I have been simultaneously fascinated and amused by the story of the arrival of the ship Andania which brought jazz from New York to Helsinki on the 4th of June 1926. It paints an irresistible picture: the restless optimism permeating the capital of the nation still recovering from a civil war, the smell of the sea and coal, the metallic rumbling of trams, and in the harbour, men in their white straw hats stopping in amazement by the steam ship to witness the unloading of a gigantic wooden crate from where worldly and carefree American Finns emerge, blowing out a swinging tune, a wondrous sound of the free new world.
On the other hand, the idea of jazz as an object which can be transported from one place to another goes against the core philosophy of the whole genre. Jazz is a situation, an event, a relationship between people, and hence it is always born anew wherever it arrives, in moments where one person listens to another and decides to respond. This starting point makes it so fiendishly difficult to describe the history of jazz, but at the same time it is endlessly intriguing for researchers.
If jazz does not lend itself to a neatly dispatchable package, then what is it? Jaakko Lukkarinen’s recent doctoral thesis from the Sibelius Academy, titled Elements of Jazz Drum Comping: Shaping Musical Form and Dramaturgy, offers an exceptionally precise answer: jazz is built through interactive practices, not just through isolated compositions or styles. Lukkarinen’s research centres around comping: what a jazz drummer does while the other band members play. While seemingly in the background, a drummer is in fact constantly shaping the form and energy level of the work being created. Comping is an expressive, interpretive and communicative act which adds to the musical form and dramaturgy of a performance.
This idea shifts the focus of jazz away from “works” and towards occurrences and performance situations. Instead of a rigid structure, jazz is a negotiation taking place in a moment, a constant shaping of forms. Lukkarinen’s study makes the idea concrete by unpacking jazz down to a practical level. He identifies five core elements of jazz comping: goosing, active accenting, structuring the form, riffing, and intuitive call and response.
Of these five, call and response is especially crucial in jazz. Whilst also used as a standalone technique, it is first and foremost a way of existing in the music: listening, recognising and responding. We are talking about a core unit of jazz: a momentary meeting point for individuality and collectivism. It also explains why jazz cannot be “transported” from one place to another. Call and response is always born in a moment.
Perhaps the 1926 ship story could be framed differently, not as the definite “arrival” of jazz but the beginning of the genre being translated into a Finnish context, and into new performance practices, audiences and significances. And it could be noted that this process is ongoing through every performance that takes place to this day.
Jazz was originally born out of people’s fervent need to be heard even when society refused to hear them. It grew out of the New Orleans streets, quarters, dance halls and communities, which provided a fertile meeting ground for musical traditions around the world. Jazz was never intended as music for the powerful and wealthy, as ambient soundtracks for affluent middle class VIP tents, or for sedate concert hall audiences comfortable in their velvet seats. Jazz emerged as sounds of freedom, resistance, survival and joy.
The early written histories of jazz are largely based on stories, memories, anecdotes and legends. While understandable, this approach has its risks. Without research, jazz can all too easily be reduced to a myth, style catalogue, or a nostalgic story. This is when we lose what is intrinsic to jazz: the way it works. Lukkarinen’s dissertation shows that analysing jazz does not suffocate its vitality but makes it more visible. Analytical examination provides a language to a phenomenon that would otherwise remain silent information.
Certain tensions can be seen in the relationship between jazz and research. Can improvisation be studied without crushing its freedom? Lukkarinen’s research describes improvisation as a freedom that does not exist without limits, but is built through body memory, experiences, and repeating structures; musical building blocks of sorts, which a musician combines as guided by the situation. Freedom is not born out of the absence of boundaries, but out of the art of utilising them and acting within the framework they provide.
Lukkarinen’s dissertation reframes these tensions as a strength. Artistic research examines music from within, identifying the byproducts of playing, listening and reflecting. Instead of imposing an external element of control on jazz, research sheds light on what musicians are already doing. Rhythmic decision-making, communication, and shaping the form.
Paradoxically enough, jazz can only retain its freedom when it is understood with enough depth. And ultimately, the fact that jazz was born from people searching for a way to freely express themselves ties it to the basic purpose of universities. At its best, science strives for a freedom to think, question, react and discover something unprecedented together. Academia, too, follows the concept of call and response.
In addition to musicians and audiences, jazz needs researchers. Not to impose boundaries, but to make it more visible through highlighting the ways of listening, communicating and shared thinking that are the cornerstones of the survival and regeneration of jazz. This is exactly why jazz belongs in universities: not because it has been reduced to a research subject, but because it has always provided a tool for exploring the world.
The mental image of jazz as a wooden crate shipped to Finland simply doesn’t hold. Jazz arrived here as an opportunity, as endless potential. And now, a century later, jazz remains a work in progress which keeps building on through each moment where someone plays, listens and responds.
Kaisa Rönkkö, Dean, Sibelius Academy, Uniarts Helsinki
Photo: Petri Summanen