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Edward O. Bland is a true Renaissance man in the jazz world: a composer, performer, A&R man for Vanguard in the 1970s, and filmmaker. His 1959 film The Cry of Jazz never received wide distribution and was unavailable commercially for decades until Atavistic Records released a DVD version.
The Cry of Jazz is an important document for Sun Ra fans, as the film's entire score is comprised of early recordings by the Sun Ra Arkestra. In addition, it includes rare footage of Ra, saxophonist John Gilmore and the rest of the Arkestra performing in Chicago during the 1950s. Hearing the musicians during this incipient phase of their creative formation, when their music sits astride traditional and outward bound musical formats, is both engaging and instructive.
The film itself offers insights into the dialogue of the early Civil Rights movement and its relationship to the arts. The setting is simple: a group of young people are chatting with a group of musicians after their weekly "jazz club" meeting. Besides being as square as can be, the (primarily Caucasian) jazz club members are oblivious to the social content of jazz, viewing it as music for entertainment's sake and little else; they don't even see the distinction between jazz and rock 'n roll.
The African-American musicians try to explain the ramifications of jazz as part of the social fabric of America. They compare the juxtaposition of "freedom vs. restraint" in the musical elements of the form with same aspects of the struggle of African-American people to participate in American society. The musicians also suggest that jazz is a key to shared understanding between the races in America.
Some of the jazz club members bristle at the notion of jazz being the sole provenance of African-American musicians, suggesting that Caucasian musicians like Benny Goodman are an important part of its progress as well. At this point, the Arkestra interjects a deliberately square Goodman parody that is as much a refutation of this notion as any of the ensuing speeches.
The jazz musicians go still further, suggesting that jazz as a progressive art form is dead; without swing and clear harmonic changes, jazz has been pushed to its limit. It is interesting to note when this argument is being posited; within a few years, Ornette Coleman, Cecil Taylor, John Coltrane and Eric Dolphy would all create some of the most seminal works of the Free Jazz movement. Still, to Bland (and the musicians who serve as his advocates in the film), jazz by 1959 had reached its zenith as a progressive art form. They argue that it is now more useful as a document of cultural history, a way to instruct the rest of America on the plight of African Americans.
The Cry of Jazz is an interesting document of cultural history in its own right, espousing the views and delineating the arguments of a certain segment of the early civil rights movement. I don't think that anyone (least of all Mr. Bland, as shall soon be seen) would suggest that the film is well-acted; much of the script is delivered in a broad style, often overly emotive and clumsy in execution. But this proves to be beside the point -- the message of the film is clearly represented by the heart-rending scenes of urban poverty and the poignancy of the musical score. These aspects alone, as well as the fascinating Sun Ra footage, make The Cry of Jazz a worthy counterpart to the recently re-released Space is the Place (1974). Space is the Place is the more readily entertaining film, serving as both a parody of the Blaxploitation genre and a tutorial on the Space music of the Arkestra's mature style. Still, both films are worthy parts of the Sun Ra mythos in their own way, reflective of their own era's cultural gestalt and serving as a snapshot of the Arkestra in different times.
Recently, I had the opportunity to discuss The Cry of Jazz with its creator, Edward O. Bland. Although Mr. Bland and I don't agree on the relevance of free jazz as part of the evolving jazz tradition, I was intrigued by his remarks on the genesis of the film, the recent renewed interest in it and how the issues raised in The Cry of Jazz can resonate with the strife and struggles of our own time.
Splendid: How did the Atavistic re-release of The Cry of Jazz come about?
Bland: I can only partially speculate. Part of their interest seemed to develop out of repeated screenings in the Chicago area (during the last few years) at the Siskel/Ebert Institute, The Art Institute, Northwestern University, and Atavistic's interest in Sun Ra's music and career. Couple the above with an interest and appreciation of the message of the film and it was accomplished.
Splendid: How did you come to work with Sun Ra on the film?
Bland: Given the economic basis of our budget, it was obvious that we would have to use music that was already recorded in order to have a sound track, otherwise I would've written it myself. The film was produced for $3,500 USD (1959) out of pocket, including 65 people who we convinced to donate their services to the film.
After inquiring among musicians I'd performed with in Chicago about whose music would be appropriate for our film, Sun Ra was recommended. I knew that he had recorded a bit of his music on his label Saturn, and that it was interesting music. After hearing and studying the recordings, I gave him and his advisers a copy of the script. They approved and their participation was secured.
Splendid: Some of the most affecting images in the film are the scenes of urban poverty; they are also scored with care and delicacy. What was your process in creating these?
Bland: The locations for the documentary scenes of black life were chosen by Nelam Hill and myself. We got Hank Starr, and later Howard Alk, who edited the film, to shoot those scenes. During editing, Howard and I laid the music against the images.
Splendid: There is a "stylized" sensibility to the acting, even when judged by the standards of the 1950s. Characters talk directly to the camera and often speak in broad, sweeping and even polemical statements. Was this a conscious decision?
Bland: It was a conscious decision, because at that time we didn't know any better. Also we figured that being straightforward was the way to have most impact. Obviously the acting and some of the dialogue scenes are quite amateurish.
With that in mind, the new interest in the film that reignited during the '90s was surprising to me. It was explained to me that the advent of amateurism and the confrontational style that marks the use of the video camera and Hip-Hop and Rap made the artistic shortcomings of the Cry quite acceptable for younger audiences.
Splendid: Looking back, your argument in 1959 about jazz's progress being stalled is an interesting one. While it is prescient in many ways, particularly in its concern over whether swing could survive innovation, in the next few years, free jazz would explode and move in a number of different directions. How do you feel today about this component of the film's message?
Bland: The free jazz movement is quite various. My reaction to it is, for the most part, negative. I have always considered Ornette Coleman to be a pathetic musician, but a clever self-marketer. Cecil Taylor is a fine performing musician but a weak composer. Considering that it's been extant for about 40 years, what musical monuments does it have to show as its achievement, compared to a less or comparable time period for bebop, swing, or early jazz?
Jazz was over with about the time this movie came out. Rock and Roll took over pop music circa l954. Soul and R&B ruled for decades, and Hip Hop started at least as early as 1974. It now rules the roost.
Splendid: Looking at the film after all of this time, what do you feel that it offers as a document of its time and as a film of any time?
Bland: If the conception of Black Culture had existed or had been current when this film debuted, I think our reception might've been quite different. The conservatives like Pat Buchanan are quite right, because what the US and for that matter the planet faces is Cultural Warfare, which seems to be tending toward the victory of Black American Culture. Viewed in that matter, the Cry is not only a document of the '50s but of global events taking place right now, and a harbinger of an evolving planet culture.
-- Christian Carey
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