SUPPOSE YOUR FAVORITE sport were baseball. How much would you like it if, over the years, teams rarely or never introduced a new player? What if, instead, the same players continued year after year even if they could hardly hit, catch, or throw the ball? Or what if you subscribed to a photography magazine that only published photos and articles by the same half dozen contributors even though the world was full of better ones?
Wouldn’t you need a word much stronger than “idiotic” to describe any team or league or publication rigidly insisting upon doing business in that way? Anybody with a shred of common sense knows that is the perfect recipe for failure.
Guess what? I have just described the jazz festival business and, in particular, the directors of traditional jazz festivals.
Oh, I suppose a few directors introduce new talent now and then, especially those trying to be avante garde. But if you look at the musicians performing at the majority of festivals you will read lists of the same names you have seen for decades.
The last thing I would advocate is to discard talented veterans. Heck, I want to see them appear often and I want them to earn a good living. But jazz also needs new names. To survive it must produce a steady stream of new musicians whose specialties range from Dixieland to the most contemporary hybrid. But nobody with influence cares.
I have spoken to several festival directors. They explained their audience consists of people of three basic categories: Type A follows two or three favorite individuals or groups through the entire festival and ignores everyone else. Type B stakes out seats at a given venue and never moves. Type C, (supposedly) the smallest group by far, wants to see an occasional new performer.
Sorry, folks. I don’t believe it. I believe many festival directors are narrow minded, prejudiced idiots.
Some years ago I brought a very good group to a festival. I was returning from a twelve year “retirement” so, despite my colorful background, few remembered my name. Some may have heard of one or two others in the group. We played to a standing ovation. The festival director was in the audience.
A couple of weeks later I phoned to thank him for inviting us. He said, “If you’re asking whether I’m going to invite you again next year the answer is no.”
I explained that was not the reason for the call but, now that he had brought it up, why not?
“Because nobody knows you.”
I was incredulous. I replied, “You were in the audience; we played to a standing ovation.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said.
His festival is now defunct. So are several others. Most of those remaining are on the edge of extinction. None of the directors understands why. All they know is that each year their audience shrinks by ten percent and nobody under the age of fifty attends. Gee, I wonder why.
When I was trying to break back into the business I offered to play at a fairly big local festival for free, just to reestablish my name. The director turned me down. Why? “If if let you play, then I can’t bring in somebody else my audience already knows. I might lose some ticket sales.” (How about the money he would save on airfare, hotel accommodations, and performance fees? Apparently he forgot about that.)
Another band hired me so I have played there every year anyway. Today the average age of that festival’s audience is 70 and attendance easily is half what it was five years ago. When you look around you rarely see any hair color but white. Barring a miracle this may be the final year of that festival. Surprise.
Do you still wonder why jazz is in trouble, why you rarely see new performers, and why festivals are disappearing? You have just read the perfect recipe for failure and nearly every festival follows it to the letter.
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