Sometimes when I get frustrated I question what is the point of reviewing anything. This happens from time to time to be honest. Sometimes I think my approach is wrong, perhaps there is too much praise or even in certain cases not enough. But is it even about praise? Do I really on a deep level understand what I am writing about? Would it not be better to leave it to somebody far better qualified than me, a musician, a professor? As a specialist pro jazz blog praise is usually the case as a default reaction rather than writing knocking copy for the sake of it – the sort of snide dismissal of the genre you get from rock or pop critics or the sneering patronising put downs classical writers choose instead when faced with thinking about jazz.
In my more destructive moments I just want to delete marlbank altogether and do something else instead. After all the numbers aren’t brilliant. I don’t earn anything from it and spend loads of time providing new articles. But instead of doing that today however I began thinking about the ideas that may help explain why it is worth it.
Take the ideas of Carol Dweck for instance, a pioneering Stanford University psychologist whose research on motivation and achievement helps us understand human potential more.
Dweck is perhaps best known for her bestselling book, Mindset: The New Psychology of Success. She began her underlying research on mindset in the early 1970s, and introduced the foundational concepts in a joint paper with Ellen Leggett in 1988.
Fixed mindset and growth mindset
Dweck introduced the concepts of the fixed mindset – the belief that intelligence and talent are static, unchangeable traits – and the growth mindset, the belief that abilities can be developed through dedication, hard work and strategies.
Her central thesis from what I understand it is that our belief systems directly dictate how we handle setbacks, embrace challenges and ultimately succeed in life. I am applying this thinking in looking at reactions to how artists create.
Dweck’s principles can offer insights when applied to how we praise and evaluate creativity to go back to my starting point.
When applied to art, literary, film, and music criticism, such growth mindset principles help redefine how we evaluate creativity and certainly made me think a little bit more clearly about why writing reviews is worthwhile and more importantly how to shape them more usefully.
Cultural criticism has been deeply rooted in a fixed mindset, frequently romanticising artists as “born geniuses,” “prodigies,” or “visionaries” possessing innate, unalterable gifts. Louis Armstrong! Billie Holiday! Miles Davis! John Coltrane!
Growth mindset thinking avoids falling back on the genius way of thinking. But still we all know – not being total mugs – that Lady Day was a genius in her approach to jazz singing. But maybe that’s the convenience of idiolising icons from the long gone past. Old is good. New makes us feel uneasy often because it just isn’t as good as the models our listening has trained us to think about what exactly is the ultimate.
According to the Dweck way of thinking, that direction often traps creators. When a debut novelist, an early career filmmaker, or a breakout musician is told that their work is the product of effortless, natural talent, it can create intense anxiety. These creatives can become terrified that their next project will expose them as frauds, which can lead to severe creative blocks or force them to play it safe by endlessly repeating the exact formula that brought them initial fame.
High level, growth minded criticism avoids these lazy labels and focuses instead on the creative process, technical execution and artistic evolution.
But when a critic evaluates a film or a book through this lens, they dissect the deliberate strategies behind the art.
Instead of calling a director a “genius,” they praise the specific camera movements, lighting choices, and narrative pacing used to evoke tension.
In book reviews, this means celebrating an author’s visible growth from a messy debut perhaps to a structurally tight second novel.
By shifting the praise from the creator’s identity to their actual labour, critics validate the grit and experimentation required to produce great art.
That is difficult and problematic in jazz, however, given how much image and the cult of personality are important. Fans buy into the person as much as the artefact. We forgive duff work if we believe in the artist behind it and forgive all the flaws because we know somehow that they still remain great in our eyes because in quite a few ways fans are like the ultimate empaths. Is it perfection we are after? I don’t think it is. I defer as so often to the words of the poet of Hyndford Street as proof. But wait for quite a while for the wisdom. You could be fooled into thinking there are no words. Because they don’t come in until 2 mins and 13 secs pass. And that’s out of 3 and 3/4 mins. A good instrumental section precedes the wisdom which factors in some Ulster logic along the way:
Close enough for jazz
Is it Persil, is it Daz?
Well, it doesn’t really matter
When it’s better on the inside
And it’s close enough for jazz
– Van Morrison from Born To Sing, No Plan B (Blue Note, 2012.) The song was done as an instrumental tune on 1990s Polydor album Too Long in Exile and later acquired lyrics.
But jazz fans and critics sometimes nevertheless love their natural born genius way of fixed mindset thinking when it stares at you square in the face as in the music of Art Tatum.
This shift is really apparent in music criticism, where the romantic myth of “natural virtuosity” is deeply entrenched.
A fixed mindset music review might praise a singer for a “god-given, flawless voice,” leaving the artist no room to age, change, or fail.
Conversely, growth oriented music criticism focuses on sonic choices, production risks, and technical discipline.
A growth minded critic will celebrate a pop star or an avant-garde band for intentionally dismantling their signature sound to experiment with challenging new genres, textures, or collaborative production styles, valuing the risk of the attempt over the comfort of a safe radio hit.
Ultimately, bringing a growth mindset to the arts changes how we define creative failure, such as a box-office flop, a poorly reviewed book, or the oft commented upon “second album” syndrome.
In a fixed mindset culture, these setbacks are treated as definitive proof that an artist has “lost their touch” or ran out of talent.
A growth minded critic, however, approaches a flawed piece of art with curiosity rather than dismissal. They view a messy, polarising project as an essential, transitional workspace – a necessary pivot point where the creator is learning a new creative vocabulary and laying the groundwork for future mastery.
But the elephant in the room remains there ARE jazz geniuses out there.
What ya going to do about that? The characters in Wayne’s World even when they are bewitched in that film not by jazz but by rock know what to say. It’s sincere but also very funny. “We’re not worthy. We suck” Self-abasement is good for the soul sometimes.
Outside the Gielgud, a neon sign read: “Equus On The Buses”, starring Mr Ed
Satire also helps as does listening to stuff that isn’t jazz as a corrective to being completely immersed in the jazz bubble. And skewering the middle classes is usually a worthwhile pursuit too given how “nice” we all can be there, er, down on Henman Hill. Never been, incidentally – disclaimer. But I defer to ‘Evening of Swing (Has been Cancelled)’ – by the off piste geniuses of the post punk parish who reliably are Half Man, Half Biscuit drawn from their 2008 classic CSI: Ambleside.
And fandom is ridiculous to anyone who isn’t a fan. There’s nothing so funny as somebody who takes themself too seriously. And yet to a fan being potty about for example Half Man, Half Biscuit, like, duh, it’s obvious to be smitten and back in the day contemplate hitch hiking to their next gig. Or even more perilously (but understandably) pretend to be from the Wirral in homage to Nigel Blackwell and co MAKES PERFECT SENSE.
Sometimes ridiculous fandom and jazz idolatry end up being the last word however inconveniently because what you have just heard either on record or live is just pretty mindblowing. And that’s even when what Dweck says is more broadly absolutely right. Coaxing out contradictions – that’s very us – is more than just accepting warts and all. It’s locating the humanity of what makes jazz given its impulsiveness, risk taking urges and spontaneity so special and describing it in a short article on an obscure blog that also acts as a positive displacement activity to ward off ennui is one small way of trying to communicate its essence.
To us jazz believers it makes sense – if being playful that is and hopefully not at all disrespectful – to replace “literature” with “jazz” in the following sentence written by the great critic F. R. Leavis: “Literature is the supreme means by which you renew your sensuous and emotional life and learn a new awareness.”
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