JAZZ! The word is new and different, just as the thing itself. In (lie English language it is distinctly, sui generis. Much to the embarrassment and hindering of the Vachel Lindsay School of poetry, there is no true rhyme for it. Razz? Yes. _ But razz is plainly a rowdy, low-caste word of no standing, whereas jazz is (o be found in modern dictionaries of dignity and rank, printed in type as large and important as anthrocarpus, lardaceous, quantivalence or squamoid, or as any of those words that James Gibbons Huneker used to unearth and (with a sly chuckle) use in his essays, just to help out the poor, struggling gentlemen who sell dictionaries. Furthermore razz is not only vulgar; it is impure. Etymologically speaking (if one may be allowed to speak etymologically of anything so lowly as razz) it is the first syllable of tile word raspberry, misspelt. To "give the razz" is exactly the same as to "give the raspberry", which means to express disbelief, scorn or contumely of any one; to express it, in fact, in an abrupt, concentrated manner which cannot be mistaken by tile victim for anything complimentary. Its equivalent in pantomime is the delicate gesture which consists of whittling the extended left forefinger with the corresponding finger of the other hand, or the more formidable one of placing the tip of the right thumb against the end of the nose and twiddling the wide-spread fingers. It would be quite worthwhile for some earnest student of the language to investigate the reason of the selection of so pleasant a word as raspberry, with such sweet and toothsome connotations, to serve as the expression of anything so gross. Were the expression "to give the jazz", it would seem much more appropriate.

That word jazz is ambitious. Not content with a peer's place in the dictionaries, it has shouldered its way into encyclopedias. Here is the definition given of it in Chambers' "Encyclopedia":

"Jazz, dance music, generally syncopated, played by a band eccentrically composed. The jazz drummer, a sort of one-man band, provides the characteristic feature of jazz, which is noise. . . . The origin of the word is uncertain. The term has been applied also to noisy proceedings, to loud writing, to eccentric and discordant coloring."

Be it said in passing that the musical part of this definition, written some time ago, is already insufficient; the particular point of interest is that the encyclopedia frankly confesses it cannot discover the origin of the word. Neither, it appears, can anybody else. There are as many theories as there are persons, who have written on the subject.

The fact that the word has no relations at all in the English language, not even third cousins, indicates that it must have originated among some non-English speaking peoples. Probably it came from Africa, where the rhythms characteristic of jazz also scene to have originated. The most elaborate and I convincing explanation I have found is in an article written for the New York Sun by Walter Kingly in 1917. Extracts from it were reprinted in the, Literary Digest for August 25 of that year, which, in introducing them, said:

"A strange word has gained wide-spread use in the ranks of our producers of popular music. It is ‘jazz’, used mainly as an adjective descriptive of a hand. The group that play for dancing, when colored, seem infected with the virus that they try to instill as a stimulus in others. They shake and jump and writhe in ways to suggest a return to the medieval jumping mania."

The editor need not have gone hack to medieval times to account for the contortions of negro jazz players. They arc purely negrotic in themselves and come direct from the "ring shout", the dances of religious frenzy or ecstasy, without question of African origin, brought here from across the ocean by the Slaves. The "ring shout", formerly not uncommon among the Negroes in the coast regions of our southeastern states, has practically disappeared to-day, though it is said to survive in Haiti and San Domingo.

Before considering Mr. Kingsley's explanation, it is worth while mentioning the fact that Lafcadio Hearn found) the word jazz in the creole patois and idiom of New Orleans (presumably in the late seventies or early eighties of the last century). He wrote that it had been taken by the creoles from the Negroes, that it meant "to speed things up", and that it was "applied to music of a rudimentary syncopated type."

Mr. Kingsley believes that Africa is the home of the word and says that it has been variously spelled jas, jass, jaz, jazz, jasz, and jascz. It is interesting to note that the form which survived and was accepted for common use was the harshest, roughest of the six, from the standpoint of phonetics. Is it too far-fetched to suggest that the muffled booming of the great African drum was in itself the parent of the word; that, in other words, its origin is onomatopoetic?

Mr. Kingsley goes on to say: "In the old plantation days, when the slaves were having one of their rare holidays and the true languished, some West-Coast African would cry out, ‘Jaz her up’, and this would be the cue for fast and furious fun. No doubt the witch-doctors and medicine-men on the Kongo used the same terms at those jungle ‘parties’ when the tom-toms throbbed and the sturdy warriors gave their pep an added kick with rich brews of Yohimbin bark - that precious product of the Kameruns. Curiously enough, the phrase ‘jaz her up’ is a common one to-day in vaudeville and on the circus lot. When a vaudeville act needs ginger the cry from the advisers in the wings is ‘put in jazz’, meaning add low comedy, go to high speed and. accelerate the comedy spark." Mr. Kingsley, be it added, when it comes to vaudeville knows whereof he speaks.

An article in the New Orleans Item early in 1919 called one Joseph K. Gorham, "Daddy of the jazz." he was a theatrical man who went to New Orleans about five years earlier to direct an amusement enterprise, discovered embryo jazz bands there (though they were not called that till some time after), and, bringing one of them to Chicago for the winter of 1915-1916, is thought to be responsible for starting tile jazz furore that so quickly swept through the eastern part of the laud. (California knew it earlier.) Mr. Gorham defined jazz for the Item, reporter. Said he:

"The word, common to the knowledge, and frequent in the vocabulary of the Barbary Coast and the southern darky for years, means, simply enough and without any explanation or definition, the only thing it's possible for four such letters in such order, when pronounced, to convey---and that is just to mess 'em up and slap it on thick. That's the verb ‘to jazz.’ The noun means just the same as the verb, except that the noun implies the process and the verb the action."

Mr. Gorham thus confirms Mr. Kingsley as to the meaning of the word, though lie says nothing as to its origin, for the Barbary Coast lie refers to is the once notorious red-light district of San Francisco, and not that northern shore of Africa from which it took its name.

(The late lamented James Reese Europe, in the War lieutenant m the Machine Gun Battalion of the 15th Regiment, better known as Jim Europe, leader of the famous negro army band that spread so much joy in France during the dark and gloomy days preceding victory, talked of jazz to Grenville Vernon of the New York Tribune alter he and his band came home in the spring of 1918.)

"I believe," said lie, "that the term 'Jazz' originated with a band of four pieces which was found about fifteen years ago in New Orleans, and which was known as ‘Razz's Band.’ This band was of truly extraordinary composition. It consisted of a baritone horn, a trombone, a cornet and all instrument made out of the chinaberry tree. This instrument is something like a clarinet, and is made by the Southern Negroes themselves. Strange to say, it can be used only while the sap is in the wood, and after a few weeks' use has to be thrown away. It produces a beautiful sound and is worthy of inclusion in any band or orchestra… Somehow in the passage of time Razz's Band got changed into 'Jazz's Band,' and from this corruption arose the term 'jazz."'

This is a good story and as an explanation ingenious enough, though there is no hint as to what reason there could be for the changing of the rugged R of Razz into the softer J of jazz; as a rule the progression is the other way, toward strength. Incidentally, that J at the beginning of jazz is not so soft; much harder than before any other vowel except O. Say jazz and jolt out loud and compare them with jelly, jib and juice. Had we (which we haven't) a soft G before A, as before E and I (geode, gin), "gazz" would be a much more suggestive and correct spelling than jazz.

It is possible that Lieutenant Europe correctly cited the first use of jazz as an adjective, for he places it about 1900-1905, ten years at least before the terns "jazz band" came into general use, but previous testimony already quoted shows that it was known as a verb several decades earlier, right in the same city of New Orleans.

In the summer of 1924 that excellent monthly magazine of Philadelphia, the Etude, published a symposium on jazz. One contributor to it who considered the origin of the word jazz was Vincent Lopez, the well-known orchestra leader. This version sounds decidedly apocryphal, but as it is picturesque and as Mr. Lopez was only repeating what he said had been told him, I will quote it here.

"The origin of the colloquial word jazz is shrouded in mystery," he wrote. "The story of its beginning that is most frequently told and most generally believed among musicians (?) has to do with a corruption of the name `Charles'. In Vicksburg, Miss., during the time when ragtime was at the height of its popularity and `blues' were gaining favor, there was a colored drummer of rather unique ability named `Chas. Washington'. As is a very common custom in certain parts of the South he was called `Chaz.' 'Chaz' could not read music, but he had a gift for `faking' and a marvelous sense of syncopated rhythm. It was a practice to repeat the trio or chorus of popular numbers, and because of the catchiness of 'Chaz's' drumming he was called on to do his best on the repeats. At the end of the first chorus the leader would say, 'Now, Chaz!'

"From this small beginning it soon became a widespread habit to distinguish any form of exaggerated syncopation as 'Chaz.' It was immensely popular from (he start, for it had appeal to the physical emotions unobtainable from any other sort of music. 'Chaz' himself had learned the effectiveness of this manner of drumming through following the lead of country fiddlers in their spirited playing of 'Natchez Under the Bill,' 'Arkansaw Traveler,' 'Cotton-Eye'd Joe,' and the numerous other tunes so dear to the hearts of quadrille dancers."

Very pretty, indeed, though it will hardly stand examination under the microscope or even the simple reading glass. Leaving out of consideration the chronological question as to whether the "blues" were already known when ragtime was "at the height of its popularity", (it is possible they may have been---in Vicksburg) analysis of the musical elements of the story make it improbable. Few popular ragtime numbers had "trios" to repeat, except marches (two-steps) like "The Georgia Camp-meeting", and when they were repeated there was little emphasis placed upon them, all the row-dow being reserved for the more important (and generally better) principal themes of the piece. Further, it is hard to see what "Chaz" could have learned about syncopated drumming from listening to a country fiddler, unaccompanied, play such a tune as the "Arkansaw Traveler", of quite another genre from ragtime or jazz. It is, by the way, a mighty good tune and comes as near as anything we have to being real American folk music.

Only one other contributor to this symposium considered (he word itself---Clay Smith, for years a performer on Chautauqua and lyceum circuits and a composer of songs that have attained some popularity. Mr. Smith is severe:

"If the truth were known about the origin of the word jazz it would never be mentioned in polite minded society. I have seen many quotations from active minded musicians who have guessed at the origin of the term, but they are far from the facts. Thousands of men know the truth about the ancestry of jazz, and why it has been withheld is hard to tell."

Mr. Smith at high-school age had already become an expert trombonist and made tours that look him into "the big mining centers, when the West was really wild and wooly." He was ''piloted by ignorant men to dance resorts which were open to the entire town. "These were known as ' Honky-Tonks'---a name which in itself suggests some of the rhythms of jazz. The vulgar word jazz was in general currency in those dance halls thirty years or more ago. Therefore jazz to me does not seem to be of American negro origin, as many suppose. . . . The primitive music that went with the jazz of those mining-town dance halls is unquestionably the lineal ancestry of much of the jazz music of to-day. The highly vulgar dances that accompany some of the modern jazz are sometimes far too suggestive of the ugly origin of the word. . . . Jazz was born and christened in the low dance halls of our far West three decades ago."

This is an example of how dangerous a little knowledge may be. It is entirely true (and "thousands of men know") that a certain obscene beating long ago became at (ached to the word, but it is not (he original meaning of it, nor is jazz alone in this respect. Many a more aristocratic word has suffered the same fate. Mr. Smith jumps at conclusions. Jazz was not "born and christened in the low dance halls of our far `Vest three decades ago." On the testimony of as accurate an observer and as good a reporter as Lafcadio Hearn, it was known and commonly employed in the South much earlier than that, and wills a meaning entirely pure. The one interesting point is Mr. Smith's first-hand testimony, which may be accepted, that the word was in general use in western mining towns thirty years ago. His observation that the music of these dance halls is the ancestor of to-day's jazz is also accurate. So is the music of all dance halls of all time, as far as that goes. Mr. Smith is liberal enough to like "some of the modern jazz arrangements, which are strikingly original and refreshing, with an instrumentation that is often very novel and charming. . . . Why not call it 'Ragtonia' or 'Calithumpia' or anything oil earth to get away front the term jazz?"

The Lopez contribution, however, suggests another and similar story about the word "jazzbo." Peculiarly enough, it does not seem to be intimately related to the word jazz. Mr. Kingsley tics them together by defining jasbo, as he spells it, as "a forth of the word (jazz) common in the varieties, meaning the same as 'hokum', or low comedy verging on the vulgarity." A jazzbo is some sort of a person, and, according to a story the source of which I cannot recall, the word is merely a corruption of Jasper, the name of a Negro who was that sort of a person. Unfortunately the identity of that particular Jasper and the knowledge of exactly what sort of a person he was are bout lost in the mists which obscure all history. Perhaps he was a circus roustabout, for the term seems to be used in the world of the big tent as well as on the variety stage—and with two widely differing meanings.

Speaking of different meanings, Ferdie Grofe (who will be introduced to the reader at length farther on) tells of a peculiar use of the word jazz in San Francisco, which does not seem to have obtained anywhere else. Out there in the years just preceding the War there were certain large and popular cafes which maintained orchestras and also a regular pianist, and gave cabaret performances, limited, however, to singing by young women. Each one had a solo to sing and occasionally they joined in all ensemble. They did not sing their solos front the stage where the pianist was stationed. It was part of their duties to mingle with the guests and join; them at table. Whenever one of them heard the pianist begin the prelude to her number, she would rise wherever she happened to be and sing, but when the pianist decided it was tune for all ensemble, he would announce, "The next number will be jazz," and they would all troop back to the stage. "There was no extra "pepping up" or rhythmic exaggeration in these choruses, and the word appears to have had no special significance as regards the music, simply meaning that it would be sting tutti instead of solo.

So, with merely a polite raise of the eyebrows in faint astonishment that the Barbary Coast of San Francisco should find so mild and innocent a meaning for a word generally far more pregnant with significance, let us prepare a stately definition which may be used without credit or acknowledgment by any future dictionary or encyclopedia that so desires:

Jazz: (orig. Africa) v. to enliven; pop. to pep up; adj. jazzy, applied to manners, morals, and especially music; n. jazz, pepped-up music—or pepped-up most anything else.