Matana Roberts - Coin Coin, Chapter Two: Mississippi Moonchile (2013)

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www.cstrecords.com


COIN COIN Chapter Two: Mississippi Moonchile is the much-anticipated new installment of Matana Roberts' unique and forward-looking project. Guided by an aesthetic practice she has dubbed 'panoramic sound quilting' (partly in homage to the literal handicraft heritage of her patrilineal line), COIN COIN finds Roberts conjuring some of the most nuanced, thoughtful and substantial American liberation music of the 21st century.
COIN COIN has also been a profoundly generous and collaborative process for Roberts, who has been developing various chapters of the COIN COIN cycle with a wide range of musicians from diverse backgrounds over many years. The hugely acclaimed Chapter One: Gens de couleur libres was the culmination of two years of regular visits to Montréal and featured fifteen musicians assembled from that city's out-jazz, experimental and avant-rock scenes. Chapter Two: Mississippi Moonchile was developed for a more intimately woven New York jazz sextet and was recorded with this group in late 2012, following several years of local and international performances of the piece with this line-up.
Mississippi Moonchile takes the next leap forward in Roberts' iconoclastic and complex project of memory and recuperation, where historical and contemporary musical tropes, fragmentary spoken and sung narratives, and Matana's cascading alto saxophone are supported by prodigiously talented players on piano (Shoko Nagai), trumpet (Jason Palmer), double bass (Thomson Kneeland), drums (Tomas Fujiwara) and operatic tenor voice (Jeremiah Abiah). While demarcated by 18 titles and track IDs, the album presents an uninterrupted, incantatory swirl of through-composed music, where thematic structure and free improvisation are propelled in continual and fluid co-existence.
While Chapter One was marked by more defined set pieces, stark juxtapositions, and the epic cacophony of a sprawlingly unconventional big band, Chapter Two unfolds as a cohesive album-length piece unto itself, channeling the drama and catharsis of Gens de couleur libres into something more measured and circumscribed, playing with notions of dignity, rarefaction and restraint. The inclusion of a male operatic singer contributes significantly to the tone and tension of Mississippi Moonchile in this respect, and operates as a fascinating foil to Roberts' own voice, which alternates between splintered 'wordspeak' and deeply soulful singing. The six players are in a perpetual motion of coalescence and divergence, where melodic themes, occasional ostinato passages, and variously deployed literal voices ("There are some things I can't tell you about…") serve to rally the overriding theme of individual narratives and personal expressions as struggles with, celebrations of, and threads within collective history. The contortions of empowerment, pride, shame, suffering, eulogy, empathy, liberation and transcendence are Matana's raw material in the broadest and most specific senses; she has given this raw material another beautiful and compelling shape in the second chapter of the COIN COIN story. - cstrecords.com/cst098/

In the wake of various high profile – not to mention high level – security and secrecy leaks, and the subsequent allegations of national intrusion by the NSA, it’s not surprising to see much of the American population questioning the secret policies that lurk beneath the ‘land of the free’ banner. The nation’s hot, relentless pursuit of its own citizens can be chilling to behold; the hierarchy a cold, all-staring eye. They are the ones who have their finger on the button, determining the rights and the responses of the nation (or, as the case may be, the violation of those rights). The constant struggle is often best expressed through the arts, and during times of hardship, it is a potent, vocal battle-cry.
The recent political events – the right to privacy and the right to free speech versus the interests of national security – potentially shape the face of the nation for years to come. Matana Roberts is the leading light of the experimental revolution, playing out the nation’s state of decay with a frantic urgency by a saxophone loaded with venom.
Matana Roberts’ saxophone is lethal, screaming in the face of the blank, emotionless state; the increasing constriction on American liberty and the slippery, moral decline that follows such constrictions, not to mention America’s future direction. The New Yorker is, intentionally or not, voicing her concerns through her art. Coin Coin, Chapter Two: Mississippi Moonchile must surely have been long in the making, but her saxophone is still a protester, chaining herself to light, jazzy brush-strokes that billow against a light, percussive breeze, angrily voicing her views to the point of asphyxiation.
The sweet, sassy tone of a saxophone, sleek, tight and infinitely sexy, is the perfect weapon against oppression. The faded bronze and dark brass of the instrument recalls the eye with her sweet look before she has even spoken. Her voice-box vibrations slink their way through her inner, silky curves until an outpouring of notes flow into the world, as sweet as a dollop of golden honey. Alto sax player Matana Roberts certainly has an ear for the instrument’s sweet, soulful voice, but she also tickles the tastebuds. Typically, the saxophone expresses herself on the stylistic platforms of jazz or early swing. Mississippi Moonchile, the second chapter in her Coin Coin series, is an experimental off-shoot, instead preferring to take an improvisational approach. Married to this, her distinct, beautifully rounded vocals are hushed stories that resist the current musical tide. ‘Amma Jerusalem School’, in particular, is a sublime track, with her repeating phrases and spoken vocals that recite rather than sing.
Coin Coin, Chapter Two is a rewarding journey, utilising prominent operatic tones and light, percussive stretches, tumbling like rocks against the windows. Sometimes, the sexy tones are neglected for a squealing stream of struggling notes. The tenor shakes and then smashes the previous musical foundation to the ground and, through the debris and the dust, is able to build up a new, improved replica in its place.
‘Responsory’, with its 12 bar sax solo, shines with a vividly bright melody; a traditional American folk song that looks into the past as well as the future, sepia-tinted photographs for an unborn generation. Early, authentic New York, played so deep underground that you could hear the subway trains rattling above.
Some serious drumming spices the record. An extravagant, lively piano plays along the keys, fingers dancing through multiple octaves, where well-known scales are ditched in favour of outside notes. It’s brave. Fortunately, it all rockets through so fast that the notes never have time to turn sour. Instead, it makes the music interesting to hear and the notes are very much alive – each and every one.
When harmony is allowed to take over, the stunning ‘Woman Red Racked’ is the result. Her instrument’s strangled tone seems to surrender its liberties when confronted by the percussive authorities. Her vocals, however, are spoken as freely as her flowing handwriting as she put ink to paper.
She is a fierce songwriter – take note.
There are two sides to every coin, an obstinate fact that puts a barrier between two kinds of people. Democrat or republican. Labour or conservative. Either side is loathed by the other, largely because of their allegiance and their policies. Saxophone music used to find itself fitting into one camp; one genre of music. The beauty of music is further revealed as Matana Roberts tears down these very walls. Prepare to see the system shaken up. The revolution is here. - James Catchpole www.fluid-radio.co.uk/

In 2011 experimental jazz artist Matana Roberts unleashed her album ‘COIN COIN Chapter One: Gens de couleur libres‘ into the music world. The incredibly ambitious record received widespread critical acclaim for its emotionally charged nature as well as its stunningly experimental and unique execution.  Now, Roberts is continuing onto the second chapter of her series with the much anticipated ‘Coin Coin, Chapter Two: Mississippi Moonchile‘.  Stylistically Roberts is known for her experimentalism, and one way she accomplishes this by bringing the past into her work and using it  to push the music forward. In this spirit, Roberts instrumentals, performed by the New York Jazz Sextet, draw stylistically from an entire history of jazz, from the expansive orchestral nature of Sun-Ra,  to the mystic aesthetic of Alice Coltrane, and the sprawling piano and percussive structures as well as the sometimes manic saxophone performances of Coltrane to Pharaoh Sanders. When it comes to Matana Roberts it is difficult to dwell on influences however because she meshes them so fluently, and in a way that is one hundred percent her own. On top of these instrumentals is her absolutely mind blowing singing/ story telling which is done in a completely one of a kind style.  Her track ‘Pov Piti‘ in particular left me absolutely floored; the frenzied vocals tell such a vivid story in a manner that manages to sound somehow chaotic and improvised yet precise, controlled and rhythmic. Listening to Coin Coin for the first time was an absolutely memorizing and moving experience, and there is no doubt that the new chapter in the Coin Coin series will be equally spectacular. The record will be released on October first as a 180 gram LP, and can be preordered in advance from Constillation Records.
- by joshmolina2 soundcolourvibration.com/

It would be unreasonable to suggest that Matana Roberts’ sound stems directly from a concrete musical tradition or that her aesthetic conjures images of a smoke-filled room punctuated by some entertainer’s sax ambiance. Despite demonstrating a frustration with jazz — as well as a passion for it — her methods resist invoking a movement or a fixed guiding statement about her artistic direction. Instead, the COIN COIN series approaches a broader set of principles, an enthusiasm that spans across culture, religion, and geography. Ideas of jazz are manipulated in the guise of something much larger than any sub-genre spawning from it; Chapter Two: Mississippi Moonchile, for example, carefully examines the human condition and personal interaction while pulling on familiar aesthetics and severing itself from any stereotypes lurking in the undergrowth. Roberts’ work runs deep, not only in the presentation of her music and research, but also through the personalities, the hearts and the souls of every musician she performs with. This is no easy fix, more of an unsettling triumph; playing the cold and the hard out with the heated and the free — the album is a burning force that stops you in your tracks, imploring you to pay attention and to ponder the experience as it seeps beneath your skin.
The musicians’ exploration of stylistic themes immediately causes that stunned reaction, a preferential riptide of base-level indicators as a response to the fusion of staggered opera and alto saxophone. Not only do such styles clash and pounce between each other, but they also mark the brilliant range that’s captured by Jeremiah Abiah’s operatic tenor, as his voice dances alongside Roberts’ improvisations. Some of the deeper facets of the album are introduced in this way, but it’s important that they are first identified on the surface, for one is forced to reconcile any instinctual reactions before addressing lyrical content. Although they bear equal potency, the aesthetic components are abrupt enough to ignite a recoil, an instance of what might be referred to as “challenging music” pieced together by some of New York’s most talented improvisors working under the intricate prescription of Roberts’ graphic scores.
By creating a representative visual image of her angle, Roberts allows for an unlimited number of interpretations and possibilities. Her graphic scores have their own narrative, and even though the Chicago-born artist is classically trained, they generally go against the grain of western compositional notation. The scores are collages that range in style, content, and design — they are explorations of the artist’s potential and a demonstration of order that she finds existing alongside displacement and chaos. In the case of COIN COIN Chapter One: Gens de Couleur Libres, these included photographs from the turn of the century combined with drawings, symbols, and embellishment, all of which have been mirrored on this latest work, although the resulting music leaves behind the spacious abandon that dissolved into previous tracks such as “kersalia” and “song for eulalie.”
COIN COIN encompasses 12 chapters in total. Each one has its own path carved out by a mental sculpture, which exhibits the imaginative road map behind every piece. Collage provides a framework for contrasts that exist within, not only between notions of opera, jazz, punk, and improv, but also in terms of lyrical content and word association. Roberts demonstrates an amazing gift in reflecting both jubilation and tragedy through harrowing tales and ad hoc interjections that encompass the building blocks of a rambunctious atmosphere. This is best represented in a line she takes from an interview with her grandmother: Imagine talking to a relative about their past, about growing up in an alien zeitgeist, and having that person repeatedly say “there are some things I just can’t tell you about, honey.” It’s a phrase that’s revisited time and time again in a number of conflicting circumstances, and yet there is a friendliness, a closeness, a playful joy in the word “honey” that shatters the context in which it is being uttered — stories unrewarded toil, of family members who have passed on, and of grim segregation that illustrates each narrative like a bullet through a glass pane.
But the intention is not to inspire any negative gaze; each song is an arrangement of findings, facts, and anecdotes that steered history in a certain direction. It’s our contemporary lens that makes the contrast so vivid. Indeed, these shades are brought out in methods of improvisation and the tools used to accomplish it: a bible patched with fragments from family interviews, traditional American folk songs, and speeches by Fannie Lou Hamer all make for an enchanting juxtaposition in Roberts’ “wordspeak.” Her method reaches across generations and binds them cheek by jowl through sound, while signifiers such as the bible — which represented an essential component of daily life within the album’s subjects — are subverted here as a means for transcending that bold leap between specific social constructs. The most pungent story comes from Hamer’s 1964 Indianola speech, which describes Anelle Ponder being beaten in a police cell — “Can’t you say ‘yes, sir,’ nigger; can’t you say ‘yes, sir?’” — but the section is rounded by another of Roberts’ impromptu quotes, which she bellows with gusto: “I sing because I’m happy I sing because I’m free” — the sax picks up and the band storm into a beautiful concordance, which is at once stomach-churning and gracious. It’s a powerful, well-timed listening experience that ignites a distinct response by means of improvised unison, disclosing the deepest depictions of love, fear, exhilaration, and sorrow in a grand testament to the artists’ collective ambition.
Such disparities are amplified by a framework Roberts refers to as panoramic sound quilting. During playback, each number is spun together to reveal a flowing tapestry, a stitching that grounds the otherwise unplanned fabric of lyrical and musical presentation on the basis of the score. “all nations” is the strongest example of how the quilting works aesthetically — the song only lasts for seven seconds, and it sounds completely mad when separated from its environment. Abiah launches into an operatic peak while Shako Nagai’s frantic piano keys propel the piece, which constitutes a snippet of continual motion that’s given its own dimension for the purposes of the score. Displacing the tracks from their surroundings can yield surprising results, particularly on a section such as “woman red racked,” which could almost encompass a single in its harmonic version of “Black Woman” that’s capped with a short, horn-infused bridge. “amma jerusalem school” is the first song where Roberts’ vocals take center stage while providing an induction as to the melding of lyrical content — it allows for an essential standalone track, but that sense of induced cohesion is what makes the record so breathtaking as a whole.
As “humility draws down new” flows into a hushed rendition of the hymn “He Walks With Me (In The Garden),” Roberts’ vocal patters out with a whisper as she concludes her duet with Abiah — whose range is so adroit that he suits any of the given moods his collaborators chose to explore — and the album ends on a singular, quieted tone. It’s a final display of how spectacularly Mississippi Moonchile is arranged — as a chapter that’s hinged on improvisation, free forms, and graphic scores, the music is exceptionally balanced and paced. Although it comes riddled with contrasting themes and ideas, there is an unparalleled degree of cohesion in the work that allows each juxtaposition to take on its own manifestation, as though they have been pieced together like a jigsaw assembled from numerous boxes that somehow fit together to create a striking tableaux. Once the various styles and compositional tactics have been negotiated, one can appreciate the manner in which they mirror the vocal content — its an incredible realization of how arresting the music can feel as a depiction of times past while cementing Roberts’ reputation as a fascinating composer and an incomparable voice of the age. - Birkut





COIN COIN Chapter One: Gens de couleur libres (2011)

Matana Roberts (pronounced mah-tah-nah) is one of the leading lights of contemporary African-American experimental music, combining her widely recognized gifts as an alto saxophone player and improviser with an intensely engaged re-definition of American Jazz traditions.
Matana's COIN COIN project is the centerpiece of this engagement and re-definition: a multi-chapter work that combines conceptual scoring (graphic notation, 'chance' strategies), storytelling and historical narrative, performative theatre (personae, costume, multi-media), and a deeply considered channeling of personal ancestry and the 'universal' experience of Africans in America.
Roberts began spending significant amounts of time in Montreal during the second half of the 2000s and has been an on-and-off resident of the city since 2008. While she was familiar to Constellation as early as 2001 (through her work with Sticks And Stones and her guest performance on Godspeed You! Black Emperor's Yanqui U.X.O. album), it was through the evolution of her mesmerizing COIN COIN project that we fully fell under her spell – as did the dozen or more Montreal musicians who began working with her on the music and in performance.
COIN COIN Chapter One: Gens de Couleur Libres is the first official recording of this ambitious and powerful project. We invited Matana to assemble her Montreal group for a live in-studio performance at the Hotel2Tango facility, before a small but capacity audience of about 30 friends and supporters. The band spend the entire day running things through while recording engineer Radwan Moumneh set microphones and levels. The evening performance was stunning, literally bringing audience members to tears, and went to tape beautifully. The full 90-minute performance was edited down to around 60 minutes, comprising four quarter-hour suites spread across four sides of 10" vinyl.
Says Matana: “COIN COIN is a compositional sound language, that I have been developing since 2006. My initial interest in creating this work came from my childhood fascination with ghosts, spirits, spooks, and the faint traces of what they leave behind. I have a deep interest in old, antique objects of human existence, mostly because of the variety of story that can be created, factual or not, from the possibility of their being. This project is a combination of those interests as well as my delight in musical communication , ritual adornment, and the genealogical 20th century history of Africans in America. In some instances I am using information that I have gleaned from research into my own ancestral history, as inspiration and area of creative consideration. The musical root of much of this work also stems from my continued attraction/repulsion to certain aspects of the American Jazz tradition(s) which I am deeply involved with as an alto saxophonist.”
To us, COIN COIN represents some of the most honest and compelling work – musically and thematically – that we've had the privilege to be associated with. It rallies adventurous improv, experimental voice and narrative, a wide array of black folkways, and Matana's impassioned lead playing to tremendous emotional and conceptual effect-  cstrecords.com

Independent rock labels have made great headway in turning on listeners to challenging, cutting-edge jazz. Homestead and Henry Rollins’ defunct 213 and Infinite Zero labels helped expose David S. Ware, Matthew Shipp, and William Parker to more casual jazz fans in the early 90s, and these and other avant jazz artists have been doing great work for Thirsty Ear’s Blue Series over the last decade. The fact that alto saxophonist and composer Matana Roberts’ extraordinary new album COIN COIN is released on Constellation, a label better known for serious, somber rock, tells us Roberts knows this music deserves and can net a wider audience than more traditional jazz records would reach. In fact, the Chicago-born Roberts was already something of a post-rock fellow traveler, playing on Godspeed You! Black Emperor’s Yanqui U.X.O. and inviting members of Tortoise to guest on one of her albums. She was also in jazz trio Sticks and Stones alongside Josh Abrams and Chad Taylor, two other players active in Chicago’s cozy jazz/rock/whatever milieu. But in the end, making these connections primarily serves to pique curiosity and draw in listeners, as COIN COIN is a pure celebration of jazz.

COIN COIN was recorded live in the studio of Montreal’s Hotel2Tango last July with Roberts leading a group of 15 musicians playing multiple saxophones, two trumpets, two basses, two violins, a cello, piano, prepared guitar, drums, musical saw, and doudouk. That’s a large group, and the inclusion of the last two instruments especially might lead one to think the arrangements are needlessly crowded or exotic, but it certainly never feels like that. Edited down from a 90-minute performance to an hour, the music can be busy, even noisy, but these passages fit smartly within a larger compositional whole.
The album begins with a scorching solo burst of saxophone that recalls the fire music cries of Albert Ayler, Archie Shepp, and late-period John Coltrane. What follows over the next six minutes of opening track “rise” is a composition that references multiple styles of jazz, then detours into wholly original territory, most notably during Roberts’ theatrical spoken word/half-sung portions. These vocals, featuring Gitanjali Jain alongside Roberts, appear throughout the album, with a narrative that concerns the history of slavery in America and how it continued to affect and inform the lives of African Americans throughout the 20th century. Some sections offer stronger images and impressions than others, while Roberts and Jain’s intertwining vocals often favor ambiguity and emotional resonance over clarity and pedagogy. While I personally tend to shy away from spoken word or vocalese in jazz, these vocals are essential to its success.
COIN COIN’s middle section serves as a self-contained example of what Roberts and her band have accomplished on a larger scale. “kerasia” begins with a repetitious modal vamp before the music softens to allow Roberts’ and Jain’s vocals to dominate the track. The instruments soon come back on full blast, with Roberts leading the pack, picking the opening theme back up before sliding into a Dixieland romp that eventually mutates into a free jazz spree. This then segues into the centerpiece of the album, “libation for Mr. Brown: Bid em in…,”a soulful a cappella gospel blues chant that recalls a slave auction. In just 15 minutes, these tracks cover an astonishing amount of musical ground, highlighting Roberts’ skill as both composer and performer.
By the time the album nears its end, you may feel like you’ve already been on an exhausting, emotionally charged trip, but the most intense music is saved for last two tracks. “i am” features stunning wordless vocals over rambunctious musicianship, while “how much would you cost?” closes out the album with a moving dedication to Roberts’ mother. The exuberant cheers and applause from the small studio audience at performance’s end remind you that what you’ve just heard has happened in real time, making it all the more impressive.
COIN COIN, the first half of a larger politically-charged and personal work, is one of those records you didn’t know you were waiting for, couldn’t expect you wanted or needed to hear. It’s already grabbed the attention of both jazz aficionados and its more casual fans, impressing both in equal fashion. This is complex, life-affirming music that’s both serious and playful, steeped in tradition yet as highly original and forward-thinking as anything you’re likely to hear this year. - Eric Dawson

"Roberts is a major talent - a unique and easily identifiable saxophone voice who's also a thoughtful composer capable of choosing empathetic and supportive collaborators. Expect to hear her name more and more in the coming years."The Wire

"COIN COIN gives eloquent voice to the fractured nature of identity, the way conflicting identifications jostle for prominence in our psyches, the multiple consciousness of modern hybridity."PopMatters

"This is an ambitious work, and all of its aims have surely been fulfilled."BBC Music

"Memory is a powerful thing, but it's so private, fluid, and unreliable that it can seem almost impossible to capture in a work of art—and history is often no more stable, once you look closely enough. Roberts has succeeded at evoking both, though, and gives her audience a long look at something ghostly, tragic, and beautiful."Chicago Reader

"Coin Coin belongs to the most important Jazz records of the past 10 years! If Matana Roberts keeps going like this she definitely will become thee spokeswoman for a new, politically conscious and refractory Jazz scene."Jazzthetik

"An auspicious first document in what promises to be a fruitful series... Roberts' intimate delivery and quivering vibrato are vulnerable, fiercely angry and may well bring you to tears."Exclaim!

"An avant-jazz concept album performed live, Coin Coin is an uncompromising listen...inventive, sapient and engrossing, it’s not an easy listen, but it is an exceptional one."The Skinny

Matana Roberts: Interview
“There are some things I just can’t tell you about, honey.”

By Birkut · November 2013

October 1 marked the release of Matana Robert’s second chapter in her magnificent COIN COIN series. Through guiding an experimental, jazz-infused sextet across a creative spree of improvisation, graphic scores, and historical depiction, the Chicago-born artist once again demonstrated her gift as a composer while crafting a most remarkable addition to her discovery.
The dimensions of the project are so multifaceted it’s almost impossible to fathom the depth and scope of each album as a singular work in the context of 12 full chapters. In an attempt to unpack the principal ideas behind this fascinating production, Tiny Mix Tapes spoke to Matana about the historical narratives that run throughout her work, the use of religious text as a tool for improvisation, and the joys of busking in New York City.

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From what I hear you have been exceptionally busy with the album release. COIN COIN Chapter Two: Mississippi Moonchile came out at the beginning of this month, right?
Yes! So I have been prepping things, and it has taken so long for me to get this music out that there are other things within that project that I need to be working on — I need to get so much else in order. And just to be a New Yorker is to be busy all of the time, so it’s been crazy.
That was one of the first things I wanted to ask you actually. I would like to know how you, as an artist, find the city as an inspirational place and how you draw on that creatively.
That’s a great question. There is just so much going on here in any single moment that it just reminds you of creativity. Even if it’s something really horrible that has happened or is going on. The way I see New Yorkers come together during times of tragedy and intensity has also been inspiration. So there is that, and also just art, just constant art, like if you chose not to go to a museum or gallery or show, just walking on the streets of New York there is art everywhere if you look for it. I’m really inspired by outsider art, like graffiti, public artwork, things of that nature. They inspire me a great deal.
But New York is also a city where you see different forms of hustling. A great example for me is, when it rains here, when you come out of the subway on a rainy day, there is always a guy who went to China Town and bought some umbrellas for like a dollar a piece and how is standing outside and selling them. Or the people who you see right now during Halloween, who will buy all the old Halloween stuff from last year’s Halloween so that this year they can make a buck. You are always seeing that in New York. I mean, I’m not so much into the selling point of those ideas, but I do like the way these people think: “How can I do this, how can I do that?” etc. And New Yorkers don’t tend to ask permission before they do a lot of things that they do, I mean, there are so many illegal things going on here; while I was out on my bicycle earlier, I’m sure I saw an NYPD car break a traffic law — and for me, for the type of work that I do, that kind of stuff is really important because I love American history. What I love about American history the most are those people who call themselves “patriots,” and those people are often lawbreakers! So from a historical point of view that’s also important to see constantly — it’s really inspirational. But the city also drives me completely mad, too.
That’s interesting, how the inventive, entrepreneurial scene acts as an inspiration as well… What drives you mad about the city?
Like, the sound for one. I’ve been doing this for a month already — I keep meaning to write about this but I haven’t had a chance: I decided that I would not walk around with my headphones on while in the city, because headphones are coping mechanisms for a lot of New Yorkers, or people in any urban space. You put them on when you are in the subway so that you don’t have to engage with people, and I decided that I don’t want to do that anymore because I noticed it was affecting that way I engage with people elsewhere, so I have been doing this thing and the sound is just constant — people want to talk to you all the time, someone always has something to say to you. That, combined with all the noise that is constant — it is such a sound-oriented city.
That’s fascinating though, isn’t it? When you suddenly take the headphones off for a while and actually listen to what’s going on, especially if you are moving around different cities, and you can experience the different sounds, like public announcements and how people approach you about things…
Yeah, it’s absolutely fascinating. I was in Lebanon six or seven years ago during Ramadan in Beirut, and I remember how different the sounds were. I remember standing in the city center and I could hear all of these calls to prayer, you know, combined with all of the city sounds. In New York you don’t get to hear quite that but you get to hear it from time to time… like in London… London has that too but your city drives me mad in a different way. I don’t know how you live there. It’s more fast-paced than New York on the streets.
You think so?
One time I was somewhere downtown and I remember I was walking in one direction and there were all of these people — it just didn’t seem like there was any room on the sidewalk, and I remember looking at them and thinking ‘how am I going to get to the other end?’ and I remember thinking, “Somehow this is going to happen — this is the land of Harry Potter, I’ll get to the other side.” And I did. But the pace is just so fast.

Improv is what moves the world and what moves creativity.

That’s why a lot of people use headphones to isolate themselves — it’s like an instinctual mechanism. You see it everywhere. Although I think I noticed it a bit more in New York, while I was in your city, but that’s probably because I wasn’t using them myself… I only tend to use them in familiar settings.
It’s a wonderful coping thing, as a sound head — as you are too — having this constant soundtrack that for a while makes you think that you are enjoying the city in a different way, but it is also cutting you off from so many things. I’ve had these moments where I can look ahead and I can see someone who is going to cause me a problem, I just have that sixth sense, I know they are just gonna stop me and say, “Hello!,” you know? So I said that I wasn’t gonna where headphones, not only for the month of September but also I would speak to every person who spoke to me no matter what they said. And that has been really crazy — you will hear all sorts of sexist things as a lady bike rider. You hear this stuff anyway, but its like this constant…
… And the level of poverty on the streets of New York is also intense, so it gives you a moment to come more in contact with people who you probably really should talk to. This is something that I miss from when I used to busk regularly, I used to talk to folks that were living in the subways and on the streets a lot more back then, and I kind of miss that. But sometimes that makes for a level of engagement that can make you feel uncomfortable, because someone is asking for something and you don’t have anything to give them, and if you don’t give something then some people get really mean — but what I noticed for the last 30 days I have not been using headphones is that I’m more comfortable in the city than I have been in a while.

How long has it been since you last busked then?
Well, I still busk, just not as regularly. I used to do six days a week, almost 365 days a year.
That’s pretty hardcore.
Yeah, when I first moved to New York that’s how I was paying my rent, I had like dream rent — I had a $300 room in an apartment so it wasn’t hard to make that kind of money, but I would play four to six hours a day and treat it like a job. I would take the weekends off because they were tougher to get good spots and I would take the holidays off because it gets rough between December 1 and December 26 down there, let me tell you.
Did the hours you were putting in change your attitude to your music?
Well, yeah, I had a very particular plan with it. I could have easily sat down and improvised if I wanted to but I’m really easily distracted and needed to do something that would help me to focus, so I would play more classical things, because I used to play a lot of that music and I don’t really anymore. I found it stopped people asking me for requests. But I like what that music did to the listeners, because certain people would see a saxophone player and they would expect specific kinds of sound. When they heard something else and they would say, “Oh, that’s interesting, that’s different.”
In addition to that, I guess you have all of the environmental sounds happening around you while you play.
Yeah, I’m pretty sure that fed into it. It did a lot for my sound. There is nothing like playing outside and playing in man-made spaces like subway tunnels. Do you play saxophone by the way?
I’m afraid not — sorry to disappoint…
That’s okay. We need you, though. Well, busking helps to get your sound bigger and stronger. The subway is so ugly and I just really love bringing the beauty of sound to those spaces, and now when I play, I go to the really far-out stations, where I don’t see people I know. It used to be that I would busk certain places and run into too many friends, and it’s just too much — like I can’t get enough practice in. So I’ll go to the Bronx, or I’ll go to deeper parts of Brooklyn and Queens, and there is really nothing like it. If I remain in New York I don’t think that I will ever stop, but I don’t busk every week anymore — that was hard work.
What about other cities you have worked in, then? You mentioned Montreal before and you have also worked in Chicago of course, and London as well — so how important do you think location is generally as a creative inspiration, as well as a historical one?
Well, I love the history of gypsies and how art, music, and tradition will spread in those communities. I also love visiting new places and infusing my ideas there, and so I love the idea of shifting locales but I never really thought that it was important to my aesthetic. However, now I think that it’s really important because there is something that gives you this extra energy. The way that musicians improvise in London for instance is different from the way that people improvise in Montreal, versus the way that people improvise in Chicago and New York — it’s all so different. That allows me to consider new things and to be a bit more flexible, which is hard as a New Yorker. The one thing about deciding to remain in New York is that you have to constantly think about your flexibility. Sometimes things get so hard for me hear that the idea of flexibility goes out of the window.
Do you enjoy touring and playing in new cities?
Yeah, I enjoy it a lot. Not only travel but being able to have friendships with musicians and artists who are not purely local to my area. There is something very special about that to me — it kind of reminds me of the traditions of the nomadic musician or the nomadic artist. There is a whole tradition behind that and I would love to be a part of it. It’s really interesting how people pass things on and the different modes of language that are used, as well as the different kind of nuances, which are not always readily apparent. You really have to pay attention — I’m an easily distracted person, but I like how being in these different spaces reminds me to pay attention to smaller details that you would sometimes forget about if you stay in one place all of the time.
I wanted to ask about musical inspirations from an early age. From what I’ve read, you grew up with experimental music, listening to Albert Ayler and Sun Ra, I was just wondering if you ever wanted to reject that sort of sound because it was around you so much while you were growing up?
Oh yes, I did!
But it ended up being something that you embraced because obviously it became influential later on…
For sure, I had a strong dislike for a lot of that music for a long time because I was around it so much. I always thought Sun Ra was a huge part of my childhood, yeah, God, a huge part of my childhood, and just the mention of his name, I just; there was a certain time in my adolescence where I could not stand to hear it, and the same thing with Albert Ayler. My parents were also huge David Murray fans and then then there was music of the Art Ensemble going on in the house and then weird folk singers, and avant-classical experimentalists like Harry Partch, my mum really liked Steve Reich too. So I just shut down and decided there was something else I was supposed to explore because I heard that music all the time. It’s certainly interesting how that came full circle because I was exposed to the ideas of freedom that came with that music.
Does that mean you didn’t enjoy it while you were growing up, purely because you were around it so much?
It’s probably that whole thing of you never want to be into what your parents are into. So I really got into classical music for quite some time. But then I wanted to form my own identify, and I couldn’t find any women or very many African American diasporic people working within those traditions. I really needed some sort of, not validation, but maybe comfort around identity — and those forms of identity were already within these different types of music that my parents liked. My parents talked so much about music, and art and all of these things, and then my grandmother would take us to the opera a lot of the time — we would see a lot of theater, and a lot of film, a lot of foreign film and silent film. My parents were just trying to expose me to as much “avant-garde” because that is what they were into.
I also wanted to go a bit more into the experimental side of things to see if my parents actually knew what they were talking about when we had these discussions, you know? We would get to a certain point, I mean, my parents are very proud, intellectual folk, and they spoke about these things in certain ways, and it kind of got to a point for me where it was like: “Does he really know that?” “Do they understand this?” “Really!?” “Come on!” But my father was one of those really annoying music fans who would go up to musicians after a show and he would tell them that they didn’t play free enough. So those are the types of people that I was around. My mother was a bit more open than that though, which is how I got into the music of the AACM. I don’t know if that answers your question though…

The type of music that means the most to me was orally passed along, it’s about the primacy of the ear, not the primacy of the eye, so I also like being able to include that, and I find that sound quilting allows for these possibilities.

It does! I think it sounds amazing actually, from the perspective of someone raised by people who had a huge vinyl collection — but I’m really interested to know where that turning point came around for you, when you said, “Actually, yeah, I want to explore this a little bit more…”
Probably in college, because most of my training came from free arts courses in the public schools I went to. But for college I went to these private institutions that were kind of conservatory-like, and it was really intense. I had to take all of these history courses and music theory courses — many of which I failed. I have had so many teachers telling me to quit. It was really intense. I got tired, especially in the history classes because I love history. I have always loved history and I actually have my parents to thank for that as well. And sitting in these history classes and hearing about all of these composers and looking at all these guys, I was like, “The music is beautiful! I’m not going to discount the creativity, but I’m really tired of looking at all of these mostly older white men.” I’m an African American-identified woman, my lineage is very mixed but to most people I look African American and that is how I identify, and I just couldn’t, you know there was Clara Schumann who we talked about from time to time, but as far as history of music, there were really no women that were talked about until the 20th Century, people like Pauline Oliveros, Tania León?
That’s really interesting as well because that doesn’t seem to be purely in the U.S., it’s also something we encounter in the UK education system — it’s very regimented and concrete, and there is little that goes beyond what you just mentioned, which is why I’m interested in your graphical notation. I think one of the reasons I never really excelled in music at school was because it was so theoretical in the way that it was taught. I feel that if something like graphical notation was brought into the curriculum it could be incredibly beneficial. But I wonder how you came to that realization, especially after what you said about the theory courses… How did you find your feet?
Well, that’s a great question. First of all, I grew up in a very traditional African American community that is very visual — it’s all a very particular aesthetic where you are constantly exposed to different ideas of ritual, whether it is just how somebody gets dressed for the day or ideas about presentation, and that’s a huge part of African American history because at one point, in this country it was about presenting yourself in a certain way so that white people would accept you. The only way that you could be accepted was through a certain way of presentation that would not remind people of the slave negros, so there is that. But also, I was exposed to so many different types of art, that I figured I needed a way to synthesize it, and just by playing music as music is usually presented was not enough for me. In New York City I was just really lucky to be exposed to mixed media genres, my art community in New York is very mixed — it crosses many mediums — partly because of some academic communities that I’m involved with, like painters and film makers and writers, sculptors and musicians, so I have always been conscious of this particular kind of cross. Going to the opera, for instance, was the ultimate mixed medium in live performance for me as a child, like seeing that and thinking, “Wow — look at all these different things!”
I’m glad actually that the idea of graphical notation, I did not learn in school, I’m really glad — I think my teachers who told me to quit music and find something else to do, they really helped me find my way. But that’s only because they made me think about other ways of doing things, and creativity is all about imagination and play. I also have a learning disorder, and that has followed me for my entire life and I’m somehow being reminded of the fact that you can have a certain kind of visual aesthetic in music, the more I explored, the more I realized that I could do it too. I mean there are all sorts of people who have done that way before I have. So there is that tradition as well, which I got to see and hear and be like, “Oh, there are other ways!” There is always another way to do something, it’s like that saying — there are many different ways to skin a cat. That saying is said for a reason. I think I remember once about seeing a theater piece that was very successful, where the director had no musical training, she didn’t know anything about theater, she just found a way to create.
Some of the first musical compositions that I wrote as a kid, I did not know how to make compositions or how to write, and so I remember I tried to create my own system — and then I came up with a system but the time that it was complete, I couldn’t remember how everything worked. So I really don’t know where that came from for me.
Could you tell me about some of the graphical notation you worked on for the new album?
Well I’m trying to codify my own system, and I’m calling it, for lack of better words, panoramic sound quilting. For some reason those three words really speak to me in terms of what I’m trying to do — it’s like a have a way of weaving ideas together buy using graphic notation as a bridge.
What does it look like?
Well, what I’m trying to do with each score within the COIN COIN series is to make sure that they are connected, not so much for the sound, but for the different musicians that have to play because I want to get a certain pool of musicians comfortable with the language that I’m trying to put together so that I can bring them to new chapters of the work. Therefore there are things that I won’t have to explain. So the system from Chapter One to Chapter Two, for instance, is the same, but they look different. They look slightly different in presentation, but the conduction ideas and the visual cues are pretty much the same. So it looks like a visual weave, there is some notation that most Western musicians are used to seeing, then there is some alternative notation, whether that be imagery or words or instructions and sometimes there are also some real visual things — like I collect photographs from the turn of the century, and I use a lot of that imagery in my work.

Like a collage?
Yeah, like a collage of sorts, and now some of the scores are going into a more collage-based aesthetic, whereas before I would use ink, charcoal, photos, and old things. I really like these old things that people leave behind like letters and postcards. They really inspire me to piece it all together and come up with one image. I then look back at that image and to wonder to myself, well, how would I play that? What would that sound like? It’s really interesting to put that conundrum in front of other musicians because it’s always going to be very unique to each individual, no matter how much instruction you give there is a uniqueness that comes through, and I think that’s probably why I like it so much.
That must be an interesting moment, when you put something together with so many materials and then stand back from it… I have just got that in my mind now, when you stand back from something and you just ask, “How do I interpret this musically?”
It’s so much fun. It is so much fun for me — I mean there is nothing at all wrong with sitting down and writing an entire symphony all in regular Western notation, but the collages are so much fun to create. And within those ideas, I’m still able to infuse oral traditions, which I sometimes feel is forgotten in music. The type of music that means the most to me was orally passed along, it’s about the primacy of the ear, not the primacy of the eye, so I also like being able to include that, and I find that sound quilting allows for these possibilities.
What kind of reactions have you got from collaborating performers when you show them a piece? Do you have any apprehension about how they might interpret the images?
Always! I always wonder how people are going to see it differently. But, I realize it doesn’t really matter if the musician is like prodigy-style, or, as we say in New York, “Able to read fly paper” or whatever. It doesn’t really matter about what the technical aesthetic is, it’s more about a certain kind of compassion and openness to new ideas. So I have tried to do the music with people who have had a very strong visceral reaction, and I’m kind about it but it’s like “Oh… okay, this sort of thing is not comfortable for them and maybe I should try and explain it this way instead of that way…” It’s like this in education, like the idea of standardized testing in education, you know, why it is so wrong because every child is so different with regards to how they approach learning. So, the one thing I like about the panoramic sound quilting is that it gives each individual musician a way to infuse their own individuality, but I have noticed that there are certain constructs that I have to be a bit more flexible about how I explain them and be open to someone telling me that it doesn’t make any sense…
From what I have read it sounds like you are very open to that.
Absolutely.
How do you chose to work with certain people when the collaboration brings their heart and their spirit into the recording as well as their musical talent?
I try to look for, and to listen to, people who you can automatically tell, have that. Maybe it’s like a sixth sense that only improvisors have — I don’t know. But, a lot of people who are on the Montreal record, those are friends of mine, there are some people on that record that I have known for 10 or 12 years. Yeah, everyone in that record I had seen in other ensembles too, or I had just hung out with them and just gotten to know them as a person. Same thing with the second record — most of these people I have known for most of the time I have been in New York and so I have gotten to see them do different things and I have talked to them about new ideas. And again, it has not always worked out so well… I have had some moments where I have chosen the wrong people. But you learn by experience, and New York is hard because everybody wants to work so, sometimes people are not so honest about what they are into with your work. So you have to look out for that… But I try, I always try to stay away from people who are very dogmatic about what music should sound like.
[pagebreak]
I wanted to ask you about the content of the Second Chapter. A great deal of the lyrics come from an interview you conducted with your grandmother, right?
Yes.
How did she find that experience when you approach her about doing that?
Well, I should say, I don’t think she knows yet that she is on my record!
Wow! Surprise!
At the time I did that interview, I don’t think I was even thinking about using her imagery and her own words in that way. I was looking for inspiration for the music and then it occurred to me that I should… Actually, she may know…. she may know because I did perform this music in Chicago once with Chicago players. She is not able to travel out of her house any longer, but her daughter was there — my aunt was there and my cousins were there, so, she may know. But I look forward to getting the record to her so that she can actually hear and see how I thanked her in the liner notes. And there are some things in that interview that I didn’t put on the record. It did take a heavy editing hand in terms of the things she said that I thought were too personal to ever share publicly… You have to be really careful when you are talking to elders about their experience, and I really wanted to make sure that I wasn’t using anything she said that could be seen as exploitative to me.
My grandmother is a really joyful person. She has had a really tough life and she has somehow managed to have a certain underbelly of joy in terms of how she speaks and the things that she says. There are certain things that she says on the record that give the music a certain sense of joy — it’s very tough subject matter, but I think I’m getting off topic here…
No, not at all, I wanted to talk to you about the subject matter as well, but you raised a really important point with regards to talking to elderly people in particular about their experiences — I’m just wondering how you managed to take those conversations and include them in your composition. I know you said you edited it all down, but I’m keen to know how that happened — were they snippets from one conversation, or were there lots of conversations you had about a certain subject?
They were snippets from one really long conversation, and I also used the audio from that conversation in a sound piece that I did for Studio Sounds at the Studio Museum in Harlem. My grandmother has a very particular accent, a very particular Mississippi, Chicago, Southern migration thing. My other grandmother had a very Southern accent too but it was a Memphis to Chicago thing that was very different. And my two grandmothers, in some sense, represented this class difference in the Chicago African American community based on language, which for a while, as I kid, I kind of found horrifying because I felt like I couldn’t understand them. When I would go back and forth between them, I sometimes could not understand either of them.
So I chose things that I think I felt had the highest historical vibration, that really kind of spoke the history that I felt people across from many different places could relate to — her girlhood, growing up on the farm, you know? It’s really something to hear someone in their 80s and 90s speak very loving[ly] about their parents. The death of a parent is so hard, and hearing them being able to set that in a story of remembrance, and memory and positivity — I chose to include things like that, with the exception of where she talks about her parents passing away on the same day — that is so heavy to me, the idea of that, but she spoke about it with this joy, and so I tried to pick those things that I felt still kind of had that layer of joy. I purposefully would not press her on the things that she wouldn’t talk about — you know, she refused to talk to me about anything having to do with racism in Mississippi pretty much, which was really tough — those were hard moments for me because those were some of the things I really wanted to hear about. Those are things I heard about from my own parents. But the fact is that she refused to talk about those things. And she wouldn’t get angry, it wasn’t like… It was just this line she kept saying, ”There are some things I just can’t tell you about, honey,” and when she said that, the one thing that I should probably do in the performance of that, is, when she would say that line, she would laugh. It was really shocking, we would be talking about something and then she would say, “There are some things I just can’t tell you about, honey,” and then she would just laugh! You know, you can’t get through life — I don’t care who you are or what has happened to you — you can’t get through life without having some idea of humor. And the fact that she could do that is astonishing to me because there is no way, from all of the history that I know about what African American people went through in the American South — there is no way I could laugh about that stuff. I don’t think I have the strength. Talking to her was so powerful — and my Mississippi side is the side that I know the least about. I’ve got my maternal side traced back to the mid 1700s, but my Mississippi side has always been a bit more mysterious.

That power really does come through on the record. Especially the two lines that you mentioned there. The first one I think is, “Daddy died in the morning and mama died at night.”
Yeah.
It is extremely powerful but I guess it has two sides… and it’s the same with the second line you mentioned, “There are some things I just can’t tell you about, honey” — there is this sadness, in the case of the first one, of the parents passing away, but there is also a kind of beauty that, as a couple, one was not left to suffer without the other and that strikes a particular chord.
Yeah, that is very poetic to me. I mean, history is so poetic, but when she said that to me while recounting it with a certain kind of acceptance… I don’t think I’m old enough to understand that yet — it was just amazing — they couldn’t live without each other and that’s lovely. They met when they were 16. You know, that doesn’t really happen that much anymore and it’s really lovely to know that I come from people that bonded in that way and built a family ideal together and it spread. I’m able to capture that in art, and that makes me very happy.
That second line also plays into a lot of the repetition you use on the album in a warm and harrowing way because of the context that you are indicating “there are some things I just can’t tell you about, honey.”
Yeah, absolutely. The one thing that bothers me about this project and the way that it’s being received by people is that they say I’m trying to make a damning statement about American history, when in fact I’m deeply patriotic and this music is a love letter to my country in so many ways. That history, the harrowing parts of history, can also be remembered and communicated with a certain amount of joy and direction. You know, my grandmother did that with me in our interview and she may not have even been aware of it. She just kept it on the positive, and I say that line so many times on the record, but she said it SO many times in that interview.
Really?
Yeah, it was a repeated line. That’s why I repeat it so much, and I could have sat there and tried to press her on it, but my parents raised me not to do that. The fact that she even talked to me, the fact that she would even let me in and talk about her family was so good — even in her 80s. You miss your mother in your 80s just as much as you missed you mother when you were 10, like it just never goes away.
I have to ask you as well about another line. There is a story about a beating in a cell.
Yes.
And just as that ends, you say, “I sing because I’m happy, I sing because I’m free,” which also plays into the contrast we talked about before. Was that difficult to achieve?
That wasn’t difficult to achieve as such, but that moment is not in the score, when I’m saying that, what’s that game you play like, um, you hear this word so you think that?
Like word association?
Yeah, word association, there was something about reading that speech of Fannie Lou Hamer and it immediately made me think of freedom in that moment. I’m like. “Oh, yeah, the only way that you can really be free is in spirit and what you put in your mind, even when you are in captivity in that way.” It’s like that book, “Man’s Search for Meaning,” about survival in concentration camps during WWII. Viktor Frankl talked a lot about what the prisoners would do, how they would remain free of spirit and how they would think about themselves even though they were being horribly treated. A lot of what history keeps teaching me is that it’s all about what you think inside, and that’s why the church was so important in a community like my grandmother grew up in. The church was so important for both of my grandmothers and to their perseverance, and that is so hard for me to think about because I actually hate the church. But it was so important to preserve this idea of spirit — but I’m glad that moment on the recording happened the way it did.
Yeah, it’s extremely moving. But by interviewing a relative you bring about a certain closeness or recentness to these stories. It’s often quite shocking for people to discover how recent certain historical events really were, particularly in a place like Poland, where you have played before — was it your intention to bring out such a realization?
Yeah, I guess it was. My intention also came from working so that people who may not listen to avant-garde music can find a way to infuse themselves. I found that by using stories and narratives that really help people to consider alternative ideas about sound, so there is that, but I have done some of those solo COIN COIN chapters in Poland. I love Poland. The last place I played there was in Warsaw. I have been to the capital a couple of times and I had one Polish show that got cancelled because of snow — I was trying to get from Berlin to Krakow. I played some of the ensemble music but as solo chapters all over Germany and it is just so interesting, in Poland for instance, to do this music with those people who have a certain sense of history where it was not so long ago that they lost their entire family. And I can walk into these places and talk about this family that I can trace back to the mid 1700s, talking to people who just can’t do that because all of the records disappeared in the 1940s. So they can only go back so far, and because of that there is a certain depth of understanding. I had people at that Warsaw show coming up to me and crying and telling me stories of what they know about their own history, and that is so fascinating to me that I can talk about this history, which is, in some sense, very different. But people are able to relate and infuse. I think it’s because of the mixture of textures and sounds that gives people a break to consider the narrative that is being shared, and then allows them to contrast and compare those narratives. It’s one of the things about the work that makes me very happy.

Well, when people tell you their family histories at a show, it means that your work has had a certain impact for them. These things were only happening 60 to 100 years ago — and that is often very difficult to fathom for a lot of people.
Oh yeah, especially now. You know, the president in the White House, my president, he looks like my uncle. It’s a really difficult time in America to understand that there are certain fragments of history that still need to be paid attention to, they are not to be forgotten just because we have progressed in a certain way. Because history just shifts. People who are the downtrodden in one place change their circumstances, and that suffering shifts to another group of people. That’s why we have to pay attention to history, to understand the mistakes that were repeated, and that this just can’t be repeated again. It’s like there is a constant cycle, a constant rhythm — I think about that a lot but I grew up in an environment where I was constantly reminded of it.
It’s fascinating how that works its way into the music as well. It’s worth remembering of course that you are playing with a number of other people though, and I wanted to talk to you about one of them in particular; Jeramiyah Abiah. I love the way how his operatic vocals interact with your music. How did you come to work with him and what was it like recording those songs together?
Well I wanted that kind of sound within the work, and I have worked with different opera singers since the project’s inception. There are some women I have worked with as well, in addition to some other opera singers. Jeremiah is an old friend, who also actually has become my vocal coach. He is a great teacher, a really great teacher — I’m able to do things with my voice now that I wasn’t able to do before. But I knew I wanted that sound and so I went back and forth with it. You know, I do the music with different groups of musicians in different places and at some point I might do it again with a female voice, but here I went back and forth with the sound of the male operatic voice and I just really wanted that interchange and to me, that’s very autobiographical. That is the only autobiographical element in that chapter — the idea of the cross between spirituals in church, which I was exposed to heavily, but also the opera, which I was also exposed to heavily, and these class differences that I was exposed to within my own family. That really troubled me for a little while, I just couldn’t understand this difference of nuance because I wasn’t sure of what I was witnessing, and I wanted to present that in the work.
It isn’t a sound that you might have imagined working so well together, but like you say, through knowing Jeremiah’s before, you must have had an idea as to how he would be able to contribute.
Yeah, I instinctively knew how I could achieve that sound. That is also part of being an improviser. There is, as the saying goes, no such thing as a wrong note. You know, there is always a resolution for any sort of sound, so I wanted to explore how I could use that as a composer. I also grew up during the rise of hip-hop and the rise of sampling, and I think that is actually a big part of a lot of this music, subconsciously speaking. I grew up listening to all of these tracks that were just a mix of sampling all these different sounds, which were synthesized as one sound — I’m pretty sure that effected me heavily.
In terms of lyrical improvisation then, I read that you were using a bible, and that you were improvising from that.
Yes.
Was that as straight forward as it sounds, or did you find it to be a little more complicated with improvising from a religious text?
Yeah, I was wondering if anybody was going to ask me about that!
I couldn’t resist, I’m sorry!
No, it’s fine! I mean, for the record, I have a lot of problems with the bible, I always have. I also felt like it was a book I should read from cover to cover. I need to get down with that to understand the history of my country a little bit better, to understand the history of “my people” a little bit better. But out of the traditions that I come from and the art that I’ve been around, and the way that I live, anything can be improvised. Anything can be used as a basis for improvisation — we are all doing it all the time, as with this conversation, you know, you learn language and then language happens automatically, so I’m really interested in all of these different ways that language can be used. The interesting thing about the bible is how those words, read by so many different people, have been interpreted in way too many different ways — and so, I can use that as an improvisor. I can open up a passage and it can be something as reading a paragraph and crossing out words, and then re-reading the paragraph over, or reading the paragraph backwards, which I actually did in the first chapter, I read some prayers backwards, and I remember a family member was very upset about that because they said that was “devil stuff.” I said “no, no, no! It’s called improvisation!” and improv is what moves the world and what moves creativity. And as a Catholic reader of the bible, which is very specific, to where the Mississippi people were not Catholic, I’m linking in some ideas from the first chapter, but it’s all pretty spontaneous, like the passages that I read were not picked on purpose, they were picked in the moment…
…So if they are picked in the moment you are literally just talking about opening the book up, sticking your finger on a paragraph and reading what’s there?
Yeah. And that can get you in a lot of trouble!

My father was one of those really annoying music fans who would go up to musicians after a show and he would tell them that they didn’t play free enough.

Sure it can.
There are moments where I have stumbled across passages where I’m like, “I really don’t want to say that out loud!” But I’m already there, so it’s tough, I think, “I just have to get past this and hope that nobody asks me about it!” Because there are some incredibly offensive things in the bible, where you are like “really!?”
So I’ll have the text of my grandmother’s interview taped in this particular bible and I try to intersperse. The reason I’m able to jump between the text so much, I mean, I have the text memorized now, but I can’t jump from like, “This is really offensive!” to something else and I’ll do it in a way that is really quick, because some of that stuff you realize — like “I so don’t believe this stuff — and I don’t even want to say that out loud!”
When you say it’s taped in, you mean you have stuck pages in different parts?
Yeah, I made my own collage inside the bible. I cut out the words and glued them in. I also really like the presentation of book reading, there is something about that — a certain ritual that I really enjoy.
You mentioned the quilting already, the panoramic quilting that forms this seamless flow throughout the record where you don’t have tracks — it’s just a singular continuous flow. I was wondering how you went about breaking that up into 18 titles.
So the panoramic quilt, is a collage of segments and the score is also a collage of segments. When I wanted to break down the score, through the way that I put the piece together, there are larger segments that had names of their own. But then, when I broke down all of the segments, there were 18 of them, and so I decided that I wanted 18 titles. I decided that instead of separate titles, I would rather have a poem that spoke to different elements within each of those sections. Each of those titles are very particular to the segment of the score in terms of the original name, because there were other names that I had for some of those songs originally that I decided not to use. But it’s so funny — a lot of people thought that I broke it up like that just for the sake of it. But no, I broke it up like that to stay true to the score. But we also had to get the whole record onto vinyl, and so I had to cut about 20 minutes of music out, not in the studio but in the live performance — so some of those segments that are really short, are not that short in performance.
I just read your interview with The Wire, where you talked about working with electronic music. This sounds very exciting. I would love to know what you are doing with that and what you are aiming towards.
So I’m working with processing my saxophone sounds through different samplers and playing synthesizers and merging that with video that I’m building — so I want the video to become like a version of the paper scores. I do everything from analogue first, I build all of the scores by hand and then insert them into video imagery and piece that all together. And then from that, I’m trying to use the imagery from soundscapes using electronic sounds that I can create from my saxophone — a combination of my saxophone and my voice, but I’m trying to be very tasteful about how I go about doing that and trying to find a way that I can turn the saxophone into ideas of noise — that really peaks my interest, and I find that a very musical exercise in ways that some people might not. And then, what’s fun for me is to say, the base of that sound is a saxophone — I’m not using any prerecorded sounds… I have also used some field recordings in some of those pieces and the thing that I did for studio museum in Harlem is kind of a mix of some of those things. I’m just trying to find a way of creating these large scale sound collages as a solo live performer that I can break back down and put that to ensemble and do the same thing without all of he electronics, going back and forth between those things I find really interesting.
Do you think that will play into COIN COIN?
Yeah, so there are two solo chapters of COIN COIN and the electronics — these collages I’m working on are the solo chapters. I have toured that a little bit in Europe but I have never been able to do it in London, I hope to do it in the UK sometime next year. But it’s interesting, I started going into that direction partly because I was involved in a community where there were more “sound artists” like Alvin Luciay, Pauline Oliveros, Marina Rosenfeld, I started running into a lot of these people in New York City and spending time with them.
Did you record with Marina Rosenfeld?
I didn’t record with Marina but I worked with her. Marina and I worked side by side at Bard college, on the MFA program, where there is a department called Music/Sound and the musicians in that department are mostly exploring electronic music and I think that was the final impetus for me to think about all these other sounds — I thought it was really interesting and I wondered why I hadn’t explored them before. Partly because I don’t like having a lot of gear, but as a solo performer, there are so many things that I’m able to do with that .
In terms of what you have coming up, then, there are 12 chapters for the COIN COIN project, right?
Yep.
That is a huge undertaking — are you apprehensive about the scope in any way?
Not anymore — I’m so in it that I’m not able to quit. I have to finish it, but I set it up in these chapters because I wanted to challenge myself as a composer, I thought it would be an interesting way to experiment with different configurations of samples that I’m interested in working with but that I can’t do under one idea, I need to have an umbrella to put it all under. But I also had nine or ten historical narrative stories that I was just really interested in digging deeper into to see if I could do something with it. The only thing I’m apprehensive about is that — these two chapters, have taken almost nine years to get them both out. I started working on that music in 2005! So the only thing I’m apprehensive about now is just the pace and getting things out in the way that I would like to get them out.
What can we expect next in the COIN COIN series?
Well, that’s a good question, because Chapters 3, 4, and 5 have already been performed in New York at least once. I’ve mounted them up for performers and so I need to work on them some more, but all of the chapters, all of the framework for every single one is written and clear, so I might bounce around and move to a chapter later in the series, what I can’t decide now is that if I want to release things in a linear fashion, because the narrative I’m using is not so linear… so what can I say… just stay tuned!
I’m having so much fun! You know, Constellation jumping in the way that they did, that was something I was not expecting at all, and that still kind of shocks me. And the way that they have taken so much care into putting these records out, it’s very possible I could release two chapters at once, they have really embraced the project in a way that I could just not find someone to embrace it. And I feel the music is in the right place in the right home, and that really took a while, and so it may be that I release more chapters, and that I release more than one at a time, who knows? Who knows how much life i have left, you know I’m kind of at that point in my life where I have seen friends not make it so far as you might expect — life is such a gamble — so I really kind of am in a zone where I want to get this out as fast as I can, but at the same time I don’t want to push it out for the sake of it, I want to push it out because the inspiration is still there to keep it moving in a certain direction.