Harlem whispers

One of the characteristic elements of jazz is its venues.  Jazz was born in the bars and brothels of New Orleans, and grew up in the Harlem clubs, and much of its greatest music has been produced through the audible participation of audiences egging on soloists.  As a result, the live recording is far commoner in jazz than in traditional classical music, where the audience is regarded as something of an intrusion, however much it may play the same role in stimulating supreme performances.

Because the atmosphere of a typical jazz set in a club or bar is anything but solemn, the audience generally feels more at ease, and is therefore more relaxed than its stuffy classical equivalent would be about carrying on ancillary social activities like drinking and talking during a performance.  This lends the best of the live recordings a busy, companionable hubbub, a kind of extra player adding a subtly shaded background texture.

As more and more old recordings are remastered for CD, the other ambient noises found on vinyl - the clicks and pops, the general obscuring susurration - are swept away, leaving only the real atmosphere of those Harlem nights to come through with a new and striking clarity.  Sometimes, especially between numbers when the glasses start to chink more and the voices are raised slightly as quick comments are made to companions and orders are placed with waiters, you almost feel that you are there.

Imagine, then, one of these typical hot sessions, recorded somewhere small and intimate like the Village Vanguard, with all the music removed.  Imagine being able to eavesdrop on what the first few tables were saying, to hear what that woman was shouting at the back of the hall, to find out what exactly the pianist whispered to the bass player to make him laugh softly and contentedly as they continued playing. 

A ridiculous if tantalising prospect?  Not really: the technology is there.  Witness the latest spate of specialist reissues that, not content simply with cleaning off the LP's surface hiss, simulating stereo effects or even subtly rebalancing the band, have gone one step further and re-recorded certain parts.  For example, some rare discs of Louis Armstrong have been treated electronically to remove all the other players - their sound was too poorly registered - leaving only Satchmo to front some newly-added phantom band. The other parts were transcribed and recorded by modern session players, and then fitted underneath Armstrong's line.  The result - or so the recording company doubtless claims - is the best of both worlds: the unique, unadulterated sound of a great soloist with a properly recorded supporting band. 

Whatever the aesthetic and ethical issues surrounding this kind of repackaging, the fact remains that it can be done.  And if all of the band except one player can be magicked away like this, why not remove everyone - and leave only that tantalising background buzz?  If nothing else, finally to hear their voices would be a fitting tribute to the unseen heroes and heroines of the audience who, probably without realising it, have contributed down the years so much to the form and feel of jazz. 

(26.12.91)

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