The Tone of the Exchange is the Music of the Moment
By Don Hall
Photo Credit to Findaband.com
By now, a couple of months into the Nevada mask mandate, the ongoing dialogue between those of us required to require it and those on the requirement end is routine. So mundane is this argument that there is a musicality to them. If you pay attention you can even dance to it.
The standard three-minute pop song version, like a classic ‘90s Britney Spears ear worm, is catchy and predictable.
VERSE:
“Excuse me. You need to be wearing your mask.”VERSE:
[Huffs. Pulls Up mask. Waits until Security Officer leaves. Pulls mask down again.]VERSE:
“Pardon me. The mask?”VERSE:
[Huffs. Pulls Up mask. Waits until Security Officer leaves. Pulls mask down again.]VERSE:
“Hey. How about that mask?”CHORUS:
“I don’t have to wear this MASK! YOU CAN’T MAKE ME! This is UNCONSTITUTIONAL! I have a medical condition!”
Like the blues or soft FM or Hair Metal, the subject of the songs are always pretty close to the same every time. It’s the players that make the individual tune distinct. It’s the tone of the exchange that is the music of the moment.
I think we all need to become better conversational musicians.
In the 1940s, some Black jazz players decided that this essentially American, essentially Black music had been thoroughly co-opted by White musicians. In response, they created a new, more complex jazz language. It was called ‘Be Bop’ and the unknowing white jazz gentrifier, doing a walk-on to play, would ask “What song?” The response would be something like “Rhythm Changes.” Using the chord structure of, in that case “I Got Rhythm,” the music would begin and the white cat had no clue.
Unless the White player took the time to listen and understand the new musical form, he was shut out.
On the casino floor there is a distinct difference in exchanges between White security officers and Black guests, between Black security officers and Hispanic guests, and in every disparate combination available. It’s an entire improvised set underscored by the bings and bongs and odd celebratory soundtrack of slot play. The most successful tunes occur between those musicians who comprehend the chord structure.
“Security to MOD. We have an issue at Bank 200.”
He is a White guy, new to the security field. She is a younger Black woman. The exchange is discordant. She feels harassed as he has come by the slot bank several times to remind her to wear her mask. The familiar tune played out but it was not a danceable joint.
To her, his instrument sounds staccato and angular. To him, her voice is loud, seemingly without pause, a barrage of notes. To my ears, he is simply trying to do his job and she is merely re-asserting her autonomy.
Obviously, I understand the music of middle-aged White guys. Having spent more than a few dinners with Black families and dated a few Black ladies, while not a maestro in the style, I’ve learned to hear and love the cadences and tones of Black women speaking. The voices of Black women, for the most part and in my experience, is boisterous and full-throated, filled with delicious peaks and valleys and sweeping in and around the other voices. When a Black woman speaks, she speaks to be heard.
To his ears, she is angry and borderline abusive. To hers, he is nagging and condescending.
The music isn’t connecting. He’s really trying but because he’s as unfamiliar with nuances of her cultural instrument as he would be the Max Roach Quintet, he loses patience. He calls me to intervene.
The dilemma is a lack of curiosity with a sense of cultural animosity as an obstacle. The best musicians see all music as worthy of study and appreciation. The musicians of note explore the music of everyone to find influences and include them into their own repertoire.
In the early 90’s, I would go to dives that featured jazz open mics. I would bring my horn and wait my turn. Every house band had a different style. In the time during the sets with other players before I got called up to play, I’d do my best to decode the nuances of the musical conversation to see where I might fit in with my voice. If I was patient, I could fit right in. If I was too focused on my jam and not the collaboration, it was abysmal.
I understand the desire of the far ends of society looking to segregate from the rest. The musical conversations are easier when playing with those already in tune with our tone. I do not have any interest in a George Wallace separate but equal world. I do not believe in segregation. I want to live in a society where Charlie Parker can play with a chamber orchestra and Aerosmith can create with Run DMC.
The only way that happens is if we each are curious enough to listen to the music made by those who sing a different song, find the rests in between the notes, and contribute to the composition rather than live with discord.
