On my previous, now-deceased blog (peace be with it), I made my sentiments known about smooth jazz, the musical genre with a serious misnomer. When there are lyrics, they’re as shallow and repetitive as a third grader’s attempt at poetry. When there aren’t, the performers make no effort demonstrating what makes their music jazz.
The supreme example is Kenny G. Trashing Kenny G is preaching to the crowd in most ways, but despite that he is one of the most popular saxophonists alive. For years I blamed his godawful music on his instrument, the alto saxophone. One critic outlines precisely what is wrong with this man, and since reading it I have (snicker) changed my tune. His tone changes from calm and collected to foaming with rage (Kenny G’s ‘lame-ass, jive, pseudo bluesy, out-of-tune, noodling, wimped out, fucked up playing’), but every point he makes is spot-on.
Anecdote time: in high school chemistry my class was taking an exam right before Christmas. The room was silent, the air thick with concentration, as exam periods are wont to be. Halfway through, our teacher ((This woman had a few screws loose, just in general. This dumb idea of hers is merely an example.)) piped up:
‘Would anyone like to listen to some music while they’re working?’
Unless her taste in music comprised Iron Maiden and Billy Ray Cyrus, it seemed like a harmless idea. We weakly mumbled in agreement. She marched over to the CD player, punched a button, and Kenny G came blaring out. Not just any Kenny G: Kenny G’s Christmas carol cover album.
Needless to say, I failed that exam.