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Rating: 
Summary: This book is so bad, I'm in awe of it!
Review: First off, this book is so poorly written that I can't believe the author ever passed first grade! The first paragraph introduces a new idea in each sentence, none of which quite relate to the other, and the sum of which reads like a TV Guide synopsis of A Very Important History of the Modernist World. In the second paragraph, the author puffs himself up in the worst professorial hot air by stating that people constantly ask him for his list of the 100 Best this and that of the last century---yeah, they probably ask him this when they have the misfortune of being cornered by him at a cocktail party and want to change the subject! Secondly, while the idea behind this book is fascinating, the arguments are misdirected, scholarly blather that turns jazz, literature, and art into a bore. And I think he completely misses the perfect example that would make his argument: Django Reinhardt, who not only pioneered jazz guitar but was also a prolific modernist painter. The book is beautiful, however, with gorgeous design and stunning reproduction of artwork and photos. Still, I want my money back!
Rating: 
Summary: Riffs.
Review: In 1964 while I was an undergraduate student at Stanford University, I had the privilege of taking a course called Modern American Novel taught by Alfred Appel, Jr.. This seems like ancient history, but the highlights of the class were lectures on Nabokov's Lolita, Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby, Nathaniel West's novels, Eudora Welty's collection of linked stories called Golden Apples. Perhaps what impressed me most about the lectures-and what has stayed with me through my life, was Appel's conviction that great literature is infused with love of music, to interplay of ideas, to woven themes, and that artistic expression is unified by the interactions of music, words, and art. At that time Professor Appel peripherally connected Eudora Welty's story "Powerhouse" and Fats Waller-rhythms, riffs, variations, improvisations--jazz and prose, rhythm and wit. These recollections of mine are reflected in the subjects and the method of Jazz Modernism. In this book we have something akin to Nabokov's multicultural, multidimensional universe as viewed through musicians--Armstrong, Ellington, Waller, Joe Jones, Bird, Coltrane--artists (Picasso, Matisse, Miro, Leger)- writers (Hemingway, Joyce, Welty)--songwriters (Gershwin, Arlen)-and photographers (Leonard, Calder, Blancard, Walker-Evans). The focus is jazz and the musicians, but the range is modern art and the book is full of pictures of all manner of cultural artifacts--paintings, record labels, portraits, posters, sculpture. Appel analyzes cultural riffs, counterpoint, variations, puns, perspectives. This is a spectacular performance--but don't take my word for it--read it for yourself.
Rating:
Summary: I'll Be Glad When You're Read (You Rascal You)
Review: It's an extremely rare thing for me to buy a book after only a few minutes perusal, but that's what I did with this one. It didn't seem to matter what page I turned to: I was met with such an abundance of ambitious and adventurous observations, not only on Jazz, but on The Arts in general, that I could scarcely believe my luck. I felt like I was getting a bargain!I can only compare Mr. Appel's lively and perceptive book to two other favorites of mine: "Mystery Train" by Greil Marcus, and "Trickster Makes This World" by Lewis Hyde. In fact, you could say that Appel does for Jazz here what "Train" did for Rock and Roll. He even goes Marcus one better by deconstructing actual record labels and, like Marcus, he wears his loves on his sleeve. I don't think you'll read a better informed or more affectionate analysis of the career and art of Louis Armstrong, who strides through this book as Elvis and the Sex Pistols did through Marcus' "Train" and "Lipstick Traces", respectively. If you were to read this book only for what he has to say about Armstrong, you'd get more than your money's worth. And he's not afraid to challenge some long established notions, either: Are Armstrong's Hot Five and Hot Seven recordings really the high water mark of his art? To read any other critic, you'd think so. One of this book's many refreshing accomplishments is its defense of Armstrong's lesser known work and his struggle to appeal to his jazz base while having to court a pop audience. The remarkable thing about this wonderful book is that this is only one aspect of it. One page of Appel's book seems to throw out more light on the connections between disparate aspects of 20th Century culture than other people's entire books. The puns and seeming improvisation in the writing are well suited to the subject at hand and allow Mr. Appel to bring together topics that normally wouldn't share the same page. Tex Avery? Armstrong? Picasso? What's going on here? We may live in an age far more accepting of blurring the line between "high" and "low" culture, but we've still got a long way to go, and Mr. Appel's book successfully demonstrates that Art is not created in a vacuum. This doesn't really begin to hint at the riches of this book. I haven't even mentioned the stories of Mr. Appel's first-hand experiences. This confirmed Stravinsky addict, with a shelf's worth of books on the subject, had never read the story related here of the time Stravinsky met Charlie Parker (a meeting that's sort of emblematic of the whole book). And the rabid Joycean in me was delighted by the analysis of "Ulysses", not an easy accomplishment after years of tired repitition in journal after academic journal. Anyone with even a passing interest in Jazz, Art, or 20th Century culture in general, and who enjoys adventurous cultural commentary, needs to read this book. Profusely illustrated with photographs and reproductions that help him make his points, "Jazz Modernism" is, like its subject, breathtakingly alive and ready to show you a good time.
Rating: 
Summary: More or less than meets the eye?
Review: Well, this is certainly not your nice, quiet sedate history of jazz. First off, it's printed on coated, gloss paper and weighs a ton--all the better to show off the remarkable artwork reprinted inside. The book is divided into five essays, not chapters. Appel's writing style is initially off-putting. He is obviously influenced by the French postmodern lit-crit crowd, and at first the book seems to be nothing but a jumble of random thoughts. At first, I thought it was a bad put-on and almost gave up, but was glad I stuck it out. Appel convinced me that jazz has had a profound impact on the visual (painting and sculpture)and literary arts during the first two decades of the 20th century. The visual patterns and colors of the post-expressionists (especially Matisse, Mondrain and Brancusi)were significantly influenced by the jazz 78s that these artists cranked out in their studios. His analysis of the transformation of Mondrain's work during and after his flight from Europe to New York from the starkness of Landscape With Red to the explosive vigor of Broadway Boogie-Woogie was excellent. Simularly, these strange new rhythms caught the ear of Fitzgerald and (maybe) even Joyce. However, the author is less convincing that culture flowed in the other direction: while several jazz artists were avid readers of the new literature, and in their late lives a few collected art, prior to WWII, I still have to believe that for most musicians of African descent, music was the way out of the slaughterhouse or off the levee. The greatest strength of this book are its beautiful graphics--paintings, sculpture, record labels, photos of musicians. If it wasn't for its standard 6 X 10 format, you would think it was a coffee table book. Appel's jagged, Monk-like prose, with its Coltrane-length digressions, is both a strength and a weakness. Is he trying to use his own prose to demonstrate the basic moves of the(post)modernist aesthetic, or is he just showboating--a cheap Focault knockoff (the way that every homeboy with a tenor and a habit mimed Parker in the early 50s)? After 10 pages I would have said "faker," but having stuck it out to the coda I say "real thing."
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