In this self-aware, soulful music I found everything I was looking for - and it frequently moved me to tears
If you're the DJ on a jazz radio programme, as I am, you face the task of dealing with the death of a significant musician at some point or other. Live on air, it's no easy task: how do you actually say that a person has died? How do you maintain formality but also point to the dignified joy of the music? What do you miss, the person or the work? Your tone of voice, almost inevitably, is gauged too far towards stiffness - I avoid referring to someone as having “passed away" but it's often all you can say. It's easy to make a slip, and if it's live, you'll never get another chance to show your appreciation for that person or, in the case of the Swedish jazz pianist Esbjrn Svensson, your love.
I'm not looking forward to my show on Sunday, where I will pay tribute to Svensson, one of the great jazz pianists and composers, who died last week at the age of 44. There's no question of me getting this broadcast wrong - my listeners already know how I'll be feeling. They know because I've told them of my admiration for Svensson, and because they heard the music. Endless plays of Elevation of Love, which still makes me smile, cry and want to drive across Europe in mad abandon, or critical appraisals of the Esbjrn Svensson Trio's Viaticum - which I slightly criticised, for God's sake - will mean that my listeners will be tuning in for a tribute from a number one fan. I'm worried I won't deliver.
If you're the DJ on a jazz radio programme, as I am, you face the task of dealing with the death of a significant musician at some point or other. Live on air, it's no easy task: how do you actually say that a person has died? How do you maintain formality but also point to the dignified joy of the music? What do you miss, the person or the work? Your tone of voice, almost inevitably, is gauged too far towards stiffness - I avoid referring to someone as having “passed away" but it's often all you can say. It's easy to make a slip, and if it's live, you'll never get another chance to show your appreciation for that person or, in the case of the Swedish jazz pianist Esbjrn Svensson, your love.
I'm not looking forward to my show on Sunday, where I will pay tribute to Svensson, one of the great jazz pianists and composers, who died last week at the age of 44. There's no question of me getting this broadcast wrong - my listeners already know how I'll be feeling. They know because I've told them of my admiration for Svensson, and because they heard the music. Endless plays of Elevation of Love, which still makes me smile, cry and want to drive across Europe in mad abandon, or critical appraisals of the Esbjrn Svensson Trio's Viaticum - which I slightly criticised, for God's sake - will mean that my listeners will be tuning in for a tribute from a number one fan. I'm worried I won't deliver.
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