You don’t have to be an “adult contemporary” or “smooth jazz” aficionado to recognize Kenny G’s music. From the mid-1980s through the mid-1990s his soprano sax melodies pervaded pop music in instrumental form and as a texture on singles by Michael Bolton, Toni Braxton, Peabo Bryson, Kashif, and Smokey Robinson, among others. Those genres have diminished commercially but even on a smaller scale his music persists. During the Christmas holidays, on lite FM stations, and of course, in elevators and dental offices everywhere, his unmistakable tone fills the air.

Director Penny Lane’s intriguing new documentary Listening to Kenny G (on HBO Max) is both a profile and an attempt to place his music in the context of pop music history. Lane is very congenial with her subject who seems baffled and flattered by the attention. Though he has been a commercial success since the mid-1980s G lacks a public persona; the film might reveal more than he intended about his attitude and limitations.

Despite his immense commercial success and the inherent inoffensiveness of music without lyrics Kenny G is one of the more controversial musicians of the last few decades. The film emphasizes how his status as “the most popular instrumentalist of all time” is at odds with his critical reputation, among pop, rock, and jazz critics, as the epitome of bland, lazy, and unchallenging music. Jazz critics are particularly dismissive of G’s music as antithetical to the improvisational risk taking that has distinguished jazz’s most accomplished and influential musicians.

The interesting aspect of this is how unbothered G (Kenneth Gorelick) is about this discourse. A telling moment is his candid response when Lane asks what he loves about music. He questions whether he really loves music. He pauses and explains how he practices three hours per day. He extends this disciplinary lens to his approach to other interests—including flying, baking, and golfing.  For Gorelick music is less a passion than something you learn, master, and do repeatedly, like a job. His technical and dispassionate perspective counters the common understanding of music as an art form driven by passion and a desire to innovate more so than technical acumen.

Listening chronicles his shift from playing in his high school jazz band to playing locally, and eventually apprenticing with smooth jazz musician Jeff Lorber Fusion before securing a contract with Arista Records. Arista, headed by the baldly commercial mogul Clive Davis, abandoned their initial marketing of his instrumentals by pairing him with R&B vocalists, including Kashif, to broaden his appeal.  Once radio stations starting playing “Songbird” which managed to stand apart from a lot of what was on the radio in 1987 his sound inspired a new radio format: smooth jazz. Though G was influenced by saxophonist Grover Washington, and others saxophonists like David Sanborn had received crossover pop success, it took “Songbird’s” popularity and the multi-platinum sales of its parent album Duotones for radio programmers to capitalize on the sound.

And what is that sound? I would describe “Songbird,” and his 1988 follow-up hit “Silhouette,” as melodic and soothing but also repetitive and static. They waft in and out of the ears, and resolve. They have no subtext or surprises; what you hear is what you hear. There’s little evidence that he has opted to expand his composing style beyond his initial hits—and why would he? After scoring with these hits G became a pillar of adult contemporary music. 1992’s Breathless has sold 12 million copies and 1994’s Miracles: The Holiday Album reached #1 on the albums chart and has sold eight million copies.  To return to G’s own framing of achievement: why mess with success? Numerous vocalists wanted to feature his sax solos, his songs were multi-format radio hits, and millions of listeners were excited to purchase his records and attend his concerts so…what’s the problem?

As many of the talking heads from academe and journalism point out jazz is an interactive music driven by the interplay between musicians. In G’s world his playing is the centerpiece; he is the main attraction and other musicians merely accompany him. The film’s concert footage indicates his penchant for holding long notes via circular breathing. As one critic notes all saxophonists employ this technique but for expressive rather than decorative purposes. As such G’s concert antics, as well as his “world record” for holding a note for 45 minutes, reduce his art to a sideshow; a technical feat that glorifies his technique without saying much beyond showmanship.

Despite the hubris implied by such acts G’s personality is not particularly arrogant or off-putting. He’s likable and self-effacing. Yet he is strangely aloof and even blithe about his own positioning. When Lane asks him abut the irony of a white man becoming the most common name people associate with an African-American art form he hedges and admits he never thought about how his racial identity has given him commercial advantages.  This is strange given some of his initial success on R&B radio. He’s also diffident about some of Arista’s marketing choices which used images that de-emphasized his whiteness at least when they were pitching him to R & B radio.

Similarly, he absolves himself of criticism from jazz critics, and jazz musicians like Pat Metheny (who railed against his virtual duet with Louis Armstrong in 1999), by stating he never saw himself as a jazz musician and that he is still discovering the greats. Despite his high school training he admits that he did expose himself to many of jazz’s most noted artists until later in his career. Such insularity and indifference to jazz history and traditions fuels critical ire even if it the stakes seem low in the larger universe.

For jazz critics being a jazz artist requires musicians to converse with the artistry and struggle of past masters, and to take a risk by daring to establish an original voice. By dismissing jazz as peripheral to him G can pretend his music exists in a historical vacuum and simultaneously capitalize on the opportunities and exposure he receives from jazz venues including clubs and festivals.

To G’s credit his sound is recognizable but this seems more an outcome of overexposure than any inherent artistic quality. Further, even if his voice is distinctive it’s not clear what he wants to say with his music. Toward the end of the film he shares that he’s working on an album he’s titled New Standards. The film shows footage from a recent concert where he attempts to “educate” his audience about musicians from the past such as John Coltrane and Stan Getz. They do not seem enthralled by his history lesson. They came to hear something familiar and relatable; they want Kenny G not “jazz.” I’m less interested in judging his audience’s taste than observing a tendency.

While it seems baffling that his audience—largely comprised of middle aged and older folks—is unfamiliar with Coltrane or Getz, even in name, their ignorance speaks to the gaps between jazz and pop. Improvisational musicians have increasingly lost access to the mainstream and mostly record for independent labels. Critical interest in their work is crucial to their livelihood and their ability to gain exposure from clubs, festivals, and other promotional venues of jazz.  Jazz critics are tastemakers and gatekeepers, and the musicians working in the tradition do benefit from their recognition.

G’s pop orientation has convinced many people that he represents the tradition and he does not seem interested in correcting them. Actually, he seems to think its noble that by digitally integrating bits of Getz’s paying into a “virtual duo” with him on his new album his fans might feel inspired to listen to Getz. This seems like a big stretch for his audience but he doesn’t give it a second thought. After 40 years of building an audience and 75 million “units” sold he has nothing at stake if they do or don’t.

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