by RAF KATIGBAK

Sure, kids may say the darndest things, but how about the fact that they’re also the meanest, most brutal and violent little bastards on the planet? Like many suburban youngsters living under the oppression of parental guidance, much of my youth was misspent in kind, subjecting lower creatures to my merciless will.

In my backyard, every insect was an intruder and I was judge, jury, and executioner. I ruled the back porch with an iron fist: no fly wing was left un-amputated, no anthill left un-cola-ed, my size-three Velcro Kangaroos were like a 10-ton baby-blue canvas and rubber warhead dropping on the little silverfish that scampered under my bathroom sink, and I soon discovered that a Bic lighter and that pink can of my sister’s Final Net styling spray improvised an effective neighbourhood napalm for the roaches, crickets and assorted creepy-crawlies that dared to invade my kingdom.

These days, the tainted history of invertebrate genocide hangs heavy in my heart, the guilt so great that I can’t bring myself to harm a spider. All insects are my brothers and, much like Gandhi, I recognize the value of all living creatures, although I also know the value of a good smoked meat sandwich every now and then.

Sometimes I’m reminded of my brutal past. Such was the case on Monday night when I watched festival-goers, from my apartment window behind the Jazz Fest’s main stage, scramble like ants in the torrential downpour that brought the main act to a premature close near midnight.

As I watched the pasty German couples run for cover, their bad straw hats forming soggy mushroom caps over the mis-matched patterned button-ups and cargo shorts—the ultimate sartorial train-wreck of style and utilitarianism—my inner child giggled with a malicious glee I hadn’t felt since I heard of “fly leashing” (the act of tying a string to a fly by first cryogenically stunning it) a few years ago.

But can you blame me for feeling a little happy that some higher power felt the need to rain on the Jazz Fest’s parade? Sure, the reported record ticket sales (3.5 million in the first four days) is a boon to Montreal’s summer festival season, but as a music lover and a distant admirer of the genre, I’m sure I’m not the only one who finds Montreal’s International Jazz Fest a bit of a misnomer. Walk around the site and you quickly realize the focus is on anything but jazz. Soul, reggae, funk, blues, hip hop, pop—which arguably all borrow their own bit from jazz, and vice versa—are in abundance, but where, oh where is the jazz?

First let’s be clear: I’m not talking about jazz in the sense that is exemplified by a few jazzy revivalist groups performing on site, i.e. the formulaic structure where a swinging musical theme is established, solos are taken, perfunctory applause is given, and the theme is revisited before the obvious finale, but real jazz, that inspirational music that was born out of struggle, the spontaneous and challenging genre that at one point defied, not defined, convention.

To decry the Jazz Fest for opening their programming to non-jazz acts would be foolish. Any major festival programmer will tell you that bloated, ponytailed, Oakley-shade-sporting tourists eager to spend some Euros cannot live on jazz alone, and this year’s festival is certainly chock-a-block with amazing acts like Konono No.1, Bell Orchestre, John Zorn and Calexico.

But when a major jazz festival’s main event is a tribute to an adult contempo folk pop star whose link to jazz is indirect at best, you have to wonder, is the genre’s role as a vital, inspiring music dying out? Sure, true jazz fans would probably get more out of Montreal’s experimental Suoni Per Il Popolo festival than the Jazz Fest, but do major festivals owe it to the public to deliver more cutting-edge jazz, or should the genre be left to rot in the Clear Channel lite-jazz purgatory where Diana Krall, Kenny G and John Tesh deal Coltrane, Davis and Sun Ra a velvety slap in the face?

For a critique on the current state of jazz, peep Eric Nisenson’s book Blue: The Murder of Jazz, and for some next-level insect harnessing cruelty, check www.flypower.com.

Riff-Raff@sympatico.ca

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