I've talked about my grandfather before; he and my father have always been my musical mentors. Their passion for music was infectious, and I caught the bug early on. Between the two of them, I was pretty much exposed to all of the great music in my life. So jazz wasn’t something out of the ordinary or strange to me as a kid growing up. My pops used to tell me stories about how, as a teen, he and his boys would get together to play jazz records and just party—to jazz. I witnessed firsthand the power of the music, as I was fortunate enough to spend many hours with my grandfather. Having grown up running packages for the real gangsters in Italian Harlem (before it became known as Spanish Harlem), my grandfather was a real old-school jazz head. I can remember his ritual of getting a beer, turning off the TV, and sitting down in "his" chair staring straight ahead at the stereo, completely engaged as Jackie McLean traded eights with Webster Young.
This is what jazz meant to me as a young kid, and by the time I was in junior high, I was checking out Jaco Pastorius cassettes from the public library. But high school mostly meant a steady supply of hip-hop, rock, and pop, and it wasn't until college that I would really dig deeper into jazz. But when I did, I never turned back. Today, jazz is the music of a small minority, with most people hanging onto limiting definitions of the music, while others have drained the life out if and turned it into smooth background drive. But here at Wax Poetics, we still have much love for jazz. And while we do show respect to the more traditional side, we're mostly attracted to the often-maligned funkier side of jazz. This is the side that delivered the joints that got our attention in the 90s because of cats like DJ Premier and Pete Rock flipping them into hip-hop classics.
While we've featured more than our fair share of jazz heroes, this is the first time we've devoted an entire issue to them. In typical fashion, we've kept it left of center and anything but traditional, providing a range of legends, both known and unknown. While Coltrane graces the cover, it's Creed Taylor who stands front and center. If there was ever someone who taken the heat for funky jazz, it's this genius producer extraordinaire. Sure, the purists will give him credit for his work at Verve and founding Impulse, even for blowing up bossa nova in the States, but when it comes to CTI, they're not really riding with him. But ask any real head, and they'll quickly tell you that without classic tracks like "Take Me to the Mardi Gras" or "Nautilus,” hip-hop just wouldn't be the same. So we give Creed his props, because even if they didn't get it then, we get it now. CTI isn't just about the music, it's the complete package. From the meticulous production to the inspired photography and design, Creed Taylor knew what he wanted, and it worked. The label put out some of the most distinctive jazz music of the last century and sold a lot of records in the process.
So it's Creed who leads this issue's Band of Outsiders, a group of jazz rebels who worked against the grain, following their singular vision and moving the music forward. We get the opportunity to talk with Richard Evans about his distinct brand of soul-jazz at Cadet, have a final conversation with Joel Dom about his golden period at Atlantic, and dig into Horace Tapscott's Los Angeles spiritual jazz collective, the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra. Each one of these innovation redefined jazz by following their gut, some calculating tremendous commercial success selling millions, others content merely reaching the local community.
We like to occupy the space somewhere in the middle, building our community of dedicated followers into legions of Wax Poetics evangelists preaching the good wood throughout the land. So your favorite band of outside continues its tradition of providing nothing but the best in music history. It's getting greaser by the day out there, but rest assured that we'll be here grinding away on the low throughout this economic trough.
The recession's not the only thing on our mind; it's been a bit emotional over the last month with the passing of a couple of individuals that were very much a part of the Wax Poetics family. We had grown close to Lyman Woodard while working on the reissue of his seminal Saturday Night Special LP when he unexpectedly passed just a month shy of its release. He will be sorely missed, yet his music lives on for eternity. Even closer to home has been the passing of John Joseph Nevins II, the father of Wax Poetics family member Amir Abdullah and a big inspiration and source of jazz knowledge throughout Amir's life. His presence has been indirectly felt by many through his son, and will continue to live on. It is in his memory that we dedicate this issue.
They say in death comes life, and that's comforting to know. I can rest reassured it's all going to be all right when thinking about my own sons. When a classmate's mother asked him what kind of music he likes, my oldest son Miles instinctively responded, "Jazz!" Now that's what I'm talking about.
Don't stop the groove.
