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This is the tenth and final segment of a series of articles on the relationship between jazz and comic books. Go to Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8 or Part 9

In this segment we focus on the intersection of jazz with rhythms that are the basis for the construction of what is understand as Brazilian “popular music”. We will also talk about the frst Brazilian caricaturist Nair de Teffé.

‘Choro’ ou ‘Chorinho’ is a musical genre that is at the genesis of what would become Brazilian popular music. It means ‘little lament’, and encompasses an extensive repertoire of musical styles and compositions, showcasing a diversity of rhythms and melodies. It traditionally features a small ensemble of musicians, including a cavaquinho (a small string instrument), guitar, flute, and pandeiro (tambourine).

While it shares some similarities with the Argentine Tango in terms of emotional depth and virtuosity, Chorinho maintains its distinct characteristics, reflecting the fusion of African and European musical influences, as it happens in jazzz (remember the jazz tree?). The syncopated rhythms and soulful melodies resonated with audiences,an at the end of the 19th century, choro livened up the popular parties, the forrobodós, celebrated by Chiquinha Gonzaga, in Rio de Janeiro.

Chiquinha Gonzaga, born as Francisca Edwiges Neves Gonzaga, was a Brazilian composer, pianist, and conductor. She played a crucial role in the development of Choro music, and

She was also known for her efforts in promoting and legitimizing Brazilian popular music and in the fight for copyright, after suffering from seeing her songs inappropriately appropriated, without having the support of the law to be able to protect her. 1917 Chiquinha Gonzaga founded the Brazilian Society of Theatrical Authors (Sbat, by its acronym in Portuguese), a pioneering entity in the defense of the copyright of theater writers and musical composers in the country.

And what did the first choro musicians play? Polkas, lundus, mazurkas, habaneras (a Cuban genre also called ‘tango-habanera’) and maxixes.

The term “maxixe” has a double meaning, as it refers not only to a popular urban dance style, but also to the music that accompanies this dance, considered immoral by high society at the time.

Because of this discrimination, some composers of the period avoided calling their works maxixe, using other names to classify them. For example, the term ‘Brazilian tango’, was preferred by pianist and composer Ernesto Nazareth to describe his songs. It served both to hide the unwanted kinship with maxixe and to highlight the particularity of his compositions.

This strategic choice not only reflected the desire of Nazareth to distance himself from the maxixe genre, but also emphasized the unique qualities of his musical creations. By associating his music with the tango, Nazareth positioned it within a broader, internationally recognized genre, potentially expanding its appeal and reaching a wider audience.

Maxixe and jazz share several similarities despite their different cultural origins and contexts. Both musical genres emerged from a fusion of various influences and styles, blending traditional elements with innovative improvisation. They are both characterized by syncopation, the offbeat notes, which add a lively and dynamic feel to the music, but the connection between maxixe and jazz runs deeper than just their musical similarities. Both genres have served as outlets for cultural expression and societal change.

Maxixe, a popular dance that gained popularity in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, provided a platform for social interaction and the expression of Brazilian identity. Similarly, jazz, with its roots in African American communities, became a means of voicing the struggles and triumphs of a marginalized group.

A historical event highlights the prejudice faced by popular cultural productions. The episode, known as “A Noite da Corta Jaca” (“The Night of Corta Jaca”), had an unavoidable protagonist: the former first lady Nair de Teffé, who made history by scandalizing parts of the country by performing on the guitar ( an instrument associated with the popular classes and stigmatized as a symbol of vagrancy and marginality) a popular composition.

Born on June 10, 1886 in Petrópolis, Rio de Janeiro, Nair de Teffé von Hoonholtz was an extraordinary talented lady, fluent in six languages. A true Renaissance woman, she was a painter, musician, actress, and a writer.

She was a representative of the aristocracy, and received a humanist education from her father, Baron de Teffé, which gave her the veneer of classical studies. She had a great interest in theater and music, as well as painting and frequented the most elegant circles of the belle époque in Rio de Janeiro.

On October 26th, 1914 she organized a gala party at the government headquarters. The musical selection of such events until then included only classical music pieces. but Nair boldly performed in the guitar the maxixe “Gaúcho (O Corta-jaca)” by Chiquinha Gonzaga.

Despite the applause of those present at the soirée, the performance of the Corta-jaca aroused the ire of the renowned Rui Barbosa, widely considered one of the most eminent jurists in Brazilian history. Barbosa wrote an extensive article severely condemning the performance of popular music at gala events and disqualifying the “popular” music (understood as poor and black) produced in the country at the time.

The extensive critique of Barbosa reflects the complex social dynamics and cultural clashes that permeated the emerging Brazilian society. As a prominent figure in both politics and law, his views carried substantial weight and influence, shaping public opinion.

His stark condemnation of popular music (and, even more scandalous, performed by a woman, who happened to be Fisrt Lady of the country at the time!) is a robust example of deep-seated prejudices, gender and class distinctions prevalent in the Brazilian society. It also shows the challenges faced by marginalized communities in gaining recognition and respect for their artistic expressions.

The criticism did not shake Nair, who was used to controversy. Her talents and accomplishments they were far from being hindered by the Night of Corta-jaca.

A good example of her legacy is her work as a cartoonist. Under the pen-name “Rian”, Nair is also the first female caricaturist in Brazil and possibly one of the pioneers in the field in the world.

The pen-name “Rian” not only obscured her identity, but also masqueraded as a male name, strategically allowing her work to transcend the institutionalized sexism prevalent at the time. It is also ineresting to notice that at the age of 24, Nair de Teffé was already a renowned caricaturist, but she kept her pen-name even after her authorship was revealed.

With the inspiring figure of Nair de Teffé who, in a way, represents the bridge between popular music and the visual arts, we close our series of articles on the intersections between jazz and comic art.

Be seeing you!

G.F.

p.s. This is our 150th blog post. Hurray! Thank you very much for your company!

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This is the ninth part of a series of articles on the relationship between jazz and comic books. Go to Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7 or Part 8

In this segment we will focus on two works, which illustrate the intrinsic relationship between comic books and jazz. The first one is the groundbreaking album The Epic (2015), by Kamasi Washington, jazz saxophonist, composer, and bandleader. He gained widespread acclaim for his contributions to the album To Pimp a Butterfly by Kendrick Lamar (2015).

The Epic solidified the reputation of Washington as a leading figure in contemporary jaz, known for revitalizing the interest in jazz among younger audiences with his ambitious, expansive compositions. The vinyl edition of the album is truly a captivating experience, designed to immerse the listener in an adventure that unfolds across multiple discs.

Each of the LPs represent a new chapter in the musical journey, accompanied by striking black and white photography that beautifully captures the essence of the Afrocentric free jazz aesthetic embodied by influential labels such as Tribe, Strata, and Black Jazz. This approach not only elevates the auditory experience but also adds a visual dimension to the storytelling woven into the music.

The Epic box set also included an graphic novel-inspired collection of images, exploring the conceptual narrative that underpins the compositions, offering enthusiasts a deeper understanding of the creative vision behind the album.

And The Epic continues to resonate. In recent years, Washington has been working on a graphic novel: “I had a dream [with] a story that encompassed all the songs [on The Epic], which really led me to have the conviction that I was really going to put it out. So I’m creating a graphic novel for that.”

The second graphic novel we would like to highlight is Instrumental (2017), by Dave Chisholm, a tale about the transformative power of music, weaving together themes of passion, struggle, and artistic expression.

The graphic novel “Instrumental” by Dave Chisholm offers a compelling journey into the emotional and creative depths of its characters. Chisholm, recognized as an acclaimed jazz musician, skillfully shines a spotlight on the intricate and profound experiences encountered by the characters within the narrative. Described as a high-spirited, suspenseful, formally inventive, and visually musical masterpiece, “Instrumental” delivers an epic yet intimate exploration of our relentless longing and search for what lies ahead.

The graphic novel intricately weaves together elements of music, storytelling, and artistry to create a truly immersive and captivating reading experience. It includes a download of an original jazz soundtrack, composed and performed by the author Dave Chisholm. As readers delve into the pages of this remarkable work, they are treated to a fusion of visual art and musical composition that enhances and enriches the narrative, resulting in a multidimensional journey.

The inclusion of the original jazz soundtrack not only adds an auditory layer to the reading experience but also serves as a testament of the multifaceted talent of Chisholm. As with the work of Washington, the innovative approach underscores the interconnectedness of commic ast and jazz, offering a one-of-a-kind opportunity to engage with narratives that transcends traditional boundaries.

Both works invite the readers/listeners to experience the power of storytelling through a harmonious convergence of music and visual art.

Be seeing you!

G.F

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This is the fifth part of a series on the relationship between jazz and comic books. Go to Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3 or Part 4.

In this segment, we will discuss common aspects between jazz and comic books from the point of view of the context in which both languages were created.

As we saw previously, the new media launched by Alex Steinweiss, the designed covers of jazz albums created a high demand for illustrators, who were often also jazz musicians and used stage experimentation for their graphic work to forge the visual identity of the genre. However, these languages have even stronger and broader connections.

Néstor García Canclini, Argentinian Art History professor living in Mexico in his work Hybrid Cultures – Strategies for Entering and Exiting Modernity refers to comic art as an “impure genre”. According to the author, comic art is endowed with the same capacity as graffiti to transition between image and word, between the erudite and the popular, bringing together characteristics of artisanal and mass production.

Cultural manifestations generated at the points of intersection between the cult and the popular, which do not fit into what Social Sciences call “urban culture” are, according to Canclini, hybrid languages. However, the “marginal language” tag profoundly marked the history of comics.Still seen today as a type of “minor literature”, easy to read, made for illiterate people, comic narratives faced (and still face) a lot of suspicion and the same can be said about jazz.

Phillip Kennedy Johnson writes in his article How Comics Are Becoming Jazz:

Both industries [Comic books and Jazz] struggled with censorship early on, both art forms revolve around a small creative team, and both genres have developed distinct sub-genres, each with its own cult following. The similarities are many and significant, but one of the most striking is the reliance of both art forms on “The Standard” and on the artist/creator

According to Johnson, jazz standards have always been an important vehicle to disseminate jazz. He makes a very interesting analogy about what a “standard” means for jazz and comic books:

Go to a college masterclass by a jazz musician, and often you’ll hear them perform “All The Things You Are,” or “Autumn Leaves,” or “My Funny Valentine,” or some other antique show tune that every jazz student knows. These songs were popular before our parents were born. What inspires jazz musicians to play the same tired old songs generation after generation? A simple, well-constructed theme or chord progression with plenty of room for creative interpretation.

Go to any Artist Alley at any comic convention in the world. You’ll find comics professionals drawing and selling sketches of beloved superheroes, most of which are older than the artists themselves. After all these years, what makes the characters of the comic pantheon so appealing to writers, artists and readers? A simple but compelling theme with plenty of room for creative interpretation.

The standard therefore combines novelty with familiarity. They are the classics and literature and cinema are full of works that cross generations, always raising interest and (sometimes heated) debates. It might be difficult to think of jazz stars dressed as comic book heroes and villains (with the honorable exception of the diva Eartha Kitt, equally iconic in the role of Catwoman), but we can say that Johnson’s observations also apply if we think about how the great figures of jazz are portrayed in comic books.

Whether in fictional graphic novels inspired by the universe of jazz, or in the biographies of musicians and singers, the universe of the genre has a series of distinctive elements, repeated to exhaustion and which, as we will see in the next part of this series, created around the genre a aura that is both cool and dramatic.

Be seeing you!

G.F.

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In the fourth segment of our series of articles on the relationship between jazz and comic books we will discuss the visual design of the genre.Go to Part 1 , Part 2 or Part 3.

Columbia Records was one of the pioneers in creating designs for LP covers and part of its history has Alex Steinweiss as the main character. In the late 1930s, at the age of twenty-two, Steinweiss changed the status of vinyl (until then packaged in cheap paper) by introducing a novelty that would change the world of the music industry: designed covers.

Over three decades Steinweiss developed a style of cover design that remained in dialogue with the viewer. The new media available created a high demand for illustrators, who were often also jazz musicians.

Initially, the inspiration for the album covers came from the European posters from the 1930s. Art-déco was spreading throughout Paris and the work of artists such as A.M. Cassandre, Jean Carlu and Paul Colin brought international attention to modernist art.

Jean-Marie Mouron, better known as A.M. Cassandre was born in Ukraine in 1901, but he moved to France at a young age with his family. Inspired by Cubism and Surrealism, in the 1950s he produced album covers, although his most famous works are posters produced in the 1930s -1940s, as well as the famous logo for the brand of French acclaimed couturier Yves Saint Laurent.

Influenced by Italian futurism, Jean Carlu produced advertising pieces for the label Odéon and Paul Colin signed the poster for “Black Ball” (1927), a performance of his long time friend Josephine Baker.

The poster fashion and art-déco inspiration was later followed by the incorporation of abstract art elements on album covers, with a special appeal for minimalist paintings. An example of how jazz and visual arts interact is the work of the previously mentioned Dutch painter Piet Mondrian (1872-1944) and his canvases structured around a base with sections filled with primary colors and separated by black lines.

Mondrian regularly cited jazz in his articles and personal correspondence, making no secret of the influence influence of the genre on his art and in his life. Broadway Boogie Woogie (1943) is an example of this direct influence.

Celebrated designer Paula Scher called it an “abstract portrait of Manhattan”. Considered by many to be a masterpiece, the canvas not only pictorially represents formal characteristics of boogie woogie (such as the repetition of bass lines), but it also expresses the seduction of the painter by the lights and sounds of New York.

The work of Mondrian continued to inspire the art of albums over the decades, such as the album Byrd Jazz (1956), by Donald Bird, an instrumental version of the Beatles songs by Roger Webb (John, Paul and All That Jazz, 1964), or a collection João Gilberto, Sylvia Telles & Dick Farney, released in 1988 by EMI..

Jim Flora is also a prominent name when it comes to the construction of a language that became typical of jazz at the time. Record collectors easily recognize his style, directly influenced by the comic art. He worked for Columbia in the 1940s and later pursued a career at RCA Victor.

His illustrations were not urban vignettes and did not necessarily reflect the content of the album. Flora stated that he was not woried about making her designs for the covers complement the music of the album. understanding the cover as a place to show his art (“I always thought that the musicians had already done their part and now it was my turn”, he said in a 1984 interview).

A good example of how Flora manages to escape from the commonplace and still convey an overall idea to the illustration is his work for the cover of the album The Panic is On (RCA Victor, 1954), by the Nick Travis Quintet. The dreamlike atmosphere ( the musicians float in the air) and the complete freedom in relation to proportions and perspectives bring lightness to the composition, as opposed to the “panic” reference in the title, in a typical effect of a Flora cover nothing is exactly as it seems and everything makes sense.

The small revolution brought to the music industry by Steiweiss continuesdto be impactful and engaged with issues such as racism, as in the openly political message on the cover of Boogie Woogie, a collection released in 1941, at a time when racial segregation was institutionalized.

It is no coincidence that the Columbia label was an obligatory passage for cover illustrators. In the mid-1950s, the label it was one of the homes of jazz. Its artists made the genre both popular and avant-garde, crossing borders (we will see later how the paths of jazz and samba crossed) with their experimentations.

Alex Steinweiss left Columbia in the early 1950s, but he continued to be much in demand as an album cover designer, especially for classic music. He worked during the 1950s for labels such as Decca, London and Everest. Later, he concentrated on graphics for posters, magazine covers and packaging design.

With the hiring of S. Neil Fujita, Columbia hoped to keep up with the graphic designs and illustrations released by Blue Note Records. Based on the work of former art director Alex Steinweiss, Fujita was challenged to transform the album art, adapting it to the modernist sounds that Columbia presented.

After assuming artistic direction in 1954, he decided to interpret and transmit the same vigor, abstraction, improvisation and freedom as the jazz artists. At Columbia, Fujita became one of the first graphic designers to employ both men and women in a racially integrated office. He also became the first designer to use painters and photographers to produce album covers.

Many of the original pieces of art that Fujita created as album covers for Columbia include albums that are today considered true masterpieces of 20th century jazz.

Tom Hannan is a prominent character in the visual construction of jazz, as well. He was the designer responsible for the cover art of several jazz labels, especially Prestige and Bethlehem Records, but before turning to the visual arts, Hannanhad actually attempted a career as a drummer.

His designs mix abstract images with unusual typography, translating the aura of improvisation, so typical of jazz. It is interesting to note how his work for the album “The Jazz Experiments of Charlie Mingus” (Bethlehem Records, 1956), which dialogues directly with the collages from the series “Jazz” (1947), by French painter Henri Matisse.

As Tom Hannan, Paul Bacon was also a passionate jazz musician. He is also a name to remember when thinking about the construction of the visual identity of jazz. Bacon was for a long time the main designer of the Blue Note. Most of the covers designed for the first albums of the label, the 7000 series, were his creations. Later, he became the main art director of the company.

Be seeing you!

G.F.

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This is the second part of a series on the relationship between jazz and comic books. Would you like to start at the beginning? Go to Part 1

American multimedia artist Gil Mayer, on his series of paintings called Jazz:

“I am trying to make it visually stimulating and aurally interesting. I like people to see my work and hear music. It is a testament to my creativity and my interest in this medium“

The spontaneous nature of jazz is often mentioned by musicians and listeners, but it was not always unanimous among its theorists. Among those who saw improvisation as a negative point is the philosopher Theodor Wiesengrund Adorno, one of the most voracious critics of the genre.

Between 1933 and 1953, Adorno published several articles distilling the purest hatred against jazz, even imagining connections between the genre and Nazism (!) (due to its supposed birth in military bands) and decreeing its end. Although Adorno, himself, backed down on several points, there is no denying that the philosopher, usually brilliant in his analyses, found in jazz a theoretical challenge, which he was unable to overcome.

The mistaken predictions of Adorno about jazz deserves to be highlighted in any list of basic analytical errors, starting with his rigid premises, completely inappropriate for his object (the disregard of the author for improvisation stands out).

When talking about jazz, Adorno sounds like an (excellent) pianist playing with boxing gloves: he hits the right one eventually, here and there, but, overall, the action produces a rather unpleasant result.

As a deep admirer of the Frankfurt School in general and, particularly a fan of Adorno, to the point of giving his name to one of my songs, I consider his articles on jazz as minor material in his production, with which, in fact, we will dialogue in different moments of our reflections, such as the famous concept of “cultural industry”, among others.

That said, let us move on to perhaps the first partnership between jazz and the visual arts, the partnership between Stravinsky and Picasso.

First of all, a few words on Ragtime, the genre:

Scott Joplin is one of the main exponents of ragtime, a genre that incorporates African and European syncopation. It should be noted that, like classical music, classical ragtime was based on a written tradition, being distributed in sheet music. Keep this information in mind, as it will be very useful when we talk about the importance of improvisation in jazz.

Stravinsky comes into contact with some of these transcriptions of ragtime music brought from the United States by his friend, conductor Ernest Ansermet in the late 1910s.

Later, in 1918, Stravinsky released “Ragtime”, a work composed for a small orchestra of strings, winds, brass and percussion, which cover ilustration was signed by Picasso, a friend of the maestro.

The work is doubly a reading of the Russian composer, both in the sense that Stravinsky knew ragtime written but not played, and in the sense the version of Stravinsky for ragtime incorporates elements of Russian modernity. For critic Lawrence Budmen, “Ragtime for 11 instruments” represents the uniquely personal take of Stravinsky on the new genre coming from the United States: “At once witty, dissonant and hard-driving, the work might be considered “ragtime with a modern Russian accent.”

The fact that Picasso illustrated the cover of the composition only reinforces the ties between jazz and the modernist avant-garde, which identified with the genre precisely because of its free character. Like Stravinsky, Picasso recognized jazz as a new field of artistic experimentation.

Almost a decade later, in 1927, Dutch painter Piet Mondrian made the relationship between the visual arts and jazz even more explicit in “Jazz and Neo-Plasticism”. As mentioned in part 1, in this series of articles, Mondrian argued that jazz and the then-new visual arts movement represented nothing less than movements. revolutionaries capable of dealing with the impositions of the new use of time and space brought by metropolises.

And the plot was just starting to thicken.

Be seeing yuo!

G.F.