JL: Have your interests changed in the course of doing work? I saw that you’ve done some research on social alienation and cultural destruction… pretty heavy topics, though always relevant. Have you, at any time, felt like you needed to step away from a project?
CB: Yeah, I’ve interviewed more than 80 people and maintaining some kind of critical distance can be hard. I write, I go to shows, I have a site, I do two different music series, one at my loft, one at a public venue. So I think one just has to be careful as they go through it. How do you continue to maintain a critical eye, where you could potentially offend people… Because undoubtedly you end up focusing on some people more than others.
JL: Especially in creating visibility.
CB: Yeah, so those are challenges, but not things you can’t overcome. I try to approach every artist as someone who has a legitimate and autonomous voice. Because I’m working in the avant-garde, it’s art that really pushes the envelope, as it should, I think. So you kind of have to take it on its own terms. Most of it’s rebelling against something, or clashing against something, or pushing into new territory. So that’s how you get around it. Look at each individual artist and try to see the world from their perspective. And then, try to get a sense… Is this a major contribution? Is this a smaller contribution? But I also think it’s a history of a community and not an individual or even just a few individuals. I try to avoid holding up only a few people because anyone who writes about art realizes it’s a communal process. People are always influencing each other, there’s always unsung heroes. I try to go beyond the surface. I don’t think it’s any exaggeration to say that the Brooklyn music scene is experiencing a golden age. There’s a tremendous amount of output. That’s not to say I don’t have many criticisms. But a lot of it isn’t getting recognized, and I think I’m trying to bring more visibility to it.
JL: Do you think, where the scene stands right now, you have to go out of your way to find it? Not someone like you, but someone new to the scene. I don’t have much experience with contemporary jazz, so how would I get into that more?
CB: Well, you could go to my website: www.jazzrightnow.com. That’s where I would start. There’s also a number of regular series happening now.
JL: So do you think the fact that people have to find these places and get there makes it an endeavor…. Do you think that, in a way, that adds to the quality of the people there?
CB: Yeah I do. And some of the more exciting stuff is probably the stuff happening underground, in the lofts and house-concerts. There’s a huge house-concert movement going on now.
JL: And people just open up and come play?
CB: Yeah, and I would include my house series in that. It’s very personal. It’s even more community oriented. There’s no commercial element at all, so if it’s really pushing the experimental zone. You don’t have to worry about annoying bar guests or if you’ve attracted enough people. I list some of those on my site, and others you just get into the more you’re involved. But I guess it can be intimidating, it is so abstract. It’s about the experience, the emotions that you feel, the images it conjures up, and I think some people are intimidated by that. It’s a little different from a singer-songwriter…
JL: Well, they have words.
CB: Right. And because of the abstract nature of the music, people sometimes don’t understand why certain things are “good” or “not good”. But because it’s about the feeling, because it’s abstract, it’s very individual. Someone might think one thing is incredible and someone else might think, not so much.
JL: So then do you think it becomes something that people can’t really judge? If it is just about the experience?
CB: Right, I guess that’s fair.
JL: Before I came here, I was thinking about this newspaper clipping I have on my wall of a Duke Ellington quote: “As the birds sing out that wild jazz, they communicate”. I think there’s something that just really resonates with me about that… the way I feel about jazz, the way I feel about music, the ability to communicate so much more in the abstract, where there are no words to guide you along… I wanted to know if you ever feel like language is limited? Do you think we can we communicate more effectively outside of language?
CB: Yeah, I do think language is limited. I’ve had really amazing, life changing experiences listening to music. And I think that happens when you let go and let it take you some place. First I would say, this is experiential music. It’s something that you go and hear it, and you feel it, and it makes you think… but it’s not like that for everybody. A handful of concerts I had been to since moving here have changed me forever. I don’t mean that as hyperbole. They had a really profound effect on my body and my way of thinking.
JL: And isn’t that the aim of art?
CB: Right, if you’re willing to let yourself go and have an experience, it can be overwhelming. Sometimes it’s actually been so intense that it was too much. And that’s not anything against the artist. I was maybe in a really vulnerable place and I was too receptive to it. There’s been times where I absorbed so much of the energy of the music that I couldn’t sleep afterwards. Like at two in the morning, you’re still feeling it. But as a music writer, you can never really do it justice. You can do your best. There’s an Eric Dolphy quote that goes something like: “once the music has stopped, it’s in the air for a little while, and then it’s gone”. And that’s the ephemeral nature of music. Unlike other art forms, you experience it and then it’s done. Even if you carry it with you, it probably won’t ever be the same set in the next performance.
JL: I know I’ve been asking a lot about jazz, but do you think this has been the thing that has most influenced you?
CB: Certainly in my recent years. I didn’t see myself going in this direction. It was kind of a hobby. I actually got into it in graduate school because I needed something to listen to that didn’t have words, while I studied. So it just kind of snowballed. I was listening to a lot of younger musicians because I was seeking them out. But even in Madison, I never expected I’d be living here or going to see them on a nightly basis. I would never have thought I’d be writing a book on the Brooklyn nightly music scene.
JL: That’s hopeful. So often now, especially going through the education system, we try so hard to stay within a certain structure. And I like, after talking to you, understanding that thing’s change.
CB: Yeah, I think the music called me and I wanted to do something, write something about it. I’ve seen so many great artists, many of whom have gotten little recognition for their incredible work. I feel like that motivates me everyday, thinking about what’s happening on the scene right now. I think it’s also a matter of awareness. I could have continued doing the research that I was doing…
JL: In relation to your work in Thailand?
CB: Yeah. And I didn’t abandon that research. But being aware, looking at what’s around me, rather than plunging forward, is what I’ve been trying to do with this project. I feel so fortunate to have been able to do that.
JL: I imagine I’d feel so fulfilled. If you weren’t doing this, is there something else you would want to be doing?
CB: Funny enough, I remember when I was doing my dissertation research in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia and I wasn’t sure if when I finished, I would get a job. I remember my backup plan was to move to New York and try to run a music venue, which I guess sometimes isn’t the best business prospect, but in a way this is my dream come true. I feel like I’ve managed to bring those two things together. It’s wonderful to have work that motivates me everyday. I get up, I don’t drink coffee… I don’t need any other stimulation. It’s exciting, it’s right in front of me.
JL: That’s what it’s all about. If only more people could feel that way, right? Has music always been a part of your life, then? My Dad loved punk in high school and was always at CBGB’s, so we grew up appreciating music because of him. Has music always been your thing? Is there a record or song you can remember that deeply affected you and got you into music?
CB: Yeah, and I’m a little embarrassed. I’m from Generation X, and for me it was Nirvana’s Nevermind. The first time I heard that, I had never heard anything like it before. It was the first music I had passionately loved, I listened to it on repeat. And then I got into other bands… Rage Against the Machine, Alice and Chains, Pearl Jam…
JL: Oh yeah, come on. They’re great.
CB: Just yesterday I was wearing my Alice in Chains t-shirt that I’ve had since high school…
JL: Did you ever get to see Nirvana?
CB: Never got to see them, and I wish I had.
JL: I wonder if that would have changed anything.
CB: Oh, I’m sure. And live is something completely different.
JL: It’s funny, how you went from, what I guess is - despite their rejection of the label, “grunge” to jazz.
CB: There’s a few in between. But I actually went through a phase where I didn’t listen to music at all.
JL: Didn’t listen to music at all?
CB: No, I was disillusioned with it. It was like ‘99-2000.
JL: Kurt Cobain died, you might as well just get away from music altogether.
CB: Kurt Cobain was out. I just felt like the worst pop music was on the radio. And then I got really into the band Bright Eyes for some reason. I think it was the undercurrent of a lot of the political stuff happening at the time. Just the songs that he wrote about, like the protest outside of the 2004 Republican convention in New York. So I think a lot of the stuff resonated with my disillusionment, not only with American mainstream culture, but also politics. But then there were some huge jazz records that really had an impact on me. Some of them are really well known and some of the aren’t. For me, there was a live record that had Thelonious Monk and John Coltrane playing at Carnegie Hall. That was huge for me. That re-engaged me with improvised music in a new way. Then I got into Eric Dolphy. There were three records that he did at the Five Spot in 1961 with Booker Little. Those were hugely transformational for me. One of the first contemporary players that I listened to was the artist, Taylor Ho Bynum. He was a trumpet player who put out a record called “ The Middle Picture”. From that record I looked up the artists who played with him, and that’s how I got into other artists in New York. It was huge for me. There’s a long list, and I’m even leaving out other amazing artists. But if you’re open to it… I think in our teenage years we stop listening to new things. I almost did that.
JL: I do that now. I get so into what I love, I almost don’t want to listen to anything else.
CB: I somehow managed to reconnect in graduate school because I just needed it. I needed something. It was a dark period for the country. Post 9/11. American pop music had never been worse… Politics were about as toxic as it’s ever been in my lifetime. So I felt like I needed something. This was in 2003, 2004, 2005… For me, it’s therapeutic. Sometimes I want to listen to depressing music.
JL: Yeah, it doesn’t matter where you are or who you’re with, you turn it on and you’re somewhere else.
CB: Or you’re singing to yourself…
JL: Always. So I know music is such a big part of your life. What are you doing when you’re not writing or listening to music? Is there ever a time without it?
CB: As weird as it might seem, I actually really appreciate silence. I can overdose on music too. So I have to take breaks from it. I think I’m a very solitary person in many ways. I really like my alone time. When I write at home, that is me and my words. And in those times, I don’t listen to music.
JL: You need time to reflect.
CB: And really focus. But I do find, like in the summer, sometimes I start to hit a wall where I need more social interaction. So there is a balance. But in many ways music is about community.
JL: So when you’re researching or writing, is there another space you go to just to get away for a moment? In the city at least?
CB: Sometimes I’ll just go out for a walk, clear my head. I live in Bushwick, so you’re never alone. It’s always loud. I moved there because I knew it would be a loud neighborhood. I do have a space I go to I guess, the Stone. It is the most important experimental avant-garde music venue in New York City without a doubt. It’s run by John Zorn, a pretty well-known figure. It’s on Avenue C and East 2nd. And there’s no bar… you go and it’s just a listening room. Every time I go, I run into people I know.
JL: Is that a good thing? If you’re trying to go somewhere to get away?
CB: That’s a good point. I think that is a good thing for me, because usually I am seeking that out. I think my apartment is my solitude, where I write. When I leave, I’m looking for something else. New York just has that energy. But it’s being pacified as it gentrifies.
JL: I think this is why I’m so interested in the relation between private and public space. I feel like gentrification is an emphasis on private space, and we lose that sense of community when it changes.
CB: And when things gentrify, the first public spaces to be eliminated are music venues. Years ago, Williamsburg had more venues than all of Brooklyn combined. People started moving there for the culture, but they didn’t want the music venue on their block. It was okay if that was on a different block, but not on theirs. They didn’t want the noise, or the crowds, or the concerts until 2 AM… people talking, smoking doing whatever... so they kill it. The people moving into those neighborhoods kill it. Then the neighborhoods become quiet. I lived in Park Slope before Bushwick, and I have nothing good to say about Park Slope as a neighborhood.
JL: And when was this?
CB: 2013. I moved out in 2014. It was the worst place. I’ve never disliked a place so much. It’s alienating if you’re not corporate. After 7PM, the whole neighborhood is dead. There’s almost nobody out on the streets or making noise.
JL: I guess everyone’s doing the same thing…
CB: It was eerie. Where’s the life? People talk about the energy of New York, it’s dying. If Park Slope is the future, the energy is dying. I moved to Bushwick, south of Myrtle, in an area that’s going to survive for a while because a lot of people are homeowners. I moved there because I thought it would be a loud neighborhood… but I never thought it would be as loud as it is. I host music events, and I didn’t tell my neighbors at first. Now that the word is out, people that have never experienced improvised music are walking down the street to check it out. I think if you just open the front door, it shows the possibilities. You reach out to the community right in front of them. And I’m amazed. People have told me, “you should have the shows outside”.
JL: So no walls to contain the sound now?
CB: That’s a completely different experience than I would have had in Park Slope. And I couldn’t be happier. Music is community, and if you look at the communities without music, they’re the ones that are dying. These are individuals who happen to live in the same area. They’re not celebrating, dancing, experiencing something collectively… and what else is there?
JL: What then would be the reason for living in the city at all?
CB: Well, I feel like a lot of the people moving to Park Slope now are people that wished they lived in Westchester. They want to be close to work and they want the prestige of living in the city. But they don’t really want to live here. So they change the city. It’s scary and threatening to the whole of the city as an art form.
JL: I find myself thinking about this a lot, it’s extremely discomforting… to say the least.
On a final note, where in life would you say you were most understood? I don’t know if that’s corny or not.
CB: I don’t know if I feel like people always get me, but I’d say it’s never been better than right now. I think, despite the problems that the city faces, this city still has something that I need. It’s a community unlike any other. I feel like twenty years ago, there were different challenges, and we do glorify them a little too much. But today, you just have to be a little more proactive, because if you seek out art and events and music and everything that’s happening, there’s just so much. And that’s the environment that I feel most comfortable in, in terms of being understood. I’ve never felt better than I do right now. I grew up in a small town, I hated it there. I’d never go back. I didn’t feel like anybody got me there.
JL: Which is interesting because I would think a smaller group of people would provide a better chance to know someone.
CB: It’s a little conformist, and that’s part of the problem. It was ultra conservative, everyone dressed the same, they went to one of four churches, you’re one of four North European ethnicities... It was incredibly rigid. It was also incredibly anti-creative and anti-intellectual. But it’s a place where people are really struggling, and I have a lot of compassion for them there. It’s a small town, with a couple of abandoned factories… a little bit of the post-industrial thing. Most people there assume life is going to get worse over time. So it was a toxic environment, but I have nothing but compassion for the people that grew up there because it was a tough place to grow up. I had to get out. I don’t understand why more people don’t get out. Either they don’t realize, or frankly, my family moved there and I had known people whose families had been there for generations… I had never felt at home there. A place like Madison was a little better, but New York… absolutely. There is something for everyone. Sometimes you have to be proactive, you have to seek it out a little more than you had to twenty years ago, but you can do it. You can find your community. If on Monday, you want to find a group who’s getting together to read Medieval Japanese poetry there’s a group who’s doing it. And then on Tuesday, if you want to go and find the gallery that’s exhibiting the sub-sub genre of sculpture that you’re into, you can do that. And then on Wednesday, you can go to the Stone and listen to an amazing set of music... It’s all possible in New York, despite the problems the city has these days. That stuff is still all happening, and anyone who loses sight of that is missing what New York’s all about.
JL: So now, is there anything else you would want to be working on, aside for this project?
CB: I think I’m open to it, but I don’t know where I’ll be in ten years. I’ll certainly continue to be involved in the music scene, but what I’ll be working on, I couldn’t tell you. The same openness that got me here in the first place is something I hope will get me into whatever comes next. For me, I think to be happy on a deep level, I can’t actually plan too much. I just have to engage and try to be open to new experiences and new interests. As we’ve talked about, I never thought I’d be doing this. I’m so fortunate, everyday to be here writing and thinking and researching this music scene. So, next? I just hope it’s exciting and engaging… as invigorating and fulfilling as right now, or even more so.
After doing some research, I found Free 103.9 has a website. I took this as a premature glimmer of hope, until scrolling down to the site’s 2001 date… Charles Waters describes the pirate station and Williamsburg in Riding High with Free103.9 Provocateur DJ Dizzy.