First: NICE! Like, yeah, that's the feeling! That's the craft! No bullshit, just proper thickly-spread jazz tenor saxophone butter. Nice!
But then, as he kept going, it grew uncanny. I knew everything he was going to do. It was jazz butter, yes, but the pre-portioned Hotel Bar butter we've all experienced umpteen times with not one iota of surprisingness or spontaneity. Like taking the standard postcard shot of Mt. Rushmore, shamelessly gratifying expectations. Not really personal.
I mean, it sounds incredibly personal, though, because the first guy who first played like this was full of personality. But Hamilton's imitating that guy (Prez, or maybe more Ben Webster). Imitating uniqueness and simulating spontaneity.
Yet it feels great to me. Like a breath of fresh air.
Finally, I've figured out my ambivalence.
Hamilton is playing like a xerox copy. And in a world with few if any originals left, and also few Xerox copies, and where the xeroxes-of-xeroxes are leading lights and the xeroxes-of-xeroxes-of-xeroxes are acclaimed, and there is no shortage of xeroxes-of-xeroxes-of-xeroxes-of-xeroxes, a first generation Xerox copy feels like the *real thing*. Sweet authenticity!
Note that the problem is not just imitation, per se. It's framing.
See also my Open Letter to Jazz Musicians
