The 100-Year-Old Tweet

In the 1920s, saxophonist Frankie Trumbauer was the cat’s meow.  Along with other early jazz musicians like the awesomely-named Bix Beiderbecke, Trumbauer enjoyed a brief stint of popularity that earned him a permanent place in jazz history.  His most notable tune, “Singin’ the Blues,” has recently captivated my attention in an inexplicable way.  I strongly suggest you listen to the song (by clicking here) while reading this post.  Not only will it set the tone and give more meaning to my meandering musings, but it will also get your toe tapping.

While Trumbauer’s music may sound lovably quaint and vaguely predictable to our modern ears—which have soaked in a musical atmosphere that is both more developed and less refined than that of the 1920s—it was rather edgy in its time.

As a fan of early jazz, I often wonder about the musicians that wrote and performed this bouncy and light-hearted music, and the young people who absorbed it as the “cool” music of their day.  Working with such old audio, it is difficult to imagine that this was all real.  The grainy recordings, with their muted articulations, poor balance, and general “over-the-phone” impression, seem to me the faint and fading transmissions of a distant and alien people—no less vivid and human than I am—but sadly unable to convey that humanity fully on account of impotent technology.

However, there is a bright side to this heretofore melancholy discussion, and that is simply this: We’re talking about music, and music can be resurrected like the Phoenix by any interested musician.  And that is perhaps the greatest way to forge a connection with these long lost musicians and listeners that I’ve been referring to.  Play the music again, here, now.

Today I was transcribing (i.e. listening to and figuring out the notes to a song) Trumbauer’s “Singin’ the Blues” on alto saxophone.  After blowing through Trumbauer’s first chorus, I was grinning with delight to be playing such outrageously outdated music in the 21st century.  But in truth, music is never outdated—as long as someone is still playing it.  As long as it resonates in someone’s heart and echoes back in their humming, strumming, blowing, or plunking, the sound gap has been bridged, the era barrier toppled.  A connection has been made across time, and the experience and energy of our ancestors is retweeted for a new generation.

The word “tradition” comes from the Latin verb trado which, devoid of any connotations, literally means “to hand over.”  Tradition is precisely that, the handing over of some treasured knowledge, wisdom, or practice to those who come after.  Obviously, not everything can be handed down from one generation to the next.  Rod Stewart (whom, trust me, you do not want to Google image-search) wisely reminds us in “Forever Young,”

And when you finally fly away, I’ll be hoping that I served you well
For all the wisdom of a lifetime, no one can ever tell.

Nonetheless, it is the duty of every person to hand down to their successors all that they needed to survive and thrive, and hopefully whatever they learned along the way—for by way of persistent regret or contented nostalgia, the most important lessons of life have a way of sticking with us to the end.

Christians know all about tradition.  Catholics even like to capitalize the word, and they are wise to do so.  Tradition (thus capitalized) refers not merely to teachings that are written in books or spoken by sages; Tradition is the entire life of the Church, the acts of liturgy, the works of service, and the mysterious but unmistakable presence and personality of Christ that remains in the heart of every genuine Christian.

Think about this: how is it that most anyone who believes in Christ can, with little difficulty, answer the question “What would Jesus do” in a given situation?  The answer is that we have been taught who Jesus was, how he acted, what his presence was like, by our elders.  And where did our elders receive this precious information?  From their elders.  If we continue the inquiry, the chain continues backward through history until we bump into the Apostles, hastily preaching the Good News to anyone who would listen, and finally we reach Christ himself—the source and ever-present life of our Church.

Open up the Bible to the Beatitudes (Matthew 5:3-12), and go live one of those out today.  Put that written word into practice.  Retweet the love of Christ through your own actions.  Those who come after you will appreciate it.