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Newport - Day 3 

August 6, 2018 

Sunday 

 
Today there are so many women at this festival that it's impossible to catch them all. As much as we'd love to see Jazzmeia Horn, our loyalty is to our friend Nicole Mitchell. We are excited to witness her debut at Newport and arrive early enough to catch her soundcheck. We spot her husband, Calvin Gantt, on his way in and he joins us in the third row. This is the closest we've been to a Newport stage so far. 

Once the previous group clears the stage and the crew starts the setup for Dusty Wings, the band comes in. We shout greetings to Nicole and Fay, who acknowledge us, then engage in the final steps of show prep – mic placements, monitor adjustments and the prayer circle. Once the group is introduced, the music takes flight – lush harmonies, head bopping rhythms, wordless vocal explorations – and entrances us. Taylor Ho Bynum’s cornet and fluegelhorn playing combines beautifully with Nicole’s flutes and Fay Victor’s voice. Rashaan Carter? And Shirazette Tinnin provide the rhythmic foundation for Nicole’s original compositions, including “Intuition,” “He Shimmered,” a tribute to AACM co-founder Muhal Richard Abrams, “Dusty Wings Tinged With Gold,”and a parting number reminding us that our lives are “ours to design.” 

We join in the well deserved standing ovation. Then I follow Calvin backstage to congratulate the musicians and take a few pics. Nicole expressed her delight and gratitude that Zahra and I were in the audience for what she would later call a “milestone.” 

We then scurried off to catch more performances – a hard choice.  Finding room again in front of the Fort Adams big screen, we lowered ourselves into our rental chairs, awkward and painful for me. A neighbor offered her higher chair, but I declined. “I’m down now” was my embarrassed response. And down I stayed through sets by Artemis, a women’s super group, and Charles Lloyd. I was pleased that I’d already featured most of the women in my social media posts and now actually had a chance to experience them in performance.  This powerhouse band included vocalist Cecile McLorin Salvant, pianist Renee Rosnes, clarinetist Anat Cohen, saxophonist Melissa Aldana, Ingrid Jensen on trumpet, Noriko Ueda on bass, and Allison Miller on drums. 

I reflected on the phenomena of musical taste. Nicole’s music touched my soul, whereas the couple next to us obviously couldn’t relate to her, leaving her set early. The music that I love most makes me move and literally fills me up, a physical sensation that starts in my chest and moves to the top of my head. Once I feel that, I’m pretty much good to go. 

The beauty of Newport, and of Christian Mc Bride’s selection of musicians, was that there was literally something for everyone. You could plant yourself at one of the four stages and spend the entire day there. Or you could move around, sampling and searching for your groove. 

We stayed at the Fort Adams stage to hear saxophonist Charles Lloyd, a longtime favorite of mine. The festival was celebrating his 80th birthday and featured him in performances all three days. George Wein, the festival’s creator, even came on stage to introduce this honored guest. After a few beautiful numbers, Lloyd was joined by Lucinda Williams, with whom he’d done a recent recording. The audience gave these veterans lots of love and, after their set, waited in a long line for their autographs. 

After being helped to my feet from that awful rental chair, I walked with Zahra in search of food and more music. We ran into Dusty Wings folk, networking and reflecting on Nicole’s Newport debut. We delighted in witnessing the interaction between Nicole and George Wein, who warmly affirmed her presence at his big party. We also caught a bit of Jane Bunnett and Maqueque, an all women’s group from Cuba. 

Then we went back to “the Fort” to see Gregory Porter, who we listen to a lot at home and saw once at Chicago’s Millennium Park. His beautiful voice and loving energy are worth experiencing time and again. We enjoyed singing along to our favorites, including his finale “There will be no love dying here.” It was another emotionally full moment and a fitting end to my Newport adventure.

Newport - Day 2 

Saturday 

August 4, 2018 

RAIN 

At every turning point we questioned going forward and chose to go just a little further.  We reached the parking lot and couldn’t see the point of going out in rain like this and flash flood warnings dinging our phones. 

Why weren’t they shutting down the festival for the day?!! 

We napped briefly, then decided to brave the elements, since the rainfall seemed lighter. We agreed that Misery would signal an end to our day. Inundation at the shuttle line and a “Why are you here?!” from security personnel deterred us not. 

We waded through the umbrellaed throngs, finding a spot to listen to one Pat Metheny song. Soaked  to the skin, water pooling in our shoes, we gave each other the sign and headed for the gate with its NO REENTRY sign. 

Back in the car our Newport app declared the weather event OVER and the fest ON for the rest of the day. We focused not on who we were missing, rather on our need for relief from our everywhere wetness. 

Each day we make peace with our choices.

Newport Jazz Festival - Day 1 

 Friday, August 3 

Storyteller friend Valerie Tutson met us for breakfast in our hotel. We did some delightful catching up, reflecting on our artistic practice, and brainstorming an exciting retreat idea. Then we embarked on our Newport Jazz Festival adventure. 

Surprised by a brief rain shower, Zahra and I made the drive from Warwick, RI to Newport anyway, a gorgeous one hour trip. The GPS confused me at the fork for Newport, necessitating some rerouting and backtracking. But we arrived at Fort Adams State Park, parked the car, and took the school bus shuttle to the festival entrance, where our backpacks were searched and we were wanded by security. 

We made it to the Fort Adams stage in time to see the DIVA Jazz Orchestra, a multi-generational all women’s big band based in New York. It’s DIVA’s 25th year, but first appearance at Newport. Bandleader/drummer Sherrie Maricle graciously acknowledged Christian McBride’s invitation. This reassured me that my continued musical efforts can still bear more fruit. I loved that each composition the band performed had been composed by a band member and usually featured a solo by the composer and one or two other instrumentalists. 

At the conclusion of DIVA’s performance we had planned to move to another stage, but saw that an organ (Zahra’s favorite) was being set up for the next act, Cory Henry and the Funk Apostles. This group performed a mix of covers and original tunes. Every band member was masterful and the funk was in full effect. 

Although organist/lead singer Cory Henry’s messages were about love and hope, there was also an urgency that spoke to these troubled times. Reworked lyrics like “we all got to be staying alive” and “life goin’ nowhere, somebody help me please” nearly brought me to tears. By the end of the Funk Apostles set, I was so full that I didn’t even want to hear any more music for a while. 

Nonetheless, we rolled up our blanket and walked to the Harbor Stage, where Alicia Olatuja’s performance had already begun. There were no seats available, no shade, and no place to spread a blanket, so we stood in the sun and listened to this gifted vocalist. After hearing a couple of songs, I left to seek relief on several levels. 

Zahra joined me later and we shopped a bit and pondered our next move, finally opting to leave the festival for the day. The sun had taken its toll. More endurance needed for the rest of the weekend. 

When parking earlier, we hadn’t noticed our parking lot number. So we got off the shuttle bus at the wrong lot. After much searching we were aided by a young man in a golf cart who reunited us with our rental car. 

Our car antics resumed after we purchased groceries and sandwiches at a strip mall on the way to our hotel. I punched the wrong option on my phone and then couldn’t access the GPS for directions to the hotel. So Zahra activated hers which said “turn right, turn left.” Then “get in the left lane, turn right, make a U-turn.” WTF!! Then both our phones started talking at the same time – one was pointing us to the highway; the other gave directions back to the grocery store. We had some good laughs and eventually reached our destination.

Heading to Newport 

August 1, 2018 

Today I took my electric guitar and electric bass to the Montessori school. The four and five year olds had some prior experience (“Daddy has one of those”) and made thoughtful observations about electricity and about the instruments. The two and three year olds enjoyed dancing to my rocked out versions of some of our favorite songs, especially “La Bamba.” 

My afternoon private lessons were interesting. It was only my second lesson with my new adult student. He brought in one of his church songs and we decoded it.   His challenges were in feeling the one and fulfilling his job as timekeeper.  Bringing in a written bass part for “Oye Como Va” helped him understand the tune a bit better. 

My revelation for the day was the teen who’s been with me for several months. Just when I thought I’d given him all I could for the sitar, I discovered that he can’t read music. “Don’t make any assumptions” continues to be my life lesson. This teen is so sharp, talented, intuitive and musically experienced that I never assessed his skill set. Duh. 

The work day done, we turned to tying up loose ends and packing for the trip. We slept for a maximum of three hours, then left for the airport at 4 a.m. 

August 2 

My wheelchair attendant was very chatty and revealed a lot about herself in this statement: “Today’s a good day to get out of Chicago. There’s gonna be trouble – protesters and Lollapalooza.” 

What made her think that two black women wouldn’t be in favor of a march to remind our white neighbors and visitors that gun violence in our neighborhoods should be their problem too. And what’s wrong with young people gathering to experience music? 

Both flights (O’Hare to Washington, then a smaller jet to Providence) were uncomfortable – cramped seating. On the second plane I was assigned the very last seat, next to the bathroom. It was an hourlong sensory nightmare. As I stood up to exit, my left kneecap popped out of socket and I was momentarily stuck in a very painful position. 

While waiting for me to emerge, Zahra was met with rudeness as she inquired about my wheelchair. This woman was so brash that she didn’t even linger for a tip.  Guess she doesn’t get many.

A Full July 

July 26, 2018 

July has been a perfect month. Within it, I have been able to express and experience every aspect of my current self: 

Mother/Grandmother – conversations with Keewa and time with her children. A moment that has sustained me: Faraz hears my voice at the bottom of the stairs and yells “Mommy! Mommy! Grandma’s here!! Grandma’s here!!” Then he waits for me at the door. Warm fuzzies. 

Wife/Collaborator – every moment with Z is a gift. Traveling to DC together was joyful, even when it was hard. We care and take care of each other. We performed this summer in every grouping we’ve created: ShaZah doing Wiggleworms at Navy Pier; Classic Black at Night Out in the Parks; Freedom Song Leaders at Square Roots; Sitarsys at Evanston World Arts & Music Festival. Additionally, we’ve experienced music together at Sisterfire and The Color Purple. 

Storyteller/Musician – shows in Genoa, Western Springs, Millennium Park, and Willye White Park. 

Teaching Artist – Wiggleworms at Old Town School and Montessori Gifted Prep; private lessons with K (sitar) and W (bass). 

Writer/Researcher – Continuing daily Instagram and facebook posts on musical women; documenting Sisterfire experiences; conducting interviews in DC. 

Daughter – taking Mother shopping and to renew her driver’s license (at 92!!); including her in gigs and outings (Chase Park, Evanston, Color Purple). 

I love my life!!

Sisterfire Day 2 

July 8, 2018 

Sunday 

Today is the big Sisterfire Festival day. We get a slow start, though, opting to skip the picnic. Instead we get carryout sandwiches and head for the 2 pm Narrative stage. Our Uber driver doesn’t know her way around DC. She finally drops us at the opposite end of The Mall from where we need to be (I really think she thought we were going to a shopping mall). We’re relieved to be out of her car and make the trek to the Folklife Festival site. Along the way we see Catalonians building a human tower and spot the location of our evening concert. 

We’re late, but we do hear poetry – Black Radical Lesbian Poetry. I especially like the butch who spoke of her feminism not pleasing anyone: too masculine for some (not feminine enough), not masculine enough for others (too feminine). I want a copy of that poem, for I identify completely. 

In another piece, this same poet refers to Gil Scott Heron: “The revolution will not be televised…the revolution will be LIVE.” This reveals myself to me as no longer believing that a revolution is coming – though it’s needed now more than ever. Total systemic change, Really? In my lifetime? 

Leaving the Narrative stage, I freeze when I have a chance to approach Toshi Reagon. This is a very different me than the one who was boldly confident enough to get interviews from Alice Coltrane and Mary Lou Williams. How do I expect to get this project done; to reach goals I’ve set for myself and for which I’ve been funded? 

In looking for a spot in which to eat our sandwiches, we stumble upon the festival picnic area and are urged to join those who are still there. We meet Kali Morgan, a dreadlocked leather merchant/sexuality expert who tells us about Sister Space, an upcoming festival. Her festival partner, Jo-Ann McIntyre, gives me an interview right then and there, pulling in a longtime producer of women’s events, Polly Laurelchild-Hertig. All three express an interest in our music and my project, which Z keeps urging me to talk about. My different endeavors, though related, seem compartmentalized in my brain, making it hard for me to promote everything at once. 

We arrive late to the next event but hear most of the introductions and the performance by In Process, giving me a glimpse of what I might look like on stage five or ten years from now: old, lively, not elderly. The discussion and Q&A center around creating spaces for WOC performers (a Roadwork mission) and passing the torch to young women interested in “the work.” The daughter of one of the In Process singers speaks to the importance of Roadwork when, as a teen, she got a chance to learn many aspects of concert production through that organization, paving the way for her work as an adult. 

After this session, we choose our place on the grass in front of the Ralph Rinzler Stage and await the main event, which opens with a welcome by the director of the Smithsonian Folklife Festival, Sabrina Lynn Motley. It’s inspiring to see a black woman in that position. As she describes the Smithsonian’s plans for the coming year, I can see us applying all of our performing entities, there and at the Kennedy’s Millennium Stage. 

Toshi Reagon and Big Lovely come on as pure fire, black lesbian rock and roll. Toshi’s energy and command of her band and the stage defy her difficulty walking on the festival grounds. Big Lovely is a tight band, made even more impressive as it serves as house band throughout the evening, including performances by Martha Redbone, a singer-songwriter whose message reflects her identity as Black and Native (Cherokee, Choctaw) and Sudanese-American performer Alsarah. 

In addition to Big Lovely and Martha Redbone, my favorite performances of the evening are: 

  • Urban Bush Women, represented at first by a lone dancer – tall, thin, dark, wild haired, powerful warrior kind of woman. She enthralls the audience with her strength and grace, as she creates lines and shapes across the stage. She is then joined by three other women who match her in beauty and power. Their feet become percussion instruments, in choreography reminiscent of the South African gumboot dance. 
  • Holly Near, veteran of the Women’s Music movement and crowd favorite. Her lyrics and banter speak to the current political climate, the need for activism, and the personal experiences of love, loss, and aging. There is an earnestness to her singing that touches and opens the heart and a familiarity with her songs that inspires the attendees to sing, dance, and rejoice. Surely the roar of “We’re still here!!” can be heard for miles. 
  • Ariel Horowitz, classical violinist (who also played in the house band). Daughter of Roadwork co-founder, Amy Horowitz, her virtuoso performance is stunning.
  •  The Bernice Johnson Reagon Songbook, featuring the retired master of song herself under Toshi’s leadership. Although this closing set is rather long, it includes enough soul-stirring renditions of Sweet Honey in the Rock favorites and freedom songs to send us off full and satisfied. 

I am left, however, with a question about why this festival, a celebration of diverse women's voices, is not attended by more people of color. What is the disconnect between women's music and black music lovers, especially in "Chocolate City?" Is it the lyrical content? homophobia? distrust? a lack of outreach/partnerships?

I long for the day when walls fall down.

Sisterfire Day 1 

July 7, 2018 

  

We stay in, relaxing and luxuriating with Law & Order and bits of movies on HBO – a big screen contrast to our tiny screen options at home (yes, we love TV). we arrange meetups and emerge to join the line at the Kennedy Center – a beautiful artistic place.  The venue is smaller than we expected, but it’s free and we’re excited. 

We are dressed for the occasion: me in yellow with purple; Z in blues and oranges. An aged belle behind us compliments our clothing and we converse about age and place. Her husband joins us. The line moves. We find good seats, saving two for the others in our party. The venue fills. We spot Holly Near and Toshi Reagon. 

We hold the seats for as long as we can. I’m sitting next to our companions in line and note that she is referring to us and others as “gal” and “girl”. They’ve already let us know that they don’t know what they’re in for.  They manage to make it through the first set of Be Steadwell’s “queer pop”; of beats and layers and beat box; of “I love her” and “they wish they could fuck like us.” But when the MC asks us to clap and stomp if we think something’s wrong with our country, then the white house, then trump, the old couple bolts. We have dishonored the one they blindly follow. 

Carolyn Malachi then uses her techno gear for drumbeats and the voice of MLK. Kandra Rutledge rocks the bass while Carolyn sings and raps and sings some more, closing with a fresh take on “Four Women,” an anthem for this new day. 

Toshi takes the stage to introduce Ysaye, our star/teacher/root woman. Overalls, bald pate, bracelets. Actually, one arm braceleted; the other showing frailty. But she is strong and sings a prayer; providing context and correction in Kumbayah. “Don’t give them a pass when they trivialize the pain and longing in that song.” 

Ysaye then calls up the spirit of Odetta – “Take this hammer and sing when the power of the women comes down.” Me and Z and a few others take the bass. It is low. We are few. She makes us stand. Z’s voice is strong and beautiful. I do what I can to hold it under harmony and counterpoint. We all rejoice in the community of song. 

Tristen and Angela, then Taylor, join us as we file out. We make Chicago and Howard connections, then Uber to the afterset, stopping first to explore the Tibet and African shops.  There are so many stairs everywhere we go. My knees cry out on the descents, but I am determined. 

We are carded at the gay bar, then greeted warmly at the top of the stairs. There are gatherings of women and gatherings of men. Tristen and Taylor play foosball and video games, while we meet and mingle with the women, who know us now as “the bass singers.” There’s a sister from Oakland and a neighbor from Chicago. We inherit a table and are joined by T & T, then a new friend for Burkina Faso via Paris. There is laughter and sarcasm. Then hunger kicks in. As we leave I am stopped by the woman who got one of our saved seats. She thanks me for making her night with my joyful singing. 

We go for falafels. I can’t bear another set of stairs. I people watch and fall in love with Angela, who has given so freely of her time and presence – Zahra’s friend for the ages. 

All but one of our Uber drivers has been male African. We try to connect with each one. None has been to Chicago. But here we are. Together for a moment. Sharing our Blackness.

Washington, D.C. 

July 6, 2018 

Friday 

We enjoy 

the spaciousness 

Of our King suite 

A wall sized window 

The lack of deadlines and alarms 

And each other 

Eventually 

We extricate ourselves 

From our hotel paradise 

To explore The Mall 

That holds the hopes 

And dreams of protesters 

And inaugural attendees 

We find a panel of disparate musicians, 

Roma and Baul 

Whose purity of spirit and song 

Entrance us 

I step out of my zone of comfort 

Moving forward to pose a question 

About the women in their cultures 

And delight in the Sufi’s answer 

About each of us containing 

Both male and female 

And about music being 

An attempt to reach 

The Divine 

In ourselves 

The Catalonian betrays a similarity 

That we, in our world, struggle against: 

Women only as singers and dancers. 

We spot our New Museum 

But can’t get in 

So we sit by its fountain 

Resting and longing for entry 

Even the gift shop causes 

Pangs of the heart 

We shall try again tomorrow 

(We do, and it is for naught) 

There is, however, more value 

In the day 

For our pilgrimage requires that 

We pay homage to our King 

Cab driver, accented black man, 

Says he knows the way 

But does not 

Dropping us, instead, 

To the memorial for FDR 

At which, despite our disappointment, 

We are inspired by his words 

His four terms 

And, of course, 

His Eleanor. 

A father and his daughter, 

Who we’ve met before 

(and will again) 

Point us in the right direction. 

We delight in the massiveness and 

Beauty of the statue of 

Martin 

He emerges from a mountain 

And gazes across the water 

To Lincoln? 

To the world he envisions 

For us? 

Will the children brought here 

Remember to pursue his 

Dream?

Airport Vignettes 

July 5, 2018  

 

Wheeling through back corridors 

Midway yields some surprises 

4th floor theme: The Art Institute 

Nat King Cole sings “Mona Lisa” 

3rd floor: Buckingham Fountain 

Dinah Washington’s lyrics 

Include a fountain 

 

My Baltimorean wheelchair attendant 

(yes, I ride in style) 

Sports a facial tattoo 

And others, the edges visible on her neck 

A nubby golden grill 

Baby locs 

And a winning personality 

As we share our hopes 

Of seeing OUR new museum 

She vaguely acknowledges 

Hearing about it 

But wonders how she’d ever 

Figure out how to get 

From Baltimore to DC 

We bond over the dangers 

Of living in our respective cities 

She works hard 

At staying busy 

And out of whatever 

Unspoken hell she’s been through

ShaZah: Wiggleworms at Navy Pier 

July 1, 2018 

Summer Morning 

EXCESSIVE HEAT WARNING 

We complain, but maintain 

Entertaining those 

Who value what we do so much 

That they endure the heat 

For as long as they can 

While we play on 

Finding joy 

In the musical moments 

That sustain us 

And our loyal people