April 20, 2016. Posted by Brandy Wood.
The Cicely Tyson High School of Performing & Fine Arts presents their Annual Celebration of Jazz during the month of April - Declared Jazz Month by The U.S. Congress.
The Cicely Tyson School Jazz Band, Directed by Oscar Petty, takes the lead on this concert. The student ensemble is joined by Artists in Residence Adegoke Steve Colson, Oliver Lake, Chris Beck, Andy McKee, and Tyson string instructor Marlene Rice. You don't want to miss these polished and award winning students as they play America's Classical Music - JAZZ.
CONTEST HAS ENDED
© 2016 WBGO
April 19, 2016. Posted by David Tallacksen.James Brown performs at the Philharmonie in Cologne, Germany in 2003. (Image Credit: Henning Kaiser/AFP/Getty Images)
James Brown always wanted to take the stage last.
Back in October 1964, promoters insisted that The Rolling Stones close out a concert they were billed on together. As music lore has it, Keith Richards would later say that following James Brown was one of the biggest mistakes the Stones ever made. That night, Brown didn't so much take the stage as levitate onto it: feet in constant motion, that legendary hair bobbing up and down to a beat he owned, all while the crowd screamed.
"At the time, he was so funky and so hot and so good, and he danced so well," writer James McBride says. "He was like watching a preacher preach without having to get saved to Jesus."
When McBride, a National Book Award winner for his novel The Good Lord Bird, decided to write an entire book about James Brown, he wanted to push beyond the hype and racism he says haunts Brown's legacy. He saw the musician's time in jail, drug use and allegations of domestic violence as well documented. Instead, McBride's Kill 'Em And Leave: Searching For James Brown And The American Soul zooms in on the James Brown from Barnwell County, S.C. — whose mother left, who never graduated from high school, who wanted to leave his wealth to educate poor kids like the one he used to be.
"You know, you pick up these biographies in the bookstore and you just find out how the guy died," McBride says. "The more I found out about him, the more I liked him, the more I realized that he truly felt misunderstood and lonely."
To aid his own understanding of the man, McBride tracked down a constellation of folks from Brown's life: cousins, his first wife, former band members and more. He recently spoke with NPR's David Greene about how and why Kill 'Em And Leave — named for Brown's own saying about how to nail a performance — came to be.
David Greene: There's an amazing scene in the book where James Brown is a young janitor at a school in Georgia. You spoke to a couple people who were students there, who would sneak down to the basement and find him practicing the piano.
James McBride: Yeah, one of the ladies who remembers it said it was a great performance. She was about 7 or 8 years old. They weren't supposed to go in the basement, but they just couldn't resist.
So the '60s and '70s, you describe that he really personified the essence of black American pride. Why him, and not the musicians coming from Motown?
Well, James Brown saw himself as a kind of competitor to Motown. He was a guy who you really felt represented the community. Not that Diana Ross and The Supremes and The Temptations didn't, but they were the "Sunday best" people. James Brown was the Monday-to-Friday guy. He was the hardest man in show business. He was like your dad and your uncle: He showed up and he hit hard. He gave out free bicycles at concerts. He was always trying to tell you, directly, to do better and to educate yourself.
You, as a young person, were sort of close to him. You were a kid in the '60s growing up in Queens, and you wrote about looking up at this very imposing house in your neighborhood.
Oh, yeah. His house was across the tracks, on the good side of St. Albans. I used to sneak over, across the Long Island Railroad tracks, and me and my friend Billy Smith, we would stand outside. A bunch of us! Because the rumor was that he would come out of the house, and if you'd promise you'd stay in school, he'd give you money.
That was the rumor.
That was the rumor. It never happened. [Laughs.] And so kids would stand outside his house all the time, and then one day, my sister Dottie did something that no kid I ever thought had the guts do do: She just went up to the front door of this beautiful house, and just knocked. And she met him! And so she came running home and said, "I met James Brown." And we asked, "What did he say?" "He said, 'Stay in school, Dottie.'" And that became the clarion call of my sister for a long time.
Look, we loved James Brown in my house. He was loved; he was admired. His music and his whole persona was so funny. He made up words. He was a complete original.
And he took his role, it sounds like, so seriously. I mean, he did want kids to get educated; he gave reduced ticket prices for kids to come to his concerts. And he also cared so much about his personal appearance, just spending hours on what he looked like. Where did that come from?
They call that, down South, "being proper." People from down South, of all races — they try to be very proper. And because he was so poor, and he was always a snotty kid with raggedy clothes and his hair wasn't combed and so forth, he was always very self-conscious about how he was seen, how he was treated and how he treated others. In fact, his best friend, Leon Austin — when he first met him, Leon Austin's mother took James Brown and Leon Austin into her back room and put them both in the tub, and just washed. She couldn't stand it. And when she was finished washing, she said, "Now I can stand you."
Can you explain the darker side of him? And not just the reputation for his treatment of women and dabbling in drugs, but some band members who just felt so mistreated. He would fine his own band members for the smallest infraction — I mean, not shining their shoes.
First of all, when you run a band, it's not easy. You got one guy who can really play, but he's just hard to handle. And then you got another guy who's a really nice guy, but he can't cut the part. A band is not a democracy: It's show business.
The other part, about him being womanizer and having women problems: I mean, that's true. But I don't he's any [more] unique than some of these other people in show business, who have all kinds of women problems.
Do you think people should excuse it for that reason?
Absolutely not. Of course not. A lot of it was very true. But there were a lot of elements that were also very true, that are never talked about. The fact that he was very generous. The fact that he was never given credit for creating these different styles, that are tabulated now by Billboard and Rolling Stone.
So I think, to some degree, he represents African-American musicians who have never had their say, in terms of history. When you talk about the Rock and Roll [Hall of Fame], when you walk through there and you see Elvis — as much as I loved Elvis — musically, in a technical sense, Elvis was not the cat that Louis Armstrong or James Brown was, in my opinion. Maybe I'm wrong! But the music speaks for itself. James Brown's music still sounds as fresh and as good and as new as it did when he first created it.Copyright 2016 NPR. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.
© 2016 WBGO
April 18, 2016. Posted by David Tallacksen.Henry Threadgill calls his Pulitzer-winning piece, In for a Penny, In for a Pound, "an epic." (Image Credit: John Rogers/Courtesy of the Artist)
Henry Threadgill, a saxophonist and flutist known as one of the most original composers influenced by jazz, has been awarded the 2016 Pulitzer Prize for Music for his recording In for a Penny, In for a Pound.
The jury described the piece as a "highly original work, in which notated music and improvisation mesh in a sonic tapestry that seems the very expression of modern American life." The recording was released as a 2-CD collection on Pi Recordings in 2015, and was listed among the Top 10 albums of the year in the NPR Music Jazz Critics Poll.
Written for Threadgill's working quintet Zooid, In For A Penny includes four movements that each feature a different member — Jose Davila on trombone and tuba, guitarist Liberty Ellman, cellist Christopher Hoffman and drummer Elliot Humberto Kavee. Threadgill uses the literary term "epic" to describe each section, which can be approximately thought of as concerti, and also the entire work. It furthers an organizational method he has pursued for nearly 15 years with Zooid, which allows for contrapuntal improvisation within a specific intervallic framework.
"The group itself — these people have been with me 100 percent," Threadgill said in a phone interview Monday afternoon. "Zooid, this is the longest-running musical ensemble I've had. It's not about the number of years — it's about 100 percent to 150 percent that they give. So they were in for a penny, you see. And if you're in for a penny, you're in for a pound."
The two other finalists in the music category this year were Timo Andres, whose piano concerto The Blind Banister was described as a piece inspired by Beethoven, taking listeners on a "beautiful quest," and Carter Pann, whose The Mechanics: Six from the Shop Floor "imagines its four saxophonists as mechanics engaged in a rhythmic interplay of precision and messiness." The five-person jury was comprised of composer and previous Pulitzer winner Julia Wolfe, music critic Scott Cantrell, artistic curator Pamela Tatge, composer William Banfield and violinist Regina Carter.
When we reached Threadgill, 72, it had been under two hours from when his record company had informed him, to his great surprise, that he had won a Pulitzer Prize. Here's a condensed version of our conversation:
I want to ask you about this piece. You describe it as an epic — you borrow this literary term. What do you mean by that?
Epics are — they reveal a lot of information. And epics are also poetic, you know — there's a lot of epic poetry. That's how I got to that use of "epic." Like a grand epic, it could have a number of short novellas in it. That's where I saw this piece. I'm informed a lot of times by other disciplines, and I read a lot. Probably that's one of the ways I got into this piece, because I was reading a lot of epic poetry. Literature, especially fiction and poetry, has a way of opening up new formats and plots.
I know that you very much design your work for certain situations, and you wrote that this particular piece was designed for "chamber-listening spaces."
Mmm hmm, right. It's designed around chasing each individual instrument and each individual player — something that's to be performed in a chamber space, you know what I'm saying? It wouldn't come off well in just any kind of space. Some music you can play outdoors — I would never play those pieces outdoors at a festival or something. If I even played it indoors at a club, it would have to be a certain club, because of the nature of that music. You can't always play everything that's in your repertory in all environments. It's just not possible. Well, not the music that I write anyway! It has environmental restrictions sometimes.
How do you describe your role in this?
Actually, there's an epic for me too, but it's in between all of it. I didn't have to write one for myself, because it's already built in among all of the other pieces. So it was not necessary to have a piece where I feature myself because I got featured throughout all these pieces without having another epic piece. ... I moved it in and made it a part of the entire fabric.
What makes this work special compared to the other works that you've written for this band?
This is the one that breaks the way I was writing in that system. Let's use some kind of parallel — let's talk about serialism. Strict serialism, which is a chromatic form of writing. OK, then there's these kind of procedures that goes with this strict way. Well, once you throw out those procedures, it becomes a sort of free serialism. A perfect example would be Alban Berg, who would just do things that he wanted to do with the system. So the work prior to In For A Penny was far more strict — my viewpoint was a stricter viewpoint in the way I perceived and treated the material. But then I've gone to another place with it, and now I'm in a freer place with this concept.
The Pulitzer Prize is an award that historically has celebrated compositions in the classical style. But your work blends a lot of improvisation with pre-defined composition. I wonder how you see the difference between those two, improvisation and composition.
Improvisation is a part of what I do. I write notated music — there's a balance between notated music and improvisation that occurs. What is notated is what is written, the improvisation takes place, and the composition contains all of it. That's what I do as a composer.
I'm happy that the Pulitzers' views have gotten broader, and seen fit to give me this award. Myself and others who have been working outside classical music — the rest of the artists in the United States, in North America, have been creating art for a long time, and sometimes it doesn't fall under the rubric of so-called classical music. Nonetheless, it is just as creative, and it is important. The Pulitzer Prize has made a major statement, in recognizing my work and others', that they have a bigger picture of creativity. Because that's what we need as a country and as an artistic community, is to have everything recognized.
What do you anticipate this could mean for your career? I know you've known about this for 1 1/2 hours now ...
[Laughing] That's like a lady laying up on the table delivering a baby, and as soon as the baby comes out, the doctor says, 'When are you going to have the next baby?' Well, I hope this will certainly enhance my future projects, because I have a number of things I'm getting ready to launch next year. And I certainly hope this will be something that will give it a boost, you know.
Will you celebrate?
Yeah, as soon as I get a chance! ... The phone hasn't stopped ringing from press, and friends, and colleagues. Eventually I will get a chance to celebrate — I probably won't have a voice at that point but that's OK. It's a great honor and I really appreciate it.Copyright 2016 NPR. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.
© 2016 WBGO
April 18, 2016. Posted by Corey Goldberg.
WBGO's celebration of Jazz Appreciation Month continues with an in-studio performance and interview with the New School Improvisation Ensemble. Featuring leader Taulaunt Mehmeti's arrangements of folk melodies from the region of his home country of Kosovo, this session illustrates the limitless ability of jazz to combine with other music to create something new and vibrant with global resonance.
New School Improvisation Ensemble - Directed by Vic Juris
1) Martesa (trad., arr. Mehmeti)
2) Hajredin Pasha (trad., arr. Mehmeti)
3) Baresha (Rexho Mulliqi, arr. Mehmeti)
Cemre Necefbas - Voice
Apel-les Carod Requesens - Violin
Paul Tafoya - Trumpet
Alex Blade Silver - Tenor Saxophone
Taulant Mehmeti - Guitar and Voice
Sammy Weissberg -Bass
Liam Zahm- Drums
© 2016 WBGO
April 16, 2016. Posted by David Tallacksen.Owner Bob Koester at the Jazz Record Mart in Chicago, which closed last month. (Image Credit: Sue Koester/Delmark Records)
Chicago's Jazz Record Mart attracts visitors from all over the world. At least, it used to: Last month, owner Bob Koester sold the store, saying he was just too old to run it any more.
Koester began selling used records when he was a teenager in Wichita, Kansas. After moving to Chicago, he opened his own store, as well as his own jazz and blues label, Delmark. But after more than 60 years in business, he decided this spring that it was time to pack it in.
"One reason I'm selling is that my son, who will inherit the label, isn't too interested in the retail business," he says. "I'm 83 years old."
Another reason, Koester says, is the rent — too steep for his current budget. On Jazz Record Mart's final Saturday, the store was jammed with loyal customers, among them local radio host Leslie Keros, teacher Shawn Salmon and pianist Robert Irving III.
"It's been a few weeks since I've been here," Keros says, "but I used to work downtown and my lunch hour became lunch hours, because I came here to browse."
Salmon says there are certain advantages to going to a brick-and-mortar store instead of shopping online.
"I love going to stores, because usually online they just kind of show you what's happening, what's cool, what's selling. And it's always the same stuff," he says. "You can walk into a store and [say], 'I had no idea that existed,' or 'I've been looking for that forever.' I love it. I'd just spend hours and get lost."
Iriving has fond memories of the store as well.
"I can't remember the first time I was in here," he says, "but I think I even performed here once, many years ago. And it's just an institution. Considering what's happened with the record industry at large, the fact that a jazz record mart or shop has survived this long is pretty remarkable."
Another regular customer was Bill Sagan, back when he was in college and business school in Chicago.
"It was a store where people came in and relied on some very capable store employees that could route them to either what they wanted to buy and listen to, or what they should want to buy and listen to," Sagan says. "And if you ever run into someone that tries to convince you that making a purchase in any of the great record stores that we've all gone to in our lives is the same as the experience you have online, they would be kidding you. It is not the same and it will never be the same.
That's saying something considering that today, Sagan runs the online store and subscription service Wolfgang's Vault. He bought the Jazz Record Mart's entire collection of jazz, blues, gospel, experimental, rock and world music — along with the name.
Sagan is putting that inventory online, starting today, in a special section of the Vault, but it won't have those employees to guide you. A lot of them were nascent writers, like me — I worked at the Jazz Record Mart back in the day. Some of them were musicians, like trumpeter Josh Berman. He clerked at the Record Mart longer than he cares to remember, getting educated by listening to the store's stock.
"I think I got a lot of my aesthetic from the Record Mart," he says, "because I started there so young. I didn't know anything. I mean, zero. I knew about Miles Davis. And I saw the future of what I wanted to do in the Record Mart."
Not to glamorize the Jazz Record Mart — it was no Apple store. It was dusty and funky; the boss could be cranky and had his own way of doing things. Josh Berman says the hours were long and the wages low, but there were benefits.
"I kind of, like, lived there, you know?" he says. "I was there all the time. There was a piano in the back, and I was practicing there every night. You know, you'd go on tour, you'd come back, the job would be there. They were very flexible, so there was a generosity that was kind of amazing."
However, with the rise of online sales and low-cost streaming services, brick-and-mortar retail outlets must adapt to survive. The Jazz Record Mart did have a website, but the physical store was the thing. It was an experience — and not just for the customers. Bob Koester loved being there.
"Jazz fans are really interesting people, good-to-know people, and usually very nice people," he says. "It was part of the business that I enjoyed — especially Saturdays, you know, you'd get these guys from out of town. And it might only be, 'Hi there. I'm from Belgium,' or something. It's just fun to meet them. That's something I'm gonna miss."Copyright 2016 NPR. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.
© 2016 WBGO