Blue Note at 70

I have been falling asleep in the most unusual positions, like sitting up. Is this a sign of age or a sign of weakened flesh (smile). I know what it is. It is back to school fatigue after three weeks off. I'll get back into the swing of things. I have too.

Fatigue or no, I wasn't going to miss the super group perform work from a collection that I don't think has an equal in documenting the Jewel of this nation, creative black music or jazz. I believe the language is "treasure," and Blue Note founder, Alfred Lion and his childhood friend, Francis Wolff, certainly treasured the music coming out of a community least valued, and treasured even less. It was amazing listening last night to compositions rendered 50-60-30-20 years ago by artists like Thelonius Monk or Art Blakey, now ancestors, along with that of McCoy Tyner and Bobby Hutcherson, living legends who still have their chops. Many of the pieces were rearranged by member of "Blue Note 7," the all star band featuring Louis Nash on drums, Ravi Coltrane on tenor, Peter Washington on bass, Nicholas Payton on trumpet, Peter Bernstein on guitar, Steve Wilson on alto and flute and Bill Charlip, group leader, on piano.

I was traveling on empty when I hopped into my car and headed for Berkeley, but lucky for me, we found a parking spot in front of Fred's Market (my dad and brother's name), where I was able to get a chicken salad sandwich and a protein drink. I scarfed it down on the walk to the campus and polished it off later on. I don't think I would have been able to enjoy the concert as much if I'd been famished and I certainly enjoyed it.

On the heels of another protest or action in the Oscar Grant III saga, it was great to hear Nicholas' piercing clarion as I reflected on the bass band I'd danced to the previous evening and the reason why we were in the streets in Oakland and New Orleans and New York and many other places in this country where far too many youth, black youth in particular, are the new casualties of urban warfare and police violence. I don't know the numbers--are the police killing as many of us as we are killing each other?

Kevin Epps' "The Black Rock" which premieres on February 17, on Alcatraz Island, the site of a prison one couldn't escape. The analogy here is can our youth escape the violence which is as indigenous to black communities as environmental pollutants--toxic paint, poor air quality, and epidemics of preventable disease like asthma and leukemia and HIV? The story is of the black men who were locked up at the first super-maximum security prison from the 1930s to the 1960s. Alcatraz "The Rock" an island in the middle of the San Francisco Bay was meant to hold high-security prisoners.

I went back stage to say high to the men, especially Kevin Nash who was surrounded by family and friends. He was off the hook last night. He played like one inspired, but I'm sure he and all the men were touched by spirit--Nicholas Payton soared the limbs and tips of stars Dizzy leaped and others whose air he now pushed through his lungs leaped as well.

And when the three men on reeds and brass played together is was transcendental --smooth, the taste sweet in one's mouth, lovely to one's ears.

Nicholas said the tour which will take the seven men throughout the country and the world varies from venue to venue. I wish the concerts were geographically closer, it would be nice to attend a few in a row to get a feel for the catelog and the variety of interpretations played.


Payton said the varying sets keeps the performances interesting for the men and fresh for the audience.

For a moment as I sat in the audience listening to the opening song, I had a moment of regret. I thought, oh my, should I have gone to La Pena to hear the sister sing? And then whatever the glitch was, the men worked it out and I was lovin' every space and breath and silent moment they created for us to abide in together. I could think of no better place to be than at a concert like this on Martin King's birthday. He would have been 80, these men whose music was being interpreted were King's peers.

I could just see King and his wife, Coretta Scott, at a concert listening to a Freddy Hubbard tune, or something by Dizzy, Frank Morgan or Monk. I could imagine her fingers playing the chords in her husband's hand as they sat together celebrating the creative genius and grace of black people.

There is a new CD out commemorating this historic moment and tour. Visit http://www.bluenote.com/ArtistMain.aspx?ArtistId=924224