Monthly Archives: March 2012

CATHERINE RUSSELL WELCOMES US IN!

Photograph by Richard Conde

The Beloved and I were in the presence of magic at the Allen Room (Jazz at Lincoln Center) last night when singer Catherine Russell welcomed us in.

I don’t mean that she just began her show by saying, “I’m glad you are all here,” as artists usually tell an audience.

But from the first phrase of her opening song, I’M SHOOTING HIGH, she turned the Allen Room into something warm, making us feel both as if we were in her own magically cozy space.  Although she was stylishly dressed, in front of a ten-piece band, with the great New York street scene viewed from above, none of this distracted her from her great purpose: to lift us up through sweet swinging music.

She is such an expert performer that she made her art – clearly the result of great attention to detail — seem natural and intuitive, as if she and the band had just gotten together to have a good time.

Her delight in being with us was genuine.  When a couple, arriving late, made their way to their seats down front, Catherine beamed at them and said the most encouraging thing, “Welcome, welcome!” — and we relaxed even more, knowing that she meant it.

What she was welcoming us to was a musical evening of the most gratifying kind.  It was inspired by Louis Armstrong, for one, always a good start.  Most of the songs she and the band offered were connected to Louis, but she remained herself: no growl, no handkerchief, no mugging.  Rather she understood and demonstrated what Louis was all about — deep romance, great fun, rocking rhythm, daring improvisations.  Love, whether eager celebration or brokenhearted lament — was her theme.  And there was another man inspiring her performance: Louis’ friend, pianist, and musical director for many years: Luis Russell, who (by the way) happened to be Catherine’s father.  Pops and Daddy, if you will.

She drew most of her material from the great period of the Louis / Luis collaboration — 1935-42, the songs now collected on the great Louis Mosaic box set, so we got to exult with her for I’M SHOOTING HIGH (“Got my eye / On a star / In the sky”), dream along with I’M IN THE MOOD FOR LOVE, swing out on I CAN’T GIVE YOU ANYTHING BUT LOVE, mourn to I COVER THE WATERFRONT, laugh out loud to PUBLIC MELODY NUMBER ONE.  Catherine’s vision of Louis reached back to the Twenties for STRUTTIN’ WITH SOME BARBECUE, SUGAR FOOT STRUT (now, finally, I know what the lyrics are talking about!), and a romping EVERYBODY LOVES MY BABY.

And it expanded to include BACK O’TOWN BLUES and LUCILLE, songs with which she had a very personal connection.  The first of those two — written by Louis and Luis – was the flip side of Louis’ 1956 hit, MACK THE KNIFE.  For some, that fact would be only a jazz-fiend’s winning Trivial Pursuit answer.  But for Catherine it was so much more.  The royalties from BACK O’TOWN BLUES enabled her parents, Luis and Carline Ray (Catherine’s mother had been in the audience for the first show) to purchase their first new car — a two-tone blue 1956 Mercury.  Even from row N, the Beloved and I could see how much that car had meant to the Russells from Catherine’s very warm retelling of the story.  And the very touching LUCILLE had been written by Luis in 1961 for Louis to try — a loving tribute to Lucille Wilson Armstrong . . . and, not incidentally, a beautiful song, now fully realized by Catherine.

She also showed her great emotional range in a dark reading of NO MORE, a sultry evocation of ROMANCE IN THE DARK, a hilarious I’M CHECKIN’ OUT, GOOM-BYE (evoking Abbey Lincoln, Lil Green, and Ivie Anderson, respectively).

Catherine is also an astonishing singer, if you haven’t guessed by now.  She has a perfectly placed voice, with power and depth but a kind of reedy intensity (she can sound like an alto saxophone but more often she reminded me of a whole reed section coming out of her long lithe frame).  Her sound is sweet yet pungent.  She has great dramatic intensity but she never seems as if she’s “acting.”  From somewhere inside the song, she lights the way, matching her readings of lyrics and melody exactly to the emotions . . . making familiar songs feel roomy and new.  And rhythm bubbles up through her — she was always in motion, rollicking around the stage, expertly dancing, embodying joy in person.

And the band was just as delightful: let me write their names here again to celebrate them: Matt Munisteri, Mark Shane, Lee Hudson, Mark McLean, Jon-Erik Kellso, Dave Brown, John Allred, Scott Robinson, Andy Farber, Dan Block.  New York’s finest!  Each one of them had something deliciously incisive to bring, from McLean’s saucepan-percussion reminding us of Zutty Singleton on SUGAR FOOT STRUT, Allred’s plunger-dialogue on GOOM-BYE, Scott Robinson’s soprano taragota on NEW CALL OF THE FREAKS (a whole surrealistic play in itself, with the horn section picking up their paper parts to read the unforgettable Dada poetry: “Stick out your can / here comes the garbage man. . . . “).  Kellso, once again, became the Upper West Side Louis, and Matt swung us into bliss — to say nothing of the eloquent gents of the sax section, Mister Brown to You, the reliable Hudson keeping it all together, Mark Shane pointing the way — Jess Stacy to Catherine’s Helen Ward.  The brilliant arrangements by Matt, Jon-Erik, and Andy gave us a rocking big band distilled to its essence.

The Beloved and I enjoyed every note.  We would be there tonight if we could.  If you can, stop reading this post right now and get a pair (or more) of tickets for the Saturday night shows — 7:30 or 9:30.  Or if that’s not possible, do what I did and buy Catherine’s latest CD, STRICTLY ROMANCIN’ — it has some of the same songs and almost the same band.

Miss Russell will welcome you in, too!

May your happiness increase.

LOVE IN SWINGTIME: “THE DAY YOU CAME ALONG,” THREE WAYS

One idyllic version of early twentieth-century modernism is the intersection of great artists considering the same theme.  Here, the lost paradise of 1933 where Bing Crosby and Coleman Hawkins could each rhapsodize beautifully on the same song.  It was THE DAY YOU CAME ALONG — a sweet romantic rhapsody of love’s fulfillment by Sam Coslow and Arthur Johnston, a Crosby hit from the film TOO MUCH HARMONY.  Here’s Bing’s version, where sensuality and delight combine:

That same year, a small band of Coleman Hawkins, Henry “Red” Allen, J. C. Higginbotham, Hilton Jefferson, Horace Henderson, Bernard Addison, John Kirby, and Walter Johnson devoted themselves to the same theme:

Nearly ninety years later, the Harlem Jazz Camels pay tribute to the song, to love in swingtime:

This performance (recorded by the very gracious “jazze1947″) comes from Aneby, Sweden, on Feb. 7, 2012.  The Camels are Bent Persson, trumpet; Göran Eriksson, alto / clarinet; Stephan Lindsein, trombone; Claes Brodda, clarinet / baritone / tenor; Lasse Lindbäck. string bass; Ulf Lindberg, piano; Sigge Delert, drums; Göran Stachewsky. guitar / banjo.

“What’s the most important day in history?”

“The day you came along.”

“Of course!”

“SHINE,” RECONSIDERED

It’s always fascinating to take old assumptions and hold them up to the light.  For years, I assumed along with most that the song called “SHINE,” or sometimes “S-H-I-N-E,” had disgracefully racist lyrics, and that having someone proud of his African-American heritage — such as Louis Armstrong — sing it was a deep insult.  “Poor Louis,” we thought, “forced to endure material unworthy of him, degrading to his race and self,” although he doesn’t seem abashed in what follows.

Here’s the version from RHAPSODY IN BLACK AND BLUE (with a nice close-up of drummer Tubby Hall):

And a decade or so later, a Soundie of SHINE from 1942 (with closeups of Sidney Catlett and dancer Nick Stewart):

“Those poor Mills Brothers — other singers saddled with demeaning material.”  That there seemed to be other lyrics — in Bing Crosby’s version — was puzzling, but I think many assumed that this was part of a clean-up campaign or some racist plot against people of color.

No, not at all.

The song — as “THAT’S WHY THEY CALL ME ‘SHINE,’” dates from 1910* and was composed by Ford Dabney (music) and, more importantly, Cecil Mack (born Richard C. McPherson), both African-Americans.  That in itself wouldn’t have prevented them from creating a song that later generations would have found demeaning.  But the lyrics of “THAT’S WHY THEY CALL ME ‘SHINE’” are anything but self-deprecating.

Verse 1:

When I was born they christened me plain Samuel Johnson Brown,

I hadn’t grown so very big ‘fore some folks in the town

Had changed it ’round to Sambo, I was Rastus to a few,

Then Choc’late Drop was added by some others that I knew,

And then to cap the climax I was strolling down the line

When someone shouted, “Fellers, hey, come on and pipe the Shine.”

But I don’t care a bit,

Here’s how I figure it.

Refrain:

‘Cause my hair is curly,

‘Cause my teeth are pearly,

Just because I always wear a smile,

Like to dress up in the latest style,

‘Cause I’m glad I’m living.

Take troubles smiling, never whine;

Just because my color’s shady,

Slightly diff’rent maybe,

That’s why they call me “Shine.”

Verse 2:

A rose, they say, by any other name would smell as sweet,

So if that’s right, why should a nickname take me off my feet?

Why, ev’rything that’s precious from a gold piece to a dime

And diamonds, pearls, and rubies ain’t no good unless they shine.

So when these clever people call me “shine” or “coon” or “smoke,”

I simply smile, and smile some more, and vote them all a joke.

I’m thinking just the same,

What is there in a name?

Repeat Refrain.

I think — having read these lyrics, especially the verse! — some of us might have to reconsider our perceptions of this song.  The lyrics, by the way, come from READING LYRICS, ed. Robert Gottlieb and Robert Kimball (Pantheon, 2000); they date the song as 1924.  Text courtesy of the Beloved’s bookcase.

A SMALL MASTERPIECE: CHRIS DAWSON’S “BEAUTIFUL LOVE”

This performance of Victor Young’s BEAUTIFUL LOVE — by the subtle, heartfelt pianist Chris Dawson — is aptly named.  The 1931 song was originally a waltz, but that was before Art Tatum, Bill Evans, Jimmy Rowles, and many singers got to it.  (That the song appeared in the film THE MUMMY still continues to baffle and amaze.  Who sang it and to whom?

Here’s Chris — every note a pearl, but there’s nothing precious about his approach to the keyboard:

And for the Jazz Karaoke fans out there, here’s an online version of the lyrics.

Beautiful love, you’re all a mystery

Beautiful love, what have you done to me?

I was contented till you came along

Thrilling my soul with your song

Beautiful love, I’ve roamed your paradise

Searching for love, my dream to realize

Reaching for heaven, depending on you

Beautiful love, will my dreams come true?

Just please don’t drown out the quietly brilliant Mr. Dawson.  That wouldn’t be Beautiful Love at all.

PAY ATTENTION! NO FOOLIN’: GABRIELLE STRAVELLI and FRIENDS in THE DRAWING ROOM (April 1, 2012)

Singer Gabrielle Stravelli is a delight.

I first heard her only a few weeks ago at a noisy brunch gig.  Unruffled by the loud laughter, the eager conversations,  the crash of dishes, she sailed on, serenely swinging, opening her heart to the audience.

She has feeling but no melodrama, an easy, open approach to the song — with a casual natural style that fits her varied material.

And if an artist is judged by the company he or she keeps, please take a look at the instrumentalists below.  This Sunday-evening gig will take place at pianist Michael Kanan’s beautifully calm studio, The Drawing Room.  Michael will be at the piano; the stellar, mobile bassist Pat O’Leary will be doing what he does so well; the nimble Michael Petrosino will be behind his drum kit.

The Drawing Room is at 70 Willoughby Street #2A, in Brooklyn.  The “R” train stops at the corner; many other trains make it their business to come to a halt at the Jay Street station, two blocks away.  Even I could find my way.  April 1, but no joke — 8 to 10 PM.    $10 admission, with a cash wine bar.  And beautiful music!

COMES IN LIKE A LION, SWINGS OUT LIKE A CAT

We have delightful plans for this Friday night — March 30, 2012: we’ll be at the Allen Room at Jazz at Lincoln Center to hear the remarkable singer Catherine Russell and her all-star band:

Our Catherine’s pedigree is impeccable — daughter of pianist-composer-bandleader Luis Russell and string bassist-bandleader Carline Ray, she grew up with the music (how about childhood acquaintance with one Mister Armstrong?) and she keeps swinging with a big heart.   And her new program will not only connect with her CD, STRICTLY ROMANCIN’ but will focus on Louis and Luis — lifelong friends.  The concerts will take place on Friday and Saturday, March 30 and 31, 2012, with two shows nightly (7:30 and 9:30), located on Broadway at 60th Street in New York City.

And Grammy-winner Miss Russell is wise enough to know that a great singer deserves a great band — with new arrangements.  The sterling fellows onstage will be  Matt Munisteri, guitar, arranger, musical director;  Mark Shane, piano;  Jon Erik-Kellso, trumpet, arranger;  John Allred, trombone;  Dan Block, saxophones, clarinet;  Andy Farber, saxophones, arranger; Lee Hudson, string bass;  Mark McLean, drums; Dave Brown, trumpet; Scott Robinson, whatever he likes.   For tickets visit the JALC Box Office at Broadway at 60th, or www.jalc.org — or call Center Charge at 212-721-6500.  The Beloved and I will be there — I’ll be making notes on a pad to tell you what happened . . . be sure to get there on your own!

SCALING MOUNTAINS AT MONTEREY 2012 with the HIGH SIERRA JAZZ BAND and MARC CAPARONE (March 2, 2012)

No, no one burst into CLIMB EV’RY MOUNTAIN, and Julie Andrews was otherwise engaged.  But the High Sierra Jazz Band — here with guest hero Marc Caparone added to an already hot front line — knows how to get to the top and stay there.  I present (for your listening, dining, and dancing pleasure) an early set from the 2012 Dixieland Monterey Jazz Bash by the Bay — with leader and raconteur Pieter Meijers on reeds and wry commentary; Charlie Castro, drums; Earl McKee, sousaphone and vocals; Stan Huddleston, banjo; Bruce Huddleston, piano; Howard Miyata (“the happiest man in Dixieland,” but why stop there?) on trombone, misc. brass, and vocal; and the electrifying two-cornet team of Bryan Shaw and Marc.

They began with the Creole Jazz Band’s irresistible MABEL’S DREAM.  Pieter has obviously told many audiences a long wooly tale about who Mabel was and what she dreamed about (thrilling but somehow dubious).  Does anyone know the real story?  Was Mabel someone’s girlfriend, and did she dream lucky?  Do tell:

Earl McKee takes us under her wing — let’s go DOWN IN HONKY TONK TOWN:

Ah, that Boy is here again — and he has something to tell us named the WININ’ BOY BLUES:

Mister Morton, take the stand!  KANSAS CITY STOMPS:

When Sidney Bechet and Pieter book the tour, PASSPORT TO PARADISE is not merely an extravagant figure of speech:

Oh, Mister Jelly!  “Get off the sidewalk, can’t you?”  SIDEWALK BLUES:

They concluded their set with Fats Waller’s composed-in-a-taxicab-on-the-way-to-the-recording-studio-and-possibly-misidentified-on-the-label MINOR DRAG.  Another thing we have Eddie Condon to thank for.  (Should this song have been issued as HARLEM FUSS?  One never knows.  Do one?):

Good, good, good — hot and powerful, at the very peak.

May your happiness increase.

MERRIE MELODIES at MONTEREY 2012: THE REYNOLDS BROTHERS with BOB DRAGA (March 2, 2012)

The Reynolds Brothers are always SHOW-READY.  No question. 

And they began the 2012 Jazz Bash By The Bay with a riotous set — including clarinetist and master of witty repartee Bob Draga.  That’s cornet man Marc Caparone, string bassist / charming singer Katie Cavera, Brother Ralf on the washboard, and Brother John on the guitar, vocal, and whistle.  A good time was had by all, even though it was midafternoon, rather early for hot jazz. 

They began with the Gershwin call-to-musical-arms, STRIKE UP THE BAND:

What are the THREE LITTLE WORDS?  Of course, I LOVE YOU comes in first, but I would make a case for THE REYNOLDS BROTHERS.  I’m waiting for Congress to legislate that one into law:

Bob Draga probably doesn’t know my Aunt Ida, but the telepathic vectors in the cosmos suggested to him that it would be nice to play IDA, SWEET AS APPLE CIDER.  It was and is!

Katie Cavera is full of surprises.  Ask anyone!  And the surprise she pulled out of her Show-Ready bag of tricks was the sweet and mildly naughty 1932 OH, IT LOOKS LIKE RAIN.  Bob sat this one out; perhaps he went to play cards?

Professor Ralf wants the washboard to be returned to its former glory, rightly so.  He accomplishes this by playing it with a swing, but also by reminding us all of the music that it once propelled — here, Tiny Parham’s WASHBOARD WIGGLES:

John Reynolds is a magnificently swinging singer, sweet and hilarious at the same time.  I never tire of his TUCK ME TO SLEEP IN MY OLD ‘TUCKY HOME:

And another surprise — I can’t watch the Disney films, but their music is priceless and memorable.  If I began my day with WHISTLE WHILE YOU WORK, I would arrive at my office with a big smile.  You try it and report back:

A powerful answer to darkness in the universe! 

May your happiness increase.

A SECOND HELPING OF BIRTHDAY CAKE: BOB WILBER, EHUD ASHERIE, and PUG HORTON (Smalls, March 15, 2012)

Nothing more needs to be said, except that this is the second set of reedman / composer / bandleader / inspiration Bob Wilber’s eighty-fourth birthday celebration at Smalls (183 West Tenth Street, New York) where he was accompanied by his own “favorite rhythm section,” pianist Ehud Asherie — with a guest spot for Bob’s wife, Joanne “Pug” Horton.  Bob played some wonderful jazz classics — as if summoning up all his heroes, mentors, and friends in an admiring ring around the bandstand.

For Bix, Bechet, and Bobby — a sprightly I’M COMIN’ VIRGINIA:

For Fats and Louis (dig Ehud’s beautiful playing here!) — BLUE TURNING GRAY OVER YOU:

Edgar Sampson’s BLUE LOU — with the second chorus given to Bob’s own line on the chords, which he calls LOU’S BLUES:

Bob then invited his wife Pug to the stand to sing “a little eight-bar blues,” that hymn to defiance, ‘T’AIN’T NOBODY’S BIZ-NESS IF I DO:

And — appropriate for a birthday — AS LONG AS I LIVE:

Bechet’s lovely SI TU VOIS MA MERE:

And the bunny jumped over the fence and got away — a briskly moving COTTON TAIL:

Many happy returns of the day to Mr. Wilber — with felicitations to Mr. Asherie and Mrs. Wilber, too!

May your happiness increase.

FROM SWEDEN TO NEW YORK: ANNA and MATTIAS COME TO MAKE MUSIC!

Who are Anna and Mattias?

Anna Pauline Andersson is a fine light-hearted singer; Mattias Nilsson is her pianist and future husband.  They will be giving a free concert on Wednesday, March 28, 2012, at the Swedish Church — starting at 7 PM.  Anna thinks there will even be a small gathering / reception afterwards where people can mingle and perhaps buy her debut record.

The church is located at 5 East 48th Street, New York, New York 10017 — and its website is  http://www.svenskakyrkan.se/default.aspx?id=546526 — I hope your Swedish is better than mine, though.  But you can figure this out:

Konsert

Onsdag den 28 mars kl. 19.00. Anna Pauline Andersson och Mattias Nilsson bjuder på en duo-jazzkonsert med utgångspunkt i den svenska viskulturen, i psalmer och folksånger. Här blandas svensk, traditionell musik med traditionella jazzstandards ur The American Songbook. Reception efteråt. Välkommen!

Anna tells me, “The concert we are giving is called (translated from Swedish) “Dual Traditions – The Meeting of Two Traditions,” where we combine Swedish folk songs and hymns with American traditional standards and hymns.  The duration of the concert is 1 hour.  So there will be both pretty, happy and swinging melodies as well as more traditional folk songs with a ‘hint’ of melancholy, which is so typical for Swedish folk music.”

Here is a video clip of Anna in performance — from Day to Night — with ISN’T THIS A LOVELY DAY into MOONLIGHT IN VERMONT.  Mattias is on piano; Lasse Lundstrom, string bass; Jonas Holgersson, drums:

And here is Mattias, exploring BLOTT EN DAG (DAY BY DAY):

.

Mattias’s website is www.mattiasnilsson.com and it is full of good music!

I think that we should welcome this most musical young couple to New York City.  Don’t you?

May your happiness increase.

MARIANNE SOLIVAN: IN BLOOM

I did not know the singer Marianne Solivan before hearing her at Smalls last year (in duet with Michael Kanan).  I was a believer — convinced of her artistry — a few minutes into the first song.

Her debut CD, PRISONER OF LOVE, is just out — perhaps timed to coincide with the end of winter.

It is a wonderfully accurate representation of what she creates in performance, and I do not say that casually about many recorded works.

If you find the disc’s title is off-putting, I will reassure you: Marianne Solivan is a brave, free artist — a prisoner of nothing, as far as I can see.  In fact, she has written her own powerful verse to the title song, evidence of talents beyond her singing voice.  On this disc, Marianne embraces a wide variety of emotions and textures in her work without being bound to any one of them.

Through intuition, taste, and experience, Marianne has avoided the traps that catch eager “jazz singers.”  She surrenders herself to the song, both lyrics and melody, rather than insisting that the song bend itself to her will.  This is not to say that she is excessively respectful, bound by the written manuscript, quarter note by quarter note.  No.  In fact, she takes her own liberties — subtly reshaping the original melody and words as she goes — but her little bends and pauses, elevations and turns, leave me with the feeling that I have heard, for example, a reading of I GUESS I’LL HANG MY TEARS OUT TO DRY that is what composer and lyricist aspired to create.  She is just that successful in her sweet inventions.

Although Marianne never “sings like a horn player,” shorthand for someone pretending that written melody, cadence, and lyrics are to be tossed around vigorously, she does remind me of horn players — of late Lester and mid-period Ben, of Jimmy Rowles and early Miles.  The singers who stand behind her are (among others) Sinatra and Betty Carter, but she has managed to make her own path around the intense pathos of one and the sharp dismissive edginess of the other.

And what Marianne does with the lyrics is uniquely rewarding.  If you consider a sheet of music and lyrics, the words and syllables are often tied so tightly to individual notes that to sing them as written would be like reading a Keats sonnet, accenting every other syllable up and down to a metronome — thus obliterating meaning rather than enhancing it.  Marianne doesn’t “speak” her lines — her voice, cello-rich and powerful, will not be ignored — but she gives the lyrics a speech-like naturalness, as if she were discovering the words and the sentiments for the first time.  Great acting without an actor’s artifice: no self-pity, no drowning in pathos.

PRISONER OF LOVE is illuminated from within by intelligence, restraint, and headlong emotion.  Marianne’s producer is the fine jazz trumpeter Jeremy Pelt, who appears on one track; she and he have the best taste in musical colleagues, including Michael Kanan, Christian McBride (showing himself a fine writer in addition), Peter Bernstein, Xavier Davis, Ben Wolfe, Johnathan Blake.  The musicians are enthusiastic but never get in Marianne’s way: indeed, the eleven selections seem like a series of small playlets, of perfectly poised improvisatory conversations.

Here is a video memento of that evening at Smalls when I first heard Marianne — listen closely to her witty, amused, romantic recasting of THERE’S A SMALL HOTEL, where she is sometimes intimate, sometimes annunciatory:

As much as I admire that performance from July 2011, I can hear that Marianne has matured in the half-year since then . . . so imagine her at even higher levels of grace and casual splendor.

To hear her — only a few days ago — both singing and talking to John Schaefer of WNYC, click here.

Marianne’s CD is available at Amazon (for antiquarians like me who prefer the tangible disc and sleeve) and at iTunes for those who believe that music can be sped invisibly through the air: click here for the Amazon link.

And the best news is that the remarkable Miss Solivan will be performing in the next few months not only in New York City, but in Boston and Washington, D.C.  To learn all, visit her website here.

I am most excited about another duet performance that she and Michael Kanan will be creating — delicate magic in our ears — at Michael’s studio, “The Drawing Room,” a large, quiet, white-curtained room with a fine piano.  It’s at 70 Willoughby Street (# 2A, one flight up and follow signs on your left) in downtown Brooklyn — between Lawrence Street and Bridge Street, this coming Saturday, March 24, 2012.  There will be two sets, beginning at 7:30 PM.  And, since space is limited (seating for 50!) I recommend that you let Michael (at mpkanan@gmail.com) or Marianne (at her website) know that you will be there.   Admission is only $10, and there will be a cash wine bar.  Even for people like myself who are moderately challenged by Brooklyn, The Drawing Room is not difficult to get to: a variety of subway lines graciously come there:   N,R,Q,B,F,A,C,E, 2,3,4,& 5 trains.

Marianne says, “Working in duo with Michael has been one of the most inspiring and challenging experiences in my life.  I love the feeling of flight that I have with him in a song.  I get so many musical ideas from him and I am challenged to be creative and honest.  The feeling is amazing, I enjoy every minute of making music with him.  We will be playing some songs from my new CD, Prisoner of Love, as well as some of our other favorites.  Breathing new life into melodies that will never get old.   I hope you can come out and share this with us.”

May your happiness increase.

WHAT COLOR IS THE MUSIC? WHAT ETHNICITY IS JAZZ?

This open letter from the young singer Julia Keefe is, I think, a very gracious way to discuss an uncomfortable subject.  Since Miss Keefe is not in any way polemical, I might take the opportunity for a few lines.  In the history of giving honors and recognition to jazz musicians and singers, there has been a fairly clear hierarchy.  African-American men got first preference (and under that rubric were included all players whose ethnicity looked in the least similar), then followed by Caucasian men.  A long pause ensued, then African-American woman, followed by a few women of other ethnicities.  This isn’t an attack on Jazz at Lincoln Center, Mr. Marsalis, or any of the other august players and critics connected with JALC . . . but a quick perusal of the evidence will, I think, prove my general contention here correct.

When I was on the hiring committee at my college, we were instructed and encouraged — in the name of fairness, diversity, and equity — to ask ourselves “Who’s missing?” when we considered our prospective candidates.  In this context, I believe that the answer to that question can properly begin with the name MILDRED BAILEY at the head of the list.  I know that the late Richard M. Sudhalter and Hoagy Carmichael would agree with me.

Here’s Miss Keefe’s letter:

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE NESHUI ERTEGUN JAZZ HALL OF FAME

March 19, 2012

Mr. Wynton Marsalis

c/o Selection Committee

Jazz Hall of Fame at Lincoln Center

33 West 60th Street, 11th Floor

New York, N.Y. 10023

Dear Mr. Marsalis and fellow Selection Committee Members:

My name is Julia Keefe, and I am a student at the Frost School of Music at the University of Miami in Coral Gables, FL, studying vocal jazz performance. I am also a member of the Nez Perce Indian Tribe. Shortly after I first became interested in jazz over ten years ago, I began researching the life of Bing Crosby, who also attended my high school, Gonzaga Prep, in Spokane, WA. I was surprised and happy to learn that Bing Crosby gave credit for his early success to a Native American woman from the Coeur d’Alene Tribe named Mildred Rinker Bailey who had, like me, lived her formative childhood years on her Idaho tribal reservation before moving to Spokane and discovering jazz. I am writing to urge that Mildred Bailey be considered for induction into the Neshui Ertegun Jazz Hall of Fame in recognition of her groundbreaking role in jazz history.

To say that Mildred Bailey inspired me in my chosen vocation as a jazz singer would be a great understatement. But I am not alone. Bing Crosby once said, “I was lucky in knowing the great jazz and blues singer Mildred Bailey so early in life. I learned a lot from her. She made records which are still vocal classics, and she taught me much about singing and interpreting popular songs.” And a sideman from her husband Red Norvo’s band, trumpeter Lyle “Rusty” Dedrick once wrote, “She had a magic. So many people down the line, so many singers, benefited from her, owe debts to her – and they don’t even know it. Mildred Bailey probably never made a bad record; she made many that were excellent, and quite a few considerably better, even, than that.”

As the very first female big band singer in America, Mildred was a role model and inspiration for contemporaries including Billie Holiday, Helen Ward and Ella Fitzgerald. She opened the door of opportunity for every female lead singer who followed the trail she blazed. Her singing style and phrasing caught the ear of aspiring young singers of that era including Tony Bennett and Rosemary Clooney, and still, much later, Linda Ronstadt. She was respected and admired by performers including Frank Sinatra, the Dorsey brothers, Coleman Hawkins and Artie Shaw. A 1944 Time Magazine review of her show at the Café Society in New York called Mildred, “just about the greatest songbird in the U.S.”

Recognition of Mildred Bailey in the Jazz Hall of Fame would, I believe, open a door to a largely neglected and ignored chapter in the history of this All-American art form known as jazz: the involvement of First Americans. When I was living on my own reservation in Kamiah, ID, I came across old photographs of tribal members in small ensembles and quartets, playing jazz. One group, the Lollipop Six, was made up of young Nez Perce men who had learned to play their instruments while attending Indian boarding schools in the early 20th century. I can still recall how proud Lionel Hampton was when he visited our reservation to be honored while attending the international jazz festival at the University of Idaho that still bears his name.

On too many reservations in modern America there are not enough inspirational stories of successful native women who rose above the challenges they faced and helped to change history. But Mildred Rinker Bailey, did just that. Though widely thought to have been a white singer, Mildred was, in fact, a member of the Coeur d’Alene Tribe. Mildred once called traditional Indian singing, “a remarkable training and background” for a singer. “It takes a squeaky soprano and straightens out the clinkers that make it squeak; it removes the bass boom from the contralto’s voice,” she said. “This Indian singing does this because you have to sing a lot of notes to get by, and you’ve got to cover a lot of range.” Every Native American who has ever attended a tribal ceremony, whether a feast, a memorial, or a modern pow-wow, knows exactly what Mildred Bailey was talking about here. I believe that Mildred Bailey’s success as a jazz vocalist is grounded in her early vocal training and development from singing traditional tribal songs as a young girl on the Coeur d’Alene Indian Reservation.

I would deeply appreciate the chance to provide you and the other selection committee members, and your entire international voting panel, with a complete packet of information that I have collected while researching the remarkable career of the first female vocalist in America to sing with a big band. Recognizing Mildred Bailey’s pioneering, ground breaking accomplishment, would do honor to the Neshui Ertegun Hall of Fame, and provide Indian tribes from across this country a symbol of their own contribution to the rich cultural heritage of a uniquely American art form that I have come to love, thanks in large part to Mildred Bailey.

Respectfully,

Julia Keefe

Nez Perce Tribal member #4152

Frost School of Music, Class of 2012

www.whereismildred.com

www.juliakeefe.com

May your happiness increase.

BLISS! (The EarRegulars and Friends at The Ear Inn, March 18, 2012)

If you think my title is hyperbolic, I urge you to go immediately to the video performances below, recorded live at The Ear Inn (326 Spring Street, Soho, New York City) on March 18, 2012.  The players were “The EarRegulars,” a small group originally founded by guitarist Matt Munisteri and trumpeter Jon-Erik Kellso.  Last Sunday, Matt was off making audible fireworks in Austin, Texas, so the personnel was Jon-Erik (on a surprisingly svelte Puje trumpet); Andy Farber, tenor saxophone; Chris Flory, guitar; Neal Miner, bass.  And their friends: Alex Hoffman, tenor; Dan Block, alto saxophone.

Swing aristocrats, casually launching their sweet ideas into the unknown.  Stretching out, spreading joy, lighting up our souls.

Cole Porter’s WHAT IS THIS THING CALLED LOVE? — at “Ben Webster tempo”:

A romping COQUETTE:

I was exhausted on Monday morning but thrilled that I had stayed for this set.  If there are any logicians and semanticists in the JAZZ LIVES readership, perhaps they can chew on this apparent paradox:

1) I don’t think anyone could improve on this music.

2) The EarRegulars — in their various guises — do this whenever they play.

Blessings on all the EarRegulars and their noble friends — an uplifting community where every tub is on its own bottom — a model for us all.

May your happiness increase.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BOB WILBER! (and THANK YOU, EHUD ASHERIE and PUG HORTON): Smalls, March 15, 2012

I know that in JULIUS CAESAR the Ides of March are a bad time to be out in public.  But Bob Wilber — that’s Robert Sage Wilber, clarinetist, soprano saxophonist, tenor saxophonist, composer, arranger, occasional singer, eminent bandleader — turned eighty-four on March 15, 2012, and played two substantial duet sets with pianist Ehud Asherie at Smalls (183 West Tenth Street, New York).   So we have to conclude that the Ides are not ominous for everyone.

People who do not play instruments professionally forget or perhaps have never known just how difficult it is to do — consistently, on any level.  Breath and reflexes, mental memory and muscle memory, all are essential attributes.  And just as people slow down when they reach “the golden years,” we might expect a musician’s fingers and embouchure to weaken, to falter.

Bob is an astonishing example of someone at the top of his form.  And this isn’t sweet-natured hyperbole for a diminished elder player: listen to his firm attack, lustrous tone, gliding mobility.  He was remarkable as a Bechet protege in 1947; he is even more remarkable now.

Bob calls Ehud “my favorite rhythm section in New York,” and if you don’t know Ehud’s work already — intuitive, attentive, subtle, multi-hued, and swinging — you are in for yet another treat.  Not only is he a delicious soloist, he is a splendidly sensitized accompanist.

It was lovely to meet a few old friends and to make some new ones (Alistair and Jan from London; Vanessa Tagliabue Yorke, among others) — and the audience was delighted to be in the same room as Bob and his wife Pug, to share their happiness.

The first set began with a lyrical version of Ellington’s I LET A SONG GO OUT OF MY HEART — Bob’s evocation of Johnny Hodges:

Even though I don’t quite want to give Lil Hardin Armstrong as much credit for writing STRUTTIN’ WITH SOME BARBECUE as does Bob, I have no quibbles with his floating version here:

More Ellingtonia.  And why not?  JUST SQUEEZE ME:

After Bob turned down Ehud’s suggestion of HIGH SOCIETY, they settled on the cheerful THREE LITTLE WORDS (with echoes of Benny, of course):

Not only is THANKS A MILLION the way we feel about Bob; it’s such a pretty Louis-associated song:

And the first set ended with Bob’s tribute to Billy Strayhorn with — what else? — TAKE THE “A” TRAIN:

How generous — and how typical — of Bob to use his time in the limelight, the celebration that he had for himself, to honor the Masters: Louis and Duke, Lil and Strays, Benny and Hodges!

Take a fifteen-minute break: we’ll be back for the second set!  (Bob and Ehud are working the room . . . talking to friends, too.)

May your happiness increase.

EIGHT NEW BARS OF TESCH ON TENOR? I HOPE SO.

“Atticus70″ (that’s the generous and careful Emrah Erken) proposes that the personnel of this hot dance record is: Sam Lanin dir: Jimmy McPartland, ? Al Harris, c / Tommy Dorsey, tb / Benny Goodman, cl, as / as / Frank Teschemacher, ts / p / bj / bb / d / Scrappy Lambert, v. New York, October 25, 1928.  They are or were THE IPANA TROUBADOURS and the song is DO YOU?

Is it Tesch?  Sure sounds like him:

Or isn’t he?  I recognize “phrase-shapes,” to use the late Dick Sudhalter’s wise words, that Tesch played on clarinet.  And if it isn’t Tesch, the unknown tenor player has an energetic spark that I enjoy listening to — to say nothing of frisky young Mr. Goodman.  Enjoy it — more fun than debating!

I had a momentary ferocious crush on the Twenties girl with glasses . . . an added bittersweet pleasure!

May your happiness increase.

IT’S ON SALE! “RUBY BRAFF: BORN TO PLAY: THE RUBY BRAFF DISCOGRAPHY AND DIRECTORY OF PERFORMANCES” by Thomas P. Hustad

Pssssssssssssst!  It’s on sale now at Amazon — $64.77 (to pre-order) instead of its $95 list price.  Check it here.

I don’t pretend to be objective about Tom Hustad’s book.  I’ve known him — through email, tape-trading, and telephone — for about a decade, and he loves Ruby as much as anyone, is ferociously accurate without being pedantic . . . and he can write.  What’s more, he had the benefit of long conversations with Ruby and long interchanges with people who had taped him, photographed him, corresponded with him . . . including myself.  So I am very much looking forward to BORN  TO PLAY and expect it to not only live up to but surpass my expectations.

Your birthday is coming soon, isn’t it?

May your happiness increase.

KALLY PRICE, ROB REICH, JIM GAMMON: “I’M CONFESSIN’”

Warning: this video is not for those who prefer their singers timid and demure.  Kally Price is the closest thing to a Force of Nature I have ever heard: in fact, if I still had my television set, I would have expected to be notified of this video performance on the Weather Channel.

It’s not that Kally is loud.  Or that she screams and shouts.  Or that she distorts the melody and lyrics into strange shapes, or overindulges in wild scat singing.  None of the above.  But what she does do is to take the most familiar song — in this case, the well-worn I’M CONFESSIN’ — and imbue it with so much intense passion that it’s a wonder that the song doesn’t split at the seams.  Kally has a rich, deep voice that can be sweet, mellow, or downright raw — and a huge emotional range, from caressingly tender to I-am-tearing-myself-open-right-now . . .

She is an extraordinarily powerful actress — I think she could play Medea — but she doesn’t seem as if she is putting on an external guise.  Rather, the words, the music, the power and the sweetness, bubble up from inside her.  Here she’s accompanied by the fine spare pianist Rob Reich (known better as the swinging accordion player for Gaucho) and the eloquent trumpeter Jim Gammon.

Courtesy of Porto Franco Records, you should watch, listen, and marvel for yourself here.  (And I am sure that some of my readers know more about the history of I’M CONFESSIN’ / LOOKIN’ FOR ANOTHER SWEETIE than I do.)

Honestly, I feel shaken after listening to Kally Price.  And that is a good thing!

May your happiness increase.

DON’T MISS THIS! (and it’s FREE): THE EARREGULARS AND THE POETS (Thursday, March 22, 2012, The School of visual Arts, New York City. 6-8 PM)

JAZZ AND POETRY

Thursday, March 22, 6-8 PM

A lively mix of words and notes featuring poet Sean Singer, writer Ann Rower, and jazz trumpeter Jon-Erik Kellso and his awe-inspiring jazz group The EarRegulars.

Sean Singer makes frequent reference to jazz and its history in his writing.  His first poetry collection Discography won the 2001 Yale Series of Younger Poets Prize.

Ann Rower, a longtime School of Visual Arts faculty member, characterizes her combination of fiction and experience as “transfiction.” Examples include Lee and Elaine (2002) and If You’re a Girl (1990).

Jon-Erik Kellso is one of world’s best jazz trumpeters and a regular on the international classic jazz festival circuit.  He has been leader on several recordings, including Blue Roof Blues: A Love Letter to New Orleans (Arbors Records, 2007).  Jon-Erik’s stellar quartet includes Scott Robinson (saxophone), Matt Munisteri (guitar) and Pat O’Leary (bass) — all of whom have substantial reputations as players, leaders, and composers.

Presented by the Humanities & Sciences Department and the Visual Arts Library

Visual Arts Theatre

School of Visual Arts

333 West 23rd Street (between Eighth and Ninth Avenues)

Free and open to the public.

A quiet note from the JAZZ LIVES master of ceremonies: some of my friends complain that they would like to hear The EarRegulars but find it genetically impossible to go below 14th Street in Manhattan.  Others have schedules that preclude a Sunday night jazz-hang.  Still others are watching their pence.  All those commentaries are valid and not to be made light of . . . but here’s your chance.  Free!  In Chelsea!  At a reasonable hour!  In a well-lit room!  And the most hip among us know that fine jazz and inspiring poetry have the same improvisatory roots and blossoms.

What’s holding you back? 

I thought you’d say that.  See you there!

May your happiness increase.

MIGHT HISTORY REPEAT ITSELF?

“When the historians of the yet-unknown future ask of the end of the Empire, broad-ranging and all-powerful, that was Rome, they will uncover many theories and reasons, each put forward by writers sure of their inventions. 

Yet the most compelling narrative of disintegration must take into account the Roman beaters of hides, the precious keepers of Time, the heart of the body politic.  In the glorious past, the beaters of hides were prized for their regular rhythms, sure and unalterable, that they kept with their wooden beaters upon their hides.

Later generations, driven by an insatiable need for novelty, began to invent irregular rhythms, beaten on metal discs, the sacred hides used only for abrupt unpredictable percussive commentary, thus was the Empire lost to discord, internal strife, chaos, and the triumph of barbaric tribes.”

Ammianus Marcellinus trans. A.G. Godley, Oxon.

May your happiness increase.

I HEARD A BRASS BAND COMING DOWN THE STREET (March 7, 2012)

Perhaps my title is slightly inaccurate.  I didn’t see this brass band coming down the street; rather, they slowly and cheerfully assembled themselves on the imagined bandstand of Radegast Bierhalle in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, around nine o’clock on Wednesday, March 7, 2012. 

But they were a stirring group.  No surprise, because Gordon Au was in charge (he wields his power very lightly and politely) of this different-yet-exhilarating version of the Grand Street Stompers.  Different in that the front line was entirely brass — not brassy, but three players of brass instruments: Gordon on cornet; Jim Fryer on trombone and euphonium; Matt Musselman on trombone, with a rhythmic rhythm section of Nick Russo, banjo; Peter Maness, string bass; Giampaolo Biagi, drums.  They rocked, they strode, they created a joyous atmosphere.  And the two trombones gave this band a solid center that delighted me — especially since Jim and Matt are wonderful ensemble players, skilled at dancing around the other horns with great grace.  For me, it summoned up sweet memories of one of the first jazz groups I ever saw in concert — the World’s Greatest Jazz Band at a 1969 New York City concert steered by Dick Gibson (Zoot, Al, and Joe Newman were in one group) featuring the trombone duo of Vic Dickenson and Eddie Hubble, memorably. 

At the end of this set, I left to get some sleep before my appointed rounds began on Thursday morning, but I asked Gordon if he would consider other unusual balances and instrumentations for the GSS, since this one was a honey.  We shall see!  Gordon called an easy one to start, but a meaningful choice.  Even though he is a young man, he understands something about jazz’s responsibility to remind people that life is finite and you had better have a good time — so CABARET, a Broadway-via-Christopher Isherwood carpe diem, made sense to set the mood of the evening.  It also harks back to everyone’s patron Saint, Mister Armstrong . . . it’s impossible for me to hear this song without thinking of Louis, which is always a good thing:

To quote Cootie Williams, “Ain’t the gravy good?”

I wouldn’t be surprised if Gordon is telepathic, for he certainly seemed to be reading my mind.  LIMEHOUSE BLUES, with the verse, was the feature number when I saw Vic and Eddie Hubble with the WGJB, so I was more than pleased to hear it here:

On the theme of psychic abilities . . . there’s a lady they call THE GYPSY.  Thank you, Louis!  And thank you, GSS — Jim Fryer’s euphonium sound is good enough to eat:

The GRAND STREET Stompers then launched into CANAL STREET BLUES — a geographical paradox that upset no one::

And here’s Gordon’s winning original, ONCE, DEAR:

I was thrilled to hear I MAY BE WRONG — memories of the John Kirby Sextet and (more memorably for me) a 1960 recording of the song by Joe Thomas, Pee Wee Russell, Vic Dickenson . . . on Prestige-Swingville:

Without a hint of uncertainty, the GSS proceeded to light up Charlie Shavers’ UNDECIDED:

And going back to Louis — BLUEBERRY HILL:

It was a wonderful set by a wonderful band . . . .

May your happiness increase.

“EVERYTHING IS ALL RIGHT DOWN AT MY END”: SOMETHING FOR JIM GOODWIN

I never had the good fortune to meet the “spitfire” cornetist Jim Goodwin, but he is very much alive in my aural memory.  If you ever heard him live or on records, you will know what I mean.  He was a daredevil with great passionate intensity, wit, and emotion — and it all came through his horn.

If Jim is new to you, it’s not too late to share in the experience: here is one place to start.  Another, more audible, is Retta Christie’s radio program — wishing Jim happiness on what would have been his birthday, March 19.  Retta (a wonderful forthright singer you also should know about) took loving care of Jim . . . and she treasures him, his music, and wants to make sure more people know him.

Retta writes, “On Monday, March 19th on my radio show the Noontime Jamboree I will be featuring the music of the late Mr. Goodwin. Tune in from 12 – 2 pm on KBOO Portland, 90.7 FM for this special.  Two new CDs with Jim playing horn have come out this last year.  They will be featured along with music that Jim enjoyed listening.”

And since only a few people reading this can pick up KBGO on their car radios, click here to listen online.

I think that no one is dead as long as he or she is remembered . . . so Jim Goodwin lives on.

May your happiness increase.

“WHERE’S MILDRED?”

A very good question, and thanks to Julia Keefe for asking it, for making sure others hear it, and for keeping Mildred alive in her own singing!  Read all about it:

Idaho tribe touts ‘Mrs. Swing’s’ Indian heritage in bid for Lincoln Center recognition

By Associated Press, Updated: Thursday, March 15, 3:32 AM

 BOISE, Idaho — Mildred Rinker Bailey was known to fans as “Mrs. Swing,” whose slight, throaty voice won her acclaim as one of the great white jazz singers of the 1930s and 1940s.  

But the Coeur d’Alene Indian Tribe is now hoping to set the record straight once and for all: Bailey, who died impoverished in Poughkeepsie, N.Y., in 1951, was an American Indian who spent her childhood on the reservation near DeSmet, Idaho.

This week, the tribe introduced a resolution honoring Bailey in the Idaho Legislature, in part to convince the Jazz at Lincoln Center Hall of Fame in New York City to add her to its inductees — on grounds she helped blaze a trail for better-known singers like Ella Fitzgerald and Billie Holiday.

“Mildred was a pioneer,” said Coeur d’Alene Tribal Chairman Chief J. Allan. “She paved the way for many other female singers to follow.”

Though Bailey’s Coeur d’Alene ties may not have been common knowledge among her fans, it clearly wasn’t a secret.

“Part Indian, she was born Mildred Rinker on a farm near Spokane,” reads her Associated Press obituary, dated Dec. 13, 1951.

Still, in jazz history books, Bailey has gone down largely as a white female jazz stylist.

The New Grove Dictionary of Jazz hails her as “the first white singer to absorb and master the jazz-flavored phrasing…of her black contemporaries.”

Howard Koslow, the illustrator who created Bailey’s likeness on a 29-cent U.S. Postal Service stamp based on an image by iconic jazz photographer William Gottlieb, said he had only that brief New Grove entry as a reference.

But his depiction of Bailey’s dark complexion and black hair, for the stamp issued in a series honoring jazz and blues musicians, appears to capture her complex heritage.

“She has that look about her,” Koslow recalled Tuesday in an interview from his Toms River, N.J., home.

Bailey was born Feb. 16, 1900, in the Washington farming town of Tekoa, near the Idaho border.

Her mother was a Coeur d’Alene tribal member, her father of Swiss-Irish stock.

At 13, she moved from the reservation to Spokane, where a neighbor destined to become world famous as “Bing” Crosby joined Bailey and her brother, Al Rinker, at the family’s piano. Al Rinker and Crosby formed the group “The Rhythm Boys.”

By the mid-1920s, all three were singing in California; in 1929, Crosby recommended to famous orchestra leader Paul Whiteman he add Bailey as a regular.

“I was lucky in knowing the great jazz and blues singer Mildred Bailey so early in life,” Crosby wrote in his 1953 autobiography. “I learned a lot from her.”

So has Julia Keefe, a 22-year-old jazz singer from Spokane.

Keefe, a member of Idaho’s Nez Perce Indian Tribe, discovered Bailey as a student at Spokane’s Gonzaga Prep, while researching Crosby’s own time at the Catholic high school.

“It took off like a flash flood,” remembers Keefe, now a performance major at the University of Miami with Bailey’s photograph hanging on her Florida apartment wall.

In 2009, Keefe performed a musical tribute featuring Bailey’s songs, including “Old Rockin’ Chair” and “He’s Not Worth Your Tears,” at the Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of the American Indian in Washington, D.C.

A year later, Keefe was touring the Jazz at Lincoln Center Hall of Fame, pondering the greats on its 18-foot video wall when she asked herself, “Where’s Mildred?”

Thus began her quiet effort to elevate Bailey’s profile in the modern jazz world, a push the Idaho Legislature hopes to assist.

“It’s sad to think she died penniless, or nearly penniless, after all the things that she accomplished,” said Rep. Bob Nonini, a sponsor of resolution. “But it’s never too late to recognize somebody.”

Lincoln Center officials didn’t immediately respond to an AP request for comment.

An important question remains: How important were Bailey’s Indian roots to her art?

An undated quotation, attributed to her by the U.S. Postal Service in 1994, hints at an answer.

“I don’t know whether this (Indian) music compares with jazz or the classics, but I do know that it offers a young singer a remarkable training and background,” Bailey reportedly said.

Bailey’s niece, Julia Rinker-Miller, a Los Angeles-based singer whose credits include the “Three’s Company” theme, was seven in 1951 when her aunt died in a Hudson Valley hospital, from complications of diabetes and obesity; Frank Sinatra reportedly helped pay her medical bills.

“Even though she was large, she was delicate, very exotic, sensual,” Rinker-Miller recalled during an interview Tuesday.

From her father, Rinker-Miller heard stories of how they were called “breeds” after moving from the Coeur d’Alene reservation to Spokane.

Consequently, he downplayed his own American Indian background, she said.

She figures Bailey was forced to do likewise during her career — possibly why she became known as a white artist.

“Mildred’s returning to her roots,” Rinker-Miller said, of the tribe’s effort to reclaim Bailey. “She’s going home.”