Drop-in by Adrian Green

I can think of no better way to start a new year of drop-ins and reviews than to invite fellow Open University Poets Society member to talk about his latest collection, New Blues and Other Poems (Littoral Press, 2023).

In deciding which poem to highlight for this feature, two thoughts concerning this collection occurred to me. One is that it is difficult to choose just one poem. Being fairly short – only one piece in the collection extends beyond a single page – most of my poems rely, to a certain extent, on the context of the poems around them. The other realisation is that there are some common themes which recur in several poems in the collection and strengthen the coherence of the theme when expressed in a single poem.

One of the themes in this collection is that of passing time – metronomic time, chronological time, ageing, memory, and changing social attitudes. Several of the poems in the ‘New Blues’ section refer to some or all of these aspects. All Blues illustrates the ways in which the ageing writer’s concentration is distracted from the empty page while appreciating the rhythm section of Davis’ band; Time Lord chronicles the drummer’s gig day routine; Wilko at The Railway reprises the stage act from 40 years before; and The Shape of Jazz to Come muses on how quickly innovation becomes history. But the poem I’m going to talk about here, the title of which explicitly signposts this theme, is Jazz at The Royal – Now and Then.

The context of this poem is a local jazz club which operates in the first-floor ballroom of a local pub with views across the Thames estuary. I wanted to compare the conditions in which we listen to and experience music today, since the smoking ban came into force on 1 July 2007, with the conditions I remember from clubs 50-60 years ago.

The same tunes, chord structures and rhythms which ‘threatened’ the establishment brought up on conventional music and ushered in each new genre of jazz before being merged into the foundation of popular music became, over time, revered as ‘jazz classics.’  Standards, which will appear in the repertoire of subsequent generations of jazz musicians. ‘Sounds made classical’ – familiar tunes being accepted by the establishment rather than being a symbol of revolution, the ‘menace’ of an alternative lifestyle to be feared.

While it is often the young, the rebellious, who embrace each innovation, looking around jazz audiences today, it seems that many are the same people who were attracted by the revolutionary notes in their youth. They are hearing the same tunes from the comfort of their place in the establishment and relative affluence, but almost a generation later. Seated, sipping expensive beers (there’s nothing like the word ‘craft’ to add 50p onto the price of a pint!).

There is also a change in the ambience of the space they are listening in. Standing or dancing in the smoke-filled basements which weren’t licenced for alcohol, but where other substances might change hands without the door staff noticing, lend a sense of energy and excitement, danger even, to a youthful night out. Now there is a sense of calm, acceptance of continuity and the status quo, while listening to the same music. In the final stanza I wonder if the next generation will hear the same music in the same way as we do now. 

Although the piece is written from an individual perspective, I’ve used the collective first person ‘we’ rather than the individual ‘I’ in the poem to reflect the idea that live music is rarely listened to alone but in a group, whether in a concert hall, club or cocktail lounge.  

I’ve chosen a three-line stanza form and eschewed the use of end-rhymes, though in this piece it could easily have been six-line stanzas. I wanted the space. This allows more freedom within a fairly standard framework, in the same way that a jazz piece from the mainstream era is structured around an eight-bar form allowing for a certain improvisation within each chorus.

Next week read my review of this fabulous collection.