Why is it that Jazz and the Saxophone provide me with so much
confusion, joy, hatred, love, desparity and elation?
I'm sitting here listening to Branford Marsalis'
latest endevour, "Footsteps oFour Fathers". No that's not a typo.
It's his tribute to Ornette Coleman, Sonny Rollins, John Coltrane
and John Lewis. The "of" and "our" also make an "o" and a "four"...
whatever. I hate Branford Marsalis. I hate Wynton Marsalis.
Hell, the whole Marsalis family can suck my big fat hairy left toe.
They're all bastards as guys go. Arrogant, self centered,
egotistical, woman hating scumbags. But they can
play. I wouldn't call Branford a god or say he's some master of the
horn, but he plays better than I do and I have to respect that.
But here's my dilema: I like the album. But when I was talking to
Bob Mover last night and I was telling him about it, he practically had a
heart attack when he tried to tell me how horrible it was that
Branford did such a thing. Partly I think it's because Branford got his
own recording company, which sucks when you consider that there are a ton
of better Jazz musicians out there barely scraping by. But mostly I
think it's because Bob grew up in a world where Jazz was created. He knows
what Jazz is better than almost everyone else on the planet, Branford
included. And the reason I have my dilema is that I also agree with Bob.
Where the fuck does Branford get off remaking A Love Supreme!?
I can understand if he has this burning need to play the tune and does so
on a job where he can explain to the audience that he hopes he
doesn't piss off the memory of John Coltrane by playing it, but why in
the name of all things sacred does he feel the need to record it!?!
"Didn't Trane do it right the first time, you arrogant
piece of shit?!" What makes this bastard think he can do it better? Any
change whatsoever is going to be for the worse. But hey! The world wants
tribute albums. So let's pander, let's just do whatever makes money.
Integrity be damned!
You have to understand, A Love Supreme is a tune that was written and
performed by Trane when he believed he actually found God. It's about
Trane's most sacred beliefs. It's about the most beautiful and perfect
thing he had ever experienced in his life! And this stupid fucking prick
comes along and re-records it!? What's he trying to say?? "No way man,
Trane didn't find God. I'll show you God." To give some perspective, when it comes to Jazz and it comes to something as personal as A Love Supreme, it's the equivalent of fucking a guy's wife right in front of him simply because you don't think she liked it enough. That's grounds for a beheading (the choice of head is up to the beheader). That's what it feels like!
And I'll tell you, I may like the tune and I may like the way that this
arrogant little bastard plays it, but I sure as fuck don't think he's going
to replace Trane. But what's worse is that the general public will think
it's the total shit because they don't know any better. They haven't sat
an listened to Coltrane until their ears bled, their gut ached and
tears came streaming down their face. No. The "public" buys whatever
looks good and popular and says it's great because that's what the
Jazz magazine whores say is great! Jesus Christ! Sting won
best Jazz song of the year at the Grammy's one year, for which he
apologized profusely and it wasn't even his fault. The whores just
wanted to climb up someone's ass for a minute or two -- I guess it was cold
outside. Don't get me wrong... I love Sting. But it sure shows that the
general public, and the so called "experts" are about as dense as the
So what do I do? Do I listen to it, learn from it and enjoy it or do I
go try and wash the scum off my body, listen to the real "A Love
Supreme" a million times and pray to Coltrane's spirit asking for
Branford... I hate that fucker. He should just go back to the Tonight
Show band and leave the Jazz community alone, at the very least. At the
best, he should turn into a respectful and true Jazz musician and pull the
damned CD off the stands. October 2nd, 2002 is a bad day.