So, 2020 happened … and given how much of it I spent sitting in front of this computer screen, one would think that I’d have managed to write an update or two here along the way. But it wasn’t that kind of year—in fact, writing professionally is among the many things I’ve put on pause during this trip around the sun, and it has taken some time to get back into right relationship with this process that used to feel so effortless when I started this site as a jazz blog over a decade ago.

As I’ve been thinking about this year, what stands out the most to me is how much I’ve been able to let go. I’m grateful that the anxiety about professional livelihood that had been nipping at my heels since losing my job last June transformed into a modest and supportive portfolio of independent writing and consulting work; that my doubt and worry about reconnecting with regular meditation practice in the wake of leaving my previous sangha is now supported by a robust and vibrant new community, Bhumisparsha, that I’ve had the good fortune to help manifest; and also that my ambivalent attachment to the possibility of a traditional North American academic career has eased into a more confident feeling of belonging to the community of scholars on my own terms. Last month, I even managed to quit using Facebook and Twitter!

I’m also humbled and fascinated by what this transition has left intact: a kind of distillation of some parts of my previous path that seem obvious in hindsight, but were invisible to me at the time. Strangely enough, I’ve found myself inhabiting the role of “Professional Buddhist” throughout this shift, as if this aspect of my life was insisting on manifesting in the world more fully. Two recent decisions have made it clear that I’ll be leaning into this work even more in the year ahead:

The first is that, after working as a consultant to shepherd the sangha through the process of legal incorporation and formation, I’ve accepted a position as General Coordinator for Bhumisparsha, which will involve supporting the sangha’s operations as we grow into the year ahead. (It turns out that the answer to the question, “So what can you do with a PhD in Ethnomusicology, anyway?” is “incorporate an online Buddhist church during a pandemic.”)

The second is that the Board of Directors of the Buddhist Peace Fellowship has elected me President for the year ahead, which means that I will be supporting that organization through this next year of its ongoing organizational transformation as well. BPF’s mission statement opens with a line that I’ve been coming back to in my head over and over again recently:

At Buddhist Peace Fellowship, we come together from multiple lineages, Buddhist and otherwise.

When I read this the first time, I thought of that otherwise as meaning, basically, “non-Buddhist,” a statement of inclusivity that recognizes the powerful heterogeneity of spiritual lineages manifesting here on Turtle Island. But later, recalling Ashon Crawley’s phenomenal book Blackpentacostal Breath: The Aesthetics of Possibility, it came to have a second meaning, too: related to what Crawley calls otherwise possibility, gesturing towards how spiritual rituals can hold space for the emergence of radically different futures grounded in friendship and care. This otherwise has been perhaps as important during this intense year of transition as the Buddhism; I’m grateful to be practicing with deeply reflective and committed people in both spaces who are authentically trying to live into that otherwise possibility together in the year ahead.

For a nice glimpse of these worlds colliding, check out this interview that BPF’s Katie Loncke conducted with Lama Rod Owens, one of Bhumisparsha’s Founding Teachers, on his excellent book that also came out this year, Love and Rage: The Path of Liberation Through Anger.

And lastly, please consider making a charitable donation this year to either of these excellent organizations!

Support BPF

Support Bhumisparsha

As those of you who have been following my recent writing know, this past year and a half has been full of dramatic life changes for me–finishing a PhD, moving across the country, organizing for abuse survivors in my Buddhist and academic communities, being unexpectedly let go from a new job, and welcoming my first son into the world all happened within a span of about 18 months.

I’m happy and relieved to report that things are starting to settle down a little bit as the next phase of things comes into clearer view. The biggest next step in that process took place last month, when I signed a contract to serve as the International Society for Improvised Music‘s new Managing Director. In that capacity, I’ll be supporting the organization’s internal administration and operations as we prepare for our next international conference in Melbourne, Australia–June 3-7, 2020! We have some other exciting projects in the works that I look forward to sharing more about soon, as well.

Improviser-musician-scholar-friends: please consider submitting a proposal! And feel free to reach out to me directly if you have any questions or access needs.

Also, I want to express deep gratitude for all of the wonderful people who have walked alongside me through the ups and downs of recent months. One of the best things about the chaotic times I’ve been bouncing along through is that I have such a clear sense of who my people are. And I am genuinely excited by the possibilities for what we’ll do together next. And I hope to see some of you in Melbourne!

“I Broke a String” by Flickr User Rowan Peter (CC BY-SA 2.0)

“The Sound of Feminist Snap, Or Why I Interrupted the 2018 SEM Business Meeting”

By Alex W. Rodríguez for Sounding Out!

This is the first piece of writing that I’ve published online in awhile, and it’s something I’ve been working on for a few months. Last year, I was so frustrated with my home academic society, the Society for Ethnomusicology (SEM), that I shouted “You’re a hypocrite!” during President Gregory Melch0r-Barz’s opening remarks and walked out of the room. This piece opens with an apology to President Melchor-Barz and goes on to think through what happened in that moment and why it’s still important. With this year’s SEM annual meeting getting underway today in Bloomington, Indiana, I hope that it helps to spark needed conversations and galvanize next steps towards desperately needed change.

In the piece, I talk about how much of the frustration that leads both to moments of “snapping” like mine, as well as people quietly leaving SEM altogether, comes from the silences generated by uncommunicative and unaccountable leadership. Since publishing this on Monday, someone reached out to bring to my attention a striking example of this in the context of the current meeting: the President’s Roundtable.

My advocacy work in SEM began five years ago, when then-President Beverley Diamond invited me to join the newly formed Committee on Academic Labor (CAL). She was aware of the brewing crisis of contingent labor in North American academia and formed the committee to develop strategies to mitigate its effects for SEM members. At last year’s CAL meeting, noting the accelerating urgency of this issue, we asked President Melchor-Barz to dedicate next year’s President’s Roundtable to the issue. He agreed to do so. After the meeting, I followed up with him to confirm details and start planning the event, but he never responded to my requests. CAL committee chair Gage Averill then reached out to him and reported back to the committee that there had been a “hiccup” with the scheduling for the President’s Roundtable, which meant that we would not be involved with its preparation. Instead, our proposed roundtable was given a separate slot during the Thursday evening dinner hour. My requests for clarification about the nature of the “hiccup” to both Dr. Averill and Dr. Melchor-Barz went unanswered.

Because I am unable to attend this year’s meeting, I had not looked closely at the conference schedule this year. But when someone brought to my attention that this year’s President’s Roundtable will be dedicated to the topic of President Melchor-Barz’s new book, things came into clearer focus. Although I do not have conclusive proof of this point, it is difficult for me to imagine that the “hiccup” didn’t have something to do with President Melchor-Barz’s decision to prioritize his new research over the urgent concerns of the contingent labor crisis.

I say all of this with no judgment about the nature or quality of Dr. Melchor-Barz’s work or his commitment to engaged scholarship, especially with regard to the LGBTQ community. As a fellow member of the Society for Ethnomusicology, however, it breaks my heart that he has chosen to promote his own interests over those of a large swath of his fellow SEM members. Even more concerning to me is that through his own silence, Dr. Melchor-Barz’s lack of transparency or accountability puts the Presdient’s Roundtable panel of brilliant scholars in the uncomfortable position of sharing their work in a space where the voices and concerns of contingent scholars have been actively silenced, without their knowledge or consent. In her writing on “snap” that I referenced in the essay above, Sara Ahmed focused on “how worlds are organi[z]ed to enable some to breathe, how they leave less room for others.” Dr. Melchor-Barz’s decisions—and the silences that surrounded their enactment—create an arbitrary divide between LGBTQ scholars and economically precarious ones when the worlds currently being organized by SEM actively harm both.

This example may seem like a minor point—but based on my conversations with many SEM members, I believe it to be part of a much larger pattern that is bigger than just Dr. Melchor-Barz. If we are truly going to work towards a Society that is inclusive and serving in the interests of our full membership, active steps need to be taken soon. It is my sincere hope that some of the people ready to take those steps will find each other at this year’s annual meeting.

Tomorrow, I’ll be celebrating my 35th birthday, and first as a father. Nicolás Aleksandr Rodríguez (you can call him Nico) was born on September 11, 2019—a month earlier than we were expecting! He’s growing fast, I’m totally in love with him, and also so incredibly grateful to everyone who has already sent along love, aspirations, and cool baby stuff. It’s all been quite a blur, to be honest, but Marina and I couldn’t be happier to have him in our lives. On this next trip around the sun, I plan to be writing a lot more—so expect more from this space as I figure that out. And in the meantime, our new family welcomes any positive thoughts and wishes that you’d like to offer!

My new practice space in Easthampton, MA

Click here to contribute to the Buddhist Peace Fellowship’s fall fundraising campaign!

This work arises from a pure and loving commitment

To victory over the forces of materialism

And trust in the bodhichitta of society

Just over a year ago, I was wrapping up my participation in Spiritual Activist Support, a six-month training program put together by the Buddhist Peace Fellowship. My final “assignment” for the program was to ritualistically seal my intentions for transformative social change by singing these phrases and burning the piece of paper they had been written on over a small candle. The melody that you hear in the audio above emerged from that spontaneous ritual.

This experience marked an important turning point in my relationship to my Buddhist practice—I realized that the creative, aspirational experiences that I had been a part of through grassroots organizing could also be distilled in music. Now that I’m finally settling into a new home, I have the space to start to explore this a bit more deeply. That’s why I’ve taken this on for a 30-day Challenge fundraiser for the Buddhist Peace Fellowship: bringing music to my daily practice! I’m a week in now, having been sitting and practicing trombone every day as part of a lovely contemplative routine. And tomorrow is the last day that donors who contribute $30 or more can pick up a very stylish BPF t-shirt as a thank-you gift.

Also, everyone who donates will receive an original improvised trombone melody, composed by me on the spot at the end of my daily sessions. I love sending these out—they give me a very unique and personal way to connect with you, even for a moment, no matter where in the world you are. And that connection generates resources for an incredible organization that’s doing great work to help the Dharma flourish in these challenging times. So thanks for chipping in, and I hope to play you a little song of gratitude soon!

Click here to contribute to the Buddhist Peace Fellowship’s fall fundraising campaign!

The view from the window of my new home office in Easthampton, MA

“Bad news,” my new boss began as we sat around the conference room table. This had been the site of our small staff’s weekly meetings and check-ins since I joined the team in April. She then informed me that she had spoken to some other people who had attended last week’s training with me and had concluded that I would no longer be working for the organization.

She handed me a single-page letter that began:

“Dear Alex,
We have determined that you are not a good culture fit for [our organization] and are terminating your employment effective immediately.”

I felt stunned but somehow managed to remain surprisingly calm. They offered me two weeks’ worth of severance pay if I agreed to sign a non-disclosure agreement. I remember assuring them that I would be just fine, thank you, and left the room in shocked bewilderment to return my keys and laptop.

The deadline has now passed for my decision to accept the terms of the non-disclosure agreement. I have spent the past few days trying to let the energy of this disruption pass through me, to gather the mental and spiritual clarity to move forward with integrity and without causing further harm. So, I’m taking the next step in this process—evidenced by the fact that you’re reading this—to speak publicly about what happened. It feels important to share my understanding of why I reached such a painful and disappointing place in my relationship to the “Mindfulness in Higher Ed” scene so quickly. I hope that some of you who take the time to read this will be able to offer some support and encouragement during the challenging weeks ahead as I figure out what comes next.

This unexpected turn of events was the culmination of a process that had begun the previous week. I had driven down to New York to attend a “mindfulness in higher education” training on behalf of my new employer. Upon arriving in the space, the first thing I saw was the offering for participants: a water bottle, a notebook, and some other paraphernalia neatly arranged on the tables. I noticed a book in the stack, too—a prominent former Shambhala teacher had written the foreword. Seeing his name startled me; over the past year, I had learned of two very credible allegations of sexual misconduct by this individual from trusted friends (one of which was published by ThinkProgress.) I wasn’t prepared to process this in the context of this new “professional” setting—having spent much of the past year attempting to extricate myself from the Shambhala community and do what I could to stand by the many people who were assaulted by teachers like him, the reminder came as a bit of a shock.

A few minutes later, the first group session began in an adjacent room. The facilitator led us through a “body scan” exercise, which triggered a trauma-induced dissociation experience that felt like a panicked inability to stay in my body. I did my best to take care of myself in that moment, and then we were asked to introduce ourselves to the group based on the three words that best described the experience of what we were bringing into the room. We had been assured that this was a space where bravery, curiosity, and honesty were encouraged—believing this to be true, I introduced myself with the words that most honestly captured my experience in that moment: “triggered as fuck.” Later, I explained to the group that I had recently left the Shambhala community due to the abuse of similar “mindfulness” practices, adding that seeing this teacher’s name on the cover of the book had been an upsetting introduction to the space.

Afterwards, I spoke briefly with the training coordinator; she told me that she had no reason not to believe the women and that although this teacher was no longer teaching in her program, she still considered him a friend. She encouraged me to do what I needed to take care of myself throughout the rest of the training. That afternoon, I had been invited to lead a brief listening meditation session for the group after lunch. During the lunch period, the facilitator informed me that there had been a change in the schedule and my session had been cancelled.

For the next day and a half, I did my best to strike a balance between showing up in the space honestly and taking care of myself after experiencing episodes of dissociation. I was transparent with the coordinator about this and asked her to make sure that the facilitator knew that my struggles weren’t personal—clearly, there were bigger forces at play here. Nonetheless, during lunch on Thursday, the coordinator approached me and suggested that, given my experiences, the training was not a good fit for me to continue as a participant. Although she did not explicitly ask me to leave or suggest that I had done anything wrong, the insinuation was clear that I was to depart immediately.

I called my boss right away to report what happened; I had already told her that things were a little weird earlier on in the training. She knew about my history with Shambhala and was very supportive. She encouraged me to ensure that my registration fee was refunded, which I did. I then left the building to go decompress on a walk through Washington Square Park. A couple of hours later, my boss called me back.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“In a coffee shop in the West Village,” I remember responding quizzically.

“Just don’t go back to the training,” she urged. Apparently, the coordinator had reached out to her inquiring about my whereabouts. Building security at the training had been informed that my presence was perceived as a threat to the safety of the facilitator, and that I was not to be let back in under any circumstances. I remember my boss recounting that she had asked the coordinator if I had done anything to merit such a response, such as raising my voice or making threats. According to her, the coordinator responded that I had not. Again, my boss was supportive and affirming in our conversation; we agreed that she would inform our colleague in the office about what happened over the weekend and that we would meet on Monday to debrief.

On Monday, the bad news caught me completely off guard. I had, after all, just left another job; my wife had also left hers—along with guaranteed maternity leave when our first child arrives this fall—and moved across the country. Although it had been an intense and difficult week in New York, the idea that my family’s livelihood was in peril had never even crossed my mind. In hindsight, though, the signs were clear that this wasn’t a space where I could serve with integrity. It’s still painful to feel into the experience of being treated with such utter disregard, but I’ve been so grateful for the support and good will that I’ve received from my wife, close friends, and colleagues over the past three weeks. Even though this isn’t how I would have liked things to pan out, I’m sure that I’ll learn what really brought me back to Western Massachusetts soon.

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this. If you’re able, I would be very grateful if you were to leave a supportive comment here or reach out by email, phone, or text. And if you have some financial resources at your disposal, please consider donating to the Buddhist Peace Fellowship: I just recently joined the Board of Directors of this amazing organization and these folks have been the “sangha” (community of practice and study) that I’ve needed in this difficult moment.

And lastly, if you’re working with mindfulness practices in any capacity, may you bring great skillfulness and a healthier sense of skepticism into the institutional work than I did. I strongly recommend David Forbes’s Mindfulness and Its Discontents: Education, Self, and Social Transformation (excerpt here), David Treleaven’s Trauma-Sensitive Mindfulness: Practices for Safe and Transformative Healing (learn more here), and Ron Purser’s McMindfulness: How Mindfulness Became the New Capitalist Spirituality (excerpt here) as resources for honing an appropriate BS detector in these spaces. There’s tremendously important work happening, but the systems that support it are causing a great deal of harm. May our efforts to heal bring us all closer to making the world that we need for one another amidst the chaos of these times.

Portrait of a native inhabitant of Novosibirsk, Siberia

Sending a big, heartfelt thanks to everyone who reached out to say happy birthday yesterday. I’ve been receiving a lot of messages from friends and family recently, including something to the effect of “Well, I don’t know where in the world you are right now …”

So to clarify: I’m in Novosibirsk, Siberia. Novosibirsk is Russia’s third-largest city, located in the geographical center of the Russian Federation, north of Kazakhstan. Yes, it’s cold here—snow started falling shortly before we arrived, in mid-October. It’s also an interesting cosmopolitan place where my listening activities have brought me into contact with people from all over the world, for example: Uzbekistan, Japan, Germany, France, and Cuba.

If you’re curious about where else I’ve been in the past year, I’ve created this handy map for your perusal: https://arcg.is/2dYmTnr. In total, I’ve visited about 23 cities (and 12 jazz clubs) in 9 countries on 4 continents! Needless to say, I’m quite worn out from all the traveling, but incredibly grateful for what I’ve learned along the way. I had entered into this year with the intention of sharing more about it on this blog, but alas, that aspiration hasn’t come to pass. I did want to post this update, though, to say thank you to everyone who I have met!

Alex in Novosibirsk

I’ll be here until this Monday, when I’ll begin the long journey back to the United States. I look forward to seeing my ethnomusicology friends at the Society for Ethnomusicology Conference in Washington, DC, from November 10-13. I’ll be helping with the Improvisation Section’s roundtable event on Thursday evening, and then reuniting with my Conn tenor trombone (which has been staying in DC with my cousin since June) to play with the SEM Orchestra on Friday night.

Then, I will be back in New York City for a week, from November 15-21. New York friends, I hope to see you there! After that, Marina and I return to Portland, Oregon, where we’ll be settling in for the next year while I write my dissertation. After 13 years away from the city where I grew up, this seems like just the right time to be coming home. I’m looking forward to spending a lot of time listening to KMHD and otherwise digging into what the local jazz scene has to offer.

Thanks again to everyone who helped make my 32nd year on Planet Earth an unforgettable and transformative one!

Here’s the original post I wrote to announce the event:

So this is really happening! I’ll be performing this Tuesday, 26 January at a house concert with four Chilean musicians. My set will focus on the music of Ornette Coleman and also include a pair of my own Ornette-inspired compositions.

You can read below the fold for more about why we’re putting this event together. But before you do, please consider attending the event! Whether or not you’re in Chile, you can be there in spirit–here’s how:

First, buy a ticket at the low-fi.world website. At the concert, we will acknowledge your presence and support during the show. Afterwards, you’ll receive a high-quality recording, including your glorious shout-out, as a token of gratitude. Easy!

Buy your ticket here.

If you can afford to contribute more, please consider purchasing multiple tickets. This also allows us to make sure that those who do attend in person can contribute to the degree that they are financially able. This will also assure that the artists are all paid a fair wage for their work in bringing this music into being. Thank you for supporting this work and I hope you can be there with us!

OK, so a little bit more of the story behind this …

This work stems from my deeply held belief that this music can help people be together in a radically positive way. It came together after our positive first experience hosting a Chilean house concert with visiting Israeli jazz guitarist Rotem Sivan in December. Bernardita was a key figure in making it happen, so we decided that we’d try a double-bill concert with each of us playing alongside the great Chilean jazz trio of guitarist Nicolás Vera, bassist Rodrigo Espinoza, and drummer Rodrigo Recabarren.

Founded by Danish jazz scholar and entrepreneur Anne Dvinge, Low-fi.world is a global platform that connects independent artists with people seeking a more personal and authentic musical experience. Its mission is to create intimate spaces for shared music-making that respects the value of musical practice.

By hosting House Concerts with Low Fi in Chile, we expect to generate alternative spaces for live jazz and chamber music, both of which flourish in intimate environments and relate to one another in many ways.

Live music is a billion-dollar industry on the rise, but it is oriented exclusively to large promoters and artists, with 5% of them obtaining 90% of revenues. Our goal is not only change the way we think about live music, but also to create a new paradigm for producing and experiencing it. The Low Fi House Concert is a concept that we believe can contribute to this developing for jazz and chamber music lovers in Santiago–and around the world.

We want the music to be something that happens not only for or by us but between us, and we want to compensate musicians fairly for their skill without forcing people to become consumers in order to listen.

A number of volunteers have already begun to offer their services as organizers, audiovisual producers, designers, and hosts, all in the name of creating this space.

We need help from those of you who know that this project is worthwhile, and that a thriving independent music scene is an essential part of a livable city. The biggest challenge to this project, of course, is financial sustainability.

For this concert, we want to ensure that musicians are well paid without forcing guests to be simply consumers. This is why we are reaching out to you–by joining us in spirit, you are also contributing to a model of music presentation that values the contributions of the artists.

I know that the world is full of jazz enthusiasts who will love what we have in store for this concert–but the trick is finding you, spread out all over the world! We believe that by connecting with you and your love for this music, we can actually create more space for jazz lovers to flourish here in Santiago. There is already a remarkably hip scene here, but the challenge of making a living here as a jazz musician, so far away from the institutions that support jazz in the U.S. and Europe, is real. So thanks again to all of you who step forward to take part in this transnational experiment! We hope to have your spirit with us on Tuesday.

Lastly, I’d like to add a note about my financial stake in this, for the sake of transparency: if we reach our goal of selling at least 40 tickets, then I have budgeted for myself a small fee of $50,000 CLP (about US$75), less than the other musicians are being paid (CLP$75,000). However, if we do not reach that goal, then I will not take a fee to ensure that the other musicians are paid fairly. Along those lines, I am also guaranteeing a minimum fee for all of the other musicians out of my own pocket if we are not able to sell at least 25 tickets. We’ve sold 8 tickets so far.

In any case, please send good vibes and wish me luck for this concert! It has been awhile since I performed, and this will be the first time playing original compositions, so I’m more than a little nervous … but also very excited to share this music. If you’re reading this now, you’re an important part of this unfolding journey, and I’m tremendously grateful for your presence. I hope to have you in spirit with us on Tuesday, too!

Update 2: Also, here’s two short videos that were recorded at the concert!

Alex W. Rodríguez 01/ Low Fi / Santiago / Chile from Hemisferio Derecho on Vimeo.

Alex W. Rodríguez 02 / Low Fi / Santiago / Chile from Hemisferio Derecho on Vimeo.

Left to right: Matt Mitchell, Francois Moutin, Rudy Royston, Rudresh Mahanthappa, and Adam O’Farrill. Photo by Gabriel Valenzuela, Papeles de Jazz.

Fresh off another round of critical praise for his 2015 album Bird Calls, Rudresh Mahanthappa and his quintet brought their assertive virtuosity to the Providencia Jazz Festival in Santiago, Chile last night. The large outdoor festival was free this year for the first time in over a decade, and the venue sold out days in advance. I managed to catch up with the alto saxophonist in the morning before his performance yesterday. Here is a lightly edited transcript of our conversation: 

What are your first impressions of Chile since you’ve arrived here?

The people are very good looking; the altitude seems a little high. I wish we could see more of the city; this is really like a surgical strike. We came in last night and are literally leaving right after the gig, because it’s a big weekend in New York with the Winter JazzFest and the American Performing Arts Presenters conference—everyone needs to be back for gigs tomorrow night. Bird Calls played Winter JazzFest last year, and we’re doing something on Monday that’s unrelated to Winter JazzFest but it’s still part of the conference.

So you’re feeling the farness from New York, too?

Absolutely, definitely, and I’m actually enjoying it, to tell you the truth. This is always a hectic weekend in New York, and it’s nice to be away from it—thousands of miles away doing something very interesting that I haven’t done before. Like I said, I just wish we could be here a little longer, but schedules don’t always allow that.

Is this your first time in Chile?

Yes, definitely my first time in Chile.

Well I hope you get to make it back, too.

Yeah, maybe as a tourist.

Beethoven seems unhappy about his new black neighbor. Handel, meanwhile, remains indifferent.

So I’m not sure if you saw this, but when you were walking in there was the poster for the Providencia Jazz Festival, with a black trumpet player playing directly into a very disapproving-looking bust of Beethoven [pictured, left].

I didn’t notice the bust of Beethoven, actually, but I’m going to take another look at that.

When I saw that as I was coming in here, I wanted to ask you about this: in the context of this being a presentation of “art music,” that comes from that lineage Beethoven pioneered in a certain way, in terms of how it’s being received. I’m curious how you relate to that.

You have to elaborate on that: what do you mean by “presented” like that?

What I mean is that a lot of the people who are coming to hear you play are the same kinds of people who come to hear a Beethoven symphony.

Well that’s interesting. I think we deal with that in the States as well—Jazz at Lincoln Center is a huge example of that, to the highest degree possible. Carnegie Hall had their own jazz band, and all these big concert halls have jazz series. So it is a bit odd, but that goes back to Jazz at the Philharmonic and everything that Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie were doing as well. I think all of us try to find a balance between playing in clubs and playing in big halls, because we still want to bring this music to people who can afford to see it. I’m not sure what the admission structure is here tonight, but if you’re playing at Jazz at Lincoln Center those tickets are really, really expensive. Unless I’m on the guest list, I often don’t go to those concerts myself, you know—I would rather see people in clubs. So that’s always an interesting thing, because we begin to feel strange if all we’re playing is big concert halls, because that’s not where the music was born. I still think of this music as music for the people that should be accessible to a wide variety of income brackets, and culture and class, and whatever divisions we have in these economic structures of the West. It’s interesting—to think about it as that sort of lineage of presentation makes me a little bit sad, actually, but I think we’ll roll with it.

I should also add that this year for the first time in many years, the festival is free and completely sold out. So in that sense I’m looking forward to hearing what the vibe is. We’re also in an upper-middle class part of the city in this very beautiful old Spanish colonial building [for the interview]. I’m looking forward to hearing how it goes at the park.

Me too.

This year you’re on top of the critics polls—part of the reason why everyone loves it is that it is such a clear personal vision and sound. I’m curious how you’re relating to having that extra publicity, as an artist. Outside of New York, and outside of the people who are already hip to your stuff, a lot more people are paying attention. What does that do for you?

Well, I think it’s all cumulative. It’s nice to be at the top of that poll, but I was #2 on that poll in 2008 (and #1 was a Sonny Rollins reissue.)

That’s good company to keep.

Yeah, so I think these things are cumulative, I never look at one thing in isolation. All that stuff is really great, and as I get older, I notice that all this stuff ebbs and flows. I released an album in 2008 that everyone went nuts about. Then I released some great albums after that, too, that received varying degrees of critical praise. So you just take it in stride. The reality is, there was a time when if you won the Down Beat critics’ poll that actually led to gigs. Now, I don’t think it’s as direct, but it snowballs. I’m obviously doing more than I was five years ago, or eight years ago, and it all kind of adds up. You can’t think about stuff too much—you can bask in it for a second. Sometimes now I don’t even tell my parents. My parents will write to me two weeks later like, “our friends told us about this, why didn’t you tell us?” And I’m like, “I don’t know, I was playing with my son.”

Everything helps, though. That’s the interesting thing: I meet presenters and DJs, all sorts of people in myriad parts of the industry who are working in huge cities or they’re working in the middle of nowhere in northern Spain. You have to take all of them seriously. If someone says, “I’m going to play your record,” you make sure that they get your record! I want as many people to hear this music as possible. And I’m more concerned with reaching people that are outside the “jazz-loving community.” I think what I do actually has the ability to reach a lot of people and touch a lot of people. I’m not so concerned with impressing other jazz musicians or kowtowing to what the “jazz lover” or the “jazz aficionado” thinks. And I think this album is unique, because it’s an acoustic album, it’s a quintet, it has this orientation towards Charlie Parker—but Kinsmen, or Indo-Pak Coalition, the people who bought those albums are fans of mine but not necessarily jazz fans. I’m more interested in fostering that direct-to-fan relationship instead of hanging out on jazz blogs or something like that. I’m dealing with NPR, or Rolling Stone, or The New Yorker, The Atlantic—publications that smart and enthusiastic people read, people who love life and culture. Those are the people I want to play for.

It’s clear that’s happening. And for what it’s worth, it seems like that’s where the jazz lovers are, too.

Exactly! They’re in the same space, so you might as well reach them and everybody else.

You’re about to give a masterclass, and people are here who want to learn more about how you do what you do—as a musician, as a saxophonist, and as a musical thinker. Even though it is on the continent of South America, Chile is very isolated—it’s really more like an island than a part of the continent in many ways. One of the consequences of that is that there has been less contact here with the African diaspora than in the rest of the Americas. I’ve noticed this in my work with jazz musicians here that something has really touched them about jazz that connects deeply with them. But I know that some students have this confusion around the issue of the music’s blackness and how that relates to black people. You grew up in Boulder, which is not exactly a hotbed of black musical culture—do you have a message for people here who might be struggling with that?

That’s interesting. It’s also an issue in Europe, where they have developed their “own jazz” which in some cases has nothing to do with the African-American experience. For me, I’m not white, either—I’m Indian-American, my parents came to the US in the 1950s. Jazz has been a multicultural music at its core, from its very birth. It came out of hybridity, and I think embracing what that hybridity means for all of us as individual artists is a very important thing. Jazz is tolerant, if not embracing, of that. But at the same time, yes, it is black music—and you have to somehow engage that as well. It’s interesting that jazz has this international presence, and everyone feels like they can possess it. But it is American music. If you were going to study Indian music, wouldn’t you go to India at some point? I think if you’re going to study jazz, if you really want to get inside of it, you have to go to New York at some point. You don’t have to live there, but go experience what that means. It just has to be acknowledged that it is African-American music. But I don’t think that people should ever feel that they’re not entitled to be a part of the experience. Everyone has that right. The bigger problem I have is with people who don’t want to acknowledge that it is, at its core, this African-American art form. There are significant European communities that exist like that, like “we have our own jazz, we don’t need you.” That scares me a lot.

Any final thoughts?

Just to run a little further with what we were talking about: I think infusing your own identity and getting to know who you are within this music is an amazing thing. Trying to find that hybridity of the tradition of jazz with what is going on around you culturally and socially is incredibly important. That’s what keeps this music fresh, that’s what keeps it moving forward, and that’s what keeps it contemporary. You’re not moving jazz forward if you’re just going to play standards, and if you’re only going to treat it as a historical music. To anyone who’s interested or wants to play this music, they should run with that idea and see where it takes them.

Branford Marsalis and his quartet headlined the San Bernardo Jazz Fest in November 2015

Branford Marsalis is not known to mince words. So when the upstart Chilean jazz magazine Papeles de Jazz invited me to interview him, I know that he wouldn’t hesitate to share his first impressions of Chile in the midst of his first trip here. I managed to catch up with Marsalis after the gig, interviewing him in the band’s van on the way back to their hotel. The night before the concert, the quartet sat in with the Nicolas Vera Quartet at Thelonious—an event that I was very disappointed to have missed.

This is the original, lightly edited English transcript—the Spanish version will be published in the next edition of Papeles de Jazz later this year. (Para los que leen en castellano: esta entrevista se publicará en Papeles de Jazz en la proxima edición este año.)

So on a scale of 1 being this is just another gig to 10 being this is something I’ll never forget playing for these people. Where was tonight for you?

Five, probably. I mean I enjoyed them. There are certain places you go and the people seem to have an understanding of instrumental music because of the tradition—because of their own cultural traditions. That’s one of the funny things about England, there thing is all about words and so forth, and they don’t really have instrumental music, so they really are not keen on it, and when you play, you can feel that. It was nice to have a lot of people. They didn’t know who the hell we were. But I think the music caught them by surprise because modern jazz is played with almost no intensity whatsoever. And I think we play with so much on stage. And you know the guys were really charismatic. The young boys [drummer Justin Faulkner, pianist Samora Pinderhughes, and bassist Russell Hall] moved in. You know, for the people that come to see it, there’s something to see. We’re dressed nice. For the people that can hear, they had something to hear. So it was good. But, man, I’ve been doing this shit for 30 years. It ain’t Russia.

So, what’s Russia?

That was amazing. I mean particularly during communism because there wasn’t anything. But when you play in a country that has developed Dostoevsky and Tchaikovsky, Shostakovitch, Rimsky-Korsakov. I mean [that] shit’s not an accident.

Yeah, you were feeling that.

When you’re studying classical music, it was basically 2 big countries. It was Russia and there’s Germany. Or the greater Germany, the greater Austrian Hungarian Empire, which includes Poland and Hungary and the Czech Republic. All the music comes from there. Of course there were the Italians, but that was another different thing. It was almost like that shit wasn’t really representative of Italy. Because they respond to Opera and nothing else. But the Germans have a keen relationship with instrumental music. And if you’re playing, particularly if the music is melodic. If it’s random they kind of go off. They responded to us in a way that surprised us. But then when you reflect on it, after the concert, well it’s Russia. They do that for “bad dudes.” And you know, at that time, there wasn’t anything to do but listen to music or go to museums. TVs didn’t work. They didn’t have any pop music. So everybody went to concerts and all the concerts were free. Shit was a drag on one level. On the other level. You get to see and hear that Bolshoi. You go to the Ballet and you hear the Bolshoi orchestra for free?! So, yeah, that was a different thing. But that being said, this is my first time playing in Chile and I remember when we played in Buenos Aires, they went crazy. It wasn’t like they went celebrity crazy. They were just so into what we were doing. We were playing trio there. There wasn’t even a piano to help and they were so keen to what we were doing. It was really nice. South America’s got a cool vibe for music.

I noticed you were talking with [Chilean jazz saxophonist] Marcos Aldana after the gig. Had you guys crossed paths before?

No.

Because I know he was up in the states in the early 90s

I mean I know his daughter, [Melissa Aldana]. It was my first time meeting him. It was nice to meet him.

How did this gig come together? What’s the story?

There’s just 2 places, Chile and Argentina. I was told “you’re going,” and I said, “great.” So, last night was really fun.

At Thelonious. So, tell me about your night at Thelonious.

There was nobody there so it was great. People were there who wanted to be there.  There was no announcement. There weren’t a bunch of people coming to see the American guy or none of that shit. So we wound up playing with the local musicians. It was fun. They could play. And we played a couple of tunes by ourselves. Once the music gets to a certain level of heat, they were like “okay, we’ll leave this alone.” So we played a couple of songs and then at the end we played the blues so everyone could come back in and join. It was great. It’s nice when you play for people and they make eye contact. They’re not on stage trying to outplay you. We were just playing. You know because that’s the way I grew up and then moved to New York and everyone was trying to outplay me. What the fuck are you doing? This doesn’t work. It works in sports, but it doesn’t work in music because we’re all on the stage together and we’re supposed to be making music, not outplaying one another. It would be like if you had the shooting guard and the point guard and they’re all trying to score the most points. Those teams lose. They don’t win. Teams win when people understand their role. That didn’t happen here. We were just playing. And it was like a great thing. And some guys were really good players and some guys weren’t very good. So, what? They’re making music and that’s all that really matters.  So, I enjoyed it. I was completely wiped out so I didn’t stay long because we got here yesterday.

Yeah, that’s a long flight.

We got here yesterday and then I had a masterclass from 3-5 and then we left to go to the club at 10:30 and I was home at the hotel by 2. The young boys, they stayed out.

Justin was telling me a little about the rest of the night.

I remember those days. . . .

So, this group: I know you’ve been playing with Justin for a long time.

I don’t play with those other guys. They’re subs.

Is that for the whole tour?

It’s only for 2 more gigs. And then get back with Joey and Eric Revis in December. And record a record in December. We’re going to do it in New Orleans. We’re going to play in a club in New Orleans for 4 nights. Take 2 days off to rearrange and write shit.

That’s fantastic. There aren’t a lot of gigs where you get 4 nights in a row these days.

I know, it’s amazing. Yeah, I’m looking forward to it. Especially in my home town.  I never played there except [New Orleans] Jazz Fest, which is not the same as playing there.

So before the tour after you got the call from your people saying we’re going to South America, what were the impressions you had of Chile coming down here?

Didn’t know anything about Santiago. I know it’s the capital city. I know where Chile is on the map, but that’s not anything.

Well, it’s more than a lot of people.

But it doesn’t really mean anything. I remember the first time I went to Europe. I came back and my father was like, “what’d you do?” I said I went to the Eiffel Tower. He said, “that’s all you did? You didn’t do anything? What do you mean, ‘I went to the Eiffel Tower. I went to the Louvre.’ What’d you see?” I said, I saw Mona Lisa. “What else did you see?” Um, I really don’t remember. He said, “so you really didn’t go to the museum. You went there and watched the statue. That’s what you did in Paris. You didn’t come back with a recipe or any stories about meeting people. So basically you know as much about Paris as I do and I never left my house.” And I was 19. So, he really cured me of, “oh let’s go watch a building.” Like if the building’s there, great. But [I’m past] the idea that we’re going to fly to Chile and watch buildings and come back and say “We had a great time. We watched buildings.” It was great being in the club. Nobody really spoke English. So you gotta make it happen. In the hotel where we’re staying, no one really speaks English. You gotta make it happen. So you learn a few words. You learn things. The food is fantastic. You try to stay away from American shit. I know that seafood is the big thing here. I didn’t go to a fish restaurant. It is not going to happen now. But I needed to stay in the room today and practice. It was a push-up  to just relax. I knew it was going to be a long night. I wish we had played in Santiago. It would have been nice. Totally different audience.

There were 5,000 people there tonight. There was a lot going on. I was surprised how many people I know who came from the Santiago jazz scene to hear you guys.

That was nice. I wish they could have heard the real band, but…these guys are good.

I know you didn’t have a whole lot of expectations coming here, but was there anything that surprised you?

Yeah, I was surprised with how seamlessly the architecture integrates with the geography. It’s just a pet peeve of mine when you go to a place like Hawaii what exists does not mesh with the surroundings. So, it all seems out of place to me. The apartments, the way the apartments are designed [here], it has some kind of Inca shit. If you look at the way the pyramids are designed. It’s the same kind of design with the squares. And it really works with the geography. It doesn’t seem disjunct and out of place. And sometimes you go to places in warm climates, islands, all the architecture seems out of place. Not often. In the states they just never got that part right. They’re thinking more about function than aesthetics. But here they seemed to have embraced function and aesthetic. And all of the people seem reasonably happy here. The vibe downtown is fucking amazing. There is no angst. No aggression. It’s quiet. It’s like Tokyo. Tokyo has 12 million people, and you walk in the middle of downtown and it’s quiet. There’s positive people everywhere. The cars don’t make noise.  Nobody blows their horns. Yeah there’s cars going fast and everyone’s going crazy but it doesn’t have that angsty, the way it is in Sao Paolo, the angsty aggressive shit that you find in New York.  It doesn’t have that. And I enjoyed it.

Like the west coast?

Yeah.

The editors at Papeles de Jazz have been following some of the more genre-bending aspects of your career, and would like to know more about your take on that, both musically and ideologically. What does it mean and why is it important to be able to be open, style-wise?

I mean the reason it would be important is that it reminds me of being on the debate team. Whenever I had a debate with someone who wasn’t well read, I was going to eat their fucking lunch. Eat it all. They didn’t stand a chance because they were like saying the same things over and over again. They didn’t know how to expand. They didn’t know how to elucidate. Hell, I won arguments that I should have lost because it just sounded better. And it’s the same thing in music. What bores me about a lot of jazz that I hear is that all the musicians are working from a vocabulary that is extremely limited. The scale-based pattern-based based vocabulary. So all around the world, everybody sounds the same. No surprise. But when you start to listen to classical music it starts to change the way you hear sound. When I was Catholic, growing up, you still going to Baptist church, but it changed the way I heard sound. RnB changed the way I heard sound. In jazz, R&B, and other things, we don’t have the exact 1. We play around with 1. 1 and 2 and 3. In classical music it is the exact fucking one. So just to be able to do that–when I first starting learning that, I couldn’t. For two reasons. I couldn’t hit the absolute down beat. So it changes the way you hear music. But you can’t be insecure—most musicians tend to be really insecure, so they’re really afraid of sounding bad. I’ve been playing classical music for ten years and I have yet to have a concert where I actually sounded good on it. I am in the stage now where I sound less shitty than I used to, but not where I come out and play it and go “yeah, yeah, alright, cool.” But if I keep practicing and keep playing the gigs, that will come. But a lot of guys don’t have the mentality to do that because they’re so afraid of sounding bad. Which is always hilarious to me, because if a defenseman in the game last night created an own goal situation, he would be the most hated man in all of Chile. A musician makes a mistake, nobody gives a shit—nothing happens to you. You don’t lose your job, you don’t lose your house, they don’t take a finger for every wrong note. So we sit around and we obsess about the fear of making mistakes. You’re never penalized for making mistakes, it is all in our heads. We’ve created this insane psychosis that limits the styles of music we play, and the way you play, and the songs you play, for fear of making a mistake.

This is reminding me of a particular moment in the concert that I think the crowd really responded to, and that I noticed as well. You took a long cadenza on the Keith Jarrett tune “The Windup” and then the band came in underneath you, kind of open. The crowd was definitely paying attention in that moment, like, “what’s going to happen?” I’m curious how that was structured—is that something you do on that number every time?

Yeah, it’s like, “I’m going to play free, then you guys come up.” How they do it and when they do it, it’s all negotiable, it’s not set in stone. There’s no counting, it’s just when it feels right, come in.

That was definitely the sense I got. When you guys were actually not rigidly doing a specific thing that it really connected.

I think that most people hear music with their eyes. They don’t really hear with that kind of specificity. But at the same time, they hear and see at the same time, and they get a sense of when shit is actually spontaneous and happening in front of them, as opposed to when it’s completely tightly scripted and controlled and over-rehearsed. Especially in instrumental music, because the musicians tend not to play with a sense of urgency because they’ve got it all under control. And I always try to make sure to alleviate that possibility of us having it all under control. When it starts to sound like we have it under control, then I just take that song out of the set list.

What are your other strategies for keeping it “out of control,” keeping it fresh?

You hire musicians that don’t play that other way. And if they do play that other way, you give them a couple of days to figure out how to not do it and if they can’t then you just don’t hire them anymore. I only hire musicians who can live in the moment, I don’t deal with those other people. I don’t really hire the geniuses, I just hire the players. Geniuses are too smart for their own good.

About sitting in last night at Thelonious: how did the invitation make its way to you?

There’s an old man named Jose “Pepe” Hosiasson. I’ve been knowing Pepe for 20 years. Pepe says, “oh, you should come to the jazz club tonight,” and I said “for you, Pepe, I’ll come to the jazz club.” For Pepe, you know, the Polish Chilean, I’ll come out for you.

That’s where the interview ended, as the van arrived back at their hotel. To close, here’s a video profile of Pepe Hosiasson for you to get a feeling for his personality and the impact he has had on the Chilean jazz scene:

https://vimeo.com/98693786