Goodbye Swingtime by the Matthew Herbert Big Band
Goodbye Swingtime is a collection of music which arguably represents a
landmark in the interaction between jazz and digital manipulation. It weaves
together a complex array of signifiers in a fascinating work which sees
Matthew Herbert achieve a new level of political expression while dissecting
and piecing back together an almost forgotten musical genre – big
band swing jazz - using contemporary music technologies.
Swing developed as a coherent style in the 1930s fostered by the big bands
of Fletcher Henderson, Count Basie, Duke Ellington et al. It was a music
characterised by strong dance rhythms, simple repetitious riffs and sophisticated
solos. At the beginning of the second world war, a decade or so after its
inception, Glenn Miller came to dominate Western popular music with his
own brand of Swing jazz.
Miller’s style emphasised unity, discipline and forward motion. His
music highlighted the efficient interlocking of orchestral segments which
contributed to a cohesive whole rather than provided any significant room
for a soloist’s potentially wayward voice. Allied to this was a frequent
feeling of wellbeing at once sentimental and surely of particular comfort
to many of his listeners at a time of deprivation, fear and sudden death.
Disciplined activity, a restriction upon freedom and an acknowledgement
of the need for fellow feeling characterised both Miller’s music and
the needs of wartime governments for a unified populace. With the cessation
of international hostilities, Swing’s popularity waned and was succeeded
by the more individual voices of singers such as Frankie Laine, Doris Day
and Frank Sinatra. However it has persisted in the background, the soundtrack
to a certain form of conservatism and nostalgia. In 2003 Matthew Herbert,
an artist previously known as a politically conscious tech-house producer,
added a new chapter to the development of the genre by premiering his own
big band swing recording.
Goodbye Swingtime practices an overtly politicised postmodernity (which
to some might be something of an oxymoron) by treating swing jazz as a commodity
whose structures and motives are both open to question and available for
redeployment at the service of new ends. Swing meets Herbert’s electronic
sampling and the result is akin to a Ballardian carcrash which manages to
remould the bodywork of both vehicles into something less standardised and
consequently much more interesting. Part of the genius of this treatment
is the subtlety of the changes effected, though the alterations are much
more significant than the cosmetic garnishing applied by the inclusion of
djs and laptop artists in most jazz ensembles. Another contributing factor
may be the degree of trepidation felt at the prospect of meddling with an
already complex artefact created with the involvement of experienced musicians.
As Herbert writes on his website (www.magicandaccident.com):
“... I take a live feed from the band and process it through my equipment, adding live samples taken from the band as they are playing and trying to fuse the two together. It's an exciting and scary process and one that can only improve as the gigs continue.”
In concert some time after the release of the studio recording it’s
fascinating to hear the loosening up of form and increased playfulness as
the band gains confidence in dealing with and responding to Herbert’s
live sampling interjections. There is something meddling and respectful,
intrusive and unsettling about the experience which might perhaps be likened
to encountering a deceased grandparent resurrected using cyborg technologies.
Instead of adding musical soloists (the limited space for instrumental improvisation
is maintained in the studio recording), Herbert’s sampling - embodied
in unsignposted loops, disjunctive intrusions and sudden becalming atmospheres
- proves disruptive to Swing’s traditional motivic force. It substitutes
a recursive, uncertain atmosphere for the anticipated air of security and
bonhomie. The listener is consequently unable to sit back comfily and indulge
in an extended nostalgic fugue. After all, at any moment something might
happen to trip up expectations deliberately established by the compositions
and their arrangements. Instead the listener is put upon extended guard
and forced to pay attention to proceedings. The music, particularly in live
performance carries a real sense of a large machine in danger of breaking
down or going out of control. This threat of danger and disruption serves
to revivify the comatose corpse of the Swing band genre like a kiss from
a suspect prince. The happy ending does not materialise however. Instead
the princess staggers around, confused and fearful:
“Everything’s changed... please don’t swallow me.”
(Everything’s Changed)
The juxtaposition of old fashioned and modern also recalls the underlying
menace of Terry Gilliam’s film Brazil, which portrays a society bound
by outmoded wartime manners while subject to and complicit in systematised
state brutality. Herbert’s engagement with Swing at the beginning
of the new millenium serves to imply the state of international conflict
the world is currently experiencing. Because of the media commodification
and resultant collusion in this situation the present level of conflict
has come to be treated as an unpleasant, but sanitised necessity. Herbert’s
reinterpretations of Swing’s mores may be compared to those movies
found on the internet of Bush and Blair which have been edited to make clear
the subtext of their speeches.
Ultimately the intervention of sampling stands as a direct analogue of the
political intentions of the work. However the subtlety of that analogue
and the ability of the music to stand independently of the political message
makes that message much more powerful by allowing the listener the freedom
of choice to engage at a single or multiple levels (rather than being frogmarched
into its service like a 17th century naval recruit...)
Another of Goodbye Swingtime’s strategies, continued from previous
Herbert releases is the deliberate deployment of ‘significant’
samples, such as the sound of the turning of pages of Noam Chomsky’s
Rogue States, the typing of an address for a website monitoring US involvement
in South America, etc, etc. This technique is also practiced by electronic
duo Matmos most prominently on their 2002 release To Cut Is To Cure, composed
predominantly of the sounds of plastic surgery. The technique perhaps finds
its precursor in Giuseppe Arcimboldo’s 16th century portraits whose
human likenesses were achieved by the compositing of fruit, vegetables armour,
animals, etc. The jury is still out on whether this practice carries an
enriching, resonant value or is self-conscious, distracting and unnecessary
and the response is after all for the listener to decide.
Matthew Herbert’s political stance raises many issues. There is the
potential issue of preaching to the converted or the opportunity for subversion
in the choice of musical vehicle. Might a track from Goodbye Swingtime find
its way into the hearts of the conservative via the radio schedules? And
if it did, would it produce anything more than a satisfyingly ironic smile
for those in the know rather than any real debate? The example of Bruce
Springsteen’s protest song-cum-Republican stadium favourite Born In
The USA may be salutary in this regard. Another issue is whether the concert
hall is an appropriate context for the dissemination of politically conscientious
anti-war viewpoints. After all, the one-way nature of concerts doesn’t
allow for real debate and it does tread uncomfortably near to the format
of a propaganda rally. Such concerns are of course not unique to Goodbye
Swingtime, but may be raised about any politicised music. On the other hand
there is clearly an urgency to the present situation and a need to consolidate
opposition and raise awareness. Ultimately Matthew Herbert is to be applauded
for communicating an overtly political message in such a politically neutered
medium.
The cover of Goodbye Swingtime shows a pixelated rainbow arching over the
silver silhouettes of skylines and people. The rainbow appears to emanate
from what might either be a mutant disco light or an explosion of some sort.
The ambiguity is surely deliberate. The album’s title can be read
both as a wish on the part of the artist to depart from complacency and
as a rallying cry to those who would object to the status quo.
With thanks to John Chacona