ABBEY LINCOLN / “Throw It Away”

I have a lot to say and I don't like the world that I found myself in, that I was created to be in. I was brought here, but I don't like this 'here.' It's the pits! If I wasn't able to access myself through the work, I would have dropped dead a long time ago. I couldn't have stood it here.
—Abbey Lincoln
 

When Abbey Lincoln sings it sounds like she's crying. She also has the slight slur of someone who's worked hard to recover from a stroke. Not that I'm saying she's actually had one (or hasn't - I really don't know); if you listen to her classic records, that overly-soft way with consonants was there even then. Singing – the kind of singing I like, at least – is funny that way: perfection is generally unimportant. What is important is soul, and Abbey has that in spades.
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When Abbey sings, you believe the words. When Abbey sings, you sometimes feel things you didn't know you could feel and think things you've never thought about before. Her singing adds dimensions to simple songs and clarifies confusing ones. When Abbey sings, you know what she means even when you don't know what she means.

I know that Abbey was once associated, both professionally and matrimonially, with jazz drummer Max Roach. I know that she's held in high regard by critics and fans alike and I know that her voice (supposedly) isn't what it used to be. Other than that, Kalamu will have to fill in the blanks. The only other things I know about Abbey are the songs I like.
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I like a lot of her older music, but the three I'm putting in the jukebox are from Abbey’s (relatively) recent albums on Verve. "Throw It Away" and "Storywise" are from her fantastic 1995 album A Turtle's Dream. “Throw It Away” sounds like a contemplation of the famous saying that begins “If you love something, set it free.”

“Keep your hand wide open,” Abbey says, “if you’re needing anything.”

“Storywise” reminds me of Sun Ra when he covers standards: the song is ostensibly cheery, but there’s a certain melancholy and intelligence in the performance of the lyrics that suggests there’s more going on than the obvious.

The instrumentation of both songs is strong enough that they’d work even without Abbey’s superb vocals. “Throw It Away” floats in and out of your consciousness like the soundtrack to a dream. “Storywise” flits along happily—a butterfly in Dixieland—before suddenly shifting to a bluesy half-time groove. Listening to these tunes I have to keep reminding myself that the composer is the singer and the singer is the composer. In the world of jazz, that usually isn’t the way it works.

There’s one more tune I want to include this week and it’s "I Should Care" from Abbey’s 1994 release When There Is Love, a recording of duets with pianist Hank Jones. "I Should Care" isn’t an Abbey Lincoln original. It’s a standard and as such, it’s written in the old style: a story disguised as a song. There's a set-up, a conflict and a pay-off and Abbey takes her time with all three, especially the pay-off...even if it is only three short words long.

—Mtume ya Salaam


          Down Here Below         

I drink Turtle’s Dream. It’s medicinal.

On the 24th of March 2007 I make 60 years old. I move much more slowly thru the ruins and rough weather of post-Katrina New Orleans. But I have to shine, be firelight, a beacon for the youth to see but not necessarily to follow. I'd rather be used as their torch light as they choose and navigate their own journeys forward. My responsibility—or I should say the responsibility I have assumed—is to give to the youth. I have not so much energy left, and only a few years. But there is a truck load of experience rivering my gut and endless compassion palpitating in my chest, both my heart and my gut support a clear-eyed oppositional thought and practice that proffers to the youth the often painful mirror of truth (as best I can tell it, i.e. like Amilcar Cabral said: tell no lies, claim no easy victories).

Turtle’s Dream. Literally. This music could be my elder statement if I were as wise and beautiful as Abbey is. I constantly dream of being so. Listen to this music. And dream. And work. To be the beauty of lamplight used by youth as they seek to make sense out of the confusion of 21st century life.
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Listen to “Being Me.”

One of my former students called me the other day. I joked I must be talking to a clone because this does not sound like the person I know. She replied she had bad news. Her mother died on Mardi Gras day. Thursday, March 1st, my friend Doug had to go to the emergency ward at the hospital. Touro’s waiting room looked like Charity (the pre-hurricane public hospital) used to look, only not as large. People were sprawled throughout the forty-by-twenty foot (or so) room in various states of physical and emotional discomfort. You’d have to leave the city to find another emergency room. That’s right, if you have an emergency you might have to leave town to get treatment. I’m sitting there with my friend Doug and with his primary caretaker, Carol. The three of us. And I look around. I’m emotionally in an utter funk. I try to make jokes to keep Doug from feeling too weary and whipped. All the time I’m hearing Abbey singing: “Down Here Below.” Down. Here. Below.

Damn. It is one of life’s great mysterious miracles how we can make pain sound so beautiful. How we can hammer the syllables of “hurt” and literally beat them into “hope.”

You might not understand my words, but listen to the music and you’ll catch my meaning. Thank you Abbey Lincoln. Asante sana (thank you very much).

—Kalamu ya Salaam

P.S. (I'm writing this one day after writing the above.) I really should say a bit more—not that it will be any easier to comprehend, but there is another facet I think I ought to focus on.

Like a coterie of conscious jazz musicians before her, America forced Abbey into exile. She changed her name for a third time and became Aminata Mosaka. I don't know if you have ever talked with some of the folk whose lives depended on fleeing these shores but it is a sobering conversation.  There is nothing romantic about going into exile. Especially when racism and capitalism runs you out of America and, in order to continue your career, you end up in Europe. It is a really, really complex reality, not easily talked about, not easily understood. Do you know what it means for a person born in diaspora to be forced from a counry where they were born but a country that has never fully been their homeland? The diasporan double displacement!

That's why it is miraculous when any Black someone survives exile with their body, mind and soul intact, not to mention survives it and returns to tell the tale. You will notice that roughly half of the music in this week's jukebox comes from one album: A Turtle's Dream. (Do I need to say more?) OK? Do you understand?

A Turtle's Dream comes from the tail end of Abbey's career. We Insist is from the early years. Insist is about urging on the warriors. Dream is post-battle, twilight reflections. I think we all need both. We do. We need to fight forward. We need to reflect on the past. We need all of that.

Abbey Lincoln is an amazing woman. She has been steady forward for over fifty years. Fifty years of tender fierceness. Please, please listen to her.

 

 

 

This entry was posted on Sunday, March 4th, 2007 at 1:02 am and is filed under Contemporary. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.


One Response to “ABBEY LINCOLN / “Throw It Away””

C. Aldridge Says:
March 18th, 2007 at 1:25 pm

Thank you for being real and original. Love your work!


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