The Style Council was one of my favorite groups back on my teen years. Some of its songs still fit me really well on my mid years. I wold even dare to say only now I really get the point.
There were some verses I particularly liked to repeat (eyes shut to enjoy the moment):
I am only sad in a natural way
and I enjoy, sometimes, feeling this way…
Sad in a natural way in a great pitch, but what does it mean? It is funny, but so many years after listening it, I finally felt them. The melancholic joy of a natural sadness is something hard to explain, but I knew I was experiencing it when I finally hit the “send” button.
I was a hard to finish task, suggested by a mentorship on business management for musicians I am taking, and it consisted of making a playlist of my unpublished songs, the ones which are on phase 0, roughly more than a draft, just my voice and nothing else.
What a difficult thing it was to open dusty archives and come across old recordings! It was like leafing through a photo album of older versions of myself, and I had no idea how outdated I was about myself. So many surprises! And I mean surprise on every level of the word.
Some songs were far more developed than I remembered. Others were mere fragments that worked better once connected. I had much better finished material than I remembered, and truly enjoyed what I found out when I looked closely at it. But if I was so pleased, why did I feel “sad in a natural way”?
Because in those songs of my past self were also my past stories, pains and joys. The odes to the objects of my passions, the memories of the moments lived.
If I could, how much advice would I not have given to my past self! Would I have lost the idea of many songs? Sure, but it would also have saved me many nights of sleep and many tears, as well.Would it have been worth it?
How many of those experiences could I have done without and still be the person I am today?But would it really have been better? Would I be a better me, so to speak? In other words, would I have been able to create what I create today if I hadn’t had these experiences?
I highly doubt it. Not that my current persona is the pinnacle of human development, far from it, but it is indisputably the result of the experiences I have had so far. For better or for worse.
If being stuck in the past sounds like being a prisoner of a specific period of your life, pretending the past never existed sounds like a detachment from reality. Of course, looking back on the past is never the same. As we move forward in our lives, the conflicts we have overcome tend to seem silly and we ask ourselves: “How could I have suffered so much over something so unimportant?”
But instead of invalidating my past selves, I think it is much more productive to keep the precious lessons they have to teach me, and use them whenever a new challenge presents itself: After all, yesterday’s difficulty also seemed insurmountable at some point, and yet here we are.
Have I overcome all the difficulties I encountered along the way? Of course not! Some I have overcome, others I have simply bypassed, and there is always the risk that I will still have to overcome them at the next turn. It is all part of the game.
It has been a slow first half of the year for me in music business. I do try to keep myself busy, but it has been hard to avoid having some serious conversations with myself about failure, aka “the forbidden word of contemporary times”.
Failure has become a sin, a bad word that we shy away from in conversation. It carries a heavy weight in our craving-for-quick-results society, where success is relentlessly celebrated and expected at every turn. But the obsession with immediate gratification leaves little room for the valuable lessons that come from stumbling and falling short.
Although the idea of what does it mean to be a hit or a failure is hard to describe, we all know how does failure feels. Even the mere possibility of it lurks in the corners of our ambitions, feeding on our fears and insecurities, often making us hesitant to dream big or pursue our passions wholeheartedly.
Yet, in those open-hearted talks with myself, I have come to realize that failure is not an end but rather a crucial part of the journey toward success.
The first positive side of failure is that it only comes to those who have tried. and trying is always better than having the question “what would have happened if I had…” constantly haunting you. It also teaches you resilience, reveals character, and provides invaluable lessons that may foster growth and personal development, if you let it happen.
But, maybe the most important thing about failure is that it provides a very good scale for your passion. How so? Well, I believe we all agree that failure is not something pleasant. It hurts the ego, it brings you confusion and disappointment, but that said, how hard you want to give your passion a second try?
If despite the bad experience and even without any security that things will work out the next time, even though you want to try it again, then there is no doubt you are dealing with something very important to you, something that you simply cannot do without, your true vocation if you will. In short: you are a person with a quest, and the way I see it, people with quests are the best.
The world is a mess and if your are willing to go through all the trouble (possible failure included) it is because of a calling, and that is huge! So huge that the ups and downs will be part of your way, but they will not affect the core of what you do.
When you manage to see obstacles as essential experiences, fluctuations will not affect the essence of what you do. Your commitment remains unwavering, like a compass, steady and free from the shackles of societal expectations.
Sure we all think about quitting here and then. Sure we all need a little help here and there. And sure, we might come to the conclusion that maybe it is time to finish a chapter when the weight of our struggles feels unbearable. However, it is crucial to remember that under no circumstances should one take a drastic decision based on a singular failure, as mistakes are often stepping stones to growth and success.
Instead of letting temporary setbacks define our path, embrace then (as graceful as you can) and let them lead you to a more profound understanding of what it means to persevere and truly strive for a goal.
Today is International Jazz Day (Hurray!). This year, I propose a reflection on the role of AI in jazz. Is is just anothert tool? A threat?
Here are some reflections on AI’s rising influence and growing presence in the music industry, from song generation to virtual instruments and its impact on the future of a genre deeply rooted in human creativity and improvisation. You may read the txt or watch the video. Enjoy!
jAIzz
Close your eyes and imagine the smoky haze of a jazz club. Suddenly, it hits you, that unmistakable, infectious beat. Take Five, the iconic jazz anthem by Paul Desmond, immortalized by the Dave Brubeck Quartet, washes over you.
The melody is both complex and playful, the rhythm a daring departure from the norm. Take Five isn’t just a song, it’s an experience, it’s a conversation between instruments, a spontaneous outpouring of creativity and emotion. It is jazz at its finest, unpredictable, soulful and undeniably human.
But what happens when this human element, the very soul of jazz, faces an unexpected partner on stage, artificial intelligence? The world of music is no stranger to innovation. Throughout history, musicians and inventors have pushed boundaries, always searching for new ways to express creativity and emotion. From the invention of the gramophone to the birth of digital recording, technology has always shaped how we create and consume music.
Each breakthrough has opened up fresh possibilities, transforming not just the sounds we hear, but the very process of making music itself. What is new in the case of artificial intelligence is the fact that it’s not just a new game player, it’s a game changer. Algorithms can compose songs that are often indistinguishable from human creations.
The new technologies are able to listen, adapt and respond, creating a dynamic musical conversation. These systems can analyze countless styles and genres, learning to mimic the nuances of jazz improvisation in real time. A world where AI algorithms collaborate with human musicians is no longer a piece of science fiction, it is happening now.
As AI technology continues to evolve, its impact on the future of jazz is becoming impossible to ignore. The next era of music is unfolding before our eyes, and AI is part of it. The boundaries between human creativity and machine intelligence are becoming increasingly blurred, but the marriage of jazz and AI is a complex one though.
It is filled with promises and uncertainty. AI offers jazz musicians incredible new tools for creation and collaboration, opening doors to sounds and ideas that may have never been explored before. Imagine an AI program that can analyze your improvisations, learn from your style, and even suggest harmonies, rhythms or chord progressions you might not have considered.
Acting as a creative partner rather than just a tool. But again, is a tool ever just a tool? Let’s go back to 1966, when French philosopher Michel Foucault brilliantly approached the topic of the subject in his analysis of the painting Las Meninas, an oeuvre from 1656 by Spanish painter Diego Velázquez. On the canvas, the main motif of the painting, the representation of King Philip IV and his wife Mariana, is reduced to a mere reflection in a tiny mirror on the wall.
While the painter himself and secondary elements of the scene are moved to the front of the composition, Foucault perceives in the inversion of the roles proposed by Velázquez a breaking point. The subject of the painting is replaced by representation, and the representation becomes the main subject. Free from its reference, which is now relegated to a supporting position, representation no longer needs to belong to anyone or point to anything except itself.
Certainly, the history of humanity is full of examples that show that any technological innovation provokes heated reactions, both for and against it. On the other hand, denying that we are facing a peculiar challenge, to say the least, is tantamount to denying climate change, on the grounds that weather has always changed. What is at stake here is much more than a mere personal, aesthetic choice, but rather a collective, ethical attitude towards the future of a music genre.
Why? First of all, because the golden days of believing in a neutral form of technology are over, if they ever existed. This was not the case in analog times, and is absolutely not the case in the digital age. And yet, many creators refer to AI as just a tool.
Well, if you think that a complex system, such as artificial intelligence, is just a tool, and that tools are neutral entities, above the good and the evil, perhaps it is interesting to ask yourself, every time you find yourself in front of a tool, be it your car or your tablet, who produced it? Who distributes it? Is it free? Is it accessible to all? If such questions never occurred to you, then probably you are in a position that allows you to take the access to technology for granted, and to consider it as a fundamental right. A position that sets you at a remarkable advantage compared to the substantial amount of people all over the world that cannot take potable water for granted, let alone the access to the internet. Secondly, because there is no such thing as a free lunch, we know that, at the end of the day, we, humans, are the ones providing the data that feeds AI.
And this often occurs without our knowledge, and through rules that are still very opaque to the average user. The overwhelming majority of us ignore the extent to which all of this information is used. The lines between the surface web, the deep web, and the no man’s land called the dark web often overlap, and the popularization of the use of AI brings a powerful player into the game.
The problem is that no one knows for sure how this player behaves on the field. Finally, I believe that the discussion about the use of AI is not limited to personal preferences, but rather is linked to collective issues, because the promise behind all the promises that AI makes to us is that of a future of infinite creative possibilities, which cannot be experienced unless collectively. After all, your work alone does not bring much to the database, but a world of wonders is just a click away, as long as we all agree to take part in the farewell ceremony to authorship and copyrights, at least concerning individuals, since corporations are usually quite effective in finding loopholes to circumvent sanctions imposed on ordinary citizens.
Appealing to an idealized future is a good pitch, but it hides the fact that artificial intelligence is actually tied to the past. As member of the Brazilian Academy of Sciences, neuroscientist Roberto Lent recently pointed out, quote, artificial intelligence depends on the past, on a huge database to function. It deals with this data in a passive way, while the human brain deals better with the future, creating new information.
So, AI accumulates what humans have created and uses it for functions that resemble what the human brain does. But what really creates knowledge is the human brain, unquote. Back to jazz, can an algorithm truly understand the soul of a genre born from human experience, emotion, and the freedom to break the rules? Or does it risk turning a deeply personal art form into something mechanical and predictable? At its core, jazz is about improvisation, the art of spontaneous musical experience.
Each performance embraces the unexpected, and it is unique, shaped by the chemistry between players and the mood of the audience, and the mood of the musicians as well. Jazz is about feeling the music deep within your bones and letting it flow out through your instrument. The magic of improvisation lies in its unpredictability and the way it captures fleeting moments of inspiration and emotion.
But, again, can AI, bound by algorithms and devoid of genuine emotion, ever truly grasp the essence of improvisation? Can a machine, no matter how advanced it, understand the subtle cues, the silent communication, and the emotional depth that define a great jazz performance? Can it replicate the raw, unfiltered emotions that give jazz its complexity? Or is there something inherently human about the way we express ourselves through music, something that can’t be programmed or predicted? These questions challenge us to consider what it truly means to create art, to improvise, to connect with one another through music, and to find meaning in the spontaneous beauty of the moment. But, after all, what about our main question? Will AI enhance the human experience of jazz, or will it dilute its essence? The answer, like a complex jazz melody, is full of nuances. But one thing is clear, it’s up to us, the listeners and creators, to shape the future of jazz.
As for AI, just as Velazquez reduced the subject to a reflection in the mirror, but could not totally get rid of it, artificial intelligence cannot do without the continuous human production either, under the penalty of becoming an obsolete tool. The future of jazz remains a human specialty and responsibility.
A few weeks ago I saw a call for applications for the use of a recording studio. The application form was not very complicated, but I had to write a description of the project. Since I had not come up with a name yet, I started thinking about a good one that would convey what I wanted to express.
When I finally managed to think of a title that I liked, something that truly resonated with the theme I was aiming for, I opened the application page with a sense of anticipation, only to discover that all the positions had already been filled.
A wave of disappointment washed over me and left me with a harsh (and not exactly new), but valuable lesson that I should never forget (again): if you wait too long to seize an opportunity, you may miss it. And how much time I wasted looking for the perfect title, which will now be shelved until a new opportunity arises! It wold for sure have been better to send a less perfect title that could had been modified later, but now it was just too late.
Time, relentless, marches on, urging us to act decisively. We know what happens when we refuse this call: the more we hesitate, the more we allow our ambitions and passions to fade into the background, leaving us with a sense of regret and what could have been. Every moment we hesitate not only allows our ambitions to fade but also creates a chasm between us and our goals, ultimately limiting our control over life.
The fear of making the wrong choice can paralyze you and it is not hard to find why. After all, making decisions, either big or small, can be very hard for numerous reasons, such as the potential for failure, the expectation of others, or the innate desire for perfection.
However, it is important to recognize that each choice we make, regardless of its outcome, contributes to our personal growth. Our control over our lives is subject to the control of time over all things, including ourselves. Every moment wasted in indecision can lead to lost opportunities, and many lost opportunities are the stuff of which lost dreams are made.
The ability to weigh options and consider consequences is a crucial skill that builds confidence over time, ultimately making the next decision a bit lighter than the previous one, since we begin to understand ourselves, our choices and their potential impacts better.
In the situations that life presents, it is not always up to us to make the decision, but when there is this gap, we must use our capacity for agency to the maximum. As hard as decisions may be, they are our opportunity to assert ourselves; otherwise, it is life that will invariably decide for us, and we may find ourselves being swept along by circumstances rather than steering our own course.
Each choice has the potential to guide us toward opportunities we never imagined possible or to steer us away from our goals. Embracing the potential of our agency allows us to shape our destinies, ensuring that we do not merely react to the tides of life but actively sail towards our desired shores.
This week I am going to record some new songs. The recording studio environment is not unanimous among musicians. Some say that the recording atmosphere never matches the energy on stage and therefore would be a lesser representation of the real potential of the artist, and I understand their point. In my case, however, I love both situations.
Sure there are some shortcomings in capturing sounds. I once heard a guitarist say something very clever about using microphones that also applies to recording sessions: “It’s a losing battle.” Indeed.
There is no denying that no device will be able to reproduce the natural voice, with all its imperfections and unique sonic details, during a live, unamplified performance. There is something magical about this unmediated contact between the voice of the singer and the ears of the audience, no arguing with that.
Another interesting aspect that greatly differentiates these two types of performance is the ability to correct your voice. If you, like me, perform live without using any technology to correct your voice (Pro Tools, etc.), then you will understand what I mean. When you go up on stage, everything is for real and it only happens once: Did you get the lyrics wrong? Keep going! Did your voice fail? Keep going! The stage is perhaps one of the places that best illustrates the maxim “The show must go on”. Recording, however, is a completely different story.
You will always want to record one more line, re-record a verse, try out some idea for the chorus. And even when everything goes well, you will inevitably hear from your producer (in my case, from myself): ‘I want to do another take, just in case.’ In a live performance, the song is finished when it is finished, but in a studio session, well, the work is never really finished, or you will never really consider it finished.
I think that was the great moral I took from the video in which I recorded the entire recording session of a song (yes, just one). There are moments of great discovery, about how an ultra-powerful microphone was not the best suited for my voice or the difficulties of recording a guide vocal.
It is not an edited video. It is raw material, just like that which we have when we leave a studio, before the mixing process. It is a raw record of one of the aspects of the job of a singer job, but perhaps it would be interesting to you because it is also an example of how to deal with a team and, above all, of accepting that, many times, it is the clock that will dictate the pace of your creativity.
The song is called “Cadê Você?” (Where Are You?), and I guess I can call it a waltz. The recording took place in the studio of the State Library Park in Rio de Janeiro. The musician who accompanies me is Guido Tornaghi, and the technicians are Leo Nzazi and Davi Amorim.
GEISA FERNANDES 