The Black Saint and the SInner Lady
Normally, it’s easy to predict the rating of a review by
reading the first few paragraphs. The author would start positive reviews by
praising as much as would fit in an intended word count. Substitute that with
criticisms, and you’d have the negative ones.
This is a Charles Mingus album’s review, and because the he
is far from being a conventional, straight-ahead jazz artist (he’s actually a
bassist, composer and a leader) it would be a huge disservice to him and to all
readers if I write in a standard-template-trodden angle. Before going further,
I need to emphasize that this is a positive review, because instead of starting
with praises, I’m going to state a number of reasons why you should approach
this album, The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady, with extreme caution.
The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady (TBSaSL) is
avant-garde jazz. Avant-garde jazz, a very close relative to free jazz, is
considered one of the freest forms of jazz, or any music genres. Avant-garde
performers eschewed jazz’s conventions, probably in an attempt to analogize
jazz to democracy. They believed that rules about chords and harmonies only
restrict the real capability of an instrument, and that all instruments can
improvise all at once. As a result, free jazz and avant-garde jazz sound more
like a mess of squawks than being actually a song. Some may find it compelling,
but for anyone used to listening to structured music, avant-garde isn’t a
region you’d want to be in.
In TBSaSL, it had so much improvising from brass
instruments of all registers (low, medium and high) you’d likely be getting
headache after you’ve gone through all the tracks of this album, if you even
dared to withstand the ordeal for that long. It’s definitely not the kind of
jazz music you’d hear on Starbucks; I bet it would send those obnoxious
Starbucks patrons elsewhere to resume their obnoxiousness.
Bear also in mind that this is a Charles Mingus album. The
iconoclastic artist is well-[dis]reputed for being irascible, bullying and
unpredictable. How about we retell the story of how he, in the middle of a gig
with Charlie Parker and Bud Powell, literally told both of them to piss off.
Heck, I’m not even his biggest admirer. Frequently frustrated and often
furious, he’s simply not the kind of guy that you would hire as a babysitter.
In fact, Mingus is so disturbed that he consulted a psychologist, who
incidentally wrote the liner notes for TBSaSL, an album that expresses
his tortured psyche. Bear that in mind. This is an examination of a disturbed
man. You’d be hearing a lot of dissonances and mourning that reflects Mingus.
Now aren’t you glad it’s my psyche you’re entering?
TBSaSL is unlike any other jazz albums you’d hear.
The composer, Mingus himself, intended that this oeuvre become a seven-part
ballet suite (which is separated into four tracks). But once again, do not
mistake “ballet” as to mean the music is for dancing. If anything, it only
meant that the performances are increasingly complex.
In fact, my experience with this album wasn’t pleasant. When
I had gotten it, I was actually overwhelmed by the amount of instruments
playing altogether. They seemed to go different ways, as though living in
different dimensions. In my first listen, I tried to focus on the melody; and
much to my dismay, there nearly isn’t any. I ended up feeling wasted after I
went through the whole album.
I shelved the album for a few days before returning to it.
Why? I hated it. I hated myself for believing that this album WILL be
something. I’ve not heard of any music that so successfully screamed, “I’m not
meant for background”, and completely alienated those who also intended to give
it an in-depth look. But it dawned to me, that maybe by in-depth look, there
are different approaches.
So I decided to give it another shot, and intentionally
lowered the volume so as not to be overwhelmed. I was all prepared for the
worst, for it hadn’t exactly been a good day for me as well. Then, much to my
surprise, I find myself enjoying the album quite a lot, in spite of myself. The
album made sense to me in my second listen.
The music was RICH, in terms of content. At times it
smattered of Duke Ellington (Mood Indigo) and George Gershwin (Summertime), and
even some Latin and classical music; but otherwise, it’s authentically Charles
Mingus. The compositions were inimitable. Where it succeeds most was not in
establishing a melodies and harmonies, but in moods and themes.
The four-part performances were explosions of raw emotional
power, emphasized greatly by alternation in tempo and intensity, expressed in
ripples that characterized tumultuous times. Listening to them was like a
release, a freedom, of all those anger that’s curtailed from society’s
conservative restrains. The music put me in a belligerent mood, and finishing
it was like bathing in a fountain that washes away all those fury. Every listen
bears a new awakening, because the songs, subliminally, told a story that at
the end of all despairs, there is hope. The liner notes, written by Charles’
psychologist, also provided for an interesting analysis of all the tracks.
For those who examine music in the superficial level, I’m
afraid to say that it’s impossible to find value in all those semi-repetitive,
anarchical wailings and blaring. As I said in the beginning of the review, this
album isn’t for everyone, and I wouldn’t even coax you to listen to it. There
are jazz albums that are made for people who views jazz as lounge music, and as
a background for coffee shops.
But for anyone who wants to try the kind of music whose
complexities have reached the summit, TBSaSL is a good cliff to scale.
There’s nothing quite like it, and only a few other musicians can claim to show
the same amount of ingenuity and brilliance. Score: 5 out of 5.
