"Bullfighting and jazz are two minor arts with much in common. At the
beginning
of the century they were national and special; and both depended on
collective
improvisation. In New Orleans, the trumpet, trombone, and clarinet
improvised
on a given melody; in Spain, the picador, banderillero, and matador
improvised
on the theme of a given fighting bull. Suddenly, in the 1920s, there arose
in both
countries a revolutionary performer who not only changed the course of the
art
he was practising but made it for the first time internationally renowned.
In Spain,
Juan Belmonte, and in America, Louis Armstrong. Outside their countries of
origin, both were predictably reviled as harbingers of fiendish moral
depravity.
"In the 1930s commercialism takes over. We hear on one side that
bullfighting
has been ruined by the mechanical, crowd-pleasing efficiency of Domingo
Ortega; and on the other that jazz has been killed by the popular triumphs
of
Benny Goodman. The first hints of resurrection appear in 1939; at Minton's,
in Harlem, a nucleus of venturesome musicians inaugurates the modern
movement
in jazz; and in Spain, a lean young rebel named Manolete takes the *alternativa
*and
becomes a full matador. There follows, in both countries, a ferocious
struggle
between the supporters of modernism and the adherents to tradition. The
arrival
of the LP permits a favoured soloist to improvise for fifteen minutes
without
interruption; at the same time, bullfighters develop the habit of prolonging
the
*faena*--the series of passes that precedes the kill--until it becomes the
focal point
of the spectacle. Traditionalists love teamwork; modernists love soloists;
and
the battle in both countries remains unresolved for more than a decade. An
armistice is ultimately achieved. In jazz as in bullfighting, there arises a
modern
classicist, one who combines the best of both worlds. In Spain, his name is
Antonio Ordóñez, the *Número Uno* of living matadors. In America it is Miles
Davis.
"The Spanish have a word, *duende*. It has no exact English equivalent, but
it denotes the quality without which no flamenco singer or bullfighter can
conquer the summit of his art. The ability to transmit a profoundly felt
emotion
to an audience of strangers with the minimum of fuss and the maximum of
restraint: that is as near as our language can get to the full meaning of
*duende*. Laurence Olivier has it; Maurice Evans does not. Billie Holiday
had
it, and so did Bessie Smith; but Ella Fitzgerald never reached it. It is the
quality that differentiates Laurette Taylor from Lynn Fontanne, Ernest
Hemingway from John O'Hara, Tennessee Williams from William Inge.
Whatever else he may lack, Miles Davis has *duende."*
--Kenneth Tynan, c. 1963
Hal
"Never underestimate the power of stupid
people in large groups."
--George Carlin
Halvard Johnson
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