues"-proper (the tradition of Robert Johnson, Muddy Waters, John Lee Hooker and so on), this isn't really a problem, since the language of that genre is pretty much accepted to only be the blues scale.

But in jazz you're told from early on that cliché is bad, that you should be using your own language and expressing your individuality. (Also, blues clichés can get old fast. I remember the great pianist Barry Harris talking about how blues licks are like cursing–they're effective if you use them here and there to emphasize a point or get people's attention, but if you're just cursing endlessly, people stop listening to what you have to say.)

Further complicating matters is the fact that blues clichés are some of the easiest tricks to learn (can you learn 7 notes? good, now you can play blues clichés), and also the simplest way to get audiences to go "wooooo!" (which is one reason they're really popular with beginners). We've all heard players who will shamelessly pile cliché on cliché and let the "wooos" rain down, but that is a pretty shallow musical pool to be swimming in, and more sophisticated and/or less drunk audiences will see through that shit pretty fast. (Your fellow musicians will likely not be impressed by this, either. I believe the word that comes to mind with this kind of repetitive flag-waving is "jive.")

So how do you balance the need to use enough of the "blues language" to sound authentic with the desire to avoid sounding like a caricature? All while sounding like yourself? (And Hip? And Modern? And BURNING? BUT NOT TOO BURNING?!) These are the questions I really wanted to deal with after realizing I was still afraid of those 12 damn bars after 20+ years of learning this music.

In a future post, I'll talk about the steps I took to work on these issues (spoiler alert: it involves some intense listening of people doing it well). For now, I'll leave you with an example of some undisputedly authentic yet sophisticated blues improvising by someone who had no problem using the standard blues language in an intensely personal way:

Some of you may know that in addition to playing the trumpet, writing music, doing unnecessarily complicated illustrations for my CD, battling raccoons in my garden, and catching up on Japanese soap operas, I also sometimes waste time writing short internet humor pieces which may or may not provide minor amusement (and definitely do not provide even minor financial rewards).Today I've got a new one up at McSweeney's (everyone's favorite way to spend 11 minutes procrastinating on the internet) called "I WILL Kick You Out of Bed for Eating Crackers":

Listen, Kate Upton, we’ve been together for a while now, and while you are undeniably extremely attractive, and I would love to spend countless nights gazing longingly at your barely clothed figure here in our softly lit boudoir, the fact is I am going to have to go against my every instinct and kick you out of this warm, inviting bed.Yes, because of the crackers.

You can read the rest here.And in case you're looking for more ways to make it to the weekend while doing as little work as possible, here are some other bits of mine they've previously kindly published:

• Dan Savage's Wild Kingdom
• Horror Movies for Kids
• Favorite Gerund Movie Titles, Un-gerunded
• Alternatives to "Opening a Can of Whupass" for the Less Confrontationally Inclined
• Failed One-Liners from My Audition for Host of  "Australia's Funniest Home Videos" (with Gladstone)

It's been a while since the last installment, so looks like it's ime for another edition of the series where I recommend albums which have recently jumped up on my radar--some of which may be new, some of which may be not-so-new, some of which I may be the last person on Earth to hear about (are you guys hip to this "Maybe Call Me" thing?). So here are four great records which are New to Me!Fly — Year of the Snake (2012): This actually is a new one! I was lucky enough to see these guys (Mark Turner, Larry Grenadier, and Jeff Ballard, that is) a few years ago when they released their previous album, the great Sky & Country, and they're just getting better. The tunes especially are going new places--everybody's got multiple composing credits and a wide variety of tune types are represented, from the Mingus-y straightahead "Salt & Pepper" to the sound-painting of some of the miniatures that make up the five-part "Western Lands" set. I had a regular trumpet/bass/drums trio for a while in my 20s, and really enjoyed writing music for that format, since--assuming you don't want to just play tunes (which can be fine, too)--it forces you to do more with less, and makes a case for the whole "restriction as inspiration" idea. (See the Ravel below.) Counterpoint becomes especially important, and Fly makes great use of it on this record--see Grenadier's "Kingston." These guys make me want to start writing for that kind of small chord-instrument-free band again.Contemporary Quartet — Plays music of Bacewicz, Kisielewski, Komsta, Lutoslawski, Penderecki (2002): I think this album came to my attention by way of someone on Facebook (like my page here) but I can't remember who. So thanks, whoever you are! The record consists of free jazz-ish renditions of pieces by contemporary Polish classical composers. You can check out the first track, a version of Penderecki's Prelude, here. The tonal palette and instrumentation (definitely the clarinet!) gives it shades of some of my favorite work by the great early-60s Jimmy Giuffre 3 (with Bley & Swallow). Some of the tracks are a little on the thorny side, but it definitely has its moments and is worth a look.Ryan Kisor — Power Source (2009): I've heard a fair amount of Ryan Kisor live and on record in a bunch of different formats (from big bands like the LCJO and the Mingus Big Band, to small groups at... Smalls), and he always sounds good, but this record is my favorite thing he's done so far. It's a pianoless quartet (a no-doubter band of Chris Potter, James Genus and Gene Jackson) and the format seems to really bring out the stretch in everybody. The tunes are geared towards blowing--two Mingus staples, Ornette's "Bird Food," and Potter originals ("Pelog" almost has an Okinawan vibe!) --and everyone delivers, especially Kisor, who has a great sound and fresh ideas, and makes it sound easy. (Side note: Maybe it is, for him! Who knows, all players are not created equal. Sure is nice to listen to, though.)Music at Marlboro— Ravel: Piano Trio / Sonata for Violin & Cello (2011): This is another one I was hipped to by my friend the voracious music consumer (and improvising vocalist) Lorin Benedict. I picked it up mainly for the duo Sonata (played here by Jaime Laredo and Leslie Parnas), which packs more color and texture into two instruments than other composers could get out of entire orchestras. Written in 1922, it reminds me at times of another favorite of mine, Stravinsky's then-recent Histoire du Soldat—especially the 2nd movement, seen here:... while other spots wouldn't be out of place in a Schoenberg piece, and the blues-scale-y opening of the first movement would fit right in with Gershwin, Milhaud or the other jazz borrowers of the 20s. But since it's Ravel, the whole thing works cohesively and will further convince you of what an unremitting badass that guy was. As my old professor Henry Martin said, "pretty much everything he wrote was a masterpiece--except 'Bolero.'" That's a pretty good sign, when your worst piece is one of the most popular tunes in history!