A sonic exploration and tonal analysis of contemporary creative music in a myriad of improvisational/composed settings, textures, and expressions.
Welcome to Sound Projections
I'm your host Kofi Natambu. This online magazine features the very best in contemporary creative music in this creative timezone NOW (the one we're living in) as well as that of the historical past. The purpose is to openly explore, examine, investigate, reflect on, studiously critique, and take opulent pleasure in the sonic and aural dimensions of human experience known and identified to us as MUSIC. I'm also interested in critically examining the wide range of ideas and opinions that govern our commodified notions of the production, consumption, marketing, and commercial exchange of organized sound(s) which largely define and thereby (over)determine our present relationships to music in the general political economy and culture.
Thus this magazine will strive to critically question and go beyond the conventional imposed notions
and categories of what constitutes the generic and stylistic definitions of ‘Jazz’, ‘classical music’, ‘Blues.’
'Rhythm and Blues’, ‘Rock and Roll’, ‘Pop’, ‘Funk’, ‘Hip Hop’, etc. in order to search for what individual
artists and ensembles do cretively to challenge and transform our ingrained ideas and attitudes of what
music is and could be.
So please join me in this ongoing visceral, investigative, and cerebral quest to explore, enjoy, and pay
homage to the endlessly creative and uniquely magisterial dimensions of MUSIC in all of its guises and expressive identities.
Saturday, August 22, 2020
Horace Tapscott (1934-1999): Legendary, iconic, and innovative musician, composer, arranger, conductor, ensemble leader, orchestrator, producer, activist, and teacher
While Los Angeles is the power center of the popular
music industry, it's always been a backwater as far as jazz is
concerned. That's not because L.A. hasn't produced more than it's share
of great players: a roll call of major players who made L.A. their home
at some point would include Art Pepper, Dexter Gordon, Ornette Coleman, Gerry Mulligan, Chet Baker, and Charles Mingus,
among many others. L.A.'s second-class status in the jazz world
probably has more to do with the fact that it's about as geographically
distant from the music's capitol -- New York City -- as is possible
while still remaining on the same continent. Given the fact that, over
the last several decades, New York critics have become probably the most
provincial in jazzdom, it's little wonder that so many great
California-based musicians are less critically vaunted than they might
justifiably be. Simply put, being famous is not something a jazz
musician from Los Angeles can count on. Horace Tapscott was the quintessence of the neglected Californian. Tapscott
was a powerful, highly individual, bop-tinged pianist with avant-garde
leanings; a legend and something of a father figure to latter
generations of L.A.-based free jazz players, Tapscott
labored mostly on the fringes of the critical mainstream, recording
prolifically, but mostly for the small, poorly distributed Nimbus label.
The quality of the music on those releases, however, was almost
invariably high. His pianistic technique was hard and percussive,
likened by some to that of Thelonious Monk and Herbie Nichols and every bit as distinctive. In contexts ranging from freely improvised duos to highly arranged big bands, Tapscott exhibited a solo and compositional voice that was his own.
Tapscott
was born in Houston, TX, to a musical family. His mother, Mary Malone
Tapscott, was a professional singer and pianist. At the age of nine, Tapscott moved with his family to Los Angeles. Tapscott reached maturity at a critical time in the history of L.A. jazz. The late '40s saw musicians the caliber of Dexter Gordon, Art Tatum, and Coleman Hawkins play the city's Central Avenue clubs with regularity; Charlie Parker also made the city home for a brief -- and infamous -- period. Saxophonist Buddy Collette and drummer Gerald Wilson were friends of the family. In his teens, Tapscott studied music with Dr. Samuel Brown and Lloyd Reese (students of the latter also included saxophonists Frank Morgan and Eric Dolphy). Tapscott
studied trombone and piano. He graduated from Jefferson High School in
1952. He enlisted in the Air Force and played in a service band while
stationed in Wyoming. After his discharge, Tapscott returned to Los Angeles, where he worked freelance. A stint as a trombonist with Lionel Hampton's big band took Tapscott to New York in 1959, where he was introduced by Eric Dolphy to John Coltrane. After a brief period in the city, Tapscott moved back to L.A. Around this time, Tapscott began concentrating on the piano. In the '60s, Tapscott
became involved with the jazz avant-garde and community activism. In
1961, he helped found the Union of God's Musicians and Artists
Ascension, which eventually spawned his Pan-African People's Arkestra.
Both groups were designed to further the interests of creative young
black jazz musicians. In 1968, Tapscott composed and arranged music for an acclaimed LP by the saxophonist Sonny Criss
entitled The Birth of the New Cool. He had also begun leading a small
group that included the soon-to-be-famous alto saxophonist Arthur Blythe. This band produced Tapscott's first album as a leader, The Giant Is Awakened, in 1969. Tapscott
spent the next decade playing his own music and working in the
community. His activism got him labeled as a troublemaker by many in the
musical establishment. Paying gigs were scarce in the '70s, although Tapscott
continued to create, performing at Parks and Recreation events and in
churches around Watts. During this period, his only regular gig was at
the Troubador on L.A.'s Restaurant Row. In 1977, Tapscott
revived the dormant Pan-Afrikan People's Arkestra. The band became a
multidisciplinary troupe, combining music with dance and poetry. The
group came to the attention of producer Tom Albach, who began recording Tapscott
for the Nimbus label. The long succession of albums to follow would
become the basis of the pianist/composer's small but growing reputation.
Albach also booked European tours for Tapscott, thus exposing his music worldwide. In 1979, Tapscott recorded with drummer Roy Haynes and bassist Art Taylor. In the '80s, Tapscott
continued to flourish creatively as he continued to record for Nimbus
(and in 1989, Hat Art) and perform both at home and abroad. In 1994, Tapscott took the entire Arkestra on a tour of Europe, with Blythe as a featured soloist. In the '90s, Tapscott had the opportunity -- long denied -- of recording for a well-distributed domestic label. Arabesque issued aiee! the Phantom, a quintet date that featured bassist Reggie Workman, drummer Andrew Cyrille, trumpeter Marcus Belgrave, and alto saxophonist Abraham Burton. Arabesque followed that with Thoughts of Dar-Es Salaam (1997), a trio set that included bassist Ray Drummond and drummer Billy Hart. At the time of his death in 1999 of lung cancer, it seemed that Tapscott's work was finally beginning to receive the attention it deserved.
Born in 1934 in Houston, Texas, Horace came from a musical family
centered around his mother, Mary Malone Tapscott, who worked
professionally as a singer and pianist. When Horace was nine, the family
moved to Los Angeles. As a teenager in the late 1940's, Horace was
surrounded by the music of Central Avenue: Art Tatum, Charlie Parker,
Coleman Hawkins, Dexter Gordon, were among the many cats on the set.
Around this time, Horace also began to take music lessons from teachers
Dr. Samuel R. Browne and Lloyd Reese, whose other students included Eric
Dolphy and Frank Morgan. Horace's musical studies included trombone in
addition to piano. In 1952, Horace graduated from Jefferson High,
got married to Cecilia Payne and went into the Air Force. Horace played
in an Air Force Band while he was stationed in Wyoming for his term of
duty. After mustering out, he returned to Los Angeles where he worked
around on various gigs until he joined the Lionel Hampton Big Band as a
trombonist. In 1959, Horace finally went with the Hampton Big Band
to New York, where his friend Eric Dolphy introduced him to John
Coltrane. A tough winter, a lack of gigs, and too many nights on the
floor of a friend's art gallery finally sent Horace packing for sunny
Southern California, where a life with wife and family awaited his
return. The sixties saw Horace emerge as a die-hard leader of the
Avant Garde. Horace began to gain public notice playing with his own
group, that included alto saxophonist Arthur Blythe, bassist David
Bryant, and drummer Everett Brown II. Horace also appeared on records
for the first time (see discography).
Horace was always outspoken about racism, politics,
stereotypes, and social ethics. His forward- minded vocal presence on
and off the microphone is as much a part of his art as his piano
playing. As a result, he was labeled a “dissident,” categorized as an
“employment risk,” and black-listed from the music industry
establishment in the early 1970's. None of this slowed Horace down. He
began gigging sporadically at Parks and Recreation events and for
churches around Watts. This “dark period,” with his only regular gig at
his friend Doug Weston's Troubadour on Los Angeles' “Restaurant Row”,
was also a time of intense creativity. Around 1977, Horace
reorganized the Pan-Afrikan Peoples Arkestra with the help of several
old friends and many new faces. The Arkestra performances involve
singing, dancing, and poetry in addition to the music. Soon after the
new group's debut, Horace came to the attention of producer Tom Albach
who contracted Horace to record a number of albums for Nimbus Records
(see discography). Albach also helped introduce Horace to an
international audience by arranging several European tours. In
1979, another producer, Tosh Tanaki, took Horace to New York to record
with legendary drummer Roy Haynes and bassist Dr. Art Davis (see
discography). This was the beginning of a musical friendship that
continued; Horace often played with Art's group at gigs around Los
Angeles. The 80's saw Horace emerge as one of jazz's premiere solo
pianists. He recorded several solo piano albums for Nimbus (see
discography). This phase culminated in the late 80's, with Horace
sharing the bill at the Wilshire Ebell theatre with other jazz legends
Andrew Hill and Randy Weston for a historic solo piano concert. Horace
kept extremely busy thru the 90's, composing new music, recording
albums, and leading his group on tours of Europe and the United
States--not to mention his perpetual involvement in the local community
and his role as the patriarch of a large family. In 1994, Horace finally
took the whole Arkestra to Europe. This tour was a huge success
highlighted by the return of Arthur Blythe to the group as primary
soloist.
Due to his limited exposure outside of his native Los Angeles, pianist
Horace Tapscott was largely unnoticed by the mainstream jazz press
throughout his lengthy career. A galvanizing force in the Los Angeles
scene, Tapscott co-founded the Underground Musicians Association (UGMA),
later known as the Union of God's Musicians and Artists Ascension
(UGMAA) in 1961, which eventually lead to the formation of his
Pan-African Peoples Arkestra. Beyond the valiant support of Nimbus
Records, little documentation of Tapscott's oeuvre exists, other than a
few sides cut for such labels as Novus, Hatology, and Arabesque, most
now long out of print. The Dark Tree is one of those
revered dates, a live session recorded at the Catalina Bar & Grill
in Hollywood in 1989. Originally released in two separate volumes by
Hatology in 1991, it has been reissued as a two disc set, delivering on
the promise of its reputation—invoking the spiritual ecstasy of New
Thing era free jazz and loft scene era Black Nationalism—without
sounding dated or histrionic. A harmonically unfettered
and unabashedly percussive pianist, Tapscott's angular themes and
unusual time signatures are a natural outgrowth of the innovations of Thelonious Monk, Herbie Nichols, and early Cecil Taylor. Given free reign in this live setting, the all-star quartet of Tapscott, clarinetist John Carter, bassist Cecil McBee, and drummer Andrew Cyrille
unleash a bracing combination of ecstatic free jazz, primal groove and
opulent lyricism, lending credence to the date's legendary status. The
centerpiece of the record is the 21 minute title track, presented
twice, with one take per disc. An ostinato fueled vamp of subterranean
bass, menacing left hand piano refrains, and insistent snare accents, it
features Carter's stratospheric clarinet cadences spiraling into
oblivion, which set the stage for Tapscott and Cyrille's expansive
ruminations. The leader's extended solo is a hallucinatory mosaic of
ringing tones and hypnotic dissonances, with Cyrille's pneumatic
variations building to a dramatic finish. The remainder of
the set exudes a similar energy, veering from the lilting 6/8 waltz of
the carefree "Sketches Of Drunken Mary" to the crisp martial rhythms and
labyrinthine bop interludes of "Lino's Pad." Carter sits out three of
the five selections on the second volume, leaving ample room for
Tapscott and his rhythm section to stretch out, especially on the epic
"Nyja's Theme," a loose 3/4 vamp spotlighting Tapscott's kaleidoscopic
variations, McBee's sinuous lyricism, and Cyrille's percussive
invention. A welcome reissue from a criminally under recognized composer, The Dark Tree is a stirring document, worthy of the attention of anyone interested in the full spectrum of jazz history.
Track Listing
CD1: The Dark Tree; Sketches Of Drunken Mary;
Lino's Pad; One For Lately. CD2: Sandy And Niles; Bavarian Mist; The
Dark Tree 2; A Dress For Renee; Nyja's Theme.
Personnel
Horace Tapscott: piano; John Carter: clarinet; Cecil McBee: bass; Andrew Cyrille: drums.
When pianist/composer/conductor Horace Tapscott
founded the Pan Afrikan People's Arkestra (PAPA) in 1961, it was by
design a support collective for all arts, bringing pride to the black
community, specifically that of South-Central Los Angeles. PAPA
signified social activism, teaching empowerment, and advocating
Tapscott's belief that channeling African ancestral roots was a key to
succeeding. Tapscott, who died in 1999, had forsaken wider recognition
to bring music and teaching to his community, but his catalog has seen a
revived interest with four recent reissues. Ancestral Echoes—The Covina Sessions, 1976,
the latest from the Dark Tree label was something of an open-house jam
session that likely included some Watts neighborhood musicians not
documented for the credits.
PAPA worked as a rotation of
musicians that often changed considerably from one project to another.
Of the twenty-four known participants on Ancestral Echoes, only
flutists Adele Sebastian and Aubrey Hart, and poet/percussionist Kamau
Daéood, were part of the live 1972-1981 compilation Live at I.C.U.U. (Soul Jazz Records, 2019).
Daéood, at Tapscott's request, had written the verse that accompanies
the pianist's nineteen-minute "Ancestral Echoes," a composition that
appeared in a much shorter version on Daéood's Leimert Park
(Mama Records, 1996). That album included Tapscott and his regular
bassist Roberto Miranda. Daéood's recitation gives way to an extended
Tapscott solo after two minutes, morphing into an orchestrated
masterwork with electrifying solos from trumpeter Steven Smith and
soprano saxophonist Jesse Sharps. Tapscott's quartet of Andrew Cyrille, Cecil McBee, and John Carter recorded "Sketches of Drunken Mary" on the seminal recording Dark Tree
(HatOLOGY, 1989), over twenty years after this version. Flutist Hart
and alto saxophonist Michael Session create a whirling back-and-forth
dialog bookended by Tapscott's expansive solos. At nearly a half-hour,
the closing track "Eternal Egypt Suite" features an ethereal Sebastian
flute in its opening segment, shifting to an Afro-Cuban theme, free
improvisation from tenor saxophonist Fuasi Abdul-Khaliq, and finally, a
lush, orchestral finish.
Tapscott's music, particularly with the
Pan Afrikan People's Arkestra, is traditional in a way we rarely think
of as tradition. The pianist/composer created and fostered multiple
generations of Watts musicians through the nurturing of a sweeping
philosophy of autonomous and organic creation with origins in Africa and
South- Central LA. The reality Tapscott presents on Ancestral Echoes, plays out at the crossroad of music and values.
Track Listing
Ancestral Echoes; Sketches of Drunken Mary; Jo Annette; Eternal Egypt Suite.
Song You Need to Know: Horace Tapscott, ‘Why Don’t You Listen?’
Newly issued live recording from 1998 sheds light on a crucial L.A.
jazz figure who inspired Kamasi Washington and other future stars by
Hank Shteamer
Unless you’re a hardcore jazz
aficionado, you might not know the name Horace Tapscott. But to several
generations of L.A. musicians — including breakout saxophone star Kamasi Washington — the late pianist and composer is a near-legendary figure.
“I grew up in Leimert Park and his footprint is all over that area,” Washington said in 2015
of Tapscott’s importance to his South L.A. neighborhood. “We all
learned his music and his philosophies from the elders who played with
him that are still with us. Horace is one of the most important figures
in the foundation of music in L.A., from both a purely musically and
socially conscious perspective. My dad took me to hear [Tapscott’s] Pan
Afrikan Peoples Arkestra many times and I played with them after Horace
passed away.”
If Washington’s sound — specifically the large-scale,
spirit lifting jazz meets gospel meets R&B documented on his 2015
breakthrough The Epic and its 2018 follow-up Heaven and Earth
— has a patron saint, it would have to be Tapscott. From the early
Sixties through his death in 1999, the pianist helped to anchor a
community-driven L.A. scene, bringing together musicians, singers and
poets in both the Arkestra (the name nods to a group led by Tapscott’s
like-minded predecessor Sun Ra) and an umbrella group called UGMAA, the Union of God’s Musicians and Artists Ascension.
A new archival release, Why Don’t You Listen?, captures the
ensemble that inspired Washington and his peers in the form of a 1998
Arkestra concert at the L.A. County Museum of Art, reportedly the final
time Tapscott was healthy enough to play piano with the band live.
Released by Dark Tree, a French label named for a Tapscott piece, it joins a wealth of other Tapscott and UGMAA work now available digitally.
Horace Tapscott with the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra and the Great Voice of UGMAAWhy Don't You Listen? VIDEO: 14:21
The album’s near-15-minute title track makes for a fine
introduction to Tapscott’s expansive approach. While much of the
Arkestra’s available output focuses on the leader’s intricate
instrumental writing, which ranges from funky to free, “Why Don’t You
Listen?” spotlights the voice. On the piece, co-written by Tapscott and
Linda Hill, a nine-member choir known as the Great Voice of UGMAA —
directed by Dwight Trible, who remains committed to Tapscott’s mission — sings out stirring variations on a central question: “Why didn’t you listen to the sounds of truth?”
After a brief, expressionistic piano intro, the vocalists
sing out a somber opening (“Go forth my seed / And spread the truth …”).
From there, the tempo picks up, and the singers begin calling out a
series of jazz icons — “Why didn’t you listen to Bird and Trane … ?/ Why
didn’t you listen to Lady Day?” — over an insistent pulse, complete
with hand percussion, booming brass and emphatic shouts. Around the
five-minute mark, the piece breaks into brisk post-bop swing, with the
soprano sax of Michael Session swooping over top. A solo vocal episode
and a slashing drum feature by Donald Dean lead back into the “Why
didn’t you listen …?” refrain.
The track’s blend of somber, gospel-like textures with
upbeat, unfettered improv does have precedents in jazz — Duke
Ellington’s Sacred Concerts, grand Charles Mingus works like “Meditations on Integration” — but Tapscott clearly developed his own rich aesthetic. Throughout Why Don’t You Listen?, it’s easy to hear why up-and-comers like Washington were so struck by his vision — and following that thread to Washington’s own work, equally plain to hear the echo of an earlier L.A. jazz revolution.
This Horace Tapscott website began as a timeline recording Horace’s
performance history. It has expanded since then to include a section on
the music of the Arkestra, as well as a photo gallery. As research
continues, corrections and updating will continue, and, more material
will be provided. Queries and documented contributions are always
welcome. The timeline records appearances, primarily musical, but not exclusively, by Horace Tapscott, and is a work-in-progress. It has been compiled using public records, such as newspaper ads,
articles, leaflets, etc., but most importantly the tape and ephemera
collection in the Horace Tapscott Archive. Over the years, the diligent
preservation work by the brothers and sisters of UGMA/UGMAA, resulted in
tape recordings of hundreds of performances and rehearsals from 1960 to
Horace’s passing on 27 February 1999. In 2002, with the assistance of
Michael Dett Wilcots, UGMAA archivist and Horace’s son-in-law, I
catalogued that collection, then housed in Horace’s garage/studio. Until the early 1980s, recordings were made on reel-to-reel tapes. On
many of those, the UGMA/UGMAA personnel responsible penned notes on the
tape boxes, usually location, date, personnel, and compositions
performed. Occasionally, other commentary was added. When relevant,
these are included under the tag “Note”. This collection provides the main source in documenting the musical
history of the movement in those years, including such items as the
various name changes the organization went through until finally
settling on the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra (PAPA) and the Union of
God’s Musicians and Artists Ascension (UGMAA) in the early 1970s. While
this information is invaluable, it is far from complete. Not all
musicians and compositions are listed in some instances, but what
information exists, is provided. With the shift to cassette tapes in the early 1980s, much of the
space for written commentary on the reel-to-reel boxes was lost, and
consequently information on the cassettte tape containers is minimal or
non-existent. While I listened to some to ascertain more information, it
was not possible to go through the entire collection, which was donated
shortly afterwards to the UCLA Music Library’s Special Collections. The Horace Tapscott Archive also contains performances by other
ensembles within the movement that did not include Horace’s
participation. Since the focus of this list is Horace, those are not
included, except in cases where they were part of a larger performance
in which Horace participated. Some tapes with minimum information, such
as “Arkestra,” are included since Horace’s participation is likely. Some
rehearsals are also included, since tapes of them are extant in the
Archive. Another challenge is the sheer number of performances not recorded
that Horace gave in his community, and how many of these were only
advertised locally or not at all, particularly in the 1960s through the
mid-1970s. Horace and UGMA/UGMAA were mainstays in various community
settings, including parks, schools, and such venues as the Watts
Happening Coffee House, and in the 1990s at 5th Street Dick’s Coffee
Company in Leimert Park, but there is little documentation of the
specifics. As more information is uncovered, the Timeline will grow.
Contributions via the comments section below are welcome, but must be
documented in some fashion to gain a place in the Timeline. It should be noted that this is not a cataloguing of biographical details, given the publication of Horace’s autobiography, Songs of the Unsung (2001). Also, a history of the movement can be found in my subsequent book, The Dark Tree
(2006), which corrects factual errors in the autobiography, though much
remains unknown. Historical detail was not Horace’s strong suit, but
his passion, insight, values, ambitions, and artistry were. Finally, in initiating this project, thanks are due to the support and contributions from poet and community activist Kamau Daáood, Bertrand Gastaut of Dark Tree Records (and his excellent Horace Tapscott blog), David Keller (Horace’s former manager), director/writer Jeannette Lindsay and
writer / poet / publisher / perservationist / musician / radio host
Mark Weber. This Timeline was also inspired by Mark’s exceptional work
on his Bobby Bradford Timeline. The wonderful Klaus at Metropolis Free Jazz has made this an on-line reality. — Steven L. Isoardi http://www.darktree-records.com/en/artistes/horace-tapscott-artiste
(b. Houston, 6 April 1934; d Los
Angeles, 27 February 1999). Pianist, composer, bandleader, and social
activist. Began piano studies at six and trombone two years later. Moved
with his family to Los Angeles in 1943, and was enveloped in the
Central Avenue scene. Studied with Samuel Browne at Jefferson High
School, where he played with alto saxophonist Frank Morgan. Private
tutelage with Lloyd Reese followed, and mentoring by Gerald Wilson,
Melba Liston, and composer William Grant Still. Friends included Don
Cherry, Billy Higgins, and Larance Marable. Worked with Gerald Wilson’s
orchestra before graduating from Jefferson in 1952. Enlisted in the air
force in 1953, playing in the Ft. Warren band in Wyoming, until his
discharge in 1957. Joined Lionel Hampton’s band in 1959, and toured
until early 1961, at times sitting in on piano and arranging charts. By
the early sixties piano had become Tapscott’s exclusive instrument,
forced by persistent dental problems. At the end of 1961 he formed the Underground Musicians Association
(UGMA), ten years later evolving into the Union of God’s Musicians and
Artists Ascension (UGMAA) with the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra (PAPA)
as one of its components. Over the years some three hundred artists were
involved, including Arthur Blythe, Everett Brown, Jr., Kamau Daáood,
Azar Lawrence, Roberto Miranda, Butch Morris, Wilber Morris, Sonship
Theus, and Dwight Trible. Fusing art with social activism, the Arkestra
developed and preserved black music and art within their community,
performing on street corners, in parks, schools, churches, senior homes,
social facilities and gathering spots, arts centers, and at political
rallies. Although its activities tapered off by the early 1980s, the
Arkestra continued performing into the 21stcentury. Tapscott’s music ran the gamut, from free-form improvisation to folk
songs and spirituals. The content, structure, and stylings of many
pieces drew from the problems and routines of community life. He
translated these into complex rhythmic patterns, crashing dissonances,
and bittersweet melodies, using the entire range and even all the
material elements (wood, strings, metal, ivories) of the piano. He
composed for solo piano and small groups, the Arkestra and its choir,
and even for symphony orchestra in his magnum opus, Ancestral Echoes.
He was attracted to dark ostinati and a heavy bottom sound, as in “The
Giant Is Awakened,” “The Dark Tree,” “Thoughts of Dar Es Salaam,” and
“To the Great House.” Even when dealing with older material, such as
Strayhorn’s “Lush Life,” or favored tunes from the bop era, like “Oleo”
and “Now’s the Time,” Tapscott found a way to heavily root the
compositions, while still exploring unique harmonic extensions. During the 1960s Tapscott recorded with Onzy Matthews, Lou Blackburn,
arranged and conducted two albums for singer and subsequent Black
Panther Party leader Elaine Brown, composed and conducted the music for
Sonny Criss’s Sonny’sDream (Birth of the New Cool)(1968, Prestige). His first album as leader appeared one year later,The Giant Is Awakened(Flying
Dutchman), also Arthur Blythe’s recording debut. From 1978 through the
mid 1980s he recorded for Interplay and Nimbus Records, labels formed by
enthusiasts for Tapscott’s music. He led the Arkestra on three albums,
recorded many solo albums (eleven issued to date), one duo with drummer
Everett Brown, Jr., four trio discs, including the two-part live
performance at the Lobero Theater in Santa Barbara, California, and one
sextet album. Landmark recordings for hat ART (The Dark Tree)
followed in 1989, and then two CDs for Arabesque in the 1990s. As of
2010, Nimbus West Records continues to release additional sessions and
live performances.
“Why Don’t You Listen?” is a posthumous recording released in May
2019 on Dark Tree Records by the Los Angeles pianist and community
artist Horace Tapscott.
Though Tapscott died in 1999, his legacy burns brighter than ever
because of the rising popularity of contemporary jazz artists like
Kamasi Washington. The new release was recorded live at the Los Angeles
County Museum of Art on July 24th, 1998, and it was one of Tapscott’s
last performances before he passed. The five songs on the record are
quintessential transcendental Tapscott accompanied by his Pan Afrikan
Peoples Arkestra (Ark).
As this record testifies to, Tapscott and his Ark is the source of so
many movements that continue to this day. In addition to his incredible
music, Tapscott’s status is further bolstered by his integrity and how
he lived his life. Though the man was an enormous talent on piano, early
in his career, he decided that leading a community orchestra was a
bigger priority than his solo success. Tapscott’s biographer, Steve Isoardi, writes in the record’s liner
notes: “Today, the new label emerging for the music from Los Angeles’
black community has become ‘spiritual jazz.’ For Horace, the Ark, the
choir and the many brothers and sisters whose roots stretch back
decades, their art was also community, political and revolutionary. In
essence, an active opposition to all manifestations of oppression —
spirituality at its most meaningful.”
Whatever label you want to call the music, every note in the
recording trumpets freedom and truth. The five songs create a
mesmerizing tapestry of sound and have a timeless essence that
provokes a call to action.
Published in Jazz Forum (Warsaw) 83 (Aug. 1983), Jazz Magazine (Paris) 321 (Sept. 1983), Shuffle Boil (Berkeley) 3 (Winter 2003)
Born on April 6, 1934, in Houston, Texas, Horace Tapscott first studied piano with his mother. After his family moved to the South Central area of Los Angeles in 1945, he entered Jefferson High School where he came under the wing of Dr. Samuel Brown, who schooled an entire generation of future jazz stars. In the school’s swing band, Tapscott played with Don Cherry, Dexter Gordon, Eric Dolphy, Sonny Criss, and Art Farmer. After high school, he went to Los Angeles City College for a short while and also worked with Dolphy in the Gerald Wilson Orchestra. He then joined the military service from 1953-57, playing trombone, baritone horn, and piano in the Air Force Band.
Upon returning to Los Angeles, he took up work in the studios, mainly on trombone. He also started working as a “ghost writer”---black musicians still were not fully accepted---for singers like Julie London and several Las Vegas shows. In the late ’50s, he found himself working with Lionel Hampton, but he was left stranded in New York City one winter when the band broke up. At the Village Vanguard, he hooked up with Dolphy and Coltrane; although the two were recording for a major jazz label at the time, they only had a few dollars between them. Tapscott decided not to go through the motions of making a career, but dedicated himself to taking the music directly to the community.
Back in Los Angeles, he founded the first Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra in 1961. At first, the Arkestra played for free on street corners and in different churches. Tapscott and several other members of the Arkestra began conducting summer music workshops for the children of Watts. He also led his own small combo whose changing personnel included Azar Lawrence and Black Arthur (better known as Arthur Blythe). In the early days of the Arkestra there were other gigs with Slim Gaillard, Sarah Vaughan, Lorez Alexandria, and Freddie Hill, but soon the community music program began taking up more of his time.
Over two decades several hundred musicians passed through the ranks of the Arkestra. The Arkestra itself survived many difficult moments, including the Watts riots. At the height of the riots, the police drew their guns on the bandleader and ordered the musicians to stop playing, claiming that the music was inciting the people outside. When the police left, the musicians began playing again. For much of its existence the Arkestra’s regular home---on the last Sunday of each month---was Rev. E. Edwards's Immanuel United Church of Christ. But when the reverend became ill, Tapscott’s UGMAA Foundation (Union of God’s Musicians and Artists Ascension) set up shop in its own building, formerly a printer’s workshop. Tapscott described the Foundation’s main function as “the education of young musicians in a noncompetitive, commercial-free atmosphere of love and reverence for the music.”
Until the late 1970s, Tapscott’s only LP as a leader was the small combo recording The Giant Is Awakened (Flying Dutchman, 1969). His music started to reach a wider audience thanks to the independent label Nimbus Records, which proceeded to issue a number of small group and Arkestra recordings as well as eight volumes of solo piano sessions. Later recordings, in the 1980s and '90s, were made for the Hat Art and Arabesque labels.
The following interview took place at Tapscott’s home in the South Central section of Los Angeles, in April 1982, after his first appearances before European audiences.
As a musician you have been closely involved with the black community in Los Angeles for well over twenty years. What made you decide to concentrate your efforts on community music making rather than seek fame or fortune on the road?
Years ago, my mentor, Mr. Samuel Brown at Jefferson High, told me he would show me the ways if I promised to pass them on too. I couldn’t do it formally, that is to say through the schoolrooms. I wanted to do that, but I lost the feeling for it. I could do the same thing perhaps outside, directly. And so we started in little houses, garages. We had four or five different places.
You see, by growing up with the music and the musicians around here in Los Angeles, I had a chance to get a panoramic view and see what happened to certain cats, and why it happened. The main reason was because they had no support. At one point, when the people were coming off their jobs on Friday night and Saturday, they were looking forward to the music because they could dance and all that. So, the musician was thought of in this light. But it’s something else for the music to live through the years, and to last and have a meaning. Like the music of Duke Ellington, that will always live. Well, that’s the kind of music I like to be in, the classic type that maybe people can appreciate. I want to teach with it, and speak of a whole era and why it happened. But it needs all sides to teach it and balance it.
You originally studied trombone as well as piano. When did you put down the trombone for good?
When I was about nineteen, but I did go back with Lionel Hampton on ’bone for a year. That was in the last part of 1960. I was playing the piano then, writing and arranging, but I wasn’t working.
Probably the pianist Gerald Wilson told him about Lester Robertson. And Lester told him that he’d get the other cat. So, Lester called me one night and said. “Hey, man, you want to go to New York?” We didn’t have no job and the rent was due. And I said, “Yeah, man, let’s go.”
We went and there’s Lionel Hampton. We got put out in the snow after a while when the band stopped working. Hamp went to Africa and only took five pieces, so we were left in the city for about four months. When the band came back, we went through the South. That bus ride almost killed me, it was mean. We had to check to see if we could go in the front door to eat. The bus driver was white, so Lionel Hampton always sent him first. One night, the cats were so tired on the bus that we said, “Hey, man, no,” and we just busted on in. We was just ready for anything, tired. Oh man, that was a hell of a ride.
When the band came back here to Los Angeles to play at a club on Sunset Boulevard, I got off the bus. It was four o’clock in the morning, because the gig was over, and they was on their way back to New York. I was sitting there on the bus and said, “What am I doing here? I don’t want to go back to New York like this.” So I got off the bus. And then no one discovered I was gone until they got to Arizona.
What were the origins of the Underground Musicians Association?
Well, it started because of the actual players. There were several of us around in the area here in the early ’50s that were branching off into some other kinds of music. We’d be playing constantly, night and day, at Linda Hill’s home on 75th and Central. And then in my garage on 56th Street and Avalon, five or six of us started our band---Lester Robertson, Jimmy Woods, myself, and several other people. When we began in the early ’60s, the music started seeming like it had to go somewhere else. And I started playing Negro spirituals and all the music that was written by black composers. So, that in itself started a whole new thing for the cats. I had started doing a lot of my own kinds of writing.
When did you start writing your own music?
In the ’50s, but most of it I developed pretty much in the ’60s because I had a band. By that time, half of the cats in town were around. They got the word that we were rehearsing five nights a week, so they just came by. So we hooked up and we started writing. We started having to get everybody in the band to learn how to write, because you had musicians here to play whatever you wrote the next day.
We played in parks and street corners and school houses. That’s where it was aimed at. And then they started a summer program in Watts in 1963, and so we had quite a whole community of youngsters into the music. They were dancing to this tune “The Dark Tree” that we did on the album The Giant Is Awakened. The youngsters used to go down the street dancing and singing it. And that was one of the greatest feelings I ever had in my life. The book was 99% original music. There were about two hundred pieces of written music.
Were most of these your tunes?
Well, mostly mine. And then there were Linda Hill’s and so many others’. Some of the writers are still writing for different groups. It was such an experience, most of the cats think of it as a school and an institution. You come in with your instrument, you want to p1ay, and are you ready for this? Because you’re going to have to give up something. And it was the same way with the singers. We would have the singers across the street rehearsing, and I’d be running back and forth. And Linda Hill was coaching them and teaching them music. We had music flying. All this music had come out of the community or from older musicians that no one’s heard of.
Were most of the people at that point already reading music?
No. A lot of them learned to read music from the rehearsals every night. And maybe every now and then I would have a class where we’d just clap out. I’d write on the b1ackboard how to read, and a person would learn to read on the average in two weeks’ time before touching the instrument. So they knew it was something separate.
Have you been the main person holding down the Pan-Afrikan Peoples Arkestra?
No. There have been a couple of other people, like David Bryant, our bass player, and Linda Hill, Lester Robertson, Marla Gibbs, and Al Hines. See, the idea of the Arkestra is to build itself to the point of 75 to 100 pieces and to become a pillar in the community, where youngsters may grow up and want to play in this kind of orchestra. So it has to keep on.
Has that been the case so far?
So far. There were some who used to come to the concerts in their mamas’ bellies. And when they went to college, they’d be playing in the band and now they are bringing their kids. And the youngsters that didn’t play instruments---that are doctors, lawyers, and promoters---they remember.
Do you have a sense that the youngsters who are grown up now are more aware of the music and its history?
Out of every seven, I would say two. But it was zero when we started. Because the music was related to things like the red light district. There was that kind of image behind it. And they grew over the years and finally it covered the ears, you dig.
It seems that you and the other musicians were bringing that music out into the light of day, so that it wasn’t something you had to go inside the closet to hear.
Yeah, and that’s one of the reasons why after a period of about ten years, we changed from the Underground Musicians Association to the Union of God’s Musicians and Artists Ascension—UGMAA. We were musicians, but we had other artists around---writers, dancers, and painters. They all were coming to hear music. So, we would try to do certain things together.
Did the change of name also mean a change of direction?
No, we got to a point where we could verbally say more or less what we were a part of. Because then we began to realize that you have a place here. You’re put here like plants and flowers to do certain things. All of us were around religious people all our lives. Through the years, people would think of us as a religious group or whatever. After a concert they’d start hooking up things. They’d say, “Oh, your music is more spiritual in intention.” And that was the idea---to get black people in particular familiar with the music. That’s been twenty years now, and it’s still a way to go. Whereas, you don’t have to turn yourself out to make some kinds of money, because you can make a decent living playing music. You’re creating if you’re giving something, you become part of the community. We try to pass something on to the young players and artists that grow up in the community---to see where they fit in by being an artist rather than alienate themselves from the whole populace here.
What about some of the musicians who left the Arkestra and went on to bigger things? You first began playing with Arthur Blythe in the late ’50s. Has he kept in touch since he moved to New York?
Well, when he came here we went down to the Workshop---the UGMAA building---and played half the night. They always come back. Something brings them back. They come back and some youngsters will be in there who had never met them. Like Gary Byas, a young alto player who has been playing a little bit with Willie Bobo and is definitely doing great things. He loved Arthur and would see him when he was a youngster, but he didn’t ever meet him and now they finally met. Most of those cats come back after a while, and if I see them anywhere, I’ll ask them for some music.
When you were starting the Underground Musicians Association, what was the initial reaction in the community? Were there many people telling you that you’d never get it to work?
Oh yeah, say, four and a half out of five people. Well, actually the rank-and-file of the community, those hardcore people, they enjoyed it right away. Like the winos on the corner. One day the music wouldn’t be there, and they’d come all the way down and say, “What happened to the music?” And we’d play late into the night and the police wouldn’t come, because nobody would call them.
And we were playing in the church a lot, so we were spread out. It got to the point where they were inviting us to the elementary schools and senior citizens homes. Most of the time it was for free. When we did make money by working at the schools and the Black Students Union at some of the colleges, it wasn’t much. We’ve got 25 pieces and they maybe had a budget of $1,000 for the whole year. We never did what you would call a real tour. Years ago, we would have three or four places in the state to go, and that would be only maybe during the Black History Week at that time.
We have tried several times to get federal funds, but no way they was going to give anything to what we were into. And it involved youngsters in the neighborhood cleaning up things, erasing offensive graffiti, helping old folks cross the street, those kinds of things.
But the people in the community recognized us, that’s for sure. And that’s good. Every time you’d see them on the street, they’d say, “Is the Arkestra still rehearsing and playing?”
The Arkestra played regularly at the IUCC church for almost nine years. Was the church an important base of support?
I had had a vision of the inside of this church, and I went there, and it was just like I had dreamed it. Anyhow, at that time the reverend was allowing different groups in the black community to have their meetings and stuff there. And he would always house refugees. That’s the last thing he was doing. The Salvadorans were living there just before he got sick. He was that kind of a reverend, really a community man. He had free breakfasts every morning for the community.
And man, we’d play for him, just anything he wanted. Because the community started believing finally. And it was in an area where all the so-called gangs were. They were coming and sitting in back of the band. And none of the cars were stolen. Nothing was stolen from the band. All the cats would say, “Hey, y’all playing?” And then once they come to you and ask about something, you lay it on them. They’re listening because they see you all the time and believe you.
Were there people coming from outside the community for these concerts?
After a while. They’d come from the San Fernando Valley, Hollywood, and the beach area, Malibu. And the cross-section of people, it was beautiful. At first, the white people would hardly come there because it was so far in Watts. But then after a while, they started making it. And they’d be there the last Sunday of each month when we’d play. And the black folks would be there every last Sunday. And then the Latins that were living in the neighborhood would fall in every now and then, because the band had some Latin cats in it. And so they would be coming in and say, “What’s happening in here, man?” But they’d come in the church and they’d be quiet.
And, man, the reverend would come back through. They let him say something to them, and he’d be talking just the natural truth to them. We had people coming on those Sundays from babies to 80-year olds. And so we did make that impact, they recognized that there was something to look forward to.
How is your musical activity seen by the greater Los Angeles jazz community? Do they tend to “ghettoize” you?
It’s gotten much better than that. The communications have opened up. And it’s so funny, because it’s a matter of survival in that kind of thing. You see, as long as I was breathing, it was going to stay alive. But, see, you can’t count on that if you want to be able to leave something behind.
Do the local critics notice you?
Yeah, every now and then. But mostly it’s the independent cats. In New York you go play at night and six or seven writers are there, because that’s their job. But we’re out here in this foreign country, so to speak. As far as getting noticed, you got to go past Leonard Feather, so to speak. See, I’d be leaving for New York to go there for notoriety and to make some money. Out here, all the money is about twenty blocks up, you dig. But you know where they’re coming from. I really would like to travel now and see some of the world.
Have you done any studio work?
Yeah, yeah. I’ve done some ghost writing for different cats, for Julie London, Sonny and Cher. I used to play with them too when they first got started. A lot of the guys would call me up and give me a gig, to write something for them.
What have been some of your other musical activities outside the UGMAA?
Mostly I’ve been writing and arranging for different size groups. I was pretty proud of the things I did with Elaine Brown. We did two albums together years ago, but they never got released. She used to be the lady with the Black Panthers. She’s got a great voice, and she wrote all the music.
And I did some things with the actor William Marshall and a 35-piece orchestra for Capitol Records, which they never released. He’s a Shakespearean actor, he’s got a sound like Paul Robeson. I was working with those live theater things he was doing, for example on Frederick Douglass. We did something together for public television. From 1975 on, we’ve been making special trips to the black colleges in the South. I was part of a show covering the whole spectrum of the black experience, and I appreciated that. I was the only musician. If I didn’t play solo, I’d pick up somebody in town. We went all over the South and did fundraisers for all those black colleges.
But, see, that’s what I wanted to do with my band. We tried to tour those colleges in the ’60s with the Arkestra. I got to know some of those people who are instrumental in doing things for the colleges in fundraising tactics. I mentioned the Arkestra to them. I had the idea that it would be a 100-piece orchestra of black musicians that would have a repertoire and play it all over the world and raise money for the colleges. That’s the idea, but it must be held in abeyance for a while.
Apart from The Giant Is Awakened on Flying Dutchman and some albums in the ’60s with Lou Blackburn and Sonny Criss, you have not recorded much until recently. That seems surprising for someone who has written so many tunes.
Well, when you go into somebody’s building and they sign you up, you know that means, “We don’t want you to do this no more, do that.” I’d rather not go through that kind of hassle.
We took a vote on doing the Flying Dutchman album. I voted not to make that album, but was outvoted. This was even before the company started their part in it. Bob Thiele came into the area looking for us and found us in the garage. He came and said he wanted it for posterity. And so we made it, but had a disagreement on it over the mixing of the album. See, because I was supposed to be there for the mixing, whether it was in New York or Los Angeles. But he went back to New York and mixed it.
Some years earlier, I had gone into Contemporary Records with a group---Eddie Mathias, Walter Winn, Bobby Sears, and a couple of rhythm players---and we did an album, but this cat wanted to change it around. So I took all my tapes out of the place. And that kept me out of the studio for years because nobody would hire me. I was off into the Arkestra idea of the community. But I got tapes on them from 1960, so that part is taken care of, you dig. I’ll probably not release any of those tapes on a record. They’re more like the kind of tapes you would probably have in the library. I would much rather for them to be done that way, and try to get more duplicates done and pass them around in the family.
And then Nimbus Records came along. Are you a partner with the label?
Yeah. It’s gotten on its feet after a couple of years. Because we’re not in a hurry. Another thing I learned through the years is that there’s no rush, man. I mean, if you’re into something, you’re still doing it. And each time you do more, the more you get done. But it don’t mean it’s going to be recognized soon as it’s done, and when it is hopefully the quality will be first. And that’ll take a little time. After getting this aneurism in 1978, it took me out of the game for a couple of years. So after that, I was especially in no hurry, no way. Sometime I might go off on a trip somewhere and just hang, man. Because when you think about it, you have so much time here and all your time is valuable. I knew that when I got out. All my time is valuable, and that’s the way I treat it.
How did your illness affect your music and outlook?
It gets you to a point where certain things that you would do before, you don’t care for doing anymore. You don’t have all the interests somehow or other. And I was going through that in the hospital, and given a choice of whether to live or die, and people around you knowing that you will probably die. There was a chance that I might have had part of my brain wiped out and become a vegetable.
And, you know, I started racking up things about the music, leaving messages. But the whole thing was when I got out and came through all of that, the same thing was still on my mind---us, the music, and the hook-up with the community---because this is what got me here probably.
It took me a few years now just coming back together. But I did try very hard not to worry too much about things. And the people around me who are very close to me acted that way and tried not to bring up nothing on death, and a lot of them be doing work or some things that should be done rather than jam me about it. I had to find out again how to speak to people, because after the operation I was slow and certain things that I didn’t feel it was necessary to say wouldn’t come out. You had to really be dealing with yourself. And the records that I had made were being played on the radio every day. You know, for my memorial. And now they haven’t played them since (laughs), but that’s the way it went. All of a sudden, there were all kinds of offers for record dates and other things.
After your recovery you played in 1980 at a Communist Party festival in Italy. Do you think the organizers chose you because of your being a musician strongly involved in community music?
I think that’s probably one of the reasons why, because they seem to have had all that together, what I had been doing in Watts. And that’s okay, because for many years I couldn’t get a gig because of that. So now, maybe it’s the other way around.
It was just myself, Andrew Hill, and some more cats from New York. I enjoyed the way it was received in Italy. And the architecture and all those things, that knocked me out. A very obvious thing was that it was mostly male at the concerts. That’s all I ever saw in Italy, and that was kind of a strange thing.
Then I went back a second time, solo, the same year. When I got off the plane, Muhal Richard Abrams and another cat had come to meet me. And while they were getting me, man, someone broke into their car and took Richard’s camera and the other cat’s soprano saxophone. Just that quick. I said, “Wow, I thought I left America.”
And then I got in a car wreck over there. I was the passenger, but I was the reason for the car wreck. People have these little motorbikes and they can ride between the car and the curb. It was warm and I got out of the car to take off my sweater. And as soon as I got out, man, boom! Two people had tripped over the door I had opened and I fell back into the car. One of the promoters---who happened to be driving---was a doctor and I had my passport on me, so that saved me from being detained.
So it seems that sometimes there is no place like home. Has the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra continued since your illness?
It was continued with one of the saxophonists. For a while, the concerts were still going on over at the church. But during that time the pastor of the church got ill and they changed up, so the concerts stopped there. We have our own place on Vermont Avenue: the Crossroads Creative Workshop. We got it about six years ago from an old printer. We were involved in renovating the place and opening it up a bit more formal to the public. We’re having different instructors come in there now.
After twenty years of working in Watts, do you think the UGMAA’s efforts have had some effect, even culturally, toward building a stable and constructive black community?
Yeah, sometimes you see it. But some days you walk outside and you really feel bad, man. Because you say, “Now, I remember this was happening when I was a kid.” Nothing’s changed. I can go across the street and take your book over here and ask one of these cats to read this book and tell me what it means. See, that’s a drag when they can’t read. So you say, “Wow, what have I been doing here, man? I ain’t done nothing.” What I’m talking about, you know, it’s my fault that this cat can’t read, it’s partly my fault.
Don’t you tend to get discouraged each time when you learn just how big a project it is? How much longer do you think you will involve yourself in community music?
You don’t have no timetable on it that says, “How long you gonna do this, man?” Till they throw the dirt over you.
Book Pages: 272 Illustrations: 46 b&w photos February 2001 Author: Horace Tapscott Editor: Steven L. Isoardi Contributor(s): Steven L. Isoardi, William Marshall
Subjects: African American Studies and Black Diaspora, General Interest > Biography, Letters, Memoirs, Music > Jazz
Songs of the Unsung is the autobiography of Los Angeles jazz musician and activist Horace Tapscott (1934–1999). A pianist who ardently believed in the power of music to connect people, Tapscott was a beloved and influential character who touched many yet has remained unknown to the majority of Americans. In addition to being “his” story, Songs of the Unsung is the story of Los Angeles’s cultural and political evolution over the last half of the twentieth century, of the origins of many of the most important avant-garde musicians still on the scene today, and of a rich and varied body of music.
Tapscott’s narrative covers his early life in segregated Houston, his move to California in 1943, life as a player in the Air Force band in the early fifties, and his travels with the Lionel Hampton Band. He reflects on how the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra (the “Ark”), an organization he founded in 1961 to preserve and spread African and African-American music, eventually became the Union of God’s Musicians and Artists Ascension—a group that not only performed musically but was active in the civil rights movement, youth education, and community programs. Songs of the Unsung also includes Tapscott’s vivid descriptions of the Watts neighborhood insurrection of 1965 and the L.A. upheavals of 1992, interactions with both the Black Panthers and the L.A.P.D., his involvement in Motown’s West Coast scene, the growth of his musical reputation abroad, and stories about many of his musician-activist friends, including Billy Higgins, Don Cherry, Buddy Collette, Arthur Blythe, Lawrence and Wilber Morris, Linda Hill, Elaine Brown, Stanley Crouch, and Sun Ra.
With a foreword by Steven Isoardi, a brief introduction by actor William Marshall, a full discography of Tapscott’s recordings, and many fine photographs, Songs of the Unsung is the inspiring story of one of America’s most unassuming twentieth-century heroes.
Praise
“Songs of the Unsung is one of those special autobiographical narratives that comes along once in a while, and successfully captivates its reading audience with the complete candor of the person telling the story! This is an important sociological document, for it tells the life of Horace Tapscott, one of the most unique figures in the jazz of Black Los Angeles. . . . What is most unique about Songs of the Unsung is that it reveals a man who not only lived jazz, but contributed to it in meaningful ways, and was a walking masterpiece of the personal philosophy he advocated. He lived to teach, help others, perform, create. Horace Tapscott succeeded at each. Songs of the Unsung lets the reader see how he did it. Songs of the Unsung is excellent reading. This book entertains and enlightens at the same time, and is a fine reading experience!” — Lee Prosser, Jazz Review
“Songs of the Unsung offers a glimpse into the life of a jazz musician who resolved not to abandon the place where he started out—the streets of South-Central.” — Jonathan Kirsch, Los Angeles Times “[A] raw, intimate autobiography of L.A. free jazz pianist, trombonist, and composer Tapscott. . . . [T]his retrospective will enable jazz enthusiasts to revel in the life of a unique and talented underground musician. . . .” — Publishers Weekly
“[Isoardi] preserves Tapscott’s part-preacher, part-hipster patois—in which, for example, he inflects the word ‘out’ to describe free jazz, police brutality, injustice, good luck, violent rage, unexpected generosity, spontaneous affection and insanity. Songs of the Unsung is a witness to hope, one man’s determination to create art of lasting value and the power of music to connect people. It is, in the profoundest sense, ‘out’ ” — Jim Gerard, Washington Post
“[O]ffers fascinating insights into Tapscott’s work as a composer and bandleader, as well as his memories of L.A. during the turbulent 1960s.” — Aaron Cohen, DownBeat
“[T]his engaging reminiscence reveals Tapscott as both a provocative musician and an iconoclastic community advocate. With a nontechnical narrative that flows like a novel, this memoir constitutes an appealing and informative document of musical and social history for readers at all levels.” — A. D. Franklin, Choice
“A valuable firsthand account of American music and culture that will make a welcome addition to any collection.” — Library Journal
“Horace Tapscott . . . emerges as an eternal symbol of all that is noble in the music in transition community. This highly advanced theme emerges from a detailed life history that is nothing short of stunning. . . . Songs of the Unsung is an important statement in the philosophy of improvised music. Highly recommended.” — James D. Armstrong, Jr., Jazz Now
“Isoardi has done a fine job of preserving Tapscott’s voice—the narrative is fluent, conversational in tone and packed with both colourful incident and tart social commentary. . . . [A]s a gripping account of a quietly heroic life, and as a rare document about the West Coast’s black cultural underground, Songs of the Unsung is essential reading.” — Graham Lock, Jazzwise“Page after page, Tapscott offhandedly knocks down stereotypes about African-American communities, like pines behind an eruption. . . . Tapscott’s controversial narrative, filled with stories about ‘the cats’ and their ‘out’ behavior is fascinating. . . . But more valuable than the book’s entertainment quotient is its map of possibilities.” — Greg Burk, LA Weekly “Tapscott stuck pretty much to the straight and narrow and his story is one of music as embedded in community. . . . Tapscott, a thoughtful man and a fine storyteller, has a tale more interesting than the usual fare, and along the way he touches on numerous tales of racism, the merger of the black and white union locals in Los Angeles, reflections on the studio scene and drugs, the various travails of the black community in LA, and many of his musical and educational endeavors over the years, both in and out of the Arkestra. Isoardi’s editing . . . still preserves much of the flavor of someone just sitting back and talking. Anyone interested in the plights of the modern jazz performer, and of course jazz in LA, will find this book of great interest.” — Stuart Kremsky, IAJRC Journal
“The details and local lore of Songs are beautifully rendered, and Tapscott’s modesty and perseverance are qualities to behold.” — Hua Hsu, The Wire
“Topics such as food drives, grassroots educational activities, and the sharing of resources are all inextricable from the discussion of the Arkestra’s music, which makes this book quite a bit more substantive than the run-of-the-mill jazz bio from a broader cultural standpoint.” — George Drake, Signal to Noise
Songs of the Unsung . . . sets forth an astonishing, searingly honest view of one segment of music history that is indeed unsung. . . . [The] memoir reminds us with stunning candor that too much has happened under the radar of the jazz industry. . . . We need more books like Songs of the Unsung, by which we can come to understand creative musicians as agents of change at home, effecting local pockets of activity with universal ramifications. For Tapscott provides us with an unwritten truth behind this radically unfinished music called jazz." — Vijay Iyer, Current Musicology
“Songs of the Unsung—It’s about time! Horace Tapscott was one of the first guys doing it in the community. His life has been a big influence on me. He made sure younger and older people played music. He is one of the true giants of this music in the way he played it, wrote it, and lived it.” — Billy Higgins
“During those days the greatest thing happened to me. I got something I needed when I was on the radio . . . . While I was being interviewed, the telephone rang. It was a woman calling from almost her deathbed in the hospital to tell me that my music had helped to heal her, someone with a real soft voice, sobbing as she spoke, like she had been under some kind of dark cloth, saying that finally some light came in because of the sounds.
‘Thank you so very much for playing and please don’t stop.’ I never knew her name, never met her. I don’t know if she’s still alive or not. But what she said to me justified everything that I believed in. There wasn’t anything happening moneywise and sometimes you’re down in the dumps, but you have to pull your head up. When things like that happen, those little small things, well, that was the idea of the sounds in the first place.” — from Chapter Twelve
“This is a splendid book, a wonderfully accessible first person narrative by an important and unusual figure in the history of jazz and the history of Black Los Angeles. Tapscott has an important story to tell and he conveys his experiences, opinions, and philosophy clearly through an engaging and conversational style filled with rich descriptions and witty observations.” —George Lipsitz, author of Dangerous Crossroads: Popular Music, Postmodernism, and the Poetics of Place
Horace
Tapscott —a pianist, trombonist, and composer whose unique approach to
avant-garde jazz earned him legendary status—was also a leader and
organizer who dedicated himself for many years to raising his community
through the arts. Born in Houston and a veteran of the United States Air
Force, Tapscott taught and guided hundreds of Los Angeles youths. ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Steven L. Isoardi, along with Tapscott and six others, coedited Central Avenue Sounds: Jazz in Los Angeles. He also edited Buddy Collette’s autobiography, Jazz Generations, and produced the 4-CD Rhino Records set Central Avenue Sounds.
Acknowledgments Foreword / Steven Isoardi Introduction / William Marshall Photographs compiled by Michael Dett Wilcots
1. Early Years in Houston 2. California 3. Setting the Pace 4. Central Avenue 5. Military Service 6. On the Road with Lionel Hampton 7. To Preserve and Develop Black Culture 8. The Fire This Time 9. In the Middle of It 10. Stayin’ Alive 11. The Union of God’s Musicians and Artists Ascension 12. Settling into the Community 13. Movements to the Present 14. Reflections and Directions Postscript: From the Funeral Service
“For Cecilia” by Horace Tapscott
“PAPA, The Lean Griot” by Kamau Daáood
Appendix: A Partial List of UGMAA Artists, 1961–1998
Discography I: Horace Tapscott Discography II: Music from the Ark
Finalist, 2002 Association for Recorded Sound Collections Award for History, Association for Recorded Sound Collections
Paper ISBN: 978-0-8223-6271-5
/
Cloth ISBN: 978-0-8223-2531-4
Horace Tapscott
Horace
ETapscott (1934 - 1999) was an American jazz pianist and composer. He
was something of a moral leader for California's free-jazz community. In
1959 he established the multimedia Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra, with
the aim of preserving, developing and performing African-American music.
As his vision grew, this became just one part of a larger organization
in 1963, the Underground Musicians Association and led the ensemble
through the 1990s.
Horace Tapscott
Horace
E. Tapscott (1934 - 1999) was an American jazz pianist and composer. He
was something of a moral leader for California's free-jazz community. In
1959 he established the multimedia Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra, with
the aim of preserving, developing and performing African-American music.
As his vision grew, this became just one part of a larger organization
in 1963, the Underground Musicians Association and led the ensemble
through the 1990s.
Horace Elva Tapscott (April 6, 1934 – February 27, 1999) was an American jazz pianist and composer.[1]
He formed the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra (also known as P.A.P.A., or
The Ark) in 1961 and led the ensemble through the 1990s.[2]
Early life
Tapscott was born in Houston, Texas,
and moved to Los Angeles, California, at the age of nine. By this time
he had begun to study piano and trombone. He played with Frank Morgan, Don Cherry, and Billy Higgins as a teenager.
Later life and career
After service in the Air Force in Wyoming, he returned to Los Angeles and played trombone with various bands, notably Lionel Hampton (1959–61). Soon after, though, he quit playing trombone and focused on piano.[3] In 1961 Tapscott formed the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra,[4]
with the aim of preserving, developing and performing African-American
music. As his vision grew, this became just one part of a larger
organization in 1963, the Underground Musicians Association (UGMA),
which later changed name to the Union of God's Musicians and Artists Ascension (UGMAA).[3]Arthur Blythe, Stanley Crouch, Butch Morris, Wilber Morris, David Murray, Jimmy Woods, Nate Morgan and Guido Sinclair all performed in Tapscott's Arkestra at one time or another.[2] Tapscott and his work are the subjects of the UCLA Horace Tapscott Jazz Collection.[5] Enthusiasts of his music formed two labels in the 1970s and 1980s, Interplay and Nimbus, for which he recorded.[3]
Dailey, Raleigh. "The Dark Tree: Jazz and the Community Arts in Los Angeles" (review). Notes Volume 63, Number 3, March 2007, pp. 632–634.
Isoardi, Steven L. The Dark Tree: Jazz and the Community Arts in Los Angeles. April 2006. 394p. illus. index. University of California, $34.95 (0-520-24591-1).
Isoardi, Steven L. Songs of the Unsung: The Musical and Social Journey of Horace Tapscott. Duke University Press, 2001.
Horace
Tapscott, whose accomplishments as a jazz pianist and band leader were
matched by his legacy as a local community organizer, died on Saturday
at his home in Los Angeles. He was 64.
The cause was cancer, his manager and publicist, Corine Hunter, said.
Few
jazz musicians with an individual style and a recognized name reject
the promise of an international solo career, but Mr. Tapscott, for the
most part, stayed at home. His anchor was the Union of God's Musicians
and Artists Ascension (Ugmaa), a collective he set up in the Watts
neighborhood in 1961 to find employment for musicians, dancers and
visual artists in Los Angeles.
He
also taught and guided hundreds of youths who could not afford music
lessons. One of his methods of teaching young students was to enlist
them in his Pan-Afrikan Peoples Arkestra, a group he conducted, supplied
with compositions and kept together until his death.
Mr.
Tapscott was born in Houston and was taken to Los Angeles at the age of
9 by his mother, a stride pianist and tuba player named Mary Lou
Malone. They lived close to Local 767, the city's black musicians union,
and he often spent time around older musicians and friends of the
family like Buddy Collette and Gerald Wilson.
As a teen-ager, Mr. Tapscott was a
trombone player during the golden era of Central Avenue, which was the
Los Angeles equivalent of New York's 125th Street -- a mecca of black
American entrepreneurship and entertainment. Among his friends were
soon-to-be-famous young players from the area, including the trumpeter
Don Cherry, the saxophonists Eric Dolphy and Frank Morgan and the
clarinetist John Carter.
But by the
early 1950's the scene had changed: the black and white musicians'
unions integrated, enabling blacks to find work playing on film and
television soundtracks, and simultaneously the Central Avenue clubs
sputtered out. After spending four years in the United States Air Force
during the 1950's, Mr. Tapscott began to think about new ways that jazz
could gain some measure of respect and support within the black
population of Los Angeles; a disillusioning tour of the South that he
took with Lionel Hampton's big band in 1958 sharpened those ideas and
led him to organize his own union.
The
organization limped along until 1965, when the Watts neighborhood of
Los Angeles erupted in riots. Mr. Tapscott and his Arkestra rode through
the thick of it, playing on the backs of flatbed trucks. In the
aftermath of the riots, the union got some state and Federal funding,
and the Arkestra began to cohere through weekly performances, often in
universities and churches.
In 1968,
Mr. Tapscott composed and arranged music for a memorable album by the
alto saxophonist Sonny Criss called ''Birth of the New Cool.'' The first
recording under his own name, ''The Giant Is Awakened,'' appeared in
1969 and introduced the saxophonist Arthur Blythe, who would become an
important player in New York a decade later.
The
Arkestra was not recorded until 1978, and despite all its continuous
activity -- musicians like David Murray, Butch Morris and Azar Lawrence
were members for a time -- it never became a touring band; its first
European concert was in 1995. (Mr. Tapscott himself had never played a
significant concert in New York until he was booked at the Village
Vanguard in the summer of 1991.)
He
began playing the piano in the late 1950's, after a car crash that
weakened his embouchure for the trombone. He developed a loose-limbed,
Thelonious Monk-inspired style, with banged dissonances and dark,
seductive harmonies; it suited the percussive vamps and odd time
signatures of his writing. Seven of his recordings since the mid-70's
were released by the small record label Nimbus; other recordings since
the 80's appeared on the Hat Hut and Arabesque labels. The latest, from
1997, is the trio recording ''Thoughts of Dar es Salaam.''
Mr.
Tapscott is survived by his wife, Cecilia; a sister, Robbie Byrd of
Dallas; nine children; 21 grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren.
A version of this article appears in print on March 3, 1999, Section B, Page 9 of the National edition with the headline: Horace Tapscott, Jazz Pianist And Community Advocate, 64. Order Reprints | Today’s Paper
Horace Tapscott led a big band in 1969, but his debut was for a quintet drawn from its ranks. Fresh Air jazz critic Kevin Whitehead reviews a reissue of The Giant is Awakened.
Transcript: TERRY GROSS, HOST: This
is FRESH AIR. In the 1960s and early '70s, Los Angeles-based pianist
Horace Tapscott was one of the jazz musicians who identified with
emerging African-American political and social movements. He was a
mentor to many musicians. Jazz critic Kevin Whitehead has a review of a
re-issue of Tapscott's 1969 debut album. He led a big band at the time,
but this recording is with his quintet, which was drawn from the ranks
of his big band. (SOUNDBITE OF HORACE TAPSCOTT AND THE PAN-AFRIKAN PEOPLES ARKESTRA SONG, "THE GIANT IS AWAKENED") KEVIN
WHITEHEAD, BYLINE: That's "The Giant Is Awakened" from the newly
reissued Horace Tapscott album of the same name. The title refers to a
newly mobilized African-American public. It was recorded in 1969 when
that decade's upheavals were much on Tapscott's mind. Back then, his
dashiki clad Pan-Afrikan Peoples Arkestra was a South Los Angeles
institution playing concerts in the park and from the back of a truck.
Even his quintet music could reflect community empowerment. The
ascending, intensifying riff on "The Dark Tree" sounds like forces
gathering and gaining strength. (SOUNDBITE OF HORACE TAPSCOTT AND THE PAN-AFRIKAN PEOPLES ARKESTRA SONG, "THE DARK TREE") WHITEHEAD:
Playing "The Dark Tree" for years on the streets, seeing neighborhood
kids dance to it, Horace Tapscott learned something. Even when his piano
solos got kind of abstract, listeners would accept the music if the
beat was good. His arkestra had multiple bass players, so it was no
problem using two of them here - David Bryant and Walter Savage Jr.
Sometimes one plucks the strings while the other bows. (SOUNDBITE OF HORACE TAPSCOTT AND THE PAN-AFRIKAN PEOPLES ARKESTRA SONG, "THE DARK TREE") WHITEHEAD:
Everett Brown Jr. from Kansas City on drums. The band's horn player is
the 28-year-old rhythm and blues trained alto saxophonist Arthur Blythe
on his first recording. A decade later, Blythe would be a bona fide jazz
star, partly due to his catchy tunes. There's a too-short version of
one of them here, "For Fats." (SOUNDBITE OF HORACE TAPSCOTT AND THE PAN-AFRIKAN PEOPLES ARKESTRA SONG, "FOR FATS") WHITEHEAD:
Arthur Blythe has one of the most arresting saxophone sounds of our
time, searing and bluesy with a serrated vibrato and pungent low notes.
It was thrilling to be in a room when he played. He's still with us but
no longer active, sidelined with Parkinson's. Well-regarded as Arthur
Blythe is, he's probably not celebrated nearly enough. (SOUNDBITE OF HORACE TAPSCOTT AND THE PAN-AFRIKAN PEOPLES ARKESTRA SONG, "NYJA'S THEME") WHITEHEAD:
Horace Tapscott wasn't totally happy with this album when it came out
in 1969. He thought his piano was mixed too loud. One thing about
Tapscott, he'd never put himself above anybody. He was an idealist and
all-around good guy. "The Giant Is Awakened" didn't make him or Arthur
Blythe instant stars; it only had four tracks, one almost too short for
radio and two others way too long. But it started people talking. Horace
Tapscott would go on to record in many settings, from solo to full
orchestra. He'd play in Europe a lot and make a few records in New York.
And when he was done, he'd head straight back to his city of angels. (SOUNDBITE OF HORACE TAPSCOTT AND THE PAN-AFRIKAN PEOPLES ARKESTRA SONG, "NYJA'S THEME") GROSS: Kevin Whitehead writes for Point of Departure and is the author of "Why Jazz?" Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.
Los Angeles Filmforum at MOCA Presents HORACE TAPSCOTT: MUSICAL GRIOT
Screening In person: Barbara McCullough Barbara McCullough’s poetic new film HORACE TAPSCOTT: MUSICAL GRIOT
is a profound meditation on the importance of Black music, art, and
activism to the history of Los Angeles. Horace Tapscott (1934–99) was an
important but underappreciated jazz musician and community activist
blacklisted in the 1960s because of his political affiliations. During
the Watts Rebellion of 1965, the LAPD shut down Tapscott’s performances,
claiming his music incited people to riot. McCullough’s film shares
Tapscott’s story in the manner of a griot, or West African storyteller
who maintains the oral history of a culture. https://www.lafilmforum.org/archive/winter-2017/horace-tapscott-musical-griot/ Horace Tapscott was an underappreciated musical genius and community
activist deeply involved in one the most exciting periods of Los Angeles
jazz history. Black-listed in the 1960s and ‘70s because of his
political affiliations (his “Arkestra” was the band of choice to perform
at political rallies), during the Watts Rebellion of 1965, police
actually shut down his performances, accusing him of inciting people to
riot with his music. HORACE TAPSCOTT: MUSICAL GRIOT tells his
story in the manner of a griot, or story-teller, who in West African
societies maintain the legacy, knowledge, and history of their group
traditions in oral form. McCullough will be present to introduce and
discuss the film.
Biography:
A native of New Orleans, Barbara McCullough spent
most of her life in the Los Angeles area. Before documentaries,
experimental film and video were her first love as she strove to “tap
the spirit and richness of her community by exposing its magic, touching
its textures and trampling old stereotypes while revealing the untold
stories reflective of African American life.” Her film and video
projects include: Water Ritual #1: An Urban Rite of Purification, Shopping Bag Spirits and Freeway Fetishes: Reflection on Ritual Space, Fragments, and The World Saxophone Quartet. Her works are screened in museums and galleries nationally and internationally. Acknowledgements: Los Angeles Filmforum at MOCA is supported through both organizations
by the Los Angeles County Board of Supervisors through the Los Angeles
County Arts Commission. Additional support of Filmforum's screening
series comes from Bloomberg Philanthropies and the Department of
Cultural Affairs, City of Los Angeles. We also depend on our members,
ticket buyers, and individual donors. Los Angeles Filmforum at MOCA furthers MOCA’s mission to question and
adapt to the changing definitions of art and to care for the urgency of
contemporary expression with bimonthly screenings of film and video
organized and co-presented by Los Angeles Filmforum—the city’s
longest-running organization dedicated to weekly screenings of
experimental film, documentaries, video art, and experimental animation. For more on Los Angeles Filmforum, visit lafilmforum.org, or email lafilmforum@yahoo.com. For more information on The Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles, visit moca.org. 16mm to HD, color, sound, 72 minutes, 2017. Producer: Chephren Rasika Editor: Scott Brock Cinematography: Johnny Simmons, Al Santana, Charles Burnett, Bernard Nicola Nearly four decades in the making, Barbara McCullough’s new documentaryis
a vivid recounting of the life and times of Horace Tapscott, musical
genius, composer, community activist, and jazz mentor. Born in Houston,
Tapscott migrated to Los Angeles where he attended Jefferson High School
and there met his mentor, Professor Samuel Brown. Tapscott made a
serious commitment to Brown that he would pass on whatever knowledge he
received to help preserve the art form. At Jefferson, he also met fellow
musicians who became well known later in life; in addition to
Tapscott’s own voice, jazz icons Don Cherry and Arthur Blythe share
their reflections on the richness of their music heritage. Though
blacklisted for his political affiliations, Tapscott continued to create
and play music that was both for his community and reflective of it.
Choosing always to remain in Los Angeles, where he composed, performed,
and shared his wisdom on music and life, he mentored three generations
of accomplished jazz musicians. Beautifully photographed by many of
McCullough’s colleagues in the celebrated Los Angeles
Rebellion—including Charles Burnett, Julie Dash, and Billy Woodberry—the
film paints a loving portrait of Tapscott and black Los Angeles while
capturing remarkable performances by Tapscott with the Pan African
Peoples Arkestra.
Pianist, bandleader, and social activist Horace Tapscott committed
his life to the empowerment of his South Central Los Angeles community.
Tapscott founded the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra and its umbrella
organization, the Union of God’s Musicians and Artists Ascension
(UGMAA), both of which were at the forefront of the vibrant community
arts movement in black Los Angeles in the 1960s and 1970s. Tapscott was born on April 6, 1934 in segregated Houston, Texas. His
mother, Mary Malone Tapscott, was a professional singer and pianist.
Seeking employment opportunities in the California shipyards, Tapscott’s
family moved to Los Angeles in 1943. Tapscott spent his childhood
learning piano and trombone, immersed in the richly diverse Central
Avenue night club scene. After attending Jefferson High School and,
later, Los Angeles City College, Tapscott served in the US Air Force,
playing trombone in a service band. Upon his discharge, Tapscott
returned to Los Angeles to find that the LAPD, operating under Chief
William H. Parker, had dismantled the Central Avenue arts scene. While
on tour with the Lionel Hampton orchestra in 1959, Tapscott determined
to resettle in Los Angeles, hoping to reforge the communicative link
between black artists and the community that had been lost on Central
Avenue. Tapscott envisioned an orchestra which could simultaneously preserve
black culture, perform original music, and foster community
involvement. With local musicians Tapscott formed the Underground
Musicians Association (UGMA) in 1962, which then established the Pan
Afrikan Peoples Arkestra (Ark as in Noah’s– to serve as a life raft for
black history and culture). Responding to a perceived disconnect
between black Los Angeles and its rich African history, the Arkestra
engaged the youth through musical instruction, revised history courses,
and remedial reading and math classes. The Arkestra frequently
performed in public schools, parks, community centers, churches,
hospitals, and prisons – places it felt its message was needed. Although the Arkestra played in support of diverse political groups,
internally it stressed only the importance of self-expression. The
Arkestra did, however, develop a key relationship with the Black Panther
Party. Tapscott and Elaine Brown composed “The Meeting,” which became
the Panthers’ anthem, and the Arkestra performed original musical
arrangements to back Elaine Brown on her albums Seize the Time (1969)
and Elaine Brown (1973). In 1975 Tapscott institutionalized the UGMAA as a nonprofit
organization. This allowed the foundation to pursue grants and other
forms of financial support, while also expanding its social programs.
The Arkestra’s free breakfast program continued while free arts classes
ranging from drama to music theory to painting and poetry were offered
to the community. Until his death from lung cancer in 1999, Tapscott continued to
encourage any community member with an artistic spirit to perform in the
Arkestra, embracing poets, dancers, and even improvisational martial
artists. It was Tapscott’s hope that a positive experience in the arts
would extend to other areas of life, and that these positive experiences
would bind the community together.
The cover of Why Don’t You Listen? Live at LACMA, 1998 by Horace Tapscott with the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra and the Great Voice of UGMAA
Yes, Horace Tapscott’s work was largely a holdover from the days
of the Black Consciousness movement. (Its resolute mix of modal,
spiritual, avant-garde, and Afro-jazz might have fit well on Strata-East
Records if Tapscott hadn’t been in L.A., about as westerly as it gets.)
Yet if anything, the pianist, composer, and bandleader’s music and
message—they’re inextricable—have only become more urgent in the 20
years since his death. Why Don’t You Listen?, a live
performance at the Los Angeles County Museum of Arts from July 1998, is
as fresh and vital as if it were made yesterday. Tapscott would be dead seven months later, of the lung cancer that
was already ravaging his body this night at the museum. It didn’t impede
his inventiveness or momentum, let alone that of the 10-piece version
of his Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra or 12-voice Great Voice of UGMAA
choir. They thoroughly recompose Ellington’s “Caravan” as an Afrobeat
incantation. Dwight Trible’s shouting lead vocal is matched in intensity
by a screaming alto saxophone solo from Michael Session—but it’s the
rhythmic troika of drummer Donald Dean, conguero Najite Agindotan, and
percussionist Bill Madison who hold the steady rolling sway. They’re
even more firmly in command (though they share duties with another,
bass-playing trio: Alan Hines, Trevor Ware, and Louis Large) on “Fela
Fela,” then a brand-new tribute to the recently deceased Fela Kuti, with
a harder-accented groove that carries the choir’s joyful Yoruba
singing. The museum’s visitors don’t seem particularly attentive; their
audible chatter makes Tapscott’s “Why Don’t You Listen?” seem
particularly on-the-nose. Perhaps frustration fuels that song’s
especially fiery performance, with Tapscott’s piano percolating even
more than Agindotan’s congas and the choir rising to a howl at the
midpoint (interpolated by a melancholy solo vocal from Carolyn
Whitaker). By its close, the audience responds fervently; you will too.
Michael J. West is a jazz journalist in Washington, D.C.
In addition to his work on the national and international jazz scenes,
he has been covering D.C.’s local jazz community since 2009. He is also a
freelance writer, editor, and proofreader, and as such spends most days
either hunkered down at a screen or inside his very big headphones. He
lives in Washington with his wife and two children.
THE MUSIC OF HORACE TAPSCOTT: AN EXTENSIVE VIDEO OVERVIEW, A CROSS SECTION OF RECORDINGS, MUSICAL ANALYSIS AND COMMENTARY, PLUS VARIOUS INTERVIEWS WITH TAPSCOTT:
Improvisation In Conversation conducts 1st of a series of interviews with Filmmaker, Barbara McCullough. She discusses her newly completed film, "Horace Tapscott; Musical Griot." The trailer is shown and promo information of upcoming screening is provided.
A BMVP/BenPin Music Production
Kofi Natambu, editor of and contributor to Sound Projections, is a writer, poet, cultural critic, and political journalist whose poetry, essays, criticism, reviews, and journalism have appeared in many literary magazines, journals, newspapers, and anthologies. He has written extensively about music as a critic and historian for many publications, including the Black Scholar, Downbeat, Solid Ground: A New World Journal, Detroit Metro Times, KONCH, the Panopticon Review,Black Renaissance Noire, the Village Voice, the City Sun (NYC), the Poetry Project Newsletter (NYC), and the African American Review. He is the author of a biography Malcolm X: His Life & Work (Alpha Books) and two books of poetry: The Melody Never Stops (Past Tents Press) and Intervals (Post Aesthetic Press). He was the founder and editor of Solid Ground: A New World Journal, a national quarterly magazine of the arts, culture, and politics and the editor of a literary anthology Nostalgia for the Present (Post Aesthetic Press). Natambu has read his work throughout the country and given many lectures and workshops at academic and arts institutions. He has taught American literature, literary theory and criticism, cultural history and criticism, film studies, political science, creative writing, philosophy, critical theory, and music history and criticism (Jazz, Blues, R&B, Hip Hop) at many universities and colleges. He was also a curator in the Education Department of Detroit’s Museum of African American History. Born in Detroit, Michigan, Natambu currently lives in Berkeley, California with his wife Chuleenan.
Horace Tapscott 
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