I WAS THERE . . . Terence Blanchard @ Jazz Standard 07.26.09

Terence Blanchard returns to the place where it all began—as one of five working jazz musicians jamming in front of a crowd. Photo by G. Paul Burnett/The New York Times.











As four musicians walked onto the stage, with a tinge of trepidation, the fifth one slowly followed them—Terence Blanchard. The crowd began to applaud as each one gradually wandered over to their chosen instruments. To see Blanchard pick up his “ax,” the trumpet, in person is definitely a rare treat.

For over 20 years, Blanchard has worked as a musician and composer for filmmakers like Kasi Lemmons (Eve’s Bayou, Talk to Me) and Spike Lee (Clockers, Inside Man). The project most personal to Blanchard was his original score for Spike Lee’s 2006 HBO documentary, When the Levees Broke: A Requiem in Four Acts. A native of New Orleans, Blanchard also appeared in the documentary alongside his mother. Like so many others in The Big Easy, they returned to find their home destroyed by the floods of Hurricane Katrina, their possessions ravaged and gone, and their once fond memories of home completely shattered. This certainly was the fuel for some of his finest work to date, including his 2007 album, A Tale of God's Will (A Requiem for Katrina), a beautifully realized work that covers the spectrum of emotions—rage, sadness, empathy and hope.

Many of the musicians appearing with Blanchard tonight have worked with him on recent projects, notably Houston-born drummer Kendrick Scott. With musicians like Scott and Cuban-born pianist Fabian Almazan, Blanchard surrounds himself with his own crop of “Young Lions,” a term that was once used to describe Blanchard himself while he played with Art Blakey and The Jazz Messengers in the 1980s. In between sets, Blanchard teased a few of his fellow musicians about their youth (especially Almazan being the youngest at 25) but added that these musicians were great players in their own right. And he was correct.

The first piece opened up with such a booming, confident trumpet. The other instruments soon followed, but Almazan’s piano was a little shy, lurking in the background. Blanchard soon allowed his tenor sax man, Walter Smith III, to completely take over the piece and that he did. For a few moments, it felt more like a recording session with the original The John Coltrane Quartet. During that “session,” the musicians were still working out the kinks or perhaps still warming up, which might explain why Blanchard allowed Smith’s tenor sax to dominate the piece. As it winds down, you hear a familiar voice saying things like “all imitation is suicide” and “find your voice.” You think, “That person sounds a lot like Cornel West.” If you watch Real Time with Bill Maher, then you know you’re right and then wonder if he’s going to walk out on the stage. Of course, he never does.

Blanchard explained that he taped a long conversation/interview with the venerated Princeton University professor about life choices and particularly how we need to take “new paths of expression,” especially in music. This theme of individuality tied in well with not only Blanchard’s eagerness to still perform, but also in his choice of emerging musicians to accompany him.

The musicians finally began to relax more by the second piece entitled “Him or Me,” a composition by Walter Smith III. Almazan definitely stepped up with his melodic take on the piece. Blanchard’s signature resonance and hard-bop lingering echoed all over the room with not only long notes, but such wonderful circular flourishes that really showed us that at heart, he too will forever be a “Young Lion.”

The third piece, “Touched by an Angel,” a composition by Kendrick Scott, was perhaps the standout of the evening. It is traditional hard-bop in that it’s much more contemplative; a great unison between the musicians and Almazan’s talent is really evident in his melodic trills alongside Scott’s military-style drums and Blanchard’s beautiful, lingering notes. Blanchard’s phrasing on this piece really summoned the spirit of the late trumpeter Freddie Hubbard.

The final piece closed out the show very nicely as the crowd was now fully engaged. The sound was a wonderful hybrid of hip-hop, James Brown, Bo Diddley, Sonny Rollins—this mash-up of different styles is none other than the sound of New Orleans. It was fun to actually see different people in the audience dancing in their chairs while the music played. There was a really fun ode to the “call and response” tradition between Blanchard’s trumpet and Smith’s tenor sax and no one wanted it to end.

Blanchard is really the spirit of New Orleans. He embraces the past (Louis Armstrong, gospel, the blues) and present influences and despite setbacks, he continues to look ahead.

Shannon J. Effinger

The Interview: Esperanza Spalding

Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Short and Sweet NYC

Portland-bred jazz bassist, composer, and vocalist Esperanza Spalding already holds many achievements under her belt. At 20, she became the youngest faculty member ever in her alma mater’s history, the prestigious Berklee College of Music in Boston. She has worked with numerous jazz legends including Herbie Hancock, Joe Lovano, and Patti Austin. Now at 23, Spalding is promoting her sophomore effort Esperanza (Heads Up, 2008) and touring all over the globe. I had a moment to chat with Esperanza Spalding about her musical influences, what she’s listening to right now, and her role in today’s jazz scene.


Are you still teaching at Berklee College of Music? Will you continue to teach and perform?

I haven't been able to teach regularly for about a year. Right now, I am speaking with the school, trying to figure out a way to stay involved with them and my students, but manage my touring schedule as well. Teaching is very important to me, so I will do everything I can to continue it along with my performance career.

I caught your recent performance on The Late Show with David Letterman. I missed you on Jimmy Kimmel Live! during that same week. And now you’re on the cover of JazzTimes, which has you featured as one of the “new visionaries” of jazz. How are you handling all of your success and exposure? Who or what keeps you grounded?

Well, I never feel like I need anything to keep me grounded per se. I try not to pay too much attention to press because it is sort of a separate entity from the music. Also, almost every time I turn around I hear someone who deserves all of this hype much more than me! My main objective in the face of all this attention and expectation is to make sure I am upholding my end of the deal, i.e., delivering strong, exciting, and well-crafted music.

Why did you decide to sing as well as play the bass?

It developed kind of in its own way I guess. At a certain point in the beginning of my life as a bassist, I auditioned for a pop band to play bass. They asked me if I could sing background [vocals], and by the end of my stint with that band, I was singing lead. And from there, I realized that I could use it as a texture in the music, and as a way to connect with audiences.

What was the music scene like growing up in Portland, Oregon? How did you get inspired there?

Portland is an incredibly diverse place musically. So from a young age I was exposed to many different sources of music and art. As a young child I was involved in different music programs, primarily on violin but also for a little while on clarinet and oboe, and the older students and teachers were a constant source of inspiration. Once I started playing bass, it opened up a whole new world of local jam sessions, listening parties, concerts, and playing opportunities that kept me inspired.

I read that you weren't happy in high school until you picked up the double bass and started to improvise. What made you fall in love with the bass?

I wasn't happy with high school in general! And, actually, I discovered the bass there right before I left. School never particularly resonated well with me; I think the best thing I got from it by far was discovering the bass. In the beginning, the first few moments touching the instrument, it was purely the sound that caught my ear and attention. From then [on], I really grew to love the instrument conceptually, and my career as a bassist continued growing from those first few weeks jamming with teachers and friends.

Most women in jazz are either legendary pianists (Mary Lou Williams, Alice Coltrane) or great vocalists (Billie, Ella, Sarah). With giants like Ron Carter and Charles Mingus, jazz bassists have primarily been an "all-boys club." How does it feel to change that?

Ha! True. Most women in this music have been singers and pianists—let's not forget drummers too! And I don't want to celebrate too soon!! I still have a long ways to go until I am in the club of cats like Ron Carter and Charles Mingus. But, you know Mary Lou Williams was quoted as saying something really intelligent: “The more you immerse yourself in your work, the more you forget if you are a man or a woman.” And, it’s really true. It’s seldom that I really think about the fact I am a woman doing this. Usually, I just feel like me and let other people fuss about my gender.

What jazz greats (or non-jazz greats) have inspired you to play? Are you a hip-hop head?

I often look to hip-hop for inspiration on how to make acoustic instruments sound, in effect an acoustic or “jazz” band, have the same energy and magnetism of a produced track. And, honestly I draw inspiration from SO many places. But a few of my favorites are Wayne Shorter, Milton Nascimento, Earth, Wind & Fire, Black Star, Kurt Rosenwinkel, Andre 3000, Betty Carter, Joe Lovano, Gnarls Barkley, The Roots…I feel lame only mentioning these few, because there are quite a lot more!!

Assuming you own an iPod (or any MP3 player), what artists would I find on there right now? Do you collect jazz on vinyl? What would be the one album you would never sell and why?

Most of the time, I order discs online from Amazon, so my house is a mess, full of CDs. There are literally overflowing piles of CDs all over my house. I can't help it. I love having something in my hand I can read and look at while I listen. I still have my Discman and I carry around a few CDs on tour. Right now I am carrying Minnie Riperton, A Tribe Called Quest, The John Coltrane Quartet - Live at the Showboat Philadelphia (RLR Recordings, 1963), and a few more I have received from people on tour. I would never sell any of my stuff…I always give 'em away! I do have one vinyl copy of Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Duke Ellington Songbook (Verve Records, 1957) that I will never sell. I had a copy of it when I was younger, and it’s very dear to me.

A few nights ago, I was listening to NPR's Jazzset and I caught your band performing at Sculler's Jazz Club in Boston back in fall 2006. What I noticed almost immediately was the strong Brazilian influence in your vocals and the band's overall sound. Where did this influence come from?

From the beginning of my studying jazz, Brazilian music was there. I used to listen to many old Brazilian records from João Donato, Quarteto Novo, João Gilberto and especially Hermeto Pascoal. I think the rhythms and melodies infected my musical approach to directing my own music from the beginning. I also spent a little bit of time in Brazil and dated a Brazilian guy who had an amazing collection of records. He turned me on to a lot of incredible music, and I “borrowed” (really took :) many of his records.

I often have long discussions with my friends about the state of black music—whether there will ever be another Marvin Gaye or John Coltrane. And in this sea of reality shows and bling, black music's future looks very dim. How do you stay motivated to perform in this new era of black music?

Black music will be fine, because it exists outside of all of the media hype and garbage, which it sounds like you are alluding to when you mention bling, reality shows, etc. There may even be the Marvin Gaye’s and Coltrane’s now, but the major media outlet may not embrace them the way that Marvin and Trane were embraced in their era. True lovers of the MUSIC will always be able to discern who is doing something worthwhile, and who is simply a passing fad created by the media. When I go to a live show and see every kind of face, age, and race there to support great black artists, my hope is continually recharged.

Shannon J. Effinger

Nina Simone: High Priestess of Soul

Published: September 4, 2008
By Shannon J. Effinger
www.allaboutjazz.com

"I insist on being not one of your clowns, but one of you," she commands of her French audience early on in her performance. When Nina Simone walks out onto the stage, the first word that comes to mind is: regal. "I am a queen," she proudly announces. Her black wrap dress is simple and minimalist. Her silver necklace, a gift from a man who lives in Greece, is modest and beautiful—she pulls attention towards it on more than one occasion during her performance. But for me, it is Simone herself that stands out; she is the radiant gem and her garb serves merely as a backdrop.

The way she looks out into the crowd—with or without her Cheshire-cat like smile—and her unflinching stare make you feel like you are the only person that matters in the room. The intensity and power she gives off while singing is felt in the exaggerated rises and falls in her pitch and the crisp high notes that she holds onto forever. Simone has the ability to make every word count and resonate. I think what surprised me the most about her presence was how seemingly aware she was of her gifts, of her ability to captivate and mesmerize her audience.

Nina Simone was born Eunice Kathleen Waymon in Tryon, North Carolina in 1933. In her autobiography I Put a Spell on You (Pantheon Books, 1991), she recalls that most of her childhood memories were tied up in music. "Everything that happened to me as a child involved music," she said. "It was part of everyday life, as automatic as breathing."

As an infant during Sunday services at church, her family and parishioners remember how her tiny infant hands were able to clap in time with the choir. At just two-and-a-half, Simone climbed up to the piano bench and tried very hard to play the keys on the family organ. She was able to strike each key with more force in just a few months. Mary Kate, her mother, was astonished when she heard her barely three year old daughter play "God Be with You 'Til We Meet Again," in the key of F. "To Momma's mind there was only one explanation: I had received a gift from God," wrote Simone of the event.

At six and a half, Simone was introduced to an Englishwoman named Mrs. Massinovitch, whom she affectionately called "Miz Mazzy." She would become Simone's first and perhaps most significant introduction to classical training. Miz Mazzy introduced Simone to the world of classical music: Beethoven, Liszt, Czerny, and her favorite, Bach. Her time with Miz Mazzy taught her valuable lessons in technique: how to properly hold her hands at the piano, how to improve the spread of her fingers, and how to play from the shoulders and not from the wrists. But her lessons went beyond technique. Simone also learned how to carry herself on stage, things like bowing and walking on and off a stage with grace, and she even learned how to sit up straight and exude elegance while she played.

Both her training with Miz Mazzy and her eventual studies at Juilliard amply prepared Simone to share her talents with the rest of the world. Sid Nathan, the owner of Bethlehem Records, arrived at her home one evening. He brought with him a ton of songs for her to play and a list of musicians that he had chosen to become Simone's studio band. She told him straight away she didn't want to play his songs and if she was going to make an album, she would choose the material. Simone also told Nathan that she would pick the musicians she wanted to back her. What Nathan didn't know was that fame was never a huge ambition for her. When Nathan returned later that afternoon, he agreed to all of her conditions and offered her a contract to record Little Girl Blue in 1957.

Aside from the hectic touring schedules that come with being a professional musician, her success did have other drawbacks. Simone had to find a way to deal with being labeled. She began to notice that many of the critics would often compare her to Billie Holiday because of "Porgy (I Loves You Porgy)." She hated that because it was just one of many songs that she had performed and all of them were quite distinct.

"What made me mad was that it meant people couldn't get past the fact we were both black," she said. "If I had happened to be white, nobody would have made the connection." She further added that it was wrong to put her into a box. "Calling me a jazz singer was a way of ignoring my musical background because I didn't fit into white ideas of what a black performer should be. It was a racist thing; 'If she's black she must be a jazz singer.'"

A number of tragedies of the 1960s inspired some of Simone's greatest work. Her life as a mother and a wife had always taken a back seat to her music, but perhaps even more so now; the Civil Rights movement had consumed her. Though her touring and practice continued to keep her isolated, Simone would listen to the radio more often to keep up with any changes in the struggle. It was her idealism that made her believe that things were going to change for the better for black people.

On June 12th, the night after Kennedy's announcement that he would present a new Civil Rights Bill to Congress, Medgar Evers, a field secretary for the NAACP chapter in Jackson, Mississippi, was fatally shot on the steps of his home. The Mississippi governor shook the hand of the accused killer, a white man, during the trial. "While Medgar Evers' murder was not the final straw for me, it was the match that lit the fuse," Simone said.

She was living in Mount Vernon, NY and had a den built over the garage where she would spend several hours practicing for a show. As she began to prepare for her week-long engagement at the Village Gate in New York City, Simone heard some terrible news over the radio. The Sixteenth Street Baptist Church, once a haven for both its worshippers and civil rights workers in Birmingham, Alabama, was struck by a dynamite bomb on September 15th, killing four girls: Denise McNair, Cynthia Wesley, Carole Robertson and Addie Mae Collins. A riot broke out later that day and the police shot a black kid, and a black man was pulled off of his bike and beaten to death by a white mob.

"I suddenly realized what it was to be black in America in 1963, but it wasn't an intellectual connection of the type Lorraine [Hansberry] had been repeating to me over and over," Simone said. "It came as a rush of fury, hatred and determination. In church language, the Truth entered me and I 'came through.'" Simone's rage caused her to rummage through her garage and pull out every tool that she could find. Andy, her husband and a retired cop, came up about an hour later and asked what she was doing. She couldn't speak and when she tried to speak, the words didn't really make sense. Simone was going to make a gun, a homemade pistol.

She had wanted to kill for those four little girls, for Medgar Evers, and for all black people who were victims of violence motivated by racism. Andy stood there and said to her, "Nina, you don't know anything about killing. The only thing you've got is music." Then he left her alone to give her time to calm down. At that moment, she wasn't really convinced that nonviolent protests were helping black people anymore. That disturbed her more than the anger she had felt. But Simone realized that Andy was right, that she didn't have it in her to kill anybody. So an hour later, she wrote the sheet music for "Mississippi Goddam" (Philips Records, 1964):

Alabama's gotten me so upset
Tennessee made me lose my rest
And everybody knows about Mississippi goddam
This is a show tune
But the show hasn't been written for it, yet

Hound dogs on my trail
School children sitting in jail
Black cat cross my path
I think every day's gonna be my last

Lord have mercy on this land of mine
We all gonna get it in due time
I don't belong here
I don't belong there
I've even stopped believing in prayer

One dealer in South Carolina returned a bunch of copies back to her office with each copy of "Mississippi Goddam" cut in half. Some states even blocked the word "goddam," and released it as "Mississippi #**#!," which made her laugh. Otherwise it was a huge hit everywhere she performed it.

But Simone still had her insecurities about these songs: "How can you take the memory of a man like Medgar Evers and reduce all that he was to three-and-a-half minutes and a simple tune?" It was too late for her to turn back. Her protest songs were an essential part of the movement and time eventually gave her a great sense of pride to know that she had made that kind of impact. The civil rights era would drive her and her musical direction for the next seven years.

We lost our "High Priestess of Soul" to cancer back in 2003. Three years later, on February 21st, her birthday, a sold out crowd at the Brooklyn Academy of Music watched Nina Simone: Love Sorceress, filmed by Rene Letzgus at the 1976 Montreux Jazz Festival. Most of the audience had only encountered Simone through listening to her music. The great thing about a concert film is that it can capture what many may already know about Simone the musician—her incomparable piano playing, her insightful lyrics, her vocal arrangements. And the music can shed some light on who Simone, the woman, might have been: confident, secure, and often charismatic.

Selected Discography

Nina Simone, Nina Simone Sings the Blues (RCA Victor, 1967)
Nina Simone, High Priestess of Soul (Philips Records, 1967)
Nina Simone, I Put a Spell on You (Philips Records, 1965)
Nina Simone, Nina Simone in Concert (Philips Records, 1964)
Nina Simone, Nina Simone at Carnegie Hall (Colpix Records, 1963)
Nina Simone, Nina Simone at the Village Gate (Colpix Records, 1962)
Nina Simone, Nina Simone Sings Ellington (Colpix Records, 1962)
Nina Simone, Little Girl Blue (Bethlehem Records, 1958)