On December 5, 1991 I brought a group into the Knitting Factory with Julius Hemphill to perform and record a new CD project which I called New Tango ’92, inspired in large part because of my new-found appreciation for Astor Piazzolla. Beyond that I felt that I had to prove that this whole “world music” thing, which was all the rage at the time, could be done better than most jazz people had been doing it. On too many recordings of that day that I heard, world music meant shallow reference to various exotic locales, enhanced by smooth-jazz-like vamps and fake funk. Jazz and funk had always seemed, to my ears, like strangers in a strange land; jazz people tended to think that anything with a throbbing backbeat was funky, as long as the soloist recited a series of blue cliches with fake-soul saxophone tones.
I thought differently, that true jazz/funk was a matter of time and phrasing, of moving away from the cliches of soul music (which did it better than jazz people anyway) and using advanced improvisational techniques to wring certain old-style nuances out of new-style music. It required a good, strong beat, yes, but one that was fragmented by new-jazz’s adventurous accents, plying the typical blues phraseology of soul and funk with deeper chromatics and free-style harmonic jumps; all animated by a true old-time feeling, which had little to do with the prevailing jazz/funk style, which seemed to consist of a recitation of established and oversimplified ideas. There was no one better at doing this than the great saxophonist/composer Julius Hemphill. This was my second recording with Julius, a deep, sweet soul who was quiet and, on the surface, impassive. He apparently saved it all for the horn, where he was a powerful and all-knowing universe unto himself.
His composing, of course, was equally brilliant. I once heard Vinny Golia say that “Julius is the Duke Ellington of the avant garde,” and of course this was true in everything Julius did, from soloing to writing. He was a master and a good guy to boot. He agreed to appear with us at the Knitting Factory and my group consisted of him, Robert Rumbolz on trumpet, John Rapson on trombone, Paul Austerlitz on clarinet, Jeff Fuller on bass, Ray Kaczynski on drums, and myself on tenor sax. I hired the great David Baker to record us (live to 2-track) and he did a magnificent job.
The resultant CD was one of the best things I have ever done. Here I am posting one of my favorites from the concert. Louis Armstrong, back in the 1930s, recorded a tribute to marijuana called Song of the Vipers, so I wrote a piece for this project called March of the Vipers. Listen closely; the rhythm section of Fuller and Kaczynski is perfect, and the soloists, myself, Julius, Rapson and Rumbolz, make this into a high point of the CD (pun intended).
I will post various things over the next months from this night at the Knitting Factory, including a piece recorded by Doc Cheatham, about 85 at the time, in my New Haven living room about a month earlier. It’s a modal prelude to the project, and Doc played it beautifully.
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