Early Jazz (1900 to 1916)
By 1900, jazz could be heard throughout New Orleans. Early musicians often described their sound as ragtime, referring to their ability to “rag” a melody by improvising variations that stretched and transformed familiar tunes into something new. You could hear the bent notes of blues in the solos, immigrant brass bands parading through the streets, and the ecstatic sounds of worship pouring from Black sanctified churches. The banjo kept the rhythm. The tuba pushed the beat forward. And a trumpet or clarinet soared above it all, wailing high, wild, and free.
Jazz emerged from a cultural mix. The sophisticated rhythms of Africa blended with the harmonic structures of Europe, all stirred together in the diverse cultures of New Orleans. It was this mix that created the musical roux that became jazz.
While the exact roots of early jazz remain unclear, the legends who shaped it are well known. Cornetist Buddy Bolden was said to "call the children home" with his horn. Pianist Tony Jackson lit up the bordellos of Storyville. William Manuel Johnson brought his Creole Jazz Band to San Francisco with the remarkable trumpeter Freddie Keppard. White drummer Papa Jack Laine led one of the first multiethnic bands in the city. Joe "King" Oliver played cornet at The Big 25. Trombonist Kid Ory hired a young Louis Armstrong to play in parades. Jelly Roll Morton snuck out of his family home to play piano at Hilma Burt's house in Storyville. Chris Kelly and Buddy Petit led powerful brass bands throughout New Orleans, though their music was never recorded.
Jazz was more than entertainment. It was a form of protest, both spoken and unspoken. In the early 1900s, Black Southerners had almost no access to political power. This was a time when white supremacy went largely unchallenged, lynchings were at their height, and the South remained strictly segregated. The New Orleans Times-Picayune dismissed jazz as “a novelty music for the lower classes” and claimed it was “immoral” for white listeners. According to the paper, its musical value was nothing, but its potential for harm was significant.
Musicians in New Orleans knew better. Jazz was a form of freedom.
“All that freedom,” said clarinetist Sidney Bechet, “all that feeling a man’s got when he’s playing next to you... all that closeness of speaking to another instrument, to another man.” On the bandstand, Black musicians could speak publicly with pride and power. Coming together to create this bold new music in the face of growing racism was a courageous act all its own.
Whether they were improvising on a melody or finding their own sound, Black New Orleanians were playing what Bechet’s parents called “emancipation music.” They were letting the world know that freedom had a sound—and it was loud, joyful, and unafraid.
