Say whatever you want, but I’ve always found a soft spot for Kenny G. I suck for pure, spoon-sugar sex appeal of instrument hits like “Sunbird,” “Silhouette” and aptly “Sentimental”. At first glance, Penny Lane’s ruthlessly entertaining “Kenny G-Listening” বিspecial work, a sophisticated meta-investigation into the slippery slope of aesthetics এটি seems a bit embarrassing to admit. But as a film critic with a fairly secretive taste in cinema, I have never been embarrassed that my choices in music are relatively promising. You shouldn’t either.
At the risk of further compromising my credibility, there was a time in my life, thanks to the BMG Music Club’s mail-order scandal, when I owned more albums of Michael Bolton than any other artist. But Kenny G was right there (two long-haired 90s play-it-safe events even came together a few times). Should I listen to that song now? Not really. My taste developed in the coming quarter century, during which time the commercial music industry crafted. But I don’t flinch at the popularity of those artists with their popularity, and I don’t look at super-fans যেমন like the people in a sidewalk lane interview outside a saxophonist’s concert যারা who start their day by asking Alex to play Kenny G.
Did you know that a decade or so ago in China (where Western music was only available near bootlegs), Kenny G’s “Going Home” became the wind-down song of workers across the country. As retailers close and people quit their jobs, the tune serendipits them, asking New York Times music critic Ben Ratliff, “Is Kenny G’s music a weapon of consent?” In the dock. As it turns out, Lane knows a lot more about Kenneth Gorlick than most people, and as he realizes that no one wants a direct biography of the Seattle-raised, world-famous sex player, so his installment of Bill Simmons’s “Music” box for the HBO “series is completely different. Something.
Of course, he revolutionized the commercial pop music organization, but that’s almost to the point. Prior to Kenny G, no single instrumentalist had sold anywhere near the number of albums he had, or received such extensive cross-format radio play. Is he a jazz artist? R&B? Adult contemporary? Easy to hear? The answer is yes, all of the above. Is he a good musician? Well, that’s a more complex question, which unpacks Lane in an unconventional but thoroughly enlightened way: inviting his dissenters to weigh in as well.
There are a dozen music docks nowadays. And no matter how interesting the artists’ personal lives are – no matter what obstacles they face on the way to the top, or what dangers they face once they arrive – the films inevitably turn off the same feeling: so much fan service, another thick coffee to collect. The equivalent of a table book is a film, a tribute to the irresistible talent of acclaimed musicians. But can you ever be a musician? Highly acclaimed?
Kenny G certainly doesn’t mark that. (Apparently, most of his millions came from the early invention of an intelligent Starbucks. The film also tells us that he is as fond of golf and flying as he is of the game of sex.) You may not know much about Kenny G. One can avoid its effects. Its aring-up, slightly stylish, well-liked melodies capture the musical wallpaper of our lives, the eye-glazing background companions of shopping-mall escalator rides, and music from the 90s. These are the tunes that thousands of people have chosen to play at their wedding, or for which you have conceived well. So what is the word that wins the minds of experts?
Lane started the film by playing Kenny G’s most popular single for a handful of music critics and jazz scholars, asking them to share their thoughts. They don’t back down, accusing him of everything from artistic laziness to shameless cultural application. Packmatters scholar Will Lehmann explains that jazz is not empty. It’s a musical dialogue that has reached generations, whose call-and-response style responds to what happened before, where Kenny G returns nothing. Lehmann concludes: “It’s not sex; It’s masturbation. “
Ouch. But not wrong. Ironically, many people like this about Kenny G: he’s polite, but sincere. Let Snows smile. Many people have a tendency to sabotage their own success, where the version of gorillas originally made by the boys you heard playing sex in the subway tunnel or park clearing has created an indecent love for their instrument. Eyes closed, heads back, they play from the heart, making wide loop-de-loops for your approval. Kenny G once held a note for 45 minutes, setting a Guinness World Record in the process. At Dock, he prides himself on his “patented” round breathing technique, and at the concert, he demonstrates it to high-fiveing fans as he extends that scream.
Critics point out that any musician can do that; They don’t just display one of them. Part of the hate’s objection is this: Kenny G puts himself in front of the show-off way, as if sex players should be invisible, patiently waiting for their singles to shine. James Gardiner, a black musician who helped inspire Gorlik in high school, thinks his former student stretched a note for 10 minutes on stage for the first time. He describes it as the moment Kenny G. “found his soul” … although it is the lack of “soul” that seems to bother professionals – the way gorilla jazz doesn’t seem to know or care too much about tradition. (Kenny G’s horrific posthumous collaboration with Louis Armstrong looks set to show a lot.
Lane is a master archive digger, looking for priceless artwork, some curses, others favorites. His fully-researched, fine-tuned essay-film revisits viewers of unpopular or controversial images, especially to put their legacy in a more informed context, such as “Our Nixon” and “Hello Devil?” In that case, Kenny G is apt to be re-evaluated – by his fans, by his critics and even by himself. At one point, Lane’s persuasion, he pauses to consider whether his whiteness has opened some doors for him. “Yeah, I think I benefited,” he admits. (He even remembers the tug-of-war around the cover of the “G Force” album, on which his image is distorted in such a way that no one understands his race.)
Where did Kenny G get his signature word? After Gardiner’s music recommendation in high school, “I tried to be White Grover Washington Jr.,” he recalls. Lane, for example, gives an example of an incredibly similar-sounding part of smooth jazz. Radio stations came to dub Kenny G’s genre of music: “Smooth Jazz.” Lane interviewed legendary Arista Records producer Clive Davis and DJs who helped coin the term. He spoke with college professors who attributed Kenny G’s success to the black art and the mass-based music industry of the late twentieth century.
But it’s not some high-concept writing that entertainment journalists are sometimes forced to do (the infamous “Frank Sinatra Has a Cold” on Gay La Gay Teles) when the subject doesn’t want to participate. True to its title, “Listening to Kenny G” lets us hear it directly from the source: Kenny G is determined to give Lane “the best interview of all time” right there, in the front and center – and as gratefully as possible. Like his music, however, he feels that it is not just energy or effort; It is the substance that counts.
Often, his answers become smoky or utterly unconscious. Contrary to all the words of “practice” with the way it sounds when making noodles at home, without the reverb filters responsible for preventing you from that goose. But then again, this is hardly an approved biography. Lane Gorlick has not given final approval to what he has cut, and there is a lot about the movie that will surely win him over. You too, perhaps.
Not really like Kenny G. Nowadays, I calm my nerves like Ludovico Ainoudi, but if he becomes very popular, I am sure the world will be bad. Lane’s film demonstrates a freshly open mind about disconnecting between expert praise and popular tastes. Believe it or not, critics seem to be less open to the more vulgar, more vulnerable to “obscene” forms of mainstream entertainment. From my perch as a movie mediator, I’ve jumped on Michael Bay, and sincerely believe that Marvel movies are ruining the medium, but it’s not a zero-sum situation. If it weren’t for this kind of blockbuster, those same viewers wouldn’t suddenly start buying Lars von Trier movie tickets.
I’ve always said, “There’s nothing to apologize for the taste.” This is a central tenet of my critical philosophy: people are allowed to choose what they like. Drawing from a certain well of experience, I can tell you how this or that film could have improved; I can take you to a better example of similar things, or point out how it is a derivative. But it’s not my job to make you feel bad about what’s interesting to you, and my often milkshake taste in music helps keep me honest. Critics of any medium tend to celebrate innovation. People appreciate it when they break the rules in an interesting way, otherwise, they respect it when they follow them “correctly” – and Kenny G hits them as a spaghetti with a sax, the musical equivalent party of a man making balloon creatures on his birthday.
Personally, when it comes to music, I don’t necessarily want to find work that challenges me, the way I work with movies. Ask yourself: What kind of art is hanging on your wall? Is it the hard, avant-garde and conceptual thing that is celebrated in the museum, or is it the image that makes you feel good? Most jazz pushes me, demanding too much of my attention to play in the background. At the end of the day, it’s what my ears and my brain are hearing, and the critics can’t decide what goes on inside. Penny Lane’s film will make you think differently about how music is used – and even “enjoying” is the right way to approach it. But as far as I’m concerned, you can listen to Kenny G if you want.