Striving to live up to its boast as “Africa’s grandest gathering” the 2011 edition of the Cape Town International Jazz Festival presented a rich cornucopia of sounds – including jazz, jazz extensions and jazz-influenced in a colorful melange. Being an inveterate crowd watcher comes with the territory for those who present jazz, and particularly jazz festivals, including your corespondent. Strolling the halls and adjacent outdoor byways of the spiffy Cape Town International Convention Centre (largest of its kind on the Continent of Africa) one cannot help but be impressed with the SRO throng’s electric air of anticipation and simple joy of being there. CTIJF audiences represent one of the most diversely gorgeous mosaics enjoyed by any jazz festival on the planet.


SCENES FROM A FESTIVAL: CTIJF ’11

Designed in the manner of its fabled father, the Northsea Jazz Festival, CTIJF is produced by espAfrika, under the direction of the wiry, wily Rashid Lombard. A photojournalist, Lombard’s experience includes many years of official work for the apartheid era pariah African National Congress (ANC) of Nelson Mandela and his cohorts, now the post-apartheid majority party of South Africa. CTIJF takes place over a week of assorted street-stage performances, educational outreach activities, youth oriented events, and an arts journalism intensive run by Gwen Ansell, author of the essential book Soweto Blues. The activities culminate in a kinetic weekend at the Convention Centre (March 25 & 26, 2011) where the festival takes over five huge spaces, including two outdoor plaza stages and a theatre. Each venue honors either a South African jazz ancestor (tenorman Basil “Mannenberg” Coetzee, keyboardist Moses Molelekwa) or a historic venue (Rosies, Kippie’s, and Bassline). Fittingly the more jazz-centric acts – particularly U.S. imports like Wayne Shorter or Esperanza Spalding – play the comfortable Rosies theatre, while the mass audience faves, like the eagerly anticipated Earth, Wind & Fire, or smoothie Dave Koz, play the huge Kippies. The latter is a room that could comfortably accommodate a sporting event, which under different circumstances might be a multi-purpose convention exhibit hall; such a room is certainly not built for either comfort or the accommodation of pleasant acoustics. If you fancy the camaraderie of stand-up gigs belly-to-back and shoulder-to-shoulder with your neighbor, then this is your place – but decidedly not mine. Meanwhile Rosie’s and Molelekwa are built for comfort, with chairs in the latter, theater seating and superior acoustics in the former. The other two venues are SRO, though not as jammed-tight as Kippie’s.

Since this was your corespondent’s 3rd time around for CTIJF, the drill was a bit simpler. A festival of this nature begs both patience and a savvy sense of scheduling – as in ‘let’s see, should we catch the first 20 minutes of show X then head over for the more eagerly anticipated show Y, with an eye towards comfortably navigating the hallways towards the big finish of show Z?’ Yes, its that kind of party, and one blessed with more than its share of charms – including ample crafts and CD merchants, local & generic cuisine – once the navigational pathways have been properly charted via fold-out schedule or program book.

Given the constant crowd arrival, (doors opening around 6:00, first sets at 7:00) which peaks at about 10 and goes to 1:00am or so, figuring Kippie’s to be a bit light on the jam-pack for the opening set, the Cape Town Tribute Band was in order opening night. Over the past three years or so SA has experienced more than its share of significant jazz deaths, including the very recent passing of the brilliant and exploratory saxophonist Zim Ngqawana who passed on to ancestry mere weeks after the festival. The Cape Town Tribute Band is an all-star assemblage of some of SA’s finest, who paid homage to fallen warriors saxophonist Winston “Mankunku” Ngozi, pianist Tony Schilder, vocalist Donald Tshomela, saxophonist Ezra Nguckana, saxophonist Robbie Jansen, and my friend and colleague pianist Hotep Idris Galeta. The latter spent more than a little time stateside, working with Jackie McLean and Bobby Hutcherson among others. The tribute band, under the direction of guitarist Alvin Dyers gave a warm account of compositions written by or affiliated with the fallen heroes, including Hotep’s infectious “Harold’s Bossa.”

Next it was upstairs to Rosie’s for the fluent trumpet artistry of Feya Feku, whose set proved a study in subtlety, maintaining a kind of cerebral low gravy/high simmer, full of original compositions. The fire came with the final two pieces, when Feku also paid homage to the fallen with his own “Missing Heroes.” Guitarafrika brought three distinct string traditions to the Molelekwa stage, including the colorfully swathed Eric Triton from Mauritius, SA’s Steve Newman, and Alhousseini Mohamed Anivolta from Niger. Their mantra modes reminded of Morocco’s grand Gnaoua Festival.

FEYA FAKU

The Wayne Shorter Quartet’s abstract truths were the most eagerly anticipated stand of the weekend for the Rosie’s stage, which was packed for both Friday and Saturday night sets. Shorter did not disappoint, opening on Friday with a meditation on his Bitches Brew contribution “Sanctuary” and including a tricksters rendition of “Speak No Evil” which was adroitly addressed by the master and his challenging, longtime cohorts Danilo Perez, Brian Blade and John Patitucci. Throughout Shorter, who can seem a bit aloof, appeared genuinely inspired, leaving one to wonder if the afterglow from his days on in-country wildlife safari prior to the festival had the desired effect. Wayne seems to increasingly look to Patitucci as the band’s fulcrum, around which the entire quartet seems to revolve. His sets on successive evenings brought to mind that early Weather Report credo of “we always solo, we never solo.” Strolling the byways to catch bits & pieces of various sets – with particular interest always in the South African artists, the daunting throng jammed into Kippies for EWF sent me back to Rosie’s for the ever-cerebral and ironic Patricia Barber. She opened with Jobin’s “Triste” and kept up a running, somewhat distracting banter with the crew for sound adjustments (“why’s it so loud?”).

Saturday evening the festival stumbled into a pothole as tech matters significantly delayed the eagerly-awaited performance of one of SA’s jewels, vocalist Simphiwe Dana. Once the striking Ms. Dana stylishly floated onstage garbed in gauzy black & white she sang of global unification in duo with her guitarist on the deeply-affecting “Tribe”, effectively cooling the upset crowd’s ardor. Since seeing her at the ’05 edition, when demand for her first scheduled performance caused espAfrika to quickly juggle the lineup and insert a second performance on a larger stage, Dana has crafted a magnetic stage presence to go along with her politically-charged contralto and tightly-delivered presentation.

THE EXQUISITE SIMPHIWE DANA

As the madding crowds began to pack Kippies in anticipation of EWF succeeding Simphiwe on its stage, some savvy maneuvering eased my way outdoors to the Bassline stage. The latter is the festival’s showcase for younger talent and DJ culture. The second Bassline set for Saturday evening was someone who enticed more than a little curiosity, vocalist-poet-actress Naima McLean, daughter of saxophonist Rene McLean, granddaughter of NEA Jazz Master Jackie McLean and arts administrator Dollie McLean. Naima, a multi-talented young woman to be sure, is a bit green but quite promising as she develops her craft. She opened with a clever arrangement of her namesake, the John Coltrane‘s classic “Naima” that Rene later told me he’d arranged for her, and proceeded through a set that garnered a lotta love from an audience that was clearly in her corner. Naima McLean is one to watch.

NAIMA McLEAN DELIGHTS THE BASSLINE AUDIENCE

South Africa boasts one of the strongest indigenous jazz cultures on the planet outside the U.S. CTIJF affords opportunities to sample some of SA’s nascent jazz talent, and with that in mind I eased back inside to the Molelekwa stage for trumpeter Lwanda Gogwana. The native of East London, a contributor to Abdullah Ibrahim’s Cape Town Jazz Orchestra book, operates in a contemporary vein with more than a little tribal inflection in his forms, including a resident shaman onstage. The band was also notable for including the impressive trombone woman Siya Charles, who along with saxophonist Shannon Mowday (currently studying in the Netherlands) are the first wave of a hopefully growing tradition of post-apartheid SA jazzwomen instrumentalists.

LWANDA GOGWANA

Based on his sublime duet with fellow master Kenny Barron at the NEA Jazz Masters concert in January, a fuller measure of Hubert Laws was in order. Curiously Laws is something of a rarity these days on jazz festival bills. His effortlessly facile essay through “Airegin” on piccolo demonstrated his peerless mastery on that diminutive member of the flute family; as did his sparkling way around “Lament” and an azure “My Ship” further suggested the truth – that as a flute specialist Hubert Laws is the greatest virtuoso this music has produced. Of note in the band was David Budway‘s piano, and the presence of Rob Mullins on synth enabled Laws to broaden his orchestration, lending his “Rite of Spring” particular depth.

Hugh Masakela set out on an overt mission to substantiate his jazz propers at Rosies, in his introductory remarks prominently mentioning critics who’ve dismissed his improviser’s credentials in the past. What resulted was a rather low-watt program of standards delivered entirely on flugelhorn, the highlight of which was a warm “I Remember Clifford”. Despite the relative mediocrity, one mustn’t overlook the essential contributions of pianist Larry Willis, Masakela’s buddy from back in the day whose work was consistently on-point. In marked contrast on the Richter scale was Cindy Blackman‘s furious set down the hall at Molelekwa. Ms. Blackman (Santana) was literally a drumming force of nature in her tribute to mentor Tony Williams, her band featuring guitarist David Gilmore and bass guitarist Felix Pastorius, Jaco’s dark-haired progeny.

About Cape Town: Cape Town is one of the world’s most beautiful cities, which despite its obvious vibrance is a relatively tranquil place. The combination of mountain, sea and hilly vistas frame the town in a manner remindful of San Francisco. Take the de riguer cable car trip to the top of Table Mountain for unparalleled city vistas and you’ll be hooked on the sheer physical attributes of the city. Numerous other historic sites lend the city further charm, as does its inviting waterfront area. For the retail-minded the Waterfront Mall shopping area is a must – and we’re not talking your typical faceless suburban mall. There’s lots of local color in the mall area, including two large indigenous crafts sections and assorted vocal, dance and instrumental ensembles lending a township air to the vibrance. And make sure you stop at Presidential Shirts, so-named because they are shirtmakers for Madiba, spiritual father Nelson Mandela. Also don’t forget the nearby wine country, particularly in the vicinity of the town of Stellenbosch; South Africa has more than its share of first class vintners. For the club scene try the bustling nightlife of CT’s Long Street, and the city has more than its share of fine restaurants, but if you’re in luck and know some locals, see if you can wangle your way into a braai for South Africa’s noted barbecue culture – vegans beware!

SKILLED BUSKERS DELIVERING SA’s UNIQUE HARMONIC ESSENCE

THE VIEW FROM ATOP TABLE MOUNTAIN

Getting there: Getting to South Africa promises one of the longest flights you’re likely to experience, but beyond worth it. The best routes are via South African Airways, a very accommodating carrier as airlines go. They fly via either JFK or Washington Dulles to Johannesburg (approx. 17 hours), then its another two to Cape Town. Thank goodness South African Airways is built for comfort, and particularly replete with amenities for the first class traveler.

Nina Simone was one of the more thoroughly unique and singular artists of the 20th century. Her legacy lives on in many corners; radio programmers such as WPFW’s Miyuki Williams (“A Sunday Kind of Love”) steadfastly and earnestly uphold and celebrate that legacy. The stories from those who knew her are legendary. There was no one who better fit the mantle of fiercely iconoclastic than Ms. Simone – freedom & human rights champion, absolute independent, driven woman are just a few of her platforms. They literally threw away the mold when Nina Simone ascended to ancestry.

So what do you suppose possesses a young vocalist to tackle Simone’s singular song legacy? The young Ottawa, Ontario-based singer Kellylee Evans has chosen to do just that with her latest recording, simply titled Nina. The album subsequently captured a 2011 Juno Award, Canada’s Grammy equivalent. Kellylee is someone whose arc I’ve been following since her impressive turn in the Monk Competition (the year Gretchen Parlato captured the prize). Like many a finalist she had more than a little earnest audience support that weekend as her clear, rich tones rang out across the Kennedy Center Concert Hall, buoyed by superb articulation, and a sense of phrasing mature beyond her years. Now comes Nina, on the Plus Loin label, begging an Independent Ear inquiry.

KELLYLEE EVANS BEARING WITNESS TO NINA SIMONE

What inspired you to pay such homage to Nina Simone?

My mother was a Nina Simone fan, and her music filled our home. My husband was also a fan, and during university, Sunday was Nina Simone day. I can’t tell you how many times I woke up to the sound of her voice. When I first started learning jazz I focused on learning one singer a month. I would read everything I could find about them, learn their repertoire, their sound. I revisited the music of Nina Simone at that time. That was when I truly developed my own love for her. When Plus Loin Music asked me to record for them and told me I could do whatever I wanted, so long as it was standards, I instantly knew I wanted to pay tribute to the singers that had trained me on my monthly journeys. Nina was my first choice. The album was initially entitled ‘Songs Nina Taught Me’ but that felt long, so I shortened it to Nina.

KELLYLEE WITH HER 2011 JUNO AWARD FOR NINA

Since Nina Simone is such an icon and others have paid her tribute, how did you go about making yours a unique tribute album?

The couple times fear crept in, making me question whether I had anything new to say, I remembered the title of the project. This was always about the songs, never solely about Nina Simone. I wanted to introduce people to the music I learnt from Nina Simone. I remembered that they can always refer to their own Nina Simone albums to listen to her version. That freed me up to approach the music from my own perspective. Which would explain why there is no piano. For the most part, I play in a guitar-based trio. Those are the sounds I hear. I was so happy when the label encouraged me to keep the project true to that organic sound I love to produce.

Talk about your career development for those who may not know you.

I was a stay-at-home mother studying for my masters in legal philosophy when I decided to step away and pursue my music. I started writing my own songs and self-produced an album in early 2004, with Lonnie Plaxico, Marvin Sewell, George Colligan, Kahlil Kwame Bell, and Steve Hass. I used the tracks from that project to enter the Thelonious Monk International Jazz Vocal Competition and ended up in 2nd place. I essentially went from singing in the shower to singing onstage at the Kennedy Center. The judges that year were Flora Purim, Dee Dee Bridgewater, Kurt Elling, Al Jarreau, Little Jimmy Scott, and Quincy Jones. It was surreal. I ended up releasing that CD, Fight or Flight?, in early 2006, and it was nominated for a 2007 Juno Award. I also received a Gemini Award nomination that year and won a Canadian Smooth Jazz Award. In February 2010, I ended up releasing another album (The Good Girl) of all original material that I wrote and produced from a more pop-soul perspective. Then Nina came out in August of 2010.

What’s your sense of the jazz vocal pantheon?

I am definitely grateful to all the singers that have come before me. As I mentioned, I owe the development of my craft to so many. Being an academic at the time, my search for music and sound was extensive. I didn’t seek to retain specifics, but more to appreciate the broad range and create my own sound. Ella Fitzgerald, Carmen McRae, Sarah Vaughan, Mel Torme, Dinah Washington, Abbey Lincoln, Cleo Laine, Rita Reys, Billie Holiday, Nancy King… I have loved so many. I don’t listen to them much now, but I carry their lessons with me every time I open my mouth.

Since Nina was such a singular endeavor, what do you have in mind for your next project?

The next project is still in incubation. Perhaps another journey into the songs I learnt from one of these teachers. Perhaps another original effort. I would love to spend more time with Nina on the road. There is something so beautiful in continuing to explore these songs with my musicians. Each day brings something new. I am not really ready to leave her yet.

When and where can folks see you in the U.S. over the coming months?

I will be performing the music of Nina at only one date in the U.S. at this point, in Aspen for Jazz Aspen Snowmass on June 29. We will also be in Bath, MN on June 4 for a show featuring the music from The Good Girl. Most of my dates this coming year are in Europe and Canada. I would like to be in the U.S. more, definitely.

In part one (scroll down or check the archives) of our lively conversation with Fab 5 Freddy, the graffiti artist who was one of the pioneers of what has become the global pop phenomenon known as hip hop we discussed the heavy jazz influence on young Fred’s Brooklyn upbringing, which included the significant influence of his godfather NEA Jazz Master Max Roach. One course correction: the crib Fab described in pt. 1 as Max Roach’s home on Gates Avenue, where Max, his dad Freddy Brathwaite, Sr. and other Brooklyn jazz heads, chess players and advanced thinkers would gather for their jazz “sets” was actually rented by Fab’s dad and several members of his crew as a kind of hipster’s clubhouse. “It was not Max’s but he was surely there often,” Fab corrected. “It was known as and always referred to as 212 Gates Avenue.” In part two we explore the continuing influence of Max Roach and his encouragement of Fab’s early forays into what was then known as “rap” music and has become the broader global phenomenon known as hip hop.

WJ: Is it safe to say that some of Max’s early consciousness of what was going on in early hip hop culture came from you?

Fab: Oh yeah. One day Max came to visit my dad and asked what I’m into and my dad said ‘oh, he’s into some rapping thing.’ This was before [hip hop] blew up, this was the early 80s when we were having street block parties and what not [in Brooklyn]. I was already making my moves on the arts scene and I was never trying to be a rapper but I had a few rhymes that I could get on the mic at a block party and do my thing. There was a DJ across the street who had built a nice system in his crib so I would go over there and rap a little bit. So my dad was aware of this, unbeknownst to me; my father was never into much contemporary music – with the exception of James Brown.

So one day I came home and my father said Max had been there and “I told him you’ve been doing this rap thing with your man across the street…” Right away I get kind of nervous because I never at that point considered anything music with the developing rap scene. I knew we weren’t playing instruments, we were making sounds and we were energetic and I knew this was a new thing that I dived into full speed ahead, but I didn’t consider it music — as in musicians. My father said ‘Max wants to check it out’, so I said OK. So we arranged a time a week or two later and he came through, on my block on Hancock Street between Lewis and Sumner [Brooklyn] – which is now Marcus Garvey Blvd… which is very appropriate.

I prepped my DJ and we worked out a little routine. Once again the music is not formulated – the four-minute rap song is not developed, it’s just an in the streets equivalent to just jamming, no real structure. Max comes by and I’m rhyming and my DJ is cutting up, he’s scratching… Max just peeped it. We did a little 20-minute thing and when we’re walking back to the house I’m thinking ‘what the hell is Max gonna think of this shit?’ Max said “Let me tell you guys something, that shit that you and your man were doing was as incredible as anything that me, Bird, Dizzy and any of us were doing…’ I’m thinking to myself [skeptically], ‘that’s so nice, trying to placate a young teenager…’ But that’s how Max was, always very encouraging, but I’m thinking to myself ‘yeah, right…’ Because I’m not seeing this as music, this hip hop thing…

“Rapper’s Delight” was probably out as a big record at that point, nothing really breaking crazy like it is now. It wasn’t long after that through me now making moves on the art scene and people knowing that I’m doing my thing on the downtown scene in New York, graffiti, introducing people to the beginnings of this hip hop culture, that a guy who promotes a lot of things with performance artists says ‘man, I found out that Max Roach is your godfather… We were talking with him about his M’Boom group…’ And he says, ‘man I feel like why don’t you do something with Max together…’ And I’m like thinking ‘huh, how the hell…?’ Next thing I knew Max says “yeah, let’s do it…” So then I started to have these conversations with Max, and Max says “yeah, you’re in charge, put this stuff together…”

This is the kind of enthusiasm he had and how eager they were to check out something new, which is the point Max made to me. He explained how Bird and the guys were about checking out new things, about how when Olatunji came around and they all jumped into the African thing and they were the first [generation] to take African names. He was saying this also to explain how a lot of cats wanted him to continue playing the stuff that they architected back in the 40s and 50s, but Max was always saying ‘I’m always about checking out that new thing…’ Obviously Max was able to put that in full effect. Max had hipped Miles to my show “Yo MTV Raps” and [Miles] was checking it out. This was an extension of how Max would always bring me up when the hip hop thing came up.

Another key thing that Max said to me after I gave him that demonstration with DJ Spy, Max said “…you know western music has for a long period of time been a balancing of three different things: melody, harmony and rhythm in equal ways. As black folks have been involved in music we’ve added an increasing emphasis on the rhythm element throughout the development of this music.” And Max, when he would have a conversation like that would always say “…from Louis Armstrong up until…” He said “what you guys are doing is just totally rhythm…” Now that’s one thing that when he broke it down I said “…oh shit, yeah…” just grabbing a piece of the music and having a way to manually manipulate the record to have this extended rhythm was something Max heard clearly. He also told me “man, if you don’t know it, this is so big what you guys are doing…” I’m like “yeah Max, great…” [still skeptical].

It was the early 80s when I had this conversation with Max. By 1988 I’m the host of the first nationally televised show to focus on this rap music [“Yo MTV Raps”] and go around the country interviewing the different people who were defining this culture – everybody from Tupac and Snoop to Will Smith and Run D.M.C., etc., etc. It would all become so much bigger than I ever, ever could have imagined… I’m talking like on a global basis – where people who speak other languages could adopt this thing and make it theirs in a unique way. I thought back to what Max had said and how he was right, and how when we get into it we were just gonna embrace this whole rhythm thing, and how just the verbal, this whole rapping thing was interesting.

At what point did the light go on and you realized that this was part of a continuum – that what your father and Max and those guys were into… there was a straight-line continuum to what you and your contemporaries were getting into in the 80s?

Fab: It was during that time that it blew up. I’m hosting “Yo MTV Raps,” which just came out of nowhere, that was never an intention of mine to be on camera doing things… I always wanted to do things culturally to help stir it up and create these bigger platforms. A lot of my ability and understanding of that were things that I absorbed around my dad and his friends; knowing that Max Roach and these musicians were loved more so around the world than here… The fact that I knew people who were big in Paris, and Italy, and Japan was just amazing to me, it gave me a sense of the world as a very young kid.

Hence key things that I would make happen or launch or instigate in hip hop were motivated by these ideas – knowing that, wait a minute, this stuff that we’re doing in the ‘hood – in the Bronx or Brooklyn – is not happening anywhere else in the world. To me that was interesting and I knew it would be at least accepted in other places around the world because these people had embraced and understood the music we were making and put musicians like Max and them on a pedestal on a par with the greatest European musicians ever, and I felt that these people would at least appreciate the things we were doing, because at that time it was not in any way appreciated by mainstream culture here in America. And that led me to then do things which would become very significant.

The first film on hip hop culture, “Wild Style,” I starred in, I did all the music for, I collaborated with a guy named Charlie Ahearn on the film. The initial idea I had was to make a film that showed that there was a link between this music, this rapping and DJ’ing, this break dancing and this graffiti art… there were no links [established previously]. I felt that they were all very similar and if we could put it together in a movie, in a story that depicted it as such, it would create a much more cohesive cultural picture and a look at what we were doing in the streets and the ghettos of New York. There was no positive press or mentions of a young kid with sneakers on and his hat to the side… you were made to look like you were one of those criminals that was destroying the city. So “Wild Style” the movie became this first look that many people around the world had and a spark that ignited them to get busy, and I’m proud of that. Those ideas came directly from the experiences I had being around those kind of individuals [like Max Roach] and knowing that they made global moves.

OK, so you were sitting around as a young kid doing your thing and these elders were doing their thing, what was it about what you heard or experienced from these jazzheads that inspired you?

Fab: Jimmy Gittins had a huge influence on a lot of that because he was an artist, he was a sculptor and he started this program called the Sculpture Workshop that was a community organization that you could work as a kid and teach people sculpture in the Bed-Stuy area, and Jimmy just loved doing that. So these are my beginnings… taking a big chunk of clay and seeing Jimmy carve busts of Malcolm, and King Tut, and just making amazing images of us and things. And then me making something and anything I did Jimmy and all those guys were just encouraging and enthusiastic about. There was no idea or no kind of thing that was beyond at least discussing in my household. Not so much with my father, but Jimmy and those guys that were kind of an extension of [his dad].

It was Jimmy who taught me how to play chess when I was 8 or 9 years old. I felt like their little think tank if you will. They were just the most intelligent men… they were very articulate, they were very hip, they were very slick, they were street, all these things and I guess as those things synthesized in me it was just how I thought. It wasn’t always apparent how connected these thoughts were to what I grew up around, but as I grew older I would realize… and I would constantly think of what I was around as a kid and realize what effect these things had on me. Just knowing that Max was there…

I can remember when I first began to put two and two together and to figure out what I wanted to be a part of, which was the mainstream pop art world, where there was no real precedent of black folks being key in those spaces. It was really like ‘how do I do this…?’ I wanted to be a painter, like the work of Andy Warhol that I had seen as a little kid in a magazine; he looked cool to me… I would find some stuff that inspired graffiti artists, a lot of us that were painting on the trains. So what’s the difference? We’re getting stuff from comic books and ads just like they did, so what’s the difference? I just had to figure out a way to get into the galleries so that people could see me on the same walls they would see a Warhol or [Roy] Lichtenstein and what not.

Through this whole period whenever I would have meetings with Max I would download all this stuff and he would be so encouraging and enthusiastic. The first [art] show that we had, the first press, was at a real prestigious gallery in Rome in ’79. I’m like 19 or 20… it’s crazy!

How did you and Max Roach come to collaborate onstage?

Fab: This story I told you about earlier where the guy put us together, that happened at The Kitchen [NYC]. If you go on YouTube you can find a little clip of it, just a piece of it. I’m like, ‘I’m no musician’ and Max Roach was one of the biggest figures in my life, he’s a musician, how do I even talk music with him? I’m not a musician, but I could make sounds with my mouth. I was so nervous about giving Max instructions, like how do you tell this great master musician how and what to play? I remember at one point we had a conversation after we were rehearsing some stuff. He said “man listen, I know its kind of difficult for you to be able to tell me what to play, but man don’t even worry about that, you’re in charge.” It was unbelievable that he would say some shit like that! I’d have to get my shit together and then figure out how to express it to him.

Max & Fab

There’s a recording that I’ll dig up, one of the things that we recorded and I wrote a rap… It was hard for me to instruct Max how to keep like one beat as simply as the backbeat for any one of a million rap records that have been made since then. How do you tell a guy that plays the drums and makes it sound like there are three people playing at once… I don’t even know how to do that, it just seemed awkward. What I thought about doing, which we did and I found a recording of that – and this was before sampling was a big thing – I said “what we’ll do is we’ll record and then we’ll loop a recording of what I hear from what you played and I’ll get the engineers to loop that up and make a track of that, and from that track I made a rap over that: “Max Roach he’s architect, a pioneer, on the drums he’s an architect, an engineer…” I had fly shit that I just wrote about Max. When I played it back recently I was like “Oh my God, that’s nice… yeah!” But once again it was just unstructured, because the whole song structure [of rap] hadn’t developed and it was just me rapping and Max playing. I think it had a hook and it would have been very interesting had we released it.

It’s hip hop in the sense that… Hip hop is more like… I mean people call Kenny G jazz, but you would have a problem saying that, right?

Yep.

Fab: Good, me too. Along that line we could differentiate between, like Blondie, something else that I helped make happen, Deborah Harry making “Rapture”, which was the first rap record to go #1 pop. She’s rapping, but that’s not hip hop. Hip hop bespeaks many things, particularly being part of the culture, adhering to all those things that are just… You know what I’m saying? Like there’s white cats… not to dismiss Kenny G because he’s white, but there’s Gene Krupa, there are a lotta white dudes that you could just feel by how they articulate what they do on their instrument… you’re like ‘OK, dude gets a pass…’

I used to love hearing my father and them listening when I was a young boy… ‘Aw man no, that’s so and so, no that’s not him,, that sounds like blah, blah, blah… no, that’s an ofay…’ They weren’t dissin’ white people, but it really meant most of the time that they weren’t as up to snuff as most of the official cats. I know that Gene Krupa got some love and there were some white musicians that my father and them would okay, but not that many…

What we did you could say it was hip hop, but yeah I was just rappin’, because it’s me, because anything I do is officially hip hop because I’m one of the creators of the brand and what not [laughs].

One of the things that Max always said about the development of rapping and eventually hip hop culture relates to yours being the first generation that was denied the opportunity to pick up any instrument they wanted to learn in school; and as a result your generation created rap and hip hop out of raw materials.

Fab: Great point, key point… Yes Max would bring that up, that instruments are gone from the schools… Its funny, I do a lot of work with VH1 and they have this big initiative called “Save the Music” which is a big charitable initiative where they raise all this money to put instruments back in the schools because kids from this generation are not aware for many generations that [the availability of instruments to learn in public schools] was a standard thing in schools, almost a requisite. So you’re right, Max and them would speak to that. It is in a roundabout way one of the things that gives birth to hip hop, this form, this new thing was because kids were not able to develop and become proficient on instruments like many would have wanted to or would have dabbled in to a certain extent. That would be a discussion we would have with Max. He was very aware of things going on as they connected to a historical lineage. A lot of this shit didn’t click then, but I’m glad I remembered it because it all fit into place as the years went by.

May 11, 2011

Dear Randy Weston/arranged by Willard Jenkins (Duke University Press)

Congratulations! It’s my pleasure to inform you that you’ve been nominated as a finalist for a 2011 Jazz Journalists Association Jazz Award in the categories of BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR, African Rhythms: The Autobiography of Randy Weston

Professional members of the JJA will vote on nominees in 39 categories celebrating excellence in jazz music, production, presentation and digital, print, broadcast and photographic journalism. The representative honorees – “winners” — will be announced at a JJA event on Saturday, June 11, from 1 pm to 5 pm at City Winery, 155 Varick Street (at Vandam) in New York City. The JJA’s annual “A Team” list of activists, advocates, altruists, aiders and abettors of jazz will also be announced shortly.

I hope you’re pleased that your works are being celebrated by the 300+ member JJA, a non-profit 501(c)(3) professional organization, which has promoted excellence in an Awards format for the past 15 years. For information on previous Jazz Awards winners, go to http://JJAjazzawards.org

Lost Jazz Shrines – 13th Season

52nd Street in the Modern Mode

BMCC Tribeca PAC’s Lost Jazz Shrines series pays homage to the legendary jazz haunts, musicians, and influences of the 52nd Street jazz scene in its heyday from the 1930’s through the early 1950’s.

Artistic Director: Willard Jenkins. Musical Director: Matt Wilson.

Part One: MULTIMONK

Friday, May 20

7pm – Recollections of 52nd Street – Interview with Dan Morgenstern (NEA Jazz Master & Director of the Institute of Jazz Studies, Rutgers University). Moderated by Willard Jenkins. Free.

8:30pm – Concert: $25 / students, seniors $15

Matt Wilson – drums
Scott Robinson – saxophones, brass
Frank Kimbrough – piano
Ray Drummond – bass

No stranger to the 52nd St. scene, Thelonius Monk, considered “one of the giants of American music,” is recognized as a multi-dimensional genius of modern jazz. This concert will be inspired by the great jazz master.

For tickets online click here, call (212) 220 – 1460 or visit Ticketing Services at BMCC Tribeca PAC, 199 Chambers St. (12PM – 6PM, Tue. – Sat.).

Part Two: TOPSY TURVY – A BEBOP REDUX

Friday, May 27

7pm – Interview with Musical Director Matt Wilson. Moderated by Willard Jenkins. Free.

8:30pm – Concert: $25 / students, seniors $15

Matt Wilson – drums
Jeff Lederer – reeds
Tia Fuller – reeds
Kirk Knuffke – brass
Curtis Fowlkes – brass
Vijay Iyer – piano
Mary Halvorson – guitar
Chris Lightcap – bass

New York’s 52nd St. is most often associated with small-combo jazz performances. However, a wide range of larger groups graced the stages of the clubs of Swing Street. This concert will focus on the music of these groups. Dizzy Gillespie, Mary Lou Williams, Fats Waller and other notables of the era will be explored.

For tickets online click here, call (212) 220 – 1460 or visit Ticketing Services at BMCC Tribeca PAC, 199 Chambers St. (12PM – 6PM, Tue. – Sat.).

Part 3: ARTS & CRAFTS & CANDI

Friday, June 3

7pm – Film screening of Candido: Hands of Fire. Free.

8:30pm – Concert: $25 / students, seniors $15

Matt Wilson – drums
Terell Stafford – trumpet
Gary Versace – piano / organ
Martin Wind – bass
Candido Camero – conga

Dizzy Gillespie partnered with many artists to create a new style of music called Afro-Cuban Jazz. This unique fusion of sounds became a significant part of the jazz landscape. This concert pairs together ‘Matt Wilson’s Arts and Crafts’ jazz group with the legendary Candido, who performed with Dizzy Gillespie and other Afro-Cuban pioneers. This concert will focus on those collaborations as well as music from Candido’s jazz debut, Candido.

For tickets online click here, or call (212) 220 – 1460 or visit Ticketing Services at BMCC Tribeca PAC, 199 Chambers St. (12PM – 6PM, Tue. – Sat.).

For more information about this series and video clips click here.

BMCC Tribeca Performing Arts Center is located on the campus of the Borough of Manhattan Community College, 199 Chambers Street, New York, NY 10007.