By Jay Walljasper

I started out my writing career as a music critic, cranking out reviews of rock, blues, jazz, and folk bands in Iowa City, Minneapolis and Chicago. That was a long time ago and seems a far cry from my current work with PPS chronicling the state of our communities today. I mean what do Bruce Springsteen or Muddy Waters have to do with the richness of American places?

Well, maybe more than it appears at first glance.

Music is the art form perhaps most deeply rooted in particular locales. Jazz is strongly associated with New Orleans and New York. The blues with Mississippi and Chicago. Country music with the South and West, particularly Texas and Tennessee. Cambridge and Greenwich Village were famous for their folk music scenes. Memphis for R&B and rockabilly. Rap was forged on the streets of New York City. Disco was initially known as the Philadelphia Soft Soul Revolution. Even a lot of the finest classical music is inseparable from Vienna.

A sense of place is a key ingredient in most of the best music.

And the history of rock music is really a story of local music explosions making enough noise to be heard around the world. It starts in Memphis, then to Cleveland (where it got its name) and on to Surf City, Swingin' London, San Francisco for the summer of love, L.A. for '70s soft rock, back to London for punk, Seattle for grunge, and on and on. Can you really think of the Jersey shore without thinking of Bruce Springsteen? Chicago without the blues? Detroit without Motown? Dublin without U2?

A sense of place is a key ingredient in most of the best music. That's because great musicians--from Louis Armstrong in New Orleans to the Beatles in Liverpool to Grandmaster Flash in the Bronx--generally get their start by performing for hometown audiences, where they develop their skills and gain a following. Some start right on the sidewalks, busking for change from passers-by. Others wait for their chance to play the local clubs. When not on stage they are out on the town, hanging out in coffee shops and record shops and bars, listening to other players, exchanging ideas and songs, jamming, and making the connections that lead to new musical breakthroughs.

But all of this depends on a vital public realm--a particular part of town where musicians can bump into each other with a minimum of planning and effort. That's why the East Village in New York, 6th Street in Austin, Capitol Hill in Seattle, Wicker Park in Chicago, and Sunset Blvd. in L.A. have turned out so many bands. You don't take classes to become a pop star. Lively neighborhoods are your university. The more concentrated social activity and nightlife in a place, the more opportunities for talented performers. And the more fun for music fans. That's why you rarely hear of hot music scenes in auto-dominated suburbs.

So from this perspective, it makes perfect sense that my new role as a chronicler of Placemaking began way back in the smoky bars of the Midwest, in the wee hours of the morning, as I happily pursued my passion for musical authenticity.