I came across an album of his on Spotify the other day, On This Night, and what struck me outside of the obvious intensity of his playing, was how controlled and lyrical it often seemed as well. On this somewhat early date in Mr. Shepp's discography, his compositions are already highly organized, and his titles seem more akin to someone like Charles Mingus than any free jazz player of the time. Perhaps what makes this album great is the sheer fluidity of this music, how it goes from free-for-all to quiet and composed on a dime. This is helped by the stellar musicianship of the great vibist Bobby Hutcherson and various bassists (Henry Grimes, David Izenzon) and drummers (J.C. Moses, Rashied Ali, and appearances by Ed Blackwell on rhythm logs).
If Shepp was only recognized for his saxophone playing, he would probably still be recognized as a legend. However, what truly defines his music is an emphasis on the global civil rights struggle of his time; this reveals itself on this record in Shepp's poem "Malcolm, Malcolm, Semper Malcolm", a tribute to Malcolm X, and the modern classical-influenced title track, featuring a soprano singing a tribute to activist W. E. B. Dubois. Despite the bluster and gusto of Shepp's playing, his gruff saxophone sound reveals his connection to the tradition, harkening back to Coleman Hawkins and Ben Webster. Jazz: The Rough Guide describes Shepp's stance in the music as "curatorial", always with direct ties to black musical history; he basks in the tradition, but never succumbs to it. Even on this early date, song titles such as "The Original Mr. Sonny Boy Williamson" (referencing the eponymous blues musician) reveals Shepp's insight into the "big picture" of black music and culture.
Archie Shepp was born on May 24, 1937 in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. He was raised in Philadelphia and learned piano, clarinet and alto sax; he also studied theatre in college. After gigging around, switching to tenor and relocating to New York City, he landed a gig with the singular and controversial pianist Cecil Taylor. Soon after, he formed the New York Contemporary Five with altoist John Tchicai, bassist Don Moore, drummer J.C. Moses, and eventually, legendary trumpeter and Ornette Coleman collaborator Don Cherry. Despite Shepp's varied musical background, his experimental bend proved him an exponent of the "New Thing" in the public eye; this view of Shepp only increased when he was under the mentorship of the great John Coltrane.
Shepp was among the many younger players Coltrane took under his wing near the end of his life, the most prominent being fellow tenorist Pharoah Sanders; both played on Coltrane's seminal, controversial piece Ascension in 1965. The year before, Shepp released Four For Trane, an astoundingly mature tribute to his mentor featuring some clever, nuanced arrangements of Trane's music, and focused playing from some of the avant-garde giants at the time. On Syeeda's Song Flute, Shepp engages in a duel of sorts with trombonist Roswell Rudd; Mr. Syms features a clever Eastern-tinged introduction and some understated yet powerful soloing from Wayne Shorter's brother, flugelhornist Alan Shorter; the shimmering arrangement of Naima is wonderfully nuanced, and features more intense solo work from Shepp and Rudd; Cousin Mary swings ahead with Shepp and Shorter before featuring alto player John Tchicai, Shepp's Contemporary Five bandmate who also played with him on Coltrane's Ascension. Throughout, the whole thing is anchored by drummer Charles Moffett and another Coltrane veteran, bassist Reggie Workman.
Throughout this entire album, Shepp carries himself immensely well, coming off as a futuristic Coleman Hawkins on surface level, yet also revealing an already-wide breadth of knowledge and an early maturity. He also displays concepts likely inherited from Trane, but nowhere are they more evident (ironically enough) on the only non-Coltrane composition on the album: Shepp's own "Rufus", which fits oddly well with the other pieces. Despite the authorship, it is here that Shepp displays the most noticable influence from Trane in the layers of sound and sheer intensity of his solo; the song's inclusion on the album seems to symbolize Shepp, through Coltrane's graciousness, being handed a torch that he accepts the responsibility of carrying.
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| Shepp (left center) and mentor Coltrane, with producer Bob Thiele (far right) and pianist McCoy Tyner (far left) looking on. |
This is what sets Four for Trane apart from other tribute or cover albums: it displays Shepp's tendency to view the bigger picture, rather than simply blowing through a bunch of covers. Around this time, Shepp was introduced to the work of Malcolm X, who would become a guiding figure for him throughout his career. To add further context, Shepp was also an accomplished playwright, and around this time he finished his play The Communist; this album is a perfect example of coalescing musical material into a narrative like a playwright would for a play. It shows a much deeper attachment to the music despite, as Shepp himself recalls, the album resulting from a marketing tactic:
"It turns out that John had offered the prospect to record to a then-young saxophone player, Byron Allen, and Byron had known Trane through his brother, or something like that, and Trane had offered him the possibility to record for Impulse. Then he met with Bob Thiele, who had this gimmick he would use. He would tell all the new players — 'Well if you are going to take this option to record that Trane has offered you, you’ve got to play all his music.' Which would usually turn most of these avant gardists away. But I had been a student of Coltrane’s music for years, and I really liked his music..."
Despite the business move at play here, one has no idea of this from simply listening to the recording. Unlike other albums produced for the sake of marketing or reaching a wider audience, here Shepp and company take Trane's themes and abstract and stretch them to their limit, all without compromise. Even this early in his career, it shows Shepp is knee-deep in the tradition, while not becoming completely overshadowed by it. This would be continued in such landmark recordings as New Thing at Newport (double billed with Coltrane), Mama Too Tight, and The Magic of Ju-Ju.
Perhaps Shepp's masterpiece is 1972's Attica Blues, which took on a much grander scale more akin to a Motown recording; brass, strings, burning solos, vocals and poetry all combine into a portrait of Shepp as an orchestrator, worldbuilder, and civil rights activist. The album features a variety of musical styles and orchestral colors that give Shepp's perspective on civil rights much more weight. Attica Blues could also be seen as a successful attempt to continue the legacy Shepp started as a free musician, rather than have it dim out as much of the free jazz movement had.
Despite the above statement, from the opening strains the album proves to be quite accessible. The title track could easily be mistaken for an act such as Sly and the Family Stone (incidentally, it's worth noting that this album predates Herbie Hancock's Headhunters by a year). I believe Shepp makes the unusual aesthetic choices he does here in order to grab, and successfully keep, the listener's attention in order to reveal the deeper meaning contained. Aside from the title track, there's "Steam", a two-part track featuring a beautiful vocal melody with some colorful harmonies, later revealing a harder edge with dual violin and soprano sax soloing. "Blues for Brother George Jackson" at first sounds akin to a Mancini film score, but during the solos the percussion adds a shuffling, boiling rock energy. "Quiet Dawn", a tune by trumpeter/composer Cal Massey draws on bossa nova and traditional jazz, and features vocals by Massey's young daughter Waheeda.
This is also another fine example of Shepp the musical playwright, whose skill at crafting a deeply personal narrative is honed further on this album. Besides just music, the album also features poems (invocations) written by drummer Beaver Harris, and many of the other songs have evocative and attention-grabbing lyrics. This turns Attica Blues from an already outstanding collection of music into a narrative both personal and made for a wider public. The time of its release is significant, since it was meant to be a response to the Attica prison riots (Charles Mingus composed one such song of his own), but the message is not inherently political. Nor is it naïve dotings of "why can't everyone just get along?" It is often deeply poetic and profound, such as in "Ballad for a Child", featuring the lyric "what the whole world really needs is a baby's smile." Incidentally, during the same year, Shepp finished a play in collaboration with Massey entitled Lady Day: An American Tragedy, chronicling the life of Billie Holiday. It's fascinating that one of his more known plays surfaced the same year as what many consider his finest musical narrative.
On the other end of the spectrum is Shepp's 1976 live sax trio album Steam, featuring bassist Cameron Brown and drummer Beaver Harris. The chordless trio setting gives Shepp plenty of room to let loose, but it's interesting that most of the tracks are jazz standards like Duke Ellington's "Solitude" and Charlie Parker's "Ah-Leu-Cha". Something that intrigues me about Shepp is how he presents himself; while he donned traditional African clothes early in his career, like many of his peers, nowadays he mostly wears relatively plain, yet suave three- or four-piece suits. I mention that here because this album, Steam, seems to signify Shepp donning his "straightahead" clothes in terms of repertoire. Instead of many avant-players' attempts at playing straight-ahead that are mostly one-off attempts, such as Anthony Braxton's curious In the Tradition albums, Shepp's forays into traditional jazz act as heartfelt tributes that also expand his personal artistic vision. Here, he does not let the changes (or sometimes even forms) dominate how he navigates the tunes. Instead, he charges ahead with a force that colors him tempted to abandon the song altogether, even though he never quite gets there.
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| The debonair Archie Shepp. |
This is what sets Shepp the traditionalist apart from modern neo-traditionalism: his acknowledgement of tradition does not hinder, but rather expands and informs his already-solidified individual voice. This makes it more apparent that what he plays is intrinsically connected to those who came before him, paving the way for new, younger blood in the future. A perfect example of this comes from Shepp's most recent album Let My People Go, a collection of duets with pianist Jason Moran released just last year. If there's anything to be noticed up front about this music, it's that age has done very little to hold Shepp back. His tenor playing, previously evocative of an erupting volcano, has now simmered to boiling lava, still featuring sparks aplenty. Moran proves an able duet partner, showing restraint and thought, but bursting with color when required; he also shares a similar "big-picture" viewpoint with Shepp, having been involved with art galleries and multimedia projects. The particular track I want to look at is the pair's take on Billy Strayhorn's iconic ballad Isfahan.
Before the pair are even shown in this video, the atmosphere is perfectly established by Shepp's breathy, delicate but heavy sound and Moran's sensitive backgrounds. When the pair comes into view it's not at all surprising; from the color palette and cinematography to Shepp's elegant suit and fedora, it's very nearly a tribute to film noir. Musically, both ends deliver a tour-de-force of intimate duet playing with each player serving equal importance. Moran delivers some inspired responses to Shepp's phrases, especially when the heat turns up, and Shepp leaves plenty of space in his playing for Moran to contribute; despite the moments of intensity, neither player is overshadowed by the other. It's also worth mentioning that neither player strays much from the melody; if anything, their music comes from reinterpreting and abstracting it. Throughout, the melody is the constant string that keeps the listener's attention, giving Shepp and Moran plenty of wiggle room for some very inspired moments, especially during Shepp's last turn on the melody.
To sum up, creating this post has increased my respect and admiration for Mr. Shepp. At 84 years old, he is one of the few creative musicians in his age group who has not yet run out of steam. His wide-reaching global/sociopolitical perspective is very inspiring for those who wish to pursue music as a form of storytelling and reflecting the world the way one sees it. Mr. Shepp's playing is also very inspiring to me for its reflection of so many different styles and periods, perhaps suggesting that style is both everything and nothing. Shepp perfectly encapsulates the age-old quote, "be the change you wish to see in the world." I truly hope you find as much inspiration in Mr. Shepp's work as I have.
Epilogue
Mr. Shepp has a very expansive discography, which consists mostly of his own records; hence, what I have highlighted here doesn't begin to capture the many directions his career has taken. Besides the albums I've listed already, here are some more you should check out:
- Archie Shepp + New York Contemporary Five - This is among Shepp's finest early work, featuring him alongside such giants as John Tchicai and Don Cherry.
- The Magic of Ju-Ju - This was the first Shepp album I ever heard. I stumbled across it somehow freshman year of high school and I thought his playing was amazing; now that I better understand it, it's still amazing. Highlights include "Sorry 'Bout That" and the scintillating title track.
- Montreux One - Here is documentation of Shepp's middle-career phase, confronting more straightahead material such as "Lush Life" and his own "U-Jamaa".
- Hi-Fly (Karin Krog) - Besides vocalist Krog, Shepp is the main soloist and gets co-star billing. This front-line pairing proves to work quite well on such tunes as Shepp's "Steam", Randy Weston's title track, and an old favorite of this blog, Carla Bley's "Sing Me Softly of the Blues".
Furthermore, here are some links to some great interviews with Mr. Shepp that I used in part for this article:
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