Alexander Beets: ‘Create your own jazz club!’

There’s a reason Alexander Beets has been nicknamed ‘The Hurricane’; yes, the nickname refers to his tempestuous playing and his big sound, but if you talk to him, you can understand how the sound is a natural byproduct of a big personality. A champion of the ‘Texan Tenor’ saxophone sound (defined by the great Cannonball Adderley as “a moan within the tone”), Alexander Beets is also an educator and a visionary. As the director of the Amersfoort Jazz Festival in the Netherlands, he turned it into a hub for Jazz Festivals, creating international collaboration opportunities. At the heart of all he does is his belief that jazz is fun, his vision to bring jazz back to the streets, and his practice of ‘Kung Fu jazz’. Intrigued? Wait till you get to the Morgan Freeman reference.

What would you say to a total stranger to get them to come to one of your concerts in Australia?

Of course, I’d say “check out my music“ — but it’s a bit more than that. I believe I’m a jazz ambassador, so to speak. I’ve played all over the world, and only the Australian continent was still on my bucket list. I’m now happy I can finally perform there.

I call what I play ‘Kung-Fu Jazz’ — It’s in your face, it’s hard-bop, it’s high energy, and it’s all original material. But it’s got a big reference to a lot of legends. Some of the legends we all know, of course, like Art Blakey and Cannonball Adderley, but also other iconic saxophone legends who have passed away, like Ike Quebec and Gene Ammons, or people who are still alive. like Houston Person, who is one of my favourites.

I played Ronnie Scott’s in London a few weeks ago. It was sold out. I’m very proud of that, but I didn’t sell it out under my name; it was a tribute to Cannonball Adderley. We told the story of Cannonball and his songs. It’s not just musicians’ music — it’s great music.

For me, the music needs to have joy, and the joy comes from the band. We don’t play ‘musician’s music’ — we play great music. At the same time, we value the interaction with the audience. That’s why I say it’s an ‘in-your-face’ concept; it’s like martial arts, when someone kicks and the foot stopping just in front of your nose, and you think: “Oh gee, what’s happening?” That’s the kind of experience I’d like to create. A Kung Fu jazz experience.

How did you get into jazz?

My brothers and I were raised by two parents who really loved us. Every night we listened to Oscar Peterson, Ramsey Lewis, Art Blakey, Cannonball Adderley, and all the others. By the time I was three, I had spent more than a thousand hours listening.

Then my parents said it’s important that you study instruments, not one but two. Each instrument, half an hour per day, six days per week, starting when you’re young. If you make the calculation, if you start at the age of six, by the time you’re thirteen, you have reached ten thousand hours.

I started on the clarinet, which I liked very much, and then moved to the tenor saxophone, which is my love. I’m playing the old Conn Lady Face. It’s like having these Japanese kind of cars, a 1.2 litre making a lot of high notes, and then you have a big Chevy, 5.6 litres and eight cylinders. There’s that moment when you have one of those old American cars and you start the engine, and you can just listen to it, saying “wow.” I’m probably not even driving it, but the sound is incredible. That’s a little bit the way I like to play. It’s that ‘Texas tenor’ kind of approach.

I’m sorry, did you just compare jazz saxophone to a motor engine?

Yes, because I think jazz is a way of living. It’s not only about notes, it’s about having your own voice. I’m a Texas tenor lover, which sounds like Morgan Freeman talking. It doesn’t matter what he says, but the moment he starts talking, you’re quietly listening, saying: “What the fuck is this!? This is incredible!” So, it’s important that you think of how you sound, not just notes.

For instance, Stanley Turrentine, my big hero, once played at the North Sea Jazz Festival. He was there, in a program featuring many others, modern musicians like Michael Brecker; they were all playing 300 or 400 notes a minute.

Then Stanley Turrentine comes up and he only plays three notes and stops. That’s upper coolness.

He was the absolute king. He stood there like a statue and played ‘Sugar‘, and it was magical. It was about those notes, about timing, and those three notes said more than the thousands we’d heard before. That’s the comparison in terms of sound.

When did you realise that?

Listening to jazz is an acquired taste. Performing is the same. You start, and the first time you hear John Coltrane, it’s like, “Jesus Christ, man! Can’t we just start with Ben Webster? Can we just start with Stan Getz? Something less complicated!” Then, in your evolution, you start appreciating and understanding more what they’re saying, so you become more inspired by people like Coltrane. But I’m not a Coltrane kind of guy.

During COVID, I had to do something with my time, so I spent a lot of time studying Gene Ammons. He’s just playing the song — no additional notes. Just like Morgan Freeman saying: “Good morning, everyone, I’m here.” I like that idea. It shows how incredibly brilliant you can be on a saxophone by not overcomplicating the message.

I’ve studied a lot of the players. I’m a big fan of Cannonball Adderley, although he’s an alto saxophone player. He can play the most complicated lines and make them sound simple. Everyone understands it. There’s joy in it. I like that — the craftsmanship, but also the fun factor. When we’re on stage, we’re having a great time, and you see that.

Do you think we’ve lost that, the fun factor?

To be quite honest, yes. I’m a teacher and a festival director. What I see is a lot of youngsters who are only educated in one part; the technical part. I understand the need to be progressive, but they’ve lost connection to the roots. We have to embrace the past and, from this past, make new developments. You can be the greatest player on earth, but if no one understands what you’re doing, how can we give you a certificate from a conservatory and say: “you’re a master of your instrument, now good luck”?

I see a lot of players who are great, but there’s no soul in their playing. I hope that in conservatories they master not only the instrument, but also the joy. Jazz is interactive; listening, challenging, improvising. That part is sometimes lost in the new generation.

Passion and appreciation for jazz history is super important. It’s not about reproduction or duplication. You need to listen to all these heroes from the past, and in that listening you will find your own voice.

What is your approach, when you teach the new generation?

Two days ago, I was in Bangkok with my masterclass students — high schoolers, sixteen or seventeen years old — and we talked about passion for music. Why do you want to master your instrument? How do you keep this passion going? It’s important to get inspiration from the past.

If I want inspiration and don’t have it, I listen to anybody. I put on a record and start playing with them. Of course, I’ll steal some things, but that gets the inspiration up.

Sometimes players lack the skills to interact with audiences or explain why they make the music they make. Nine out of ten times, it’s because they were taught at school. Sometimes jazz is treated like a university PhD kind of music, when it’s actually street music. You can play it in a bar, have people come in and say: “Wow, this sounds great!” The music has to sell itself. The craftsmanship and the joy are important.

Jazz is a universal language. It’s made anywhere, consumed anywhere, but it sounds and tastes different in each place. In South Africa, for example, it’s got tearfulness in it. In India, it’s totally different again, but if you’re on stage together with someone, it takes three minutes to connect and make beautiful music. That’s what I like, and I’m really looking forward to the appreciation of the Australian audience.

I also started an initiative called the World Jazz Network. It’s an ecosystem of forty jazz festivals worldwide, on a non-commercial basis, just collaborating. We want to exchange the next generation, and it’s important that young musicians understand they can be part of this network. Of course, it’s great that we have big names like Gregory Porter, but festivals shouldn’t be only about headliners. They should also feature local and regional next-generation artists who already have fans. By creating both, we can keep this music alive.

We’re already bringing Australian musicians, not just to the Netherlands, but to present them to an international network. We brought Alex Hirlian to Amersfoort — an incredible player — and he was a great success.

That’s my passion in life: I try to connect festivals and create an international perspective for the next generation.

What is the most important advice you would give to a young musician?

We educate our students the wrong way, because we expect the music to create demand by itself, which means we have a lot of frustrated people waiting by the phone, hoping it rings.

I’ve been working with jazz festivals and initiatives as an ambassador, not on a commercial basis — I’d make more money working at a supermarket — because I understand the importance to create your own work, your own future. If we do this as a jazz ecosystem, we’ll have a great future for this music. But if we all just wait for the phone to ring, in the end only one will, and that’s a pity for everyone. Jazz music isn’t such a rich community, but there are people who still appreciate it. So create your own jazz club. Every city I’ve lived in, I’ve started my own jazz club.

How can we bring jazz back to the streets?

If we see it not only as a form of art but as something that connects to society. Instead of preaching “look how great I am,” ask: “How can I connect? How can I contribute?”

Just get onto the street, pick up the initiative, collaborate, be interested in others. That’s how you get new musical evolution. Start grassroots, in the streets. Jazz should be seen and heard there. Art Blakey actually made it danceable music. Everyone was dancing, it was big fun. Joy and interaction is what I like to happen on stage.

The power of music is more than entertainment; you can use it to connect to social issues and even help people. Everyone should be a music ambassador, a jazz ambassador.

I learnt that from Houston Person. He’s still alive, he’s eighty-nine now. I played in Johannesburg, and Houston was there. During apartheid, the regime invited him to go play in South Africa, and he said no. So now he’s the king of all of us, just playing with his sound and his beautiful songs. I went with my wife to his concert; we were the only white people in a room with two thousand people. He played something simple, with balance, and it was magic. The entire room loved him. These are life-changing experiences, where you see that music is much more than just the moment.