WoundedHealer

Billie Holiday vs. Madeleine Peyroux

Again, I hate to make the comparison in this manner ("If you like this, you'll love that…") but here I go again – another jazz giant of yesteryear and one of today. When I finally began to research classic jazz vocalists, I remember buying a CD that was half Ella Fitzgerald and half Billie Holiday. For reasons I won't go into here, I put both artists away after comparing them on that CD. Billie Holiday was hauntingly melancholy and Ella Fitzgerald was sweet and lovely. I later pursued Ella Fitzgerald more and Billie Holiday less. Ella's voice settled on my heart almost instantly but I find the mood has to be just right for Billie Holiday. I love her with a cold glass of fruit tea on a hot dusty (and humid) day. I love her in the country. I love her on a rainy day. I would love her in Paris – for some reason I feel like her voice would be perfect on French lyrics.

The contemporary who I am comparing Billie Holiday to (as I cringe from the possibility that the act of comparison can be an insult sometimes) is new to me – but not to the Jazz World. Madeleine Peyroux sounds very similar to Billie Holiday – they both have a husky croon that sort of meanders through the lyrics of a song, seemingly to work parallel to the music instead of in conjunction with the instruments. I am making my first Madeleine Peyroux purchase today through iTunes. Because she has several albums previously released I am going to purchase a few songs from each album. If a love affair ensues, I will ensure that my collection reflects that adequately.

Ella Fitzgerald vs. Jane Monheit

I've not kept it a secret that I love Ella Fitzgerald. I can be sitting in a restaurant, like Tavern at Phipps Plaza or Capozzi's Decatur, and be in animated conversation (because I am a storyteller) when I hear Ella's voice – and then I pause, sometimes mid-sentence, and acknowledge that she's singing. I smile, my dinner guest usually chuckles, and then we can continue. While I enjoy nearly everything that she sings, I most prefer her voice after Chick Webb died, after she started doing ballads, and before the eighties. She was swinging lightly and I love the clarity in sound and choice of music for that time.

What I haven't mentioned as much is the first time I met Jane Monheit, metaphorically of course. I was literally flipping channels, heard her voice, and sat in reverent silence while she performed. I immediately purchased her second CD (although it was my first) and though I don't notice her music playing in public, I reach for my Monheit collection each spring.

I don't really dig the whole "If you love this, you'll like that" marketing approach used in bookstores, music stores, and with perfumes (my mama was very much into knock-off perfumes – I have no idea why). But I understand the value – for newbies to certain genres, those lists and comparisons are helpful in guiding your way toward a song, performance, or artist you most likely would not have found without already being immersed in the culture and up to date on sometimes obscure current events. What I don't dig about it is, like mama's knock-off perfume, it is implied that one of the items being compared is the quintessential and the others are substandard by default.

Anyway, I compare Ms. Monheit and Ms. Fitzgerald to one another for the purpose of assisting a newbie to find the jazz sound that you love. These artists both have similar voice qualities – uber feminine, delicate, and sweetly soothing. I love them both.

Jazz-oetry Break: Ella and Langston

As a preschool teacher, I enjoyed managing naptime because I needed that downtime in the same way the students needed a break. While I was teaching in Georgia, I wasn't always afforded the opportunity to manage naptime so I would get in my car on my lunch break, drive through the beautiful historic Virginia Highlands area, and park near a row of houses that sat on a hill with ivy covered lawns. This was especially nice during overcast days. I would sit in my car, listen to Ella and read Langston.

Ella Fitzgerald, Love Songs: The Best of the Verve Song Books

Langston Hughes, The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes

I'm a little bit soul, I'm a little bit jazz

I love this performance. Neither of these artists is considered strictly jazz and the song they selected is not strictly jazz. But since Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holliday, and numerous strictly jazz musicians recorded it, it's filed under Jazz – Classic Jazz at that – in some places.

Jill Scott, George Benson, Summertime by Gershwin from Porgy & Bess.

 

 

Jazz and The Cosby Show

Everybody wanted to be a Cosby Kid. Our version of the water cooler conversations was standing in the lunch line talking about The Cosby Show. But I didn't want to be a Cosby Kid – I wanted to be Claire!

Anyway, it was watching The Cosby Show that stirred my innate affinity for jazz. I just didn't have the capacity to take the tiny bits he shared in his show and find the gateway into the world of jazz at the time.  I grew up with the Cosby Kids (I would have been between Rudy and Vanessa in age) – so what I knew of Bill Cosby was Picture Pages and Fat Albert – not the standup comedian and the recordings of Hicky Burr, thus I was oblivious to his contributions to the jazz world and his love for the art of jazz. Now that I'm older and since the internet has been invented (it really bothers me that I can actually remember when email and the internet started), I take advantage of what he shared with us.

There was an episode that introduced me both to Nancy Wilson (played Denise's mother-in-law) and Moody's Mood For Love. The episode with the apples planted the seed that would grow into a great appreciation and love for Coltrane and Ellington's In A Sentimental Mood. I met Joe Williams (played Claire's father) from that show and found out that A Man Ain't Supposed To Cry. And there were a lot of other indirect introductions to artists like Nina Simone – who I swore was the music coach for Vanessa but found out later that was actually Betty Carter. Listening to Lena Horne sing I'm Glad There Is You led me to Sarah Vaughan because I prefer her interpretation. And hearing the constant phrase, "scat like Ella Fitzgerald" drove me towards my forever love of The First Lady of Song.

So I must pay homage to The Cosby Show for setting me on my journey towards filling the void that R&B, Hip-Hop, and Soft Rock left in my musical soul.

Go to 4:00 to hear Claire (Phylicia Rashad) and her father (Joe Williams) sing a song that you cannot buy anywhere!

 

 

Homage: Nikki Giovanni

 

This is a re-post from July 8, 2008

Nikki Giovanni was at Emory last fall for a reading and book signing. I had never read her work but was always fascinated by stories in the news and felt pathetic that I'd never made an attempt to see her anytime she was in Atlanta.

But when she came to Emory I made sure to get there early since it was free. I looked around at her audience that was very different from Sonia Sanchez's. There were a lot of young women with shaved heads and older women with dreadlocks. And, although I was well prepared to meet Mr. Right - I was downright sexy that day, I left disappointed on that front.

Nikki Giovanni has a smile that seems to reflect fullness and joy in her heart. Her anecdotes were humorous and real. She has a certain depth of spirit that creates a mature person who knows that pain is a part of life and that you have to keep moving on. You acknowledge what is right or wrong, make a decision to act positively, and then keep moving on. She understands that you have to consider the needs of others around you and balance that with remaining true to who you are.

I loved hearing her tell the story of Rosa Parks' response to a poem she wrote about her experiences. You'll have to ask her to tell you that one herself.

She showed us the ThugLife tattoo on the inside of her left forearm and what I learned from her was that it is okay to embrace all the parts of your being as a whole beautiful thing. She encouraged me to fully embrace living outside of the boxes. I got out of the boxes but would always qualify my actions with a disclosure, "I know it's weird, but…" I want to stop doing that because it limits who people believe I can be and is a sign of insecurity.

Thank you, Ms. Giovanni

 

 

 

Homage: Sonia Sanchez

 

This is a re-post from June 6, 2008.

I had the opportunity to meet Sonia Sanchez at a book signing at Emory several months ago. I have to admit I was hoping to meet a guy and fall in love and live happily ever after in addition to being able to tell our children about the magical experience of hearing Sonia Sanchez read her work. No such luck on the falling in love part. Turns out it was an undergrad writing assignment to attend the reading.

She paid homage to countless inspiring people before she read one word of her own. And when she began to read I was filled with emotion. The interesting back stories to each piece she read were humorous, touching, and ministered healing. And at the end of the event her fans rushed to the front of the room to have their picture taken.

I only wanted my book signed and to shake her hand while telling her how much her work has affected my life. I would tell her that I discovered her only about 5 years ago and that her work made me wish for a deeper more earthy love rather than a fairy tale kind of love. It made me centered and helped me to find my way out of a lot of negative situations. And I would tell her that I enjoyed the reading and would be honored if she would sign my book. I would tell her my favorite three poems and hope that I could encourage her by letting her know that one more person was touched by her work.

When it was my turn in line I held my head down in humility and greeted her. Unsure of the best title I called her Ms. Sanchez and started crying uncontrollably. I was so embarrassed. She stood and held my hand tight and I apologized profusely but the water works wouldn't stop. She told me it was okay and that sometimes we really need to let the tears go and stop fighting back. One of the caterers handed me a napkin to dry my eyes but Ms. Sanchez told me not to use that and handed me two tissues from an unopened personal package of Kleenex in her bag.

I stood there and tried to recall my well-prepared speech but I faltered and stuttered and stammered all over it. I did manage to impress upon her how her work affected me and she looked around at her entourage and said, "That's what makes it all worth it." I sighed heavily; my composure defeated by emotion, and quietly asked that she sign my book.

She signed the book and inserted a quote that meant, "It will get better." She told me to repeat it every morning when I wake up until I believed it and until it really got better. I thanked her and walked away feeling honored to have had more than a canned interaction with her and was propelled into further pursuing a writing education.

Thank you, Sonia Sanchez.

Me & Ella at The Apollo

 

In 1934 I believe, Ella Fitzgerald had the opportunity to compete in Amateur Night at The Apollo Theater, Harlem and planned to dance. But at the last second changed her mind (because of the skill of a previous dance act) and sang on stage. She says that when she walked out on stage - looking rather unkempt and scraggly - someone said, "What is she going to do?" But her talent quieted them and to quote a flapper who was in the audience, "It was so quiet you could hear a rat piss on cotton."
A few years ago, during a tour of the theater, I sang on that same stage in a mock performance (under the stage name Vikki Davis). I had a ball. I decided to sing my favorite Ella Fitzgerald song, The Man I Love, on stage.

Below is a clip of her performing it (with Tommy Flanagan on keys who I love as well) much more adeptly than I. I sang it straight, as she does here in the beginning, and then I stopped. In this clip she goes on to swing it, as only The First Lady of Song can. I did NOT swing it on The Apollo stage – I reserve that for singing in the shower.

Enjoy.

 

 
 

The First Lady of Song: Summertime

 

A Mother I Admire

I have a friend from junior high school who I always admired. I thought she was beautiful and smart and laid-back. I always felt like she didn't see herself the same way – in fact I think she even told me that she didn't feel that way. I've found her by way of MySpace or Facebook or something or other and now she is a proud wife and parent. I still admire her. She stays home with her son and shows him everyday how much she loves him by ensuring that he's not only fed with a roof over his head but that he has daily experiences that nurture his growth and development.

I was a little jealous of her, not that I begrudge her any happiness but I wished I had the same daily schedule she held – spending the day with her family in museums, on play dates, and making everyday pleasantly memorable for her family. Lately she has been exhausted. A couple of new mothers I know are getting tired all at the same time. Everything has been about the kids, you know?

This is a little different from what had become the norm in child rearing since by the time I was 18 I was feeling like one of the "only ones" who had not had a kid. These children who had children were not focused on fostering their children to become great individuals. They were focused on paying bills, chasing child support, and were anxious to send them to school, to a neighbor, or just away in general.

I hope this mother who is getting weary will be able to take a break, step back from the situation, and regain her energy knowing that she is doing right by her son and family. I am certain she doesn't take them for granted – she knows life is precious when shared with loved ones. I also hope she remembers her blessings forever because so often the people who want what she has are the people who can't have it. And I wish her a happy mother's day.