Peter Brotzmann - Machine Gun (1968)

I hate tourists. Clueless about the local customs and generally obnoxious, the worst thing about tourists is that without them all but the most visited destinations eventually fade into obscurity. It’s fun to read braindead takes from someone who misses the point of a genre (or whatever else they’re talking about), but it does me make die a little inside. When I talk about something outside my area of knowledge, I fear becoming one of these tourists whose ignorance amuses or annoys locals, but definitely doesn’t enrich anyone’s perspective. Right now I fear misattributing the sounds different instruments make. I’d like to think I can gain solid understanding in a short time by listening to others talk about this type of music, as much as hearing the music itself. This review isn’t so much about this particular record as much as about my interpretation on what jazz fans say about improvisation. After all, if you don’t engage with those “in the know”, what’s the point of music discourse?...