Remember The Time -The Black Soldier

: The You Tube Clip is from the excellent PBS documentary "For Love of Liberty: The Story of America's Black Patriots"

Happy Memorial Day : Here is an excerpt from my show "Memories Of Self Journey to Weeksville" The character has just returned home from WW1. He is missing an arm that he lost in battle. This is a fictional character -but a very real history.


"Don’t mean to sound bitter, but Brooklyn is a long way from Germany where my brothers died. so that Europe could be free while we fight for every inch that we can get here at home.
Funny thing is, there was a whole lot of folks who doubted us from the beginning. See, we Men out of New York and Brooklyn was all a part of the National Guard. How we became part of the French Army is all part of the story. Before we even left the States, they had us segregated from the Whites. Many of the Men had left the South thinking that they had seen the last of old Jim Crow. Basic training put a stop to that wishful thinking. On some days during training we were treated like the soilders that we dreamed of being. On other days we were given equipment including guns that didn’t work right. Things were explained to us as if we were too dumb to understand what they really meant. Sometimes we would have Colored Officers, but they suddenly wouldn’t be there. We were told to ask no questions. Every man to a fault in spite of this was still ready to show the world that our race was just as qualified as ANYBODY else. We was even more determined after they gave all of the troops leaving for the war a big parade on fifth Avenue; all of the troops except us the 369th. We was only good enough to die in some people’s eyes. I guess that they had to eat their words when we came back known as The Harlem Hellfighters.
We were sent to the Western Front. At first we had to do all of the dirty work that the White Boys wasn’t being asked to do like dragging dead bodies out of the way while bullets flew over our heads. Lots of times we was asked to match parts that were separated from the bodies. Digging graves or trenches, no job was to dirty for us. Mr. Williams would have been proud to see that we did everything with pride. We had a feeling that the whole world might be watching us. When the orders came for us to fight, we fought like hell. That’s how we got our name. Although just as many of us was from Brooklyn, Harlem was getting a reputation as the home of the Negro. Didn’t matter to us. Race is a strange thing aint it? At first the Europeans was cheering us dark fellows whenever we would go into a town. We was taking care of business when it came to stopping the Germans. Everybody knew it. The children would run after us just so they could touch our uniforms. Then all of a sudden the look in their faces changed. We couldn’t figure out why until one of our men who spoke French told us that the White American troops was telling them that we had tails and other animal parts. We was also being told by our Superior Officers not to fraternize with civilians. Meanwhile lots of them were taking up with their women. I forgot to mention that we fought so well that we were given to the French army. We spent 191 days in combat. That was longer than any other American unit. We were the first troops to reach the Rhine. One time we were defending an outpost and were attacked by the Germans. So many of our men were wounded that it looked like a blood bath. We didn’t surrender, but kept on fighting. I killed two men with my bare hands. We finally won that battle. Take that Jim Crow. The French gave us their highest award called the Croix de Guerre. If that didn’t show them what we men can do then nothing will.
So here I am home in Brooklyn. I hope that Mr. Williams can come to our parade tomorrow. It’s going to be on 5th Avenue. I hope that he feels that we did our race proud."
by Daniel Carlton -copyright 2007

All That Jazz courtesy of Wynton and The Jazz At Lincoln Center Orchestra

Lonnie Liston Smith via last.fm

I must admit to something that I have probably never admitted out loud : Prior to my attendance at Jazz at Lincoln Center Performances here in NYC, I was not that big of a fan of Jazz pre 1970 ( Bebop , Free , Post Bop, Swing , Dixieland, e.t.c.). The exception being Miles's stuff (particularly "Kind Of Blue, "Sketches Of Spain" , "In A Silent Way , and songs like My Funny Valentine). Miles's notes through his horn have always spoken a beautiful language that seems to come from another universe. But in most cases I have always found the bios of the musicians more fascinating sometimes then the music itself. The history of Jazz itself is enough to fill a history head like myself up with stories of triumph, tragedy, race, class, genius, transcendence, dope, hope, migration, internationalism, poetry, aesthetics, style, and grace under pressure. Mingus, Ellington, Dizzy, Satchmo, Charlie "Bird", Coltrane, Max Roach, Philly Jones, Bud Powell , and so many giants that I haven't mentioned all have epic tales to go along with their mastery of the art form.
My taste in terms of jazz though was formed by a more funky genre bending mash up of guitars, synthesizers, amplification, and groove put down by folks like Herbie Hancock(Headhunters), Miles (On The Corner/Bitches Brew/Live/Evil/Jack Johnson/ Get Up With It/ e.t.c), Stanley Clarke ( School Days/his Return To Forever Work / Journey To Love/e.t.c) George Duke, Jaco Pastorius, Marcus Miller, Roy Ayers, Lonnie Liston Smith, Weather Report, and many of the "fusion" artists. Steely Dan, Earth Wind and Fire, Santana, Mandrill, and other rock/pop/soul/funk artists who were influenced by the muscians that I just mentioned were also Jazz to me.
What does this have to do with Jazz at Lincoln center and Wynton Marseilles? Attending the concerts there have given me a musical education though the music it'self of the masters. Every concert that I have seen there has been a tribute to a past master. In some cases the master him/herself is present.He(Wynton ) not only plays the idea with the orchestra ; he also gives you a story anout the artist and the tune. The orchestra itself is a marvel and treat to the ears. All accomplished players who also do some of the arrangements too. Dig if you will this picture : 12 or more horn players-multi racial, various ages, and in suits on a bandstand, Upright Bass, Grand piano, Drum Kit-sometimes two drummers , and guest masters. Try to imagine all of those horns in syncopation and solos. Wynton Marseilles just by himself can sound like Gabriel blowing from heavens gates.
Memorable and Educational Moments for me there:

Ahmad Jamal was a discovery for me( his playing made me go into his discography and learn about a living legend

The Women Of Ellington
"Satin Doll", Black Beauty" from 1928!, Portrait of Mahalia Jackson," from the composer’s 1971 New Orleans Suite , "Gal From Joe’s" , Red Roses For A Blue Lady,",All Heart"(dedicated to Ella Fitzgerald), Shout ‘Em Aunt Tillie," "Miss Lucy," and "Country Gal." Each song had an incredible story. The span was over 50 years.

Basie & The Blues:special guest pianist Cyrus Chestnut

Ask Your Mama featuring Joe Lovano, The Roots, Jessye Norman and Nnenna Freelon
A Concert to Benefit Haiti

This what I dug last year
:Eddie Palmieri’s Latin-jazz big band (Feb. 6 to 7); a 50th-anniversary concert in honor of two landmark albums, John Coltrane’s “Giant Steps” and Miles Davis’s “Kind of Blue” (Feb. 12 to 14); and a run of concerts by a quintet led by the keyboardist Chick Corea and the guitarist John McLaughlin (April 23 to 25).

I could go on because there is so much more going on there. The touch screen exhibit/tribute to the masters alone is worth it.

I once had issues with Wynton Marseilles because I thought that he was trying to control the idea of what good Jazz is. As much as I learned from Ken Burns excellent PBS Jazz series, I was bothered by what I perceived as his( and Stanley Crouch's) rejection of the type of jazz that turned me on. I will admit that his vision for the orchestra and concert hall has expanded my appreciation for the past that I missed in terms of the music.
Jazz at Lincoln center, I walk in feeling like the mud of the week is on me. I walk out feeling bathed in cleansing notes. Like I'm wearing a fresh new suit and a shape up

Alberta Hunter =Sustained Excellence=Don't Call It A Comeback, I was here for years

Alberta Hunter via last.fm

Last week( April 29th,2010), I had the pleasure of being a part of the wonderfully talented singer/actress, and writer Queen Esther's tribute to the incomparable Alberta Hunter( Harlem Stage/Jazzmobile sponsored). My role was to narrate/ through storytelling within the spaces in the music the life of this legend. In order to do this I not only had to know the songs, but I also had to really know the her-story of the journey. Queen Esther was very generous in terms of the execution of the delivery. She did suggest to me that I watch the excellent documentary called Alberta Hunter: My Castle's Rockin' (1998), a documentary written by Chris Albertson and narrated by pianist Billy Taylor.http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0364775/ I was able to to both enjoy her voice, and to get a strong sense of the story from the archival footage. And what a story it was:

From Wikipedia
"Alberta Hunter (April 1, 1895 – October 17, 1984)[1] was an American blues singer, songwriter, and nurse. Her career had started back in the early 1920s, and from there on, she became a successful jazz and blues recording artist, being critically acclaimed to the ranks of Ethel Waters and Bessie Smith. In the 1950s, she retired from performing and entered the medical field, only to successfully resume her singing career in her eighties

This Lady did it all with such excellence for a long tine. From songwriting Downhearted Blues( a major hit for Bessie Smith) and many others, to Showboat with Paul Robeson. Singing in 7 different languages and USO tours during WWII and The Korean conflict, lying about her age to become a nurse in her late fifties-she said that she was 43-retiring after 20 years, and then making a comeback at 79!
Queen Esther and I haven taken on the joyous act of telling this story. She through the music and her incredible band-and me through interwoven storytelling and rhyme. We plan to put this show back up( so stay tuned) Meanwhile here is a piece(not from the show) that I wrote from the fictional voice of a piano player who was at The Dreamland Cafe hoping to play for her:
Brothel piano player in Chicago 1915

So this pretty little thing walks into a bar where there were more bullet holes in the walls then notes on the piano and she says like she is a woman ten years older , stronger and wiser than she probally was “ I’m a singer”. Now I knew who she was cause I always wanted to play for her. Something about her was bigger , tougher and sweeter then all of the dark clouds of gloom disguised as cigarette smoke in this promised land called Chicago. Why do I say it like that that? I aint got to tell nobody about the gangsters , pimps, and whores that love nothing more than to see somebody elses’ throat not they own after a night of good timing in these buckets of blood. Hell, I even knew who she was cause of where she used to sing- Dago Frank’s. That was around 1911 , so she must have been around 16 years old when she first started out. Don’t nobody ask to many questions about these things when somebody got talent if you know what I mean. And Alberta had it for sure. It’s a shame that the coppers shut that place down cause of one more murder that they couldn’t overlook. Sporting men piano players like myself hear about who’s got the goods when it comes to music, so I wasn’t surprised when she got that gig at the Elite Café on State Street with that Ragtime Sissy out of New Orleans Tony Jackson . He sure got a hit with her singing his songs like “Pretty Baby” Now I see why they got on so good. See she had a husband that nobody ever seen her kissing and hugging on. Hell after a while nobody seen him at all . Seen her plenty with her( sarcastically) “friend Lottie , Bert Willams niece. And Lord Knows who Pretty Baby was meant for. We still talking about Chicago in about 1915 or so by then, which means them shootings and carrying ons was still closing the even the best of joints down. Alberta couldn’t even get away from it when she was playing clubs that was just for White folks like The Panama , Deluxe Café or even Dreamland Café. Now the Dreamland Café was so special that King Oliver’ Creole Jazz band would have them waiting on lines down the block just to get in. They started calling her “ The Sweetheart of Dreamland.” She was getting real big, but one more time this is Chicago . You already know what I’m about to say . The piano player was shot and killed while they was on stage. This was my chance. I know how to duck. But before I could play one note she upped and moved to New York City. Damn