The publicity for "Legends of Jazz With Ramsey Lewis," a new 13-part series of half-hour shows on public television, boasts that it is the first regular network jazz series of its kind in more than 40 years. That means a perform-a-song and talk-to-the-host kind of show, as opposed to a Ken Burns-like exposition of history. It refers specifically to "Jazz Scene, U.S.A.," a program produced by Steve Allen and broadcast in 1962."Legends of Jazz" could have learned from the visual effectiveness of that show, or from good recent examples of studio-filmed jazz like the film "Calle 54." Instead, it wastes a great opportunity with a rictus grin: it is cheerily glib, aggressively middle-of-the-road, deferential toward the past yet purposefully vague enough to be nearly ahistorical, as if this were a quality to be desired.
The host is the pianist Ramsey Lewis, and the format remains the same in each episode: each guest plays a song, the guests play together, and then Mr. Lewis joins them on a version of the show's theme. Whatever spontaneity may have been in the filmed conversations has been largely excised: the interviews are twitchy with edits. His questions, along the lines of "What made you want to pick up the trumpet?," are doggedly polite, basic and weirdly resistant to subtlety and insight.
The guitar episode features Jim Hall with Pat Metheny, and it's probably the series at its best. The idea, generally, is to pair an older master with a younger figure. (Mr. Hall is 75, Mr. Metheny 51.) The mild-looking Mr. Hall is brave enough to utter actual thoughts: first he claims to harbor no nostalgia for the past, then he casually mentions that Ben Webster taught him how to breathe through the guitar like a saxophonist. And bang! comes the edit. (Jazz is so cerebral, you know. It scares people.) But both musicians' performances are worth watching. There's a sense of digging in, and Mr. Metheny brings his regular trio, with the bassist Christian McBride and the drummer Antonio Sanchez.
"The Golden Horns," the trumpet episode that opens the series, represents the show at its worst. The lineage here is Clark Terry, Roy Hargrove and Chris Botti. Clark Terry is one of the best improvising musicians alive; he comes from the generation that grew up in big bands, and he possesses all the secrets about sound and tone and rhythm in jazz, not to mention balancing art and commerce. Mr. Hargrove came along almost 50 years later, in the early 1990's, dealing with post-bop and funk and Cuban music; he has a commitment to maintaining working bands and encouraging younger players.
On the other hand, Mr. Botti, a former sideman for Paul Simon and Sting and a trumpet player of middling talent, has been successfully marketed as a romantic player of standards. This show has no business insinuating that a line of artistic accomplishment connects these three players. Yet without context, you very well might believe that it does: Mr. Botti's performance of "My Funny Valentine" is markedly better filmed than the others, with a darker set and blue lighting from the bottom up.
Mr. Lewis is better when dealing with practiced pluralists: the it's-all-good wing of jazz musicians, like Mr. Botti, the singer Jane Monheit and the keyboardist George Duke. Accordingly, smooth jazz — here it's called "contemporary jazz" — gets an episode of its own. If "Legends of Jazz" were a series about the reality of the jazz business, or about the range of things perceived and marketed as jazz, this would seem like a good idea. But this is apparently a show about the greatest living jazz musicians.
The series was produced by WTTW in Chicago and LRSmedia, a company including Mr. Lewis and Larry Rosen, who used to run the profitable pop-jazz label GRP Records. After GRP, for a few years in the mid-90's, Mr. Rosen ran a multimedia company called N2K. Nearly every time there's a questionable inclusion on the show, it's a former GRP or N2K artist: Mr. Botti, David Sanborn, Lee Ritenour, Ms. Monheit, Marcus Miller, Al Jarreau.
But parsing the show's conversations and second-guessing its list of performers may be the wrong approach. It does put a decent number of excellent musicians on national television. (Others include Eddie Palmieri, Dave Brubeck, Dr. Lonnie Smith, Benny Golson, Chris Potter and Marcus Strickland.) Still, that isn't enough. The ultimate test of jazz on television is whether the music comes across in a hostile medium — how well it suggests the excitement of performance.
What made "Jazz Scene U.S.A." so powerful definitely was not the musicians' short interactions with the host, Oscar Brown Jr. It was the direction and the lighting. You saw amazing camera angles, sustained long enough to allow concentration: a view from under Jimmy Smith's forearm, or from the polish on a snare drum, or an aerial shot showing a pianist's chord voicings. The cameramen got you inside the music and rendered the musicians' faces sympathetic and fascinating.
Here, the camerawork involves constant, thoughtless slow swirls around the musicians, a lot of dull full-figure head-on shots from 10 feet away, and ugly baths of mixed, colored lights. The walls of the set bring to mind a hotel lobby, busy with wood and textile patterns. The graphics — in an Art Deco typeface that suggests something like the Cotton Club in the 1920's — are corny and badly handled.
In all its mainstreaming and common-denominator sense, the show seems to want to deny that jazz is something people care deeply about. But jazz is deep. It is about sound and resonance and great passion. There is a reason people become nearly religious about it. You'd hardly know from watching this.
Legends of Jazz
With Ramsey Lewis
PBS, beginning this month; check local listings
Larry Rosen and Ramsey Lewis, creators and executive producers; Nicolette Ferri, producer; produced by LRSmedia and WTTW.
By BEN RATLIFF nytimes.com
Technorati Tags: Jazz, Smooth Jazz, Music
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