Brett Favre And The Myth Of Artistic Legacy

Now that quarterback Brett Favre is officially a Minnesota Viking, ending months of fake speculation less "if" than "when," all this chatter has arisen anew about legacy. "He should have retired after the '07 playoff run," goes the line of argument. "He's not what he once was, and he's damaging his legacy."

Which got me to thinking about aging jazz artists. As with football players, old age does not do favors to jazz musicians. They lose their physical chops and general resilience with time — and in some cases, their creative inspiration. But they're also expected or financially forced to maintain a busy touring schedule, which is increasingly demanding with age. (That, and they love what they do, so they keep doing it.) Meanwhile, jazz gigs are becoming ever less lucrative, and they certainly don't provide a pension plan. So like Favre, many keep going in spite of so-called tarnish to their legacies.

 

I'm especially reminded of artists like the late Freddie Hubbard. By most accounts, his facility in his late years was clearly not on par with his classic '60s and '70s recordings. But whether for love or for sustenance, he kept playing. One could think of many other artists whose late careers were (or are) filled with inessential records or deteriorating ability — no need to name names.

Buoyed by younger folks who embrace them, sometimes musicians experience something of a late-career resurgence, and keep their minds churning out interesting, fresh material. (One might argue this has also happened to Favre, though the results of this season remain to be determined.) Andrew Hill and Lee Konitz strike me as well-known examples of veterans who remained or remain important, must-hear voices after 60. And whatever you think of his late music, I'm sure that the late Hubbard was still a powerful draw on the scene, and in that way helped establish the careers of young musicians he worked with.

But the point is that in the common perception, the longer an artist lives and works, the more damage is supposedly done to his or her personal legacy if that career doesn't keep evolving in some way. This is unfair, of course, but it is what it is. And unless you've ascended to untouchable legacy status like Dave Brubeck or Sonny Rollins, it's unfortunately seen as somewhat sad when an artist who's lost a step, or even just an edge, keeps playing in public.

With the Favre situation, all this thinking about legacy obscures the actual cause for disappointment. Full disclosure: I grew up in Milwaukee, Wis. rooting for the Green Bay Packers in Brett Favre's glory years. But I'm disturbed over the Favre situation not because he's clouding my good memories of him; whatever sort of cagey, manipulative media-circus ringleader he's become now, you can never take that away from me. I'm angry that he's become a jerk, willing to play for the rival Minnesota Vikings to indulge his temperamental whims, one of which must surely be to exact revenge upon the team and fanbase which supported him for 15 years. More fairly, I'm upset that I now see him as a nearing-40-year-old human being (and a particularly petty one), and not the demiurge who I once invested so much emotional energy into believing in.

With aging jazz musicians, the issue is in some way similiar: we view, even fetishize the work of great artists as somehow mythical. I mean, Hub-Tones must have been made by someone on a higher, more godly plane of reality, right? But of course, jazz musicians are but human beings. And the real issue is that there's no retirement plan for the artist in American society; unlike football players, most musicians don't have the monetary option of going out on top, as if one would want to do that anyway. (EDIT: This still applies, I might add, to the many artists who are still really good at music in their old age.)

Many working musicians, especially those with no side income, will not make enough from gigs and royalties to retire comfortably on. (Many don't have health insurance; how some manage to raise families in the primes of their careers is astounding enough.) Our government doesn't prize their contributions enough to provide for their well-being after their careers are over, or even when they hit retirement age. Meanwhile, the market is not supporting career musicians at the same rates in which they enter the field. (It's almost laughable.)

There are folks like The Jazz Foundation Of America who make it their explicit intention to help aging musicians. They've done a lot of good work so far, especially with regard to the New Orleans musicians' community post-Katrina. But until our society at large thinks of its favorite artists as possessing material needs like everyone else — and not just as weavers of beauty out of whole cloth — it'll continue to be an uphill battle of "legacy" vs. reality.