Following the pandemic of 2020, when most if not all jazz festivals were forced into a brave new “virtual” world (if not outright cancellation), in 2021 many such events returned as either shadows of their traditional design, in abbreviated fashion, or in different configurations as we crept back to normalcy. Such was the case with the 2021 edition of the Monterey Jazz Festival. Whereas the traditional Monterey County Fairgrounds setting offered not only the big venue Arena – home to the Jimmy Lyons Stage – but also the outdoor Garden Stage, Courtyard Stage, and adjacent Coffee House Gallery, and the indoor venues known as Dizzy’s Den and the Nightclub, as well as an indoor venue used to screen simulcasts of Arena performances.

Following strict pandemic precautions, the 2021 edition of MJF was a cautionary modest return with performances limited to strictly outdoors, which restricted the festival to its two main stages: the Arena and the Garden Stage, plus the Courtyard Stage, a patio amongst food service merchants just steps from the festival’s main entry gate that generally features emerging artists offerings. For the 2022 MJF that scenario was expanded to include a new outdoor stage adjacent to the old Dizzy’s Den building, known as the West End Stage, which opened up the Fairgrounds to more of its traditional configuration, though lingering local pandemic precautions continued to mean no indoor performances and limitations on the number of food and craft vendors, which meant frequent traffic jams at fan favorites among the tasty offerings. But what is always most consistent about any Monterey Jazz Festival experience – performances ranging from notable to memorable – happily persisted in spades this year.

One of the most notable of several MJF debut performances was delivered by the remarkable 24-year old vocalist Samara Joy. Mature of voice well beyond her years, Ms. Joy was on the cusp of her recently released Verve debut Linger Awhile. Her comfort level with selections from the Great American Songbook, her smooth phrasing, and simpatico with her band – particularly the fine guitarist Pasquale Grasso – was delivered with such elan that folks were overheard marveling at her artistry all weekend.

Other notable MJF debut performances were turned in by the Richmond, VA-based unit known as Butcher Brown, which brings a modern groove oriented crossover perspective as much informed by various fusion era incarnations as by classic hip hop. Butcher Brown drummer Corey Fonville and bassist DJ Harrison also contributed indelibly to Kurt Elling’s highly charged new project Superblue. The catalyst for this modernist update on the vocalist’s approach is decidedly the resourceful guitarist Charlie Hunter, who recruited the young cats who propel this project, including the Huntertone Horns (which notably included ace trumpeter Kenyatta Beasley) who give the project an essential brass uplift.

Guitar master Dave Stryker, who talked wistfully about his 2020 MJF debut having been obliterated by the pandemic, delivered quite soulfully to a deeply appreciative audience who seemed to share in his sense of something missed-then-recaptured. Stryker was joined by a wonderfully communicative unit that included Howard University’s own McClenty Hunter on drums, Hammond B-3 ace Jared Gold, and Warren Wolf on vibes.

Speaking of the vibes, Joel Ross and the enormously gifted saxophonist Immanuel Wilkins joined pianist-keyboardist Gerald Clayton for a set introducing the pianist’s bristlingly creative new vibes trio. Clayton, the artistic director of MJF’s Next Generation Jazz Orchestra, a national high school all-star band, put the young musicians through their paces for the Sunday afternoon opening set, counting off the set in high blues form with Thad Jones‘ infectious arrangement of the soulful Jerome Richardson tune “Groove Merchant.”

Other emerging artists who contributed notably to MJF ’22 included the pianist-composer Kris Bowers, himself a former Next Gen JO participant. Bowers was commissioned to write what resulted in the majestic, through-composed orchestral work “Asylo” in celebration of the Monterey Bay National Marine Sanctuary. Accompanying the sumptuous performance were big screen video of life among the majestic whales, including the lapping waves and calming seascapes. On the Garden Stage the youthful energy source known as Matthew Whitaker delivered his keyboard-fueled feel-good ouevre to great effect, making plenty of new enthusiasts along the way. Harpist Brandee Younger broadened Ravi Coltrane‘s Cosmic Music spiritual love letter to his parents Alice & John.

Photos: Courtesy of Bridget Arnwine

One of the true presences at this year’s festival was provided by the deep soul voice of Lisa Fischer, guesting marvelously with the blue rootsy band Ranky Tanky. This year marked a new iteration of the every 3 year touring assemblage known as MJF on Tour. In celebration of the festival’s 65th anniversary, artistic director Tim Jackson brought together Kurt Elling, Dee Dee Bridgewater (and you know that pairing will be fun on tour!), alto sax powerhouse Lakecia Benjamin, and a rhythm section of pianist Christian Sands, with bassist Yasushi Nakamura and the versatile Clarence Penn on drums. Sands’ MJF residency also engaged his “Sands Box” series of artist conversations, including a fun and stimulating Sunday lunchtime dialogue with Kurt Elling.

Nicholas Payton‘s set on the Garden Stage was one whose electronic intimacy might have been better – and more attentively – served in an interior venue. His trio – with two resourceful electronics manipulators who provided grooves and inspirations for Payton’s (too) occasional trumpet, acoustic bass, and keyboards. One of Payton’s mates was Sasha Masakowski, who too late in the set for my ears, finally unfurled her considerable vocal chops in service to Payton’s atmospheric explorations. But unfortunately the outdoor setting made for shifting audience dynamics.

One of the clear highlight small band sets was turned in by the masterful reunion quartet of Joshua Redman, Brad Mehldau, Brian Blade and the reliably buoyant Christian McBride. The levels of communication between these four was a constantly evolving revelation as they traveled the varied vistas of their compositions. Quite notable was their essay on Mehldau – who was on quiet fire all evening – composition “Mohawk”. Wouldn’t ‘ya know it, buzzard’s luck: this essential set was scheduled opposite The Cookers over on the Garden Stage! [Thankfully The Cookers do play the beautiful Keystone Korner Baltimore; in the DMV ya’ll; Joshua-Christian-Brad & Brian? Not so much…; thus the choice was clear.]. There were a good dozen more such conundrums throughout MJF weekend, and noting them here might prove painful, but such is life at the oldest continuing jazz festival on the planet.

The remarkable all-woman ensemble Artemis has added newcomers Nicole Glover on tenor sax and Alexa Tarantino to the core ensemble of pianist Renee Rosnes, drummer Allison Miller, bassist Noriko Ueda, and the always-rewarding trumpeter Ingrid Jensen. Their set provided further evidence of the welcome broadening gender perspective of our current jazz moment where high class women musicians and bandleaders are arriving on the scene in accelerated fashion.

One of the great moments of this year’s festival was provided by the veteran artistry of pianist-composer Chucho Valdes‘ broad canvas work “La Creacion”, a large ensemble work beautifully co-conducted by pianist-keyboardists John Beasley, whose ensemble Monk’estra horn section powered the work, and Chucho’s Cuban compadre Hilario Duran. With at times 3 ritual bata drum & voice contributors in the ensemble, this densely layered work will be on tour this Fall. The work included a beautiful calypso section keyed to one of the trumpeters in the ensemble, Trinidadian Etienne Charles, and an incendiary drum excursion from Dafnis Prieto. With Chucho’s bravura piano at the helm, this was the most inspired performance of this MJF edition.

Per usual, there were so many moments of musical conflict with great acts all across the Fairgrounds making it impossible to capture it all, that one should always approach a Monterey Jazz Festival experience with the thought that you just can’t catch all the great moments, so best to settle on your essentials knowing that you’re always going to catch more than a few surprises and be introduced to more than a few new artists to further enrich your pallet.

Photos: Bridget Arnwne

I was one who admittedly questioned the late 90s/early 21st century seeming media blizzard on behalf of The Bad Plus, the innovative trio for which Ethan Iverson served so splendidly as its original pianist. Subsequent personal sightings of TBP proved that yes, these guys were onto something interesting, all media acclaim aside. Since then I’ve found Iverson to be an eminently reasonable man unencumbered by what might accompany the level of runaway ego or undue hubris that sometimes seems to attach itself to musicians less evolved amidst that initial level of TBP hype. Notably his efforts have included some very productive writing on jazz and related subjects, for JazzTimes magazine and for his own Transitional Technology blog, which you can find at https://iverson.substack.com.

For the late 2018/early 2019 holiday season Suzan and I spent a lovely time at Umbria Jazz’s great winter event in scenic Orvieto, traditionally held the week after Christmas climaxing New Year’s Day. And what a rewarding experience it was, including an opportunity to observe Ethan Iverson at work on a fairly large scale project.

Umbria Jazz had commissioned Iverson to sort of reimagine the genius pathbreaking pianist Bud Powell and his music. For the occasion Ethan was joined onstage by guest trumpeter Ingrid Jensen, tenor saxophonist Dayna Stephens, the superb house rhythm section of bassist Ben Street and the eminently crafty master drummer Lewis Nash. The core band for Ethan’s Bud Powell re-imaginings was the Umbria Jazz Orchestra. For this project Iverson contributed eight original compositions in the spirit of Bud, and arranged seven Powell originals – including his classics “Tempus Fugit,” “Celia,” “Un Poco Loco,” and “Bouncing with Bud,” the inevitable Monk encounter “52nd Street Theme.”

The results of that commissioned work are borne out in one of this writer’s picks in Francis Davis’ annual critic’s poll for 2021’s finest releases, Bud Powell In The 21st Century released on the Sunnyside label. Having an opportunity to hear this project evolve over the course of a week is one of the beauties of a great festival like Umbria Jazz Winter, in the inviting confines of Teatro Mancinelli.

A few weeks ago Ethan Iverson struck again, this revelation was his debut recording for the classic Blue Note label, Every Note is True, this time in trio mode with the auspicious rhythm section of bassist Larry Grenadier and NEA Jazz Master drummer Jack DeJohnette. Clearly some questions were in order for the intrepid Ethan Iverson.

I know you’re somewhat of a historian of this music, so given the hallowed place Blue Note Records holds in the history of recorded jazz, what’s your sense of making your Blue Note debut?

Blue Note is at the top, of course. It’s very odd for me to consider all this – because I can’t believe how lucky I am – but The Bad Plus debuted on Columbia when that label was still a real force for jazz, thanks to Yves Beauvais’s sting at A&R. I love Manfred Eicher and ECM, and the projects I’ve done there were wonderful experiences, perhaps especially the duo session with Mark Turner, where Manfred gave some remarkable feedback in the studio. Most recently I gave my Bud Powell in the 21st Century tape to Francois Zalacain, who holds it down at Sunnyside. God bless Sunnyside too.

The Blue Note catalog is unrivaled. The whole human race loves the classic Blue Note records! But I also really admire Don Was’ conviction that the music doesn’t stop growing. He’s managed to curate a label that does not rest on its laurels, but stays relevant.

You gotta believe in the music more than the career. If you sit around worrying about the career all day, you won’t make the music you need to make. However, leaving The Bad Plus was objectively a career risk. Putting out a record on Blue Note is proof that leaving TBP was the right decision.

The title of this recording – Every Note is True – is one that some might assume carries a message. If so, what would that message be?

It’s a line from the opening song, but also yes, a message, or even a manifesto. One must believe in one’s own musical opinion, there’s simply no other way to do it.

What went into your selecting such a stellar rhythm section of Jack DeJohnette on drums and Larry Grenadier on bass to make this record?

The 2020 pandemic closed many doors, but it opened up a few as well. I had always wanted to play with Jack DeJohnette. Since nobody had any gigs, Jack was free to meet me and Larry Grenadier in the studio for two days.

I had worked with Larry a bit, he’s on my record with Lee Konitz. For many he is the ranking bassist of his generation. The first time I saw Larry play he was extremely young and sounding just great with Joe Henderson at Fat Tuesdays, maybe 1993 or so. Larry is a serious virtuoso, but he believes in the traditional function of the bass.

I first saw Jack DeJohnette live at Orchestra Hall in Minneapolis with Keith Jarrett. I believe I was only twelve years old. The experience was so profound I bought a set of drums the very next day. He’s one of the greatest drummers of all time, full stop.

Obviously you have a whole universe of tunes to select from, not to mention your own original compositions. So how did you choose these particular ten tunes for this record?

After leaving The Bad Plus I had a lot more space around my head, and surprised myself by writing a lot more music. Hardly a week has gone by where I don’t think of a melody and write it down. The tunes on Every Note is True are some of the better ones. I selected relatively easy themes that we could learn quickly and record passionately.

Then there’s the opening track, “The More it Changes,” a novelty number with friends, most of whom I didn’t see in person all year but who sent me text messages with their vocal overdub. In the end, one must try to adapt to any circumstance.

As a piano player, who have been your guiding lights?

I know all the jazz pianists, but I love other stuff too. When I interface with literature, movies, or television, it helps me see that parameters of genre are freeing, not constricting. I like genres. Some people don’t believe in them and want to live their life “genre-free.” I have little interest in that perspective. I’m more like, “What is the genre?” If we know what genre it is, then we can fill the container with the right kind of material.

Everything “new” is a combination of previous things. What matters is how well you know each element you’re combining. If you’re writing a supernatural detective story, you need to ask yourself how well you know the supernatural genre and how well you know the detective genre. People often know one side more than the other. That’s always been an issue in the arts, but here in the postmodern age of the 21st Century, everything’s a click away. It’s all one big mashup. The question is how well you can control all the aspects you’re dialing in to the final product.

Sometimes a college music student will say, “I don’t want to be labeled. Don’t even call it jazz; it’s all beyond category.” I get it, but at the same time, any single phrase you can play on an instrument has a heritage, so what lineage are you in? And if you know your lineage, you can accept it or work against it.

To get back to your question, three of my many obvious jazz piano influences are Thelonious Monk, Paul Bley, and Mal Waldron.

However, part of what makes me distinctive as a player are frankly European Classical elements. Indeed, I believe no other “jazz” pianist has done exactly what I accomplished in The Bad Plus’ The Rite of Spring, which was merely reading down a score filled with thousands of notes alongside a fierce rhythm section.

In pure musical terms, I play a lot of triads. Most of my peers rarely play pure triads. At the session Jack DeJohnette said to me, “You play a lot of triads. That’s really different.” I responded “Jack, one of the first places where I was so impressed with a pure triad was the ending of your piece “Blue” (Jack recorded that on piano on a Gateway album.). Jack then taught me “Blue” in the studio and it ended up on Every Note is True!

As a musician whose own interviews of fellow artists and whose writing exploits appear to be expanding, how do you balance your roles as musician and as writer?

I feel close to certain heroes who also did historical work. Johannes Brahms collected old scores and oversaw editions of then hard-to-find scores of Francois Couperin and others. Mary Lou Williams assessed the whole canon eloquently, and her “Tree of Jazz” is one of the finest pedagogical tools ever produced. Donald Westlake wrote some truly significant pieces of literary criticism in addition to publishing almost 100 crime novels.

The journals of pre-internet artists often make for great reading. In the internet age, the minute you think of something, you can put it online, for better or for worse. But my public advocacy for music writ large is also my journal. It certainly interacts with my performances and recordings in a very literal way.

So what’s next on Ethan Iverson’s agenda?

Every Note is true was released February 11th, and there were two record release concerts, Feb. 7 in Boston and Feb. 11 in Brooklyn. Jack recommended Nasheet Waits as a sub for the live gigs, which was perfect.

In addition to the trio repertory with Larry and Nasheet, the two concerts featured the 45-minute suite “Ritornello, Sinfonias, and Cadenzas” for eight horns and rhythm section. This was the American premier of a 45-minute suite commissioned last year for the Umbria Jazz Festival. It’s really pretty damn good IMO, I turned 49 on Feb. 11, and – while this is not visible on the surface yet – the rough plan is to spend the next stage of my career in my 50s and in the far future less as a trio pianist and more as a formal composer. Eventually, in retrospect, those concerts may mark the transition.

This coming year I will be playing with the Billy Hart Quartet quite a bit, in a longstanding group with Mark Turner and Ben Street. There’s also work as a composer or arranger with the Mark Morris Dance Group or Dance Heginbotham. Truly I am lucky to have so many wonderful collaborators. From the outside, it might look hopelessly eclectic, but for me it all follows the same thread. Every note is true!

Tenor saxophonist Javon Jackson, was the final tenor saxophonist in Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers, his tenure running from 1987 until Blakey’s 1990 ascendence. In addition to Blakey, Javon, who grew up largely in the Denver, CO area, prepped with such NEA Jazz Masters as Elvin Jones, Freddie Hubbard, Charlie Haden, Betty Carter, Cedar Walton, Ron Carter, and Dr. Lonnie Smith. Currently director of the Jackie McLean Institute of Jazz at the University of Hartford’s Hart School of Music, The Gospel According to Nikki Giovanni (Solid Jackson Records) is Javon’s 21st. This new release marks a precipitous exploration of one of the root sources of the American music tradition – gospel songs and spirituals, for which he partnered with the great poet Nikki Giovanni.

Would it be fair to refer to this as your “gospel” project?
It’s our project.  I reached out to Nikki and asked her to select 10 spirituals and that would be the material used on my next cd. From there I listened to many renditions of these spirituals from artists that include Jessye Norman, the Moses Hogan Singers, Etta James, and Sweet Honey in The Rock. Great and inspiring music!

What was the genesis of this project?

Nikki’s love for spirituals and our one on one conversations on their history made the way for an “epiphany”, my thought to have her provide the selections that I ultimately recorded.

How did you come to connect Nikki Giovanni to this project?

In my capacity as Professor; Director of the Jackie McLean Institute of Jazz at the University of Hartford, I invited Nikki to the university for a Q&A and discussion with the student body during Black History Month in 2020 regarding her life as poet and scholar.  Also, I suggested to President Gregory Woodward of the University of Hartford that Nikki receive an honorary degree during the visit, which President Woodard arranged and there was a wonderful ceremony.

Given Covid-era restrictions, how did this project come together?

The project was delayed for a year because of Covid, but we eventually found the time in July 2021.

What are the songs on this project and how did you come to select this repertoire?

All of the selections picked by Nikki were very adaptable for a myself and my band, we are a jazz quartet.  I especially enjoyed recording “Wade in the Water”, “Mary Had a Baby, Yes Lord”, “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot”, “Night Song”  and “I Opened My Mouth the Lord”.

Since you come from a jazz perspective and Nikki Giovanni comes from a poetry perspective – two disciplines which have historic connections – what was your sense of the interactions with Nikki Giovanni to realize this project?

She is an artist who loves jazz music and is a Christian.  I come from a family of devout Christians, so that is a part of my ancestral stream.  There wasn’t any conversation between Nikki and myself about how the material would be recorded once I received her choices.  As Nikki sang on “Night Song”, there was actually no conversation on that one either.  She came into the studio, did a practice take for the engineer and then nailed her involvement on the first recorded take!

What was your process for arriving at the music for this project?

I’m very happy to have collaborated to Nikki and greatly appreciate our growing friendship. Nikki selected the music and I don’t know what prompted her to pick these particular pieces. I do know that the spiritual we recorded, “Leaning on the Everlasting Arms”, is one that reminds Nikki of grandmothers and how Nikki always knew that her grandmother was there for her to lean on.

How do you foresee realizing this project onstage?

We have upcoming concerts with Nikki as our special guest and looking forward!!  She will participate as vocalist performing “Night Song”.  She will also be onstage offering poetry for her vast library of original writings that will occur in tandem with the music.  On the CD, “Wade in the Water” is accompanied with Nikki’s poem “A Very Simple Wish”.  It was interpreted beautifully by Dr. Christina Greer, Associate Professor of Political Science at Fordham University.

Given your work at Harrt School of Music and this project, I’m reminded of something Branford Marsalis said about his jazz education work at North Carolina Central University.  He always felt that those incoming students who had experience playing in the church had an advantage – particularly from a rhythm perspective – over those students who did not have that experience.  Have you found that to be the case with your students at Hart?

I agree. I have found that rhythm can be a benefit for those who had experience playing in church. It’s an organic environment where rhythm and emotion are the priorities.

What’s your overall sense of now leading a program which was essentially founded by Jackie McLean, and what do you feel is his ongoing influence on your efforts and on the program in general?

Having known Jackie McLean and what he stood for, it is an honor to be Chair of the program that he created with love, perseverance and sacrifice. He was a musical giant and will live forever!! I’m just trying to do my little part and be a resource and a support system for the young people that I encounter in the program. To teach is to learn and I must stay in a learning mode as well!!

Like many I first discovered Greg Tate’s prose in the weekly Village Voice – in a music writer’s room that also included such significant voices as Stanley Crouch, Gary Giddins, and Robert Christgau.  Greg’s sense of the music was refreshingly inventive while maintaining a colloquial sensibility that made a lot more sense to me than some of the musicological fakery I was experiencing in various jazz prints – thoroughly lacking in the I know music… and you don’t music criticism that was clearly moldy fig-alated.

Fortunately when we began a series of dialogues with African American music writers in these pages to examine the seeming disparity of Black music’s essential provenance in what has become American music on one hand, and the scarcity of Black writing perspectives in the prints on the other, Greg Tate contributed robustly to the dialogue.  Those dialogues have become the currently in-production book Ain’t But a Few of Us, due out 3rd quarter 2022 via Duke University Press – also home to Greg Tate’s work, including Flyboy in the Buttermilk.

When Greg Tate joined the ancestors on December 7th, I reached out to a small cadre of writers, scholars and fellow travelers to remember the man known as Ironman…  

Before I could really comprehend how bright of a lodestar Greg Tate would be for me as a writer and musicologist, I knew that he offered a fresh model for me. He didn’t traffic the either/or path that seemed so prevalent in early-’90s music journalism, when it came to either focusing seriously about jazz or directing that energy toward the nascent hip-hop movement. Greg did both with gusto and so much else, such as R&B and rock music, comic books, literature, visual art, and movies. When his book, Flyboy in the Buttermilk, was published, those essays galvanized my imagination the same way that Parliament-Funkadelic’s music or the X-Men comic books did. Tate made me want to be a great writer and chronicler of Black fantastical music and culture.

I foolishly tried to emulate his writing style and failed miserably. That failure was a good thing. It taught me that there was only one Greg Tate; it also taught me to focus on the clarity of my prose and the strengths of my research, arguments and storytelling. Through that failure, I slowly crafted my own both as a writer and DJ.

But even while Greg was this writer star, who also co-founded the Black Rock Coalition and became a noteworthy musician as the leader of Burnt Sugar, he was always approachable. He always made me feel as if I was a member of his creative tribe. And for that alone I will be eternally grateful.

— John Murph

When I interviewed Greg Tate for a Q&A for Publishers Weekly in 2016, he told me that Wayne Shorter and Amiri Baraka were his strongest overall influences. If you look at the vast body of his work, that rings true. Tate downloaded Shorter’s Afro-futuristic, cinematic multiverse approach to music to construct his own Negroidally-nuanced literary narratives, and he stamped Baraka’s poetic passport that docked in ports of call where bebop, Beat poets and Black Fire nationalism dwell. Add all of those aesthetic ingredients with tinges of Sterling Brown, W.E.B. Du Bois, Toni Morrison, Sun Ra and the comprehensive constellation of Black, Brown and Beige thought that is Howard University – Tate’s Alma Mater – and you had a writer who, from the time his byline appeared in the Village Voice in 1987, until December 7, when he ascended to a higher plane, sounded like no one but himself.

— Eugene Holley, Jr.

 

Reading Greg Tate’s imposing prose for the first time was intimidating, slightly disorienting; like encountering the music of Eric Dolphy or Ornette Coleman after a steady diet of straight ahead swing or seeing Picasso and Dali after assuming that Rembrandt was the final word in visual art. Tate rocked my journalism school-bred world in much the same way that Tom Wolfe, Hunter S. Thompson and Joan Didion upset the journalistic establishment of the ‘60s and ’70s. This was a fresh new voice. And there was nothing gimmicky about his inventive use of the language, dubbed “slangy erudition” by one wag. As fellow writer Hua Hsu so brilliantly noted in a Sept. 21, 2016 article for The New Yorker: “His best paragraphs throbbed like a party and chattered like a salon; they were stylishly jam-packed with names and reference points that shouldn’t have got along but did, a trans-everything collision of pop stars, filmmakers, subterranean graffiti artists, Ivory Tower theorists, and Tate’s personal buddies, who often came across as the wisest of the bunch.” There was an underlying logic and intelligence to Tate’s writing style that lent authority to even his most experimental forays into criticism. His ideas were always solid, penetrating, insightful. I especially admired the way he made connections between seemingly disparate types of music — how James Brown informed Miles Davis’ electric band of the ‘70s, which in turn was influenced by Karlheinz Stockhausen and Jimi Hendrix and maybe even King Crimson to some degree. Tate could always trace the connections — from George Clinton to Romare Bearden to Sun Ra to Michael Jordan to King Sunny Ade to Butch Morris to Chuck D. Tate thought globally. His mind was as expansive as the Grand Canyon and as tight as a JB groove. And his lexicon of hip phrasing and cadence that anticipated/mirrored hip-hop spoke of his playful intellect — part Jean Paul Sarte phenomenology, part Bootsy Collins cartoon mind, part Sun Ra extraterrestrial traveler. We aspiring writers, critics, journalists who read him religiously every week in The Village Voice during the ‘80s stood in awe of his expressive virtuosity. And it was not something that you could copy. There was no template for this style of cultural criticism, this Afro-futurist way of thinking. All one could do was admire the skill, the vision, the daring creativity. As he wrote in 1986: “My mission is clear. The future of Black culture depends that this generation brings forth a worldly-wise and stoopidfresh intelligentsia of radical bups who can get as ignant as James Brown with their Wangs [computers] and stay in the Black. Give me such an army and we’ll be talking total cultural Black rule by the time the eco-system collapses, SDI bottoms out Fort Knox, the Aryan Brotherhood is officially in the White House, and Wall Street is on the moon.”

— Bill Milkowski

“Strange vibrations…from the hardcore…”

That refrain, above, voiced over his original program theme music, is how I first heard Greg “Ironman’ Tate in D.C.   It was the late 70s, when he presented his wonderfully original “Strange Vibrations From the Hardcore”, radio program, on WPFW, radio.  I would begin my 33-year tenure at ‘PFW, as he departed for NY, to begin a masterful writing career with the Village Voice; while also developing his music playing, composing, and conducting skills through his group and Arkestra, Burnt Sugar.  His “Bird flew Miles through Trane, who Jimmy’d the Mothership Connection, exit/exit us”, prose is a poetic, prayer-like refrain that’s now imbedded in my psyche.   I didn’t see Greg too much, once he became a NYker, a nascent NY trip being to an early meeting of his guitarist Vernon Reid co-founded founded Black Rock Coalition organization, with my friend and fellow ‘PFW programmer, Herb Taylor.  Whether concerts here in DC, or there in NY, greetings were always black, warm, and welcome.   ‘PFW had many great avantars, but Greg was the first to truly avant, the funk.  Bird may The final warning words in his epic 1992 epoch tomb, “Flyboy in the Buttermilk – essays on contemporary america”, Fireside/Simon & Schuster: “If we don’t exercise our capacity to love and heal each other by digging deep into our mutual woundedness, then what we’re struggling for is merely the end of white supremacy – and not the salvaging of its victims.”

–Bobby Hill

 

Greg Tate was a “genius child.”  He was a person moving ahead of his time and telling us where we needed to go.

I was first introduced to his poetry when I judged a poetry contest for DC public school kids in the early seventies. Many of the poems submitted were class assignment work; poems about spring and seasonal changes. Suddenly I picked up a poem that was extremely different and seemed to come straight from Hendrix’s guitar. A blast of difference–setting the work apart from the other poems in my packet. Maybe a few months later I met Greg for the first time. I was introduced to him by our mutual friend Charlene Porter. Charlene might have worked for Greg’s father. She introduced me to Greg Tate in Folio Bookstore on P Street near DuPont Circle.

Looking back through my files I see that I sponsored my first reading for Greg on December 21, 1976 at the WPA. I would sponsor other readings for him on into the 1980s on my Ascension Series; inviting him to read with poets like Alexis DeVeaux and Diane Burns. Greg at the time was hanging out with the cool people at Howard: Calvin Reid, Richard Powell and all those visual artists who were beginning to sketch and paint a new world. Two people Greg admired and loved were Thulani Davis and A.B. Spellman. Greg also came from a cool family. Taters I liked to call them, echoing the words of Boston Red Sox slugger George Scott who called his homers “taters” as they sailed over the Green Monster (Wall) in Fenway Park. A thing of beauty. A new aesthetic – something that is part of much of what Greg Tate taught us during his life. Greg was a seeker and explorer. I laughed when in 1992 he signed his copy of Flyboy in the Buttermilk for me. He wrote: “Ethelbert, the E-Man, thanx for discoverin me.” Looking at these words today makes me feel like an old Columbus. Like Native Americans – Greg was already doing his thing. I just happened to bump into him. The rest is history.

— E. Ethelbert Miller,Writer and literary activist

I was lucky enough to write for the Village Voice when Greg Tate did. My words could not soar up to the territory in which his generally floated, but at least they were printed with the same ink and bound within the same pages. Later on, I got the chance to speak on public panels along with Greg. Again, my banter didn’t bounce like his or echo with similar thuds of deep meaning. Yet the conversations were necessarily raised up to the level of the Flyboy’s game, and I was in that game. Through Greg’s words and his music, in his writing and his playing, via both his swagger and his humility, I learned things about Blackness and being and about being Black that I couldn’t know but needed to understand in order to, say, write about jazz or just to live justly in this world. And I felt inspired to figure out who I was, too. I knew Greg a little but I felt like he knew all about me because that’s how great writers make you feel when you read them. And when I heard and saw him perform with Burnt Sugar The Arkestra Chamber, I inhabited, for a little while, a world he imagined into reality. Greg never asked anything of me. But through his own tough and lovely expressions, he demanded that I do the work of research and thinking and listening hard and, only then, find something new and useful and beautiful to say. I can’t do it all the time like Greg did. I’m trying, Greg, I’m trying, man.
— Larry Blumenfeld