The Parisian Jazz Chronicles
An Improvisational Memoir
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- $64.99
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- $64.99
Publisher Description
In his Beat-like jaunt through the Parisian and European jazz scene, Mike Zwerin is not unlike Jack Kerouac, Mezz Mezzrow, or Hunter S. Thompson—writers to whom, for different reasons, he owes some allegiance. What makes him special is his devotion to the troubled musicians he idolizes, and a passion for music that is blessedly contagious.Many jazz fans will know Mike Zwerin for his witty, irreverent, and undeniably hip music reviews and articles in the International Herald Tribune that have entertained us for decades. Based in Paris, or, rather, stuck there, as Zwerin likes to say, he has been a music critic for the Trib since 1979. Zwerin also had a distinguished career as a trombonist. When he was just eighteen years old, he was invited by Miles Davis to play alongside Gerry Mulligan, John Lewis, and Max Roach in the band that was immortalized as The Birth of the Cool.The Parisian Jazz Chronicles offers an engaging personal account of the jazz scene in Paris in the 1980s and 1990s. Zwerin writes lovingly but unsparingly about figures he knew and interviewed— such as Dexter Gordon, Freddy Heineken, Miles Davis, Bob Dylan, Chet Baker, Wayne Shorter, and Melvin Van Peebles. Against this background, Zwerin tells about his own life—split allegiances to journalism and music, and to America and France, his solitary battle for sobriety, a failing marriage, and fatherhood.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
In his deliberately digressive memoir, Zwerin applies the style and spirit of improvisational jazz to the form of memoir. As a longtime columnist for the International Herald Tribune and a trombonist who has played with Miles Davis, Zwerin brings intimate knowledge of both forms to the task. At the outset, it is unclear whether this can be a successful project: how exactly do the rhythms and improvisations of jazz translate to the page? Zwerin adopts multiple personalities, writes about himself in the third person, mixes in unused nuggets from his Trib columns and evaluates his memoir as he writes it. ("The multiple identities...are clumsy devices and probably cop-outs," "This is beginning to sound like a Viagra commercial.") But perseverance pays off: what is initially troublesome reading gels as Zwerin finds his groove and larger arcs unfold (expatriatism, the future of jazz and, most notably, his heroin addiction), and his storytelling tricks turn into excellent writing, taking the reader on junkets from Parisian cafes to Mogador as Zwerin-imagining himself as a double agent-reports and gigs and partakes in many, many heroin "sniffettes." The juiciest sections are the profiles of musicians like Davis, Chet Baker and Bob Dylan. Zwerin gives the reader intimate access to these musicians and produces unexpectedly graceful essays. Ultimately, it is Zwerin himself who must carry the story; it's a responsibility he's hesitant to accept, but he does, and it is his battle with heroin and to understand himself that provides the heart beneath the orchestrated misdirection.
