The Brooklyn Rail

A run of late-summer concerts—one presented by Jazzmobile, the others comprising the main events in the Charlie Parker Jazz Festival—showed again the power and primacy of remembrance in finding a way forward. The first was organized by and featured the brilliantly gifted pianist Jason Moran, paying tribute to the WWI-era pre-jazz composer and band leader James Reese Europe. Moran was introduced to this early influencer by formidable pianist Randy Weston, who described Europe as a key figure in the development of Black music. He melded the tradition of military bands with the syncopation of ragtime to create a new sound, one that swept across the world and put American culture at the forefront of modern experience.

Moran and his orchestra presented a program called “From the Dancehall to the Battlefield,” interpretations of Europe’s rarely performed material shot through with the pianist’s own wide-ranging style, from the uptown swing of his current home, Harlem, to the haunted, outward-reaching sounds of Albert Ayler. The performance was accompanied by visuals showing the members of Europe’s African-American military unit, the famed Harlem Hellfighters, locating him squarely in a patriotic tradition, interspersed with more abstract imagery and shots of Moran visiting his forebear’s grave. The homage felt touching and true.

I thought about the different ways that homage is paid while attending another fantastically realized edition of the Charlie Parker Jazz Festival. Under the artistic direction of the City Parks Foundation’s Erika Elliott, the festival brings together diverse interpretations of Bird’s music, all of which bring new dimensions to our understanding and appreciation of this seminal American composer and performer.

The first show I saw featured the drummer Sylvia Cuenca performing in an ensemble with the lyrical trumpeter Eddie Henderson. It took place in a spot I had never visited, the charming Harlem Rose Garden. Pulling up a folding chair, I realized I was right up against a memorial plaque inside the garden, which featured an excerpt from the poem “When Great Trees Fall” by Maya Angelou:

when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.

The clarified gravity of these lines hit me hard. They seemed a perfect tribute to major figures in our broader cultural life, as well as our private lives: after the dislocation of grief comes a simple but profound realization—that the power of an individual’s existence has shaped us.

Just down the street, at the superb amphitheater in Marcus Garvey Park, were the first two larger festival presentations. One opened with alto player T.K. Blue and his ensemble, featuring trombonist Steve Turre, who played several convincing Latin-influenced takes on Parker’s music. Blue came up as a student in the Jazzmobile program, and played for many years with Weston; he and his band incorporate all sorts of global influences in their playing. They were followed by the Captain Black Big Band, led by pianist Orrin Evans, who strayed well beyond the usual festival purview, and featured vocalists Bilal and Lisa Fischer performing beautifully interpolated takes on “Kooks” by David Bowie and “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac, respectively. Both were outstanding, Fischer in particular bringing the house down with her booming stadium-ready voice. A prominent back-up singer for decades with the Rolling Stones, she sounded exuberant interpreting the freewheeling arrangements prepared by Evans. The performance served as a reminder that Parker, though synonymous with bebop and jazz in general, also stood for experimentation, the need to push beyond existing categories.

The next afternoon, South African pianist Nduduzo Makhathini and his trio brought a whole other vibe to the music, closer in spirit to free jazz and punctuated by full-throated cries from the intensely passionate players. Makhathini, an educator as well as musician, also took the unusual step of offering a very moving lecture mid-set on the realities of the African diaspora, the ongoing dislocation suffered by its constituent communities, which itself drew an ovation. His evocation of the Zulu kingdom and its rich history added a spiritual dimension to his playing, and he integrated a wide range of influences, from Abdullah Ibrahim to McCoy Tyner. The impact of his music was immediate and intense.

The Cookers closed the evening, led by the razor-sharp playing of drummer Billy Hart. I’ve written about the band before for the Rail, but my admiration for this ensemble grows every time I see them. It’s thrilling to hear these mighty veterans of the scene come together around tight, intricate arrangements, and astounding that as the players reach their eighties and beyond, they continue to perform with such agility and grace.

Compositions by tenor player Billy Harper and bassist Cecil McBee were given stunning workouts, while pianist George Cables left his walker next to his instrument and soared.

For the final day of the festival, held in Tompkins Square Park, another band whose name traces back to a venerated mid-century album, Something Else!, brought slightly younger but still highly experienced musicians to the stage. The front line of bandleader Vincent Herring on alto, Randy Brecker on trumpet, and especially the always astounding James Carter on tenor and soprano made the music fun and accessible, amid the regular displays of virtuosity. Their takes on older compositions, such as “Pot Belly” by Lou Donaldson and “Spirit of Trane” by Freddie Hubbard, had tremendous swagger and drive. I interviewed Carter nearly three decades ago when his first album came out, and it is gratifying to see how his stature has only grown over time, and how much joie de vivre he conveys in his playing.

The festival closed with a marvelous set by longtime alto ace Charles McPherson, a Parker acolyte whose acidic sound was central to the Charles Mingus big band for many years. He teamed with the powerful trumpet player Terell Stafford, in arrangements that foregrounded the elegance of Parker’s compositions, amid like-minded originals. In all, the festival showed the suppleness and adaptability of the music, its ability to generate conversations, between different musicians, generations, and styles. A number of players, like pianist Dave Kikoski, guitarist Paul Bollenbeck, and bassist Essiet O. Essiet, turned up in several contexts, with the overall effect of an ongoing dialogue among them.

How does a festival like this honor the spirit of the musician in whose name it was founded? By presenting his compositions, interpreted in so many different, mind-opening ways, and reminding us of his harmonic and rhythmic inventions, it harkens back to that same profound truth articulated in the poem cited earlier. Charlie Parker existed, and his existence changed the world around him. We pay him the greatest tribute by remembering that fact, and moving along some of the routes he first traveled, seeing whatever we see in our own time, and allowing those journeys to change us.

Through Europe and Parker and the players who continue to interpret their music, we become connected to a larger story, one that often contains a strong spiritual dimension. These great souls inspire us, and their vibrations reach us. They become not just figures of the past, but of the present. In the telling and retelling of their tales, they become, to use T.S. Eliot’s phrase, “renewed, transfigured, in another pattern.”