I HATE JAZZ

It has been said by some that they would not walk across the street to hear live music, but they would gladly walk a mile out of their way to avoid live music. I’m even worse. I’d like to systematically exterminate the jazz musicians of the world.
I know a lot of negrophiles will bristle at such a sweeping condemnation.
Put simply, jazz has its roots in Afro-Cuban music—the kind where they monotonously beat on tom-toms, hopped-up on hallucinogens and whatnot, inviting possession at the behest of a witchdoctor (see, for instance, the rites of the Orisha of the Yoruba in Haiti, Dervish sects or the Macumba). As Evola says, it is “primitive and collective in character” (164).
See a video of an Orisha dance:

Move over Beethoven:


The mindless drug use associated with jazz is another one of its perks as a musical genre: “The frequent use of drugs both by performers of this music and by the enraptured young people is also significant, causing a true, frenetic “crowd mentality,” as in beat or hippie sessions in California involving tens of thousands of both sexes” (164).
Here’s the product of such behavior:


Where I differ with Evola is that he praises the spiritual background of Jazz’s roots and argues that the differentiated man can use Jazz as a sort of palliative for dealing with the modern epoch. The only thing I can use Jazz for is to torture myself.