Blues: Tone, Form, Attitude

This short article accompanies the release of excerpts from my radio series Voices and Freedoms: A History of Jazz, based on my 1976 book of the same name.  The 16-part series played across the nation for five years in the late 70’s/early 80’ and holds its relevance—or is even more so—today than it was back then.  The excerpts present about 6 to 10 minutes of the original 30-minute broadcasts. The link above takes you to information about the book and our plans to re-release it and provide access to the full-length original shows. Go HERE for a complete list of shows and links to all excerpts, and watch and listen to the Video/Audio below.

 

After Emancipation, as blacks sought greater equality, many whites grew more bitter and fearful, and—though slavery was certainly the most extreme form of segregation—segregation throughout the whole of society seemed to begin in earnest.  Legally, it culminated in the 1896 Supreme Court decision in the case of Plessy vs. Ferguson which upheld an 1890 Louisiana law requiring railroads to provide “separate but equal” accommodations for white and black passengers.  The Court said that recognition of color differences had “no tendency to destroy legal equality,” that the Fourteenth Amendment was not intended to enforce “social, as distinguished from political, equality or a commingling of the races upon terms unsatisfactory to either,” and that if the enforced segregation “stamps the colored race with the badge of inferiority,” it is solely because “the colored race chooses to put that construction upon it.”  Justice John M. Harlan cast the lone dissent, thereby presaging by nearly sixty years the Court’s 1954 decision in the case of Brown vs. Board of Education, Topeka.

At about this same time, in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s, as segregation gained legal status, a great burgeoning of blues occurred.  Born and bred in the South, it flowed northward in a migratory pattern that is a study in itself.

Show Number Three of Voices and Freedoms looks at blues in three ways: As a tone of voice, as a musical form, and as an attitude towards life born out of a need to survive in an increasingly segregated society.  This excerpt touches on all three.

The blues actually does deserve to be called, as it often has been, a “secular spiritual.” It was a unique and powerful blend speaking about tragedy and comedy at the same time.  Blues came from a people who for hundreds of years, says Ralph Ellison, “…could not celebrate birth or dignify death and whose need to live despite the dehumanizing pressures of slavery developed an endless capacity for laughing at their painful experiences.”  He calls the blues a technique for survival (read more about that HERE). Spiritual people often labeled the blues “devil music,” but actually both helped Blacks survive, the spirituals in their way, the blues in theirs.

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Wherever I’m At

The Chicago Literary Hall of Fame is publishing its first book.  Wherever I’m At is a fabulous collection of poetry, which officially launched just this past June 13th at the Logan Center for the Arts at the University of Chicago. There will be more events, like the panel I’m moderating at the Chicago History Museum on the evening of July 12th, where I’ll be talking to contributors Haki Madhubuti, Vida Cross, Yolanda Nieves and Virginia Bell.  Below is a one-minute/eight-second VIDEO ad I did for the book.  I say:

“Hello, I’m Richard Guzman, and I know a few things about Chicago anthologies because I did two big ones: Smokestacks and Skyscrapers with David Starkey, and Black Writing from Chicago on my own, and I’m here to tell you that you have to get the new anthology from the Chicago Literary Hall of Fame…All poetry, and as exhilarating a collection as I’ve ever read, by some of the most distinguished writers in America—all prized up with Pulitzers, all granted up by Fords and MacArthurs. One even wrote and read a poem for a Presidential Inauguration…But whatever they’ve won, wherever they’ve read, Wherever I’m At—that’s the book’s title—Wherever I’m At, they’re all in Chicago somehow, Chicago as a vibrating, planetary point, Chicago as a portal into the total, wide inner and outer universe…It’s for everyone, wherever you are, and every place you find yourself, but the book also returns you here to a city as real as steel and Lake Michigan and pedestrian tunnels under Lakeshore /slash/ DuSable Drive. It’s a beautiful, beautiful trip.” (Pieces of my video are incorporated into a six-minute-plus promo video you can watch HERE.)

Fragment of a photo by John Brzezinski.

I’ve been close to the CLHOF since the Hall’s founder and still-executive director, still all-everything-impresario Don Evans called me more than a dozen years ago and asked me to be on the first committee of people nominating great Chicago writers for induction.  I’ve done some of those induction speeches—for Fenton Johnson and Marita Bonner, for example—and after a few years of prodding, I joined the Board of Directors earlier this year, with the proviso that they can throw me out with no hard feelings if I fail to pull my weight…which I’m still not doing these first few months.

The book is co-edited by Don Evans and the late Robin Metz, who started the project many years ago, brought Don into it, and which Don finished after Robin’s death.  At least 15 wonderful photos and pieces of artwork adorn the book, two fragments of which you see at left.  And to end here are just a few fragments of poetry among many, many striking passages grabbing my attention the first time I read through Wherever I’m At, starting with the fragment that gave the entire book its name: “wherever I’m at that land is Chicago.” And “The neighborhood contains / The Midwest Mambo Club / and two stores named / Hosanna. The School of / Metaphysics used to be / located over Harry’s Bar….”

Fragment of a painting by Kerry James Marshall.

And “My memory is a soft cloth / rubbing the pieces together. / We still live inside this wound / on Division Street….” And “Here a spirit must yell / to be heard yet a bullet / need only whisper to make / its point—sometimes I imagine / you right before your death / with an entire city in your ears.” And “He’s a sucker for poets and writers, / hides his artistry behind lions, / spits poems in bars, / blows solid blues.”  And you’ve just got to parody Carl Sandburg: “Candy Maker for the World, / Deep Dish Pizza Baker, Seller of Futures, /Trader of Fortunes, Strider of the Magnificent Mile, / Soupy, Stalwart, Honking, / City of the Proud Suburbs.”  So many striking you on virtually every page, but for me none more than from one of my favorite poets, Mark Turcotte, whose poem “Hawk Hour” brings the anthology to a close.  His prose poem begins, “In this city time unwinds in unnatural ways.”  “It’s bad for the body,” he continues towards the middle of the first paragraph. “Even here at the corner of Sheridan and Pratt, the lake and its waves only a block away, I cannot measure my dying.”  The flows are all wrong. The city breaks his clock and all the natural clocks of nature. The poem ends with the speaker at the Loyola Station where he crawls up the escalator, but at 90 miles an hour!  Then at the top—spewed out at 95 mph—he suddenly lingers “in a shadow that drapes itself across my eyes. I catch my breath, I stand upright. Above me the shape of a hawk drowns out the rush of the next ten trains and with its beating wings reaches out to stop the sky.”  “Chicago” is the French version of “Stinky Onion,” Shikaakwa, in the Miami-Illinois language. What a great, spectacular choice to end with the Native-American sensibility Turcotte brings.

Don Evans always points people to this website as a great resource on Chicago literature. Go to the Chicago Writers list and the Black Writers list to most easily access much of my writing on this subject.

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Folk Songs, Spirituals, and Jazz

This short article accompanies the release of excerpts from my radio series Voices and Freedoms: A History of Jazz, based on my 1976 book of the same name.  The 16-part series played across the nation for five years in the late 70’s/early 80’ and holds its relevance—or is even more so—today than it was back then.  The excerpts present about 6 to 10 minutes of the original 30-minute broadcasts. The link above takes you to information about the book and our plans to re-release it and provide access to the full-length original shows. Go HERE for a complete list of shows and links to all excerpts.

 

The VIDEO below is mostly audio: it’s an excerpt of Show #2 of my sixteen-part radio series Voices and Freedoms: A History of Jazz.  This show is entitled “Hollers, Cries, Work Songs, Spirituals.” (The link just above takes you to a list of all the shows in the series.)

The spiritual depth of jazz has often been miscalculated, because jazz is so often associated with the low-down blues, with dance halls, with any number of excesses.  But John Coltrane’s very spiritual 1964 album A Love Supreme re-focused us on jazz’s spiritual depth, a depth anchored in the folk songs, spirituals, and gospel songs that had a profound influence on the music of jazz and on jazz’s relationship to life from its earliest moments. And it wasn’t just the more formal songs of the Fisk Jubilee Singers, for example, or the many forms of gospel music that influenced jazz so deeply.  One critic said that the great jazz saxophonist Ornette Coleman essentially played field hollers.  The fragments of music accompanying work as field hands or merchants have always been particularly moving to me as they speak of freedom, family, and the fleeting nature of life.  In the show excerpt below you’ll hear one man sing, “I want to see my wife and children / BIM! / Yes I do, do, buddy buddy yes I do.”  The “BIM!” comes from a hammer sound in the call’s roots as a railroad work song. And there’s this short song from a flower vendor: “Yes, Ma’am, I got flowers / You ask me how I sell ‘em / Yes, Ma’am three for a quarter / Oh come and buy now / For I’m here today / And tomorrow I’ll be gone / Flowers ‘a’ going by.”

If jazz is at all an affirmation of life, of wholeness and rebirth, if it still retains something akin to deep African religiosity, and if it still speaks—as I believe it does—about human freedom and identity, this is so largely because of having roots in a heritage of songs like hollers, calls, gospel music, and, of course, the spirituals, which came from slave times out of the souls of Black folk.

Go to the Training and Teaching Diversity main page.

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