Jazz books occupy a tiny sector of the publishing industry, within which any book selling between 500-1000 copies counts as a success. Biographies of major figures might command mid-four figure sales but even then come nowhere near troubling the best-seller tables in the New York Times or Guardian. On All About Jazz, between 450-500 book reviews appear on the site between 2010-2015. Think about that for a moment. That is around thirty reviews on this major jazz site per year. Jazz books are a very small section of the small, largely cottage industry that is the jazz business. Within those 450-500 reviews, the reader will find jazz biographies (perhaps the largest single category), histories with either a local or international focus, books concerned with particular jazz styles and eras, “how-to” books, encyclopaedias and academic works often concerned with specific issues (for example, jazz and race, women and jazz, what is jazz?, jazz and art, jazz and film). Those books have been written variously by academics with university positions, jazz musicians, jazz journalists and fans and have been published by major publishing houses with an international reach, medium-sized and smaller sized publishers and ‘not-for-profit’ set-ups. As opportunities to self-publish expand, we are likely to see more would-be writers on jazz entering the market place. Over my thirty years writing about jazz, I have reviewed maybe forty or so books about jazz for magazines, websites (including AAJ) and academic journals and have referenced many more and occasionally criticised a few in the books I have had published. There is much, much more to reviewing a book than simply reading it and giving your opinion. When I am going to review a book, even before I open it, there are certain things that already inform how I approach the review. These derive in part from the fact that I am also an author and understand and appreciate what the author has gone through to get her/his book out there. Firstly, I understand how the publishing industry works and how hard it is to get published, even by small NFP publishers. If she/he is self-publishing, the money to do so will have come out of their own pocket. Secondly, no-one makes money out of writing a jazz book. Thirdly, getting your book reviewed is not easy; there are few outlets for review and competition even in our tiny corner of our tiny jazz world is fierce. Yet, the author needs reviews if their book is to sell. Let me speak from experience. I have had four jazz books published, one of which I later self-published in a new edition. I will never recoup what my partner and I invested in research for my first book. Each of my other books has taken the equivalent of eighteen months’ full-time work. My last book, published by an NFP publisher, paid me £2250, effectively the only money I have earned from any of my books. Jazz authors write books out of love, enthusiasm and interestnot for money. Let’s now assume you are going to review such a book, maybe for AAJ or a magazine. You probably are not getting paid and are giving your time for nothing. Let us say it takes a couple of days to read the book and a few hours to write your review. Now compare that to the equivalent of eighteen unpaid months of writing and research. The last word of that sentence is particularly important. If the author has done the research diligently, they know more or are likely to know more about their subject than you as its reviewer. You need to bear that in mind. Rule Number 1 Humility, respect, openness and courtesy. These should be your starting points, at least. Your comments on the book which you review may well be critical and even damning. But if you cannot approach the book and the author with respect and with an open mind, you should not be reviewing the book. Openness implies being objective and that, in turn, raises issues of possible bias and conflict of interest. The reviewer owes this duty both to their readers and to the author. More than that objectivity is not simply a quality in the reviewer. The reviewer must be seen to be objective both in their practice and what they write and that means being alive to possibility that others might, perhaps with good reason, see them as being biased. Again, the author has devoted a vast amount of their recent life to their book. They need to be assured that they and their work are being treated fairly. Moreover, the reader also needs to be able to trust that the review is not tainted by any suspicion of bias. Obviously, if there is any question of past animosity between reviewer and author, then the reviewer should not be reviewing their work. From the opposite perspective, if the reviewer is often to be found in the Dog and Duck sharing a pint with the author, then perhaps someone else should be doing the review. The term “conflict of interest” is not something most readers are likely to encounter on any regular basis. Conflicts of interest crop up most often in a legal context. Working in the British criminal justice system, it was something of which I had to be mindful during my career. But it also applies in journalism. Each editor, I have worked with or to took care to avoid any such suggestion. For example, if as a writer, you were connected with a particular record label,, perhaps writing press releases or sleevenotes, an editor would not allocate reviews to you released on that label. Furthermore, the term is also supposed to apply in academic circles. I say “supposed to” because I have come across any number of examples of jazzademics quick to praise the work of immediate colleagues and even quicker to condemn those not following the current party line. Next time you see complimentary pull-quotes on the back of a jazz book written by an academic, the ones to trust are those with least apparent connection between reviewer and author. One of the worst examples, I have come across of such a conflict of interest occurred in a review of my British jazz history. In the book I was very critical of the author of another book on British jazz and made a number of criticisms at various points in the book, which were thoroughly detailed and argued. The last criticism I made was, however, relatively minor and I accept was a matter of opinion. However, the reviewer ignored other more trenchant criticisms in my book and focused on this one calling into question my scholarship and objectivity. I subsequently found out that the reviewer had been a student in the department where the author whose work I criticised was a lecturer. The response I received on complaining to the journal editor was most dismissive, while assuring me of his, the journal’s and reviewer’s impartiality. Much more recently, I learned that the author in question had in fact been the reviewer’s PhD tutor. Rule Number 2 Being objective means being seen to be objective. Rules 1 and 2 apply before the reviewer even opens the book. Now, we turn to what it is that is being reviewed. Many books, certainly most serious books on jazz, have this thing at the beginning called the ‘Preface.’ In the preface the author sets out their reasons for writing the book, what they aim to achieve or argue, the period it covers, what it will not address, how they propose to do these things and how they have gone about the task. They may also comment on their theoretical or methodological approach. They may also devote the first chapter to an ‘Introduction,’ providing further context for the subject at hand.. These are there for a good reason. Any reviewer who does not read the preface and introductory chapter before composing their review fails their readers. It is on these two that the reviewer must first focus in their review and, it is in considering these two sections, that the reviewer must answer the most important question for their review. Has the author succeeded or failed or succeeded in part in their aims for their book? Rule Number 3 Read the preface and any introduction, pay proper attention to their contents and do this before moving on to the main body of the book. Rule 3 is essential because the criteria for judging the book will vary according to the kind of book under review. Within any particular category, such as jazz biography or jazz history, there is a deal of deal difference between what I call the ‘Ronnie said to Tubby’ or ‘Bird said to Diz’ kind of jazz history or biography and those written from an academic and perhaps specific theoretical perspective for an academic or more specialist readership. My criteria for judging the former will include an entertainment/enjoyment factor. I will be hoping for a fund of marvellous funny and sometimes sad anecdotes. When I have finished the book, I will want to feel I got to know the different characters that bit better. Some of the latter may, of course, apply to more academic works but with those, I will expect both attention to academic standards of evidencing and referencing and a theoretical underpinning to such works. I suspect the above may seem blindingly obvious to some readers. If so, let me assure them, that in my experience it has proven to be far from obvious to some reviewers. The next rule derives from this. The reviewer must pay first attention to what the author is saying, not what they think the author is saying or think the author should be saying. The reviewer may, of course, call into question the author’s argument and approach but the starting point is always”What is the author saying?” One reviewer, for example, remarked about my history of jazz in Britain that I understood that jazz could not be political because it had to operate in a market economy. This was nearly the opposite from my actual argument. While it may seem churlish to carp in relation to what was a positive review. However, my understanding of the complex relationship between art (here) and politics is fundamental to my writing and I do not wish potential readers to be misled in any way as to what to expect. Furthermore, no other reviewer misunderstood this point. By far the most egregious examples of the failure to attend to what the author was actually saying, that I have come across, occurred in a completely different setting. Some time ago, I read Richard Evans’ “In Defence of History” (2001) in its second edition. Evans took the opportunity in a lengthy postscript to respond to his critics, one of whom I knew personally. Reading what Evans had to say and then what his critics, all erudite academics themselves, claimed he was saying was a revelation. It was as if none of them had actually bothered to read the book but based their reviews on what they thought he was likely to say. So doing, they failed not only their readers but their academic discipline as well. Some of the jazz books I review are complex, difficult works, heavy on musical and social theory. I have reread books I was reviewing prior to writing the review to be sure that I have understood fully their arguments. I also send a draft of my review to the author, making it clear that any assessment of the book’s worth is mine but seeking assurance that I am not misrepresenting their work. Rule Number 4 Attend to what the author is saying, not what you think they are saying. If in doubt, leave that comment out! So, what constitutes fair comment? Let’s start with what is not. The following are no business of the reviewerthe type font, the referencing system chosen by author and publisher and occasional, minor typographical errors. All books have the latter. Books used to come with an insert noting errata,”p.59, paragraph 3for ‘by pubic erection’ substitute ‘by public erection.'” It is entirely fair for a reviewer to comment on the production values of the book and, if there are numerous typos that detract from reading the book, comment is justified but must clearly be separate from discussion of the book’s merits. Of far more importance, are errors of fact. In any jazz history, biography or encyclopaedia, getting dates, name spellings, recording details and so on is essential. Any significant failure on the author’s part in such regards, calls into question their scholarship. Omissions of particular artists, who may or may not be germane to the subject at hand, should not generally concern the reviewer. Glaring omissions, where the reviewer can show that inclusion might lead to conclusions at odds with those of the author, must be addressed. Two different reviewers of one of my books chastised me for not mentioning particular musicians they admired. Neither, it appeared had read the preface and introduction. Had they done so, they might have realised that those I included were not there due to reasons concerning ‘charisma’ or ‘enigma’ but according to their relevance to the overarching thesis and narrative. In fact, both artists were in the book! By contrast, I have criticised one author for criticising American jazz from the eighties onwards as being conservative, in support of their argument that innovation in jazz had shifted to Europe and elsewhere. In my critique, I noted a significant number of older and younger US jazz musicians, who had continued to be innovators in the music, whom the author had largely ignored. History, as Richard Evans would point out, requires getting as close to what has happened as possible and deriving one’s conclusions therefrom, not from selecting only those facts that support one’s thesis or conclusions. Of the six highly critical reviews I have written, I have faulted five for inadequate historical and academic research, including the above. The reviewer should also attend in their review, as far as their knowledge or expertise allows, to any theoretical perspective that underpins the book at hand. One book, which I reviewed otherwise favourably, drew extensively on the work of philosophers Theodor Adorno and Herbert Marcuse, who themselves were influenced by Freudian psychoanalysis. As it happens, I have studied psychology at graduate and post-graduate levels, have an interest in Freud and am married to a psychodynamic psychotherapist and could state with authority that the author’s understanding of the Freudian concept of repression was incorrect. Now, I appreciate that this might seem a somewhat arcane point but the author’s understanding of basic concepts relevant to his thesis was a legitimate matter of concern. If he had misunderstood this, the reviewer is right to draw it to their readers’ attention. This, in turn, offers a note of caution to the reader should they read the book, as to other possible theoretical misunderstandings on the author’s part. In another review, I took issue with the author for a similar misreading, on that occasion of the writing of Italian Marxist Antonio Gramsci and his concept of hegemony. I do not claim to be an expert but Gramsci’s ideas have occupied a corner of my academic life for forty years. In my opinion, the author had misunderstood the concept and completely failed to provide references to Gramsci’s work in support of his thesis. My criticism was a fair one because the author had in part based his thesis around the concept. Further, throughout the author failed to provide citations for a significant number thinkers and philosophers to whom he referred in support of his argument. I counted sixteen such failures in chapter one alone. Why is this important? Simply, the author is not just telling a story or giving an opinion. They are making claims for their book. Any such claims are contestable and the author gains credibility when they give accurate and full citations to other works or authorities in their book. When they do not do so, they fail to provide adequate support for their work. Academic conventions exist as a kind of kite-mark (I believe UL and FCC perform a similar function in the U.S.A.) for the reader, that assure the reader that the author has done their homework. I need to say one more thing on the subject of theoretical perspectives. If the reviewer does not have a background in philosophy or social theory and the book contains a lot of such discussion, then simply state that fact. Perhaps the book is not for a general readership, in which case say so. If on the other hand, despite the theoretical content, there is much else for the more general, non-specialist reader, then say that. The reviewer’s job is to empower their readers in deciding whether the book is for them. Sometimes, the reviewer can speak with authority on the subject at hand but no reviewer can be all knowing. A little humility goes a long way in such circumstances. Recently trying to read an article by literary critic Frederic Jameson (and giving up), I felt like the child in a Gary Larson cartoon, who asks to leave a maths lesson because his brain is full. Rule Number 5 In any review, the reviewer may and should criticise the book for errors of fact, significant omissions, errors of theory (including musical) and failure to observe academic conventions of referencing in support of their work. At the same time, any such criticisms must be similarly supported by the reviewer. In putting their work before the public, the author is making a claim as to their authority to speak on the subject. Experience has taught me not to take such claims at face value. Any such claim must be supported by the work itself but also by any qualifications the author may have acquired that lend themselves to their right to speak. If the author is making such claims, on what are these based? If they are discussing theories from academic disciplines like sociology, psychology, politics, literary theory or linguistics (one author whose book I reviewed attempted to build his argument on socio-linguistics), then what are their qualifications for doing so? If they are drawing on ‘experts’ from such fields, how qualified are these other authors to speak on the subject? Has the author considered or ignored other arguments? Obviously, all of this is unlikely to have relevance for less academic works or the ‘Bird said to Diz’ histories that occupy space on our book shelves. But even here, the question as to qualification to speak is an issue. Does the author know or have they known the figures that populate their book? Have they interviewed widely and spoken with those with ‘insider’ knowledge? And, as a corollary, what qualifications does the reviewer have to speak in this context? If unsure of their ground, the reviewer should always err on the side of caution. Rule Number 6 To the best of their knowledge and experience, the reviewer must satisfy themselves that the author has the authority to speak on their subject. So, is it ever justified for a reviewer to take issue with an author’s choice of subject matter? The simple answer is “no.” The reviewer may well question the author’s approach to the subject and/or their theoretical understanding of their subject. They may point out omissions from the narrative that are applicable to the author’s overarching thesis, including those that call into question that thesis. They may raise issues of possible bias or even suggest a different starting point but suggesting that the author should have written about a completely different subject is as ridiculous as reviewing a biography of Freddie Hubbard and arguing that the biographer should have chosen to write about Lee Morgan instead. The reviewer’s personal enthusiasms must take an insignificant fourth or fifth place in any review. At the same time, any critique of the author’s approach to their subject must be based on evidence and argument. Any areas of agreement and disagreement should be clearly stated. Rule Number 7 The reviewer must attend first to the subject at hand. Any critique or discussion of the author’s approach must be based on argument and evidence. It is entirely fair for the reviewer to comment on the author’s use of language, in particular pointing out to which audience the book is addressed. If the author has been unnecessarily wordy, is over-reliant on terminology or could have said the same things in much simpler, more approachable prose, by all means, comment accordingly. Many more academic books, not only on jazz but on all areas of the arts, now utilise a language style and terminology that is exclusive and which seeks to communicate only within the confines of its own discipline. This offends my sense of democracy. There are many academic writers on jazz who are able to write in ways that communicate within and beyond jazz studies-Ingrid Monson, Eric Porter, John F. Szwed, Graham Lock and Gerhard Kubik to name but a few. They should be the model for all would-be ‘serious’ jazz writers. Rule Number 8 The author may legitimately ask if, in their use of language, the author is familiar with E. M. Forster’s dictum”only connect.” Finally, for those of you who have got this far, what about the reviewer’s use of language? The most shocking book review, I have ever come across (and I have come across some shockers), was for, I am sad to say, of my history of British jazz. It appeared in “The Wire.” Not only did the author misrepresent what I had written, he chose insult and invective over attempting to analyse the book or its subject. That the editor of the magazine considered this acceptable was even more shocking. No editor with whom I have worked would have been willing to publish a review written in such terms and tone because it makes the publication or website seem petty and cheap. Moreover, writing such as this says far more about the writer than the subject of their review. Any reviewer with any facility with language can find any number of ways to make their point without sarcasm. One of the Roosevelt clan apparently once remarked, “If you can’t say anything nice about someone, come sit by me.” It is an attitude that might work in some circles but it is not a good look on a reviewer. Again, the reviewer’s first responsibility is to the readers of their review and to provide them with a fair, balanced and informed opinion of a book’s merits, shortcomings and failings. They do not have a similar responsibility to the book’s author. However, as I point out above, the reviewer should always treat the author and their work with respect. That is a reasonable expectation on the author’s part. Again, any reviewer unable to behave accordingly has no place reviewing books. And, if you are going to be critical of the author’s work, you better be damned sure of your ground. Rule Number 9 Your criticisms will be far more telling, if delivered without rancour and invective but with restraint. In your career as a critic and reviewer, you may make many friends and even acquire followers of your writing. However, be mindful that from time to time you will inevitably criticise a book that others rate highly and those others will hurl brickbats not bouquets in your direction as a result. If you are confident in your argument and have delivered your verdict in a balanced and polite fashion, you have done your job. Rule Number 10 Be honest but be fearless.
