Sixty years ago, the pages of Jazz Journal (September 1966 edition) featured a sharp, uncompromising literary critique that resonated deeply within the transatlantic jazz community. Written by critic Don Lindon, the review targeted Where’s the Melody?, a prominent new introductory text authored by the influential jazz writer and critic Martin Williams, published by Pantheon Books at a retail price of $4.95. Lindon’s assessment was as blunt as it was provocative: rather than offering a cohesive, thoughtfully structured gateway into America’s classical music, Williams’s book read like a hasty, disjointed compilation of recycled essays and orphaned journalism.
At a time when jazz criticism was fighting for intellectual legitimacy in academia and mainstream publishing alike, the expectations placed upon foundational texts were extraordinarily high. Williams, known for his rigorous intellect and his pivotal role in establishing jazz studies, attempted an ambitious structural framework: presenting the evolution and essence of jazz through direct engagement with its music and musicians, deliberately bypassing rigid, conventional stylistic timelines. Yet, according to Lindon’s contemporary critique, the execution fell lamentably short.
This retrospective evaluation examines Lindon’s original review through the lens of jazz history, editorial standards of the mid-1960s, and the broader trajectory of jazz literature. By unpacking the structural flaws, stylistic grievances, and conceptual disconnects highlighted in the 1966 critique—while contextualizing Martin Williams’s lasting contributions to the field—we uncover a fascinating snapshot of a genre grappling with how to document, teach, and preserve its own rich history.
Detailed Chronology: The Anatomy of a Flawed Text
To understand the weight of Don Lindon’s 1966 critique, it is necessary to examine how Where’s the Melody? was constructed and received. The book’s architecture was divided into three distinct sections, each intended to build a comprehensive picture of the jazz landscape. However, Lindon argued that these divisions only served to expose the fragmentary nature of the compilation.
Part One: "On the Music"
The book’s opening section attempted an encyclopedic sweep of jazz foundations. It featured a brief introductory outline of what jazz fundamentally is, followed by a concise examination of the blues—noted by Lindon as a rare bright spot that thoughtfully incorporated well-chosen recorded examples. This was succeeded by a technical analysis of eight recorded solos, an explicit chapter dedicated to jazz composition, a compressed historical overview of stylistic shifts, and a recommended basic jazz library.
Lindon took immediate issue with the library selections, noting that the compilation assumed every reader possessed the tenacity of a dedicated musicology student rather than the enthusiasm of a passionate fan. By front-loading the text with dense analytical exercises and demanding listening lists, Williams risked alienating the exact audience the book was ostensibly designed to welcome: the absolute beginner.
Part Two: "On the Scene"
Moving from theory to practice, the second section focused on four towering figures at work: Thelonious Monk, Milt Jackson, Big Joe Williams, and Jimmy Giuffre. Lindon famously dismissed these profiles as "pleasant enough reading for a warm summer’s night, but surely mere sweetmeats when a good main course should have been served."
Furthermore, Lindon targeted Williams’s prose style, singling out the Giuffre profile for its overly precious, novelistic flourishes. He quoted a passage directly to illustrate his frustration:
“… The room holds a pause for a couple of beats after which Giuffre speaks for the three of them, ‘Let’s do some more.’ Peacock wiggles his eyebrows in assent. Friedman moves to the piano. …”
To Lindon, such dramatic scene-setting sacrificed analytical rigor for atmospheric fluff, rendering the chapter largely dispensable to anyone seeking a genuine understanding of the artists’ creative processes.
Part Three: Studies, Swipes, and the "New Thing"
The final section of Where’s the Melody? offered a pastiche of short studies, quick critiques, and avant-garde previews. It included brief examinations of Horace Silver and Billie Holiday, followed by what Lindon described as "four and a half pages of nothing devoted to Gene Krupa"—a segment that bafflingly veered off course to eulogize trumpeter Roy Eldridge instead.
Williams then took aim at commercial and mainstream heavyweights like George Shearing, Oscar Peterson, Ramsey Jamal, and Dave Brubeck. Lindon dismissed these as "easy knocks" at sitting targets, arguing that established popular figures of that caliber were hardly worthy of Williams’s critical energy. The book concluded with a brief overview of Ornette Coleman and the emerging avant-garde movement under the heading "The new thing in jazz."
Ultimately, Lindon concluded that while Williams possessed a commendable core philosophy—telling the story of jazz organically through its sounds and creators rather than dry chronological categories—the chaotic choice of source material caused the overarching theme to dissolve entirely.
Supporting Context & Metrics: The State of Jazz Literature in 1966
To fully appreciate the discourse surrounding Where’s the Melody?, one must look at the broader ecosystem of jazz publishing in the mid-1960s. Jazz had transitioned from the smoke-filled dance halls of the swing era to the cerebral realms of bebop, hard bop, and the fiery free jazz explorations of the mid-sixties. Consequently, literature about the music was undergoing an identity crisis.
The Publishing Landscape
In 1966, jazz books were relatively scarce compared to the flood of biographies, academic studies, and discographies that would emerge in later decades. Publishers like Pantheon Books, Grove Press, and Oxford University Press were cautiously carving out space for jazz criticism, but editors often struggled to find the right balance between popular appeal and musicological rigor.
- Target Audience Dilemma: Writers like Martin Williams—who co-founded the influential The Jazz Review in 1958 alongside Nat Hentoff—were intellectuals attempting to bridge high-art critique with popular culture. However, as Lindon pointed out, books marketed as "introductions" frequently suffered from an identity crisis: were they textbooks for conservatory students or accessible guides for teenagers buying their first Blue Note LPs?
- The Compilation Trap: Many mid-century jazz books were cobbled together from previously published magazine articles, liner notes, and journal columns. While this method allowed critics to monetize their journalism in book form, it frequently resulted in the disjointed, miscellaneous feel that Lindon diagnosed in Williams’s work.
Critical Standards of Jazz Journal
Founded in the United Kingdom, Jazz Journal held a reputation for unvarnished, fiercely independent criticism. Reviewers in its pages were rarely swayed by a famous byline or a prestigious publishing house. They demanded structural integrity, historical accuracy, and clear pedagogical value. Don Lindon’s critique, therefore, was representative of a critical culture that expected jazz literature to match the sophistication and discipline of the music it sought to explain.
Official Statements and Retrospective Perspectives
While Don Lindon’s 1966 review stands as a definitive contemporary reprimand, history has afforded jazz scholars a more nuanced view of Martin Williams’s overall legacy. Williams (1924–1992) went on to become a towering figure in American cultural criticism, serving as the director of the Smithsonian Institution’s Jazz Program and helping to institutionalize jazz as a recognized American art form.
Assessing Williams’s Methodology
Defenders of Martin Williams argue that his approach in Where’s the Melody? was genuinely innovative for its time, even if its execution was uneven. By focusing on how jazz musicians improvise—treating composition and performance as an interlocking, spontaneous act—Williams was attempting to move criticism away from breathless fan-magazine hagiography and toward formal aesthetic analysis.
In a retrospective assessment of Williams’s career, fellow critics noted that his insistence on close listening and formalist analysis laid crucial groundwork for modern jazz pedagogy. Even if the book felt like a collection of left-over articles—as Lindon charged—those individual articles often contained flashes of brilliant insight into the mechanics of swing, blues inflection, and harmonic structure.
The Evolution of the Introductory Text
Looking back from the vantage point of the twenty-first century, the friction between Williams’s ambition and Lindon’s critique highlights a perennial challenge in music education: how to introduce a complex, orally transmitted, African American art form to a broad readership without oversimplifying its history or overwhelming the uninitiated with technical jargon.
While Lindon ultimately advised readers to skip Where’s the Melody? in favor of superior introductory texts available in 1966, the debate it sparked underscores the vital, rigorous dialogue that sustained the global jazz community during its most transformative decades.
Future Outlook: The Enduring Relevance of Mid-Century Jazz Criticism
As jazz education continues to evolve in the modern era—transitioning from informal bandstand mentorship to university degree programs and digital archival platforms—the debates captured in Jazz Journal six decades ago remain surprisingly relevant.
The Digital Archive and Re-Evaluation
Today, classic reviews like Don Lindon’s are preserved in digital archives, offering contemporary scholars a window into the reception history of jazz literature. Modern critics and educators look back at mid-century skirmishes over texts like Where’s the Melody? not merely as historical gossip, but as essential milestones in the self-definition of jazz scholarship.
Furthermore, as contemporary publishing houses continue to release anthologies and critical retrospectives of writers like Martin Williams, today’s readers are invited to re-examine these foundational texts. Armed with hindsight, contemporary audiences can separate the structural shortcomings of hasty book packaging from the genuine brilliance of Williams’s analytical ear.
Conclusion
Don Lindon’s 1966 review of Where’s the Melody? remains a masterclass in honest, uncompromising arts criticism. By cutting through the prestige of a major publisher and a respected author, Lindon held jazz literature to the highest possible standard. Sixty years later, revisiting this critique reminds us that the history of jazz is written not only on the bandstand through notes and rhythms, but on the printed page through spirited debate, rigorous critique, and an unyielding passion for the music’s soul.
