Jazz Infrastructure

And my cousin Norman's important place in it.

Even though it’s under increasing stress, there is a jazz infrastructure. There are the places where jazz is taught: high schools, universities, conservatories, adult ed courses. There are places- albeit a dwindling number-where people can go to listen: nightclubs, VFW halls, hotels, outdoor arts festivals, restaurants…

There are the musicians, of course, and the people in the industry: venue owners, promoters, producers and publicity people, recording engineers and record label people.

Then, there are people like my first cousin Norman Provizer. Norman always said: “I’m not a musician.” No, he wasn’t. “And I’m not a critic.” No, strictly speaking, he wasn’t. And yet, he played a vital role in the jazz infrastructure of his city-Denver.

Jazz, like politics, is local. Unless people in a community come out to hear the music, the infrastructure begins to crumble. If all Norman had done for jazz was to go out and listen to music 4-5 times a week, as he did, that would have been enough (dayenu).

But, for about 50 years, Norman used print and radio to let people know who was in town, what they’d miss if they didn’t go out and then he wrote descriptions of the performances. For decades, he wrote for the Rocky Mountain News and national publications like Downbeat and JazzTimes and for years, he did weekly jazz roundups on KUVO-FM. He took seriously his responsibility to vote in polls.

Norman was born in Boston (Chelsea) 80 years ago, moved to Philly for grad school, taught at Penn State, then at LSU in Shreveport, LA and settled in Denver about 35 years ago. He was a poly-sci professor, with expertise in African politics. He also kept a close eye on domestic politics and was often a guest on local TV and radio, helping analyze breaking news events. When the show was over, it was off to catch some sounds.

Norman knew every jazz musician in town. Denver saxophonist Fred Hess and cornetist Ron Miles dedicated jazz compositions to him, and he wrote liner notes for many Colorado jazz musicians.

He supported jazz venues, wrote about the music, bought it, and bought books about it. He left behind something like 700 LP’s, thousands of CD’s and hundreds of books (by the way, if anyone knows where these might find a home, please let me know).

I’m grateful for the Jazz Journalists Association’s yearly award for local heroes, which Norman got in 2020. It’s some recognition for people like him, whose importance to jazz is of the quiet kind and often goes un-noted.

Beyond all of this, Norman was, simply put, a great guy. Despite multiple physical issues, he never complained; never wanted people to put themselves out for him.

With his recent death, I wanted to let people know a little about what he did and who he was. The deepest, most positive elements of jazz were in him and he shared that love and sense of community with the world. He will be missed.