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One of the by-products of deification in jazz has been gigantism: the feeling that the only valid jazz is found in large concert halls and major festivals, as befitting the true Gods and Goddesses of jazz. Despite all the historical evidence that jazz was (and is) predominately played in small clubs, the feeling today is that if an artist is really important, he or she — like a rock star — should not be physically accessible to the audience.

The trend toward gigantism is especially evident in festivals today.

Many festival bookers moan that it used to be easy to assemble all the greatest names in jazz. Today, many of those jazz greats are gone, and the few remaining charge exorbitant fees. That may be true, but 50 years ago, many of these jazz names may not have been as famous in the way we think of today.

A look at the apathetic faces and half-empty seats at Newport 1958 for Anita O'Day's "legendary" performance shows a different reality. Billie Holiday sold out Carnegie Hall once, and then returned to playing small dives. In comparison, Frank Sinatra was a gigantic star. Many jazz festivals book "smooth jazz" artists and even rock bands to get the "butts in seats" required. But once again, is the problem with cross-genre booking policies, or star-driven gigantism?

(Even in the history of rock, the Monterey Pop and Woodstock festivals were originally composed of relatively unknown musicians, all making their big-time debuts at these now-legendary music showcases.)

The house of jazz was not just built by The Pantheon; it was also built by men and women that go largely unrecognized. With the lion's share of credit going towards the band leader (as it is in most forms of music), the sidemen (and women) who played an integral part in creating this great body of music often go forgotten.

Whenever I pass a homeless person on the streets these days, I always look him in the eye and quickly scan his face and hands, wondering if it is Lucky Thompson or Julian Priester or Sonny Simmons or Herbie Lewis. Today, millions of dollars go to train children in jazz, while jazz musicians who are already existing on marginal incomes collect thousands of dollars amongst ourselves to pay for saxophonist Jim Grantham's son's wheelchair, jazz poet/musician Avotcha's daughter's burial, bassist Buca Necak's wife's chemotherapy, or a new suit and trumpet for Kid Merv to replace they one swept away in Hurricane Katrina.

What a surprise these young teens will have after being coddled and praised by jazz teachers, jazz greats, the jazz press, and audiences that adore kid acts. When they reach their 30s or 40s and realize the Golden Apples of Hesperides are (still) far from their grasp, not only will they find themselves marginalized, but without induction into The Pantheon, the very validity of their music is questioned!

Despite these trends, I disagree with the belief that nothing new is happening in jazz today, and I also disagree with the belief that great jazz only happens in major festivals, quadruple-headliner shows, and 300-seats-plus concert halls. Music in general is something in which new innovations usually first occur among youths and the economically, socially or politically marginalized, in the small dives, jams and street corners, then is later bought to prominence by an established musician with the connections and a record label and maybe just a bit of luck. From Louis Armstrong to Terence Blanchard, the story of a musician friend or mentor who was 10 times better than himself yet unknown beyond his locale is a tale oft told.

It seems the line between honoring our ancestors and full-fledged deification is a fine line. For better or worse, the new rules of the game include sensationalism, gigantism and elitism. Despite many wanting jazz to be considered classical music, the industry is still far from possessing the subsidized structure of the symphony or the ballet.

The jazz road is a highly speculative hard road. Most everyone is over-criticized, under-recognized, and deserves more. However, the process of making a god for the Jazz Pantheon ultimately starts not on lofty Olympus, but more likely in a gin-soaked dive.

Go out tonight and listen to some live music.