SAMY THIEBAULT
Interview with Samy Thiebault
Paris, March 21, 2017
Course
Could you tell us about your background and how you went from studying literature to jazz?
I've always made music, starting around the age of eight. It was my father, a Duke Ellington fan and amateur pianist, who introduced me to jazz, on the saxophone. I was living in a small village in southwest France at the time, with a music school where I spent every weekend. While I already had a certain sensitivity, art didn't truly touch me until I was 14 or 15, through poetry and the discovery of Rimbaud. One thing led to another, and I developed a passion for philosophy, pursuing it through preparatory classes and then university. I made a lot of music on the side, but I was more of an intellectual than a musician. The real turning point came at 20 when I heard John Coltrane's music for the first time: it was a revelation! All the questions I asked myself on a philosophical, metaphysical, even spiritual level, found a concrete, physical, and sensory answer in the music I heard. Everything then collapsed like a deck of cards; I could no longer follow the path I was on, and I threw myself body and soul into music because it contained everything I desired: my questioning, unanswerable questions, and the energy flows I still seek today.
Your instrument is the tenor saxophone, but over time you use several other instruments, particularly on Rebirth. Is this a choice related to the composition?
From the beginning I wanted to play the tenor saxophone, because it was the instrument I heard the most, the boss horn. It's truly central, being less deep than the baritone saxophone and less high-pitched than the alto. Since I came to professional music relatively late, I didn't immediately learn to play other instruments. At the Paris Conservatory (CNSM), I learned piano so I could compose, but I don't consider myself a multi-instrumentalist. I focused on the tenor saxophone because it demands a lot of work and offers many opportunities for discovery. However, there's a lyrical aspect to the flute that I've always loved, and I started playing it as an amateur about ten years ago. Through hard work, I've progressed enough to use it a little on stage and on my albums. Finally, the soprano saxophone is an instrument I'd never really appreciated before, but on Rebirth Some compositions sounded significantly better with this instrument. So I reworked it, but only for those few pieces.
You quickly created your own label, Gaya Music Production. What creative freedom does this offer you?
It's both a freedom and a lot of constraints. The freedom is being able to do what I want, not having to beg for the attention of other labels, especially in the current crisis in the music industry. It allows me a certain autonomy, and I'm very happy I made that decision 10 years ago. But it also comes with some constraints: Gaya Music has become my distribution company, giving me managerial and entrepreneurial responsibilities. That's why I compare our profession to craftsmanship. I believe a craftsman is a great artist, because when I drink an incredible wine, it goes beyond the simple beverage: you find the work in the vineyard, the bottling, the order book. I like this vision of the profession, the idea of being less an artist and more a craftsman.
Dialogue between music, literature and spirituality
Your albums have a strong literary influence, which goes beyond the simple title. There is often a spoken narrative that becomes a true guiding thread. Gaya Scienza it bore witness to a spiritual journey, a form of inner awakening.
This album was a true philosophical wink, particularly through the Continuation of the awakenings which is somewhat of an iconoclastic guiding thread. Gaya Scienza is the Provençal origin of Gay Science by Nietzsche. These were plays set in medieval Provence, in which people danced and sang, which for him constituted absolute Art. This album was therefore a kind of philosophical statement, even if this suite, which calls for awakening, is far removed from Nietzsche's themes of acceptance. These elements, along with Buddhist spiritualities, allowed me to connect with my great passion for Coltrane's music. With A supreme love, The saxophonist had created a truly transformative album.
Upanishad Experiences marks a transition between two forms of writing, Baudelairean poetry and Nietzsche's philosophy.
Upanishad Experiences It marked a desire to bring these two parts of my life into resonance: the literary and the musical. Starting from the principle that poetry, more so than philosophy, has the same almost sacred aims as music, it seemed to me that the rhythm of words could function in the same way as the meaning of notes. In the end, I think it was more of a personal album than a manifesto. Now I think that music itself transcends words, that the album doesn't work, or at least that it could have more depth by going directly to the music, even though I'm delighted to have been able to work with Jackie Berroyer. It remains a somewhat unusual and iconoclastic object, aside from the energy released in the track. Third molt.
Clear Fire is, for its part, a reference to the clear fire evoked by Baudelaire in his poem Elevation, while A feast of friends is a dive into the musical world of Jim Morrison and the Doors.
On Clear Fire I'm starting to forge a new path, more musical and more intimate. There's a subtle desire to explore North African influences, whether through the collaboration with Meta, an Algerian singer, or because my mother was Moroccan. I called the album Clear fire After reading Baudelaire's beautiful expression, "the clear fires that enliven the soul," I noticed a less narrative focus, whereas the Doors album explores a preoccupation with trance, which remains a leitmotif in my albums along with liberation. However, the further I progress, the more I distance myself from this literary aspect.
Musical dialogue: influence and collaborations
You've been working with the same musicians for a long time. This cohesion creates a real synergy that draws the listener in. How important is this collective dimension during the creative and performance process?
Evolving within a quartet isn't as straightforward as it might seem. Maintaining a group for long periods is quite challenging because the musicians and leaders evolve. This relationship has been my driving force, because we're talking about serious and profound music that, in my opinion, requires a long-term commitment, setting aside ego to foster discovery and share common ambitions. It's rare to find people with whom you speak the same language, with whom you want to go in the same direction. I cherish this group because I believe we still have many adventures to experience together, that our shared story isn't over.
The presence of the quartet obviously plays a role in the album's construction, as I offer them pieces that evolve countless times before they reach the stage. We discuss and modify them so frequently that after a while, it becomes purely a matter of verbal agreement, and the replacements end up with scores that bear no resemblance to what they're actually listening to. Knowing each other well also allows us to rely on one another more and take more risks on stage. Nevertheless, magic can happen with fleeting collaborations, and I don't rule out the possibility of one day starting a project with people I don't know at all for a period of time, while still maintaining this core group as a guiding thread.
What are your writing processes?
Writing processes are often diverse. On Clear Fire I was working on the tenor saxophone, using the elements I had at my fingertips that I wanted to shape. For The Doors, I meticulously transcribed, note by note, all the songs I wanted to play and deduced from that what I wanted for my music, but the arrangements were already there. I write very slowly, at a rate of about a year per project. Rebirth It's unique because while I previously wrote by choice, this album was built through a surge of writing. It was an uncontrollable process; I didn't feel the urge to say anything, but I heard the sounds. On Abidjan I heard an Ivorian lullaby that touched me deeply and which I then developed. Raqsat Fes part of a very popular Moroccan piece, by the great oud player and composer Maati Benkasem. If I play it here, people will laugh as if they were listening to I have no regrets. Here. I started with things that I really liked to follow the thread from those starting points.
How is the improvisation part handled during studio recording?
I'd like to change the theme/improvisation/theme format, but I haven't quite managed it yet. Nevertheless, I love jazz, and if this structure works, there's no reason to break it. In the studio, the improvisation sections are shorter for clarity, even though we don't limit ourselves in what we play. Now, I also try to be mindful of the length of my contributions on stage. I try to stop when I think I've said what I wanted to say.
Is jazz an art of repetition, of linking theme and improvisation?
The most classic form of jazz is theme/improvisation/theme. Some friends less familiar with the style find that this pattern can become tiresome. We're no longer in the 1950s of Charlie Parker, and other forms are emerging. Rebirth This has been a concern, and it's very rare for the theme to return at the end. Regarding applause, what's funny is its artificial and urban nature. In the provinces, it's rare at the end of solos, and on several occasions, even when there hadn't been any applause, the audience was delighted. Abroad, like in Indonesia or Venezuela, people applaud in the middle of a piece. If there's a moment they appreciate, whether it's the theme or an improvisation, they applaud, but not necessarily at the end of a solo or a piece. Applause is also sometimes more pronounced after a solo by a loud instrument like the saxophone or drums, but in some countries like Venezuela, the musical culture is such that a double bass solo is listened to just like a piano solo.
What do you think explains the high album production for a jazz artist compared to other musical genres?
It's perhaps a combination of several factors. Jazz is a music of improvisation, so as musicians we need material to draw upon. We can't play the same repertoire for three years. There are also economic reasons; programmers and festival-goers quickly tire of a project. After a year, you have to offer something new, and this dynamic is accelerating. Strangely, many promoters base their decisions on the new album more than on the musician, with the exception of the most famous, like Wayne Shorter, who can play whatever they want.
Rebirth: A Dialogue with the Other
Rebirth It's another journey, but unlike previous albums, it moves away from literary influences towards lived experience and the songs of the world. It's a dialogue with other musical cultures.
The album was often received as a purely jazz record, without highlighting these aspects. However, this wasn't a pre-conceived concern, but rather something that stemmed from my personality and sensibility. Now that I've experienced this dialogue, it fascinates me more and more: I listen to a lot of Berber, African, and Asian lullabies for my son, trying to immerse myself in other cultures. As Baudelaire said, it's about going "to the depths of the unknown to find something new," and I find that very invigorating.
This dialogue also involves the mixing of different sounds, from various parts of the world, such as Africa or South America.
Over the past two years, touring has allowed us to travel to different places, fostering encounters and cultural exchange. Nothing happens without otherness: first, the otherness of the group and its partners; then, the otherness of my jazz culture, which I'm now beginning to master in order to understand what I love; and finally, the otherness of life itself, through these encounters. For life to continue to develop, it must absorb something else, it must transform itself by coming into contact with others. I believe that ultimately, we all come from these exchanges, these journeys, these migrations. Musically, this is where something other than oneself can be born. Not the other, not oneself, but something more that allows for union or transcendence. In an interview, I said I wanted to try to make even more jazz and even less jazz, that is, to be as close as possible to my musical language while shaping it through cultures that are completely foreign to me and that fascinate me more and more.
However, you break with the presence of the voice and spoken text, leaving behind literary influence.
Rebirth This is perhaps the least conceptual of my albums. For a long time, I've been trying to delve deeper into my art, to make it freely accessible. I think that awakening and sharing are prerequisites for this freedom. I try to make it increasingly liberated from all meaning, to obtain raw music. When you listen to Mozart or Bach, you'd be hard-pressed to find any literary, philosophical, or spiritual meaning in it. It's a form of beauty that comes directly to us. I was already in this phase when a busy period of my life began, with experiences common to everyone and universal, but which remain milestones, like the loss of loved ones, a romantic encounter, or the birth of a child… While I was thinking of making another album, I started writing naturally, with a sense of urgency, for six months. In this burst of writing, there was a concern for melodies, for songs. I also realized that I had remained somewhat on the surface of the great masters I admire. Listening to Coltrane or Mozart, one immediately perceives a flash of brilliance, but it's not this brilliance that moves us. A kind of melody, a very profound song, develops beneath the surface. I had never explored this aspect before, and when I looked up from the score, I realized there was a theme about Morocco, my mother's country, one about Iran, my partner's country, and another about Venezuela, the country close to my heart.
This album has been described as a rebirth; it can be seen as a synthesis, both personally and musically.
I wanted to explore the music of Maurice Ravel while also addressing the situations in Mali and Ivory Coast. The fact that the album is about me isn't the primary goal; what matters is sharing experiences that can be communicated. That's why the theme of rebirth emerged, not only for me as an artist, but also for the listener who, having access to this musical material, interprets it in their own way.
What role does spirituality play in your work?
The place I give it is always central, even if it is less explicit in Rebirth. The album booklet opens with a quote from the Persian Sufi, Rumi. Just because the music itself doesn't explicitly state this idea doesn't mean it isn't present, as the following demonstrates. Enlightenment. I think it's a question that will be exhausted in all my albums. It inhabits my everyday life: it's a passion, a concern, a preoccupation, a desire.
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