Institute for Studies In American Music
Conservatory of Music, Brooklyn College of the City University of New York
NEWSLETTER


Volume XXXVII

 


No. 1     Fall 2007

Inside This Issue:

Inside         This Issue

 

“We Both Speak African”: Gillespie, Pozo, and the making of Afro-Cuban Jazz by David F. Garcia

 

Reprising Gershwin, book review by Ray Allen

 

Indian Concepts in the Music of John Coltrane by Carl Clements

 

Max Roach: Bringing the (M)Boom Back by Salim Washington

 

Women in Electronic Music, CD review by Doug Cohen

 

Celebrating a Minnesota Legend by Jeffrey Taylor

Leroy Jenkins: Reflections by George Lewis

 

 

Leroy Jenkins (1932-2007)

Photo by Linda Harris

 

Editor’s note: On 13 May 2007, Saint Peter’s Church in Manhattan hosted celebration of the life and music of violinist, violist, and composer Leroy Jenkins, who passed away in February of this year. Musical offerings included performances by Jenkins’s colleagues from the Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians (AACM) and an excerpt from his 2004 opera Coincidents. Trombonist, author, and composer George Lewis, another luminary in AACM’s history and a longtime friend, offered the following reflections.

 

Throughout his long and fruitful creative life, Leroy Jenkins seemed to be everywhere at once.  The major improvising violinist of the twentieth century, Leroy invented the postmodern conception of the instrument. But for Leroy, mobility and range were key.  Leroy produced operas, ballets, electronic and computer music, and collaborated with theater artists, writers, video artists, and choreographers.  No form of creativity was foreign to him.

Where did this drive to mobility come from? What were his “roots,” so to speak?  

Well, it all started with Uncle Buck.            

Leroy was the child of 1920s migrants who met in Chicago, two people among the millions who came streaming out of the South in the Great Migration, one of the largest internal relocations in the history of America. His great-uncle Buck Jenkins traveled under very different conditions from the fabled train ride of Louis Armstrong from New Orleans.  Perhaps he read about life in the North from the Chicago Defender’s glowing reports of jobs and freedom. Blacks were piling en masse into trucks, cars, and trains, and as Southern whites saw their superexploited labor force slipping away, entire trains were diverted and hijacked, the travelers dragged out and beaten.

Like many migrants, Buck didn’t have train fare anyway, so he simply hopped a freight from the little town of Prospect, Tennessee, and found a job and a place to stay in “Bronzeville,” the regional capital of black America on Chicago’s South Side. He sent for Leroy’s father Henry, who married his boss’s Mississippi-born niece, and on March 11, 1932, Leroy was born.

When Leroy was eight or nine, his auntie’s boyfriend Riley brought a violin to the house. Leroy was transfixed by the finger-busting classical marvels Riley played, and pleaded with his mother to get him a violin.  Soon, a half-size, red-colored violin came from Montgomery Wards by mail order. It cost $25, which his mother paid for on credit.  Leroy recalled that at first, he had “a terrible sound. I almost gave it up, but I figured I’d keep doing it and I’d sound like Riley.” 

Leroy was listening to Billy Eckstine, Louis Jordan, Billie Holiday, and The Ink Spots. But Leroy was becoming a classically trained musician in the orchestra and the choir at Ebenezer Baptist Church, playing the music of black composers such as William Grant Still, Clarence Cameron White, and Will Marion Cook under the direction of Dr. O.W. Frederick, who became Jenkins’ first formal music teacher. At Chicago’s DuSable High School, Leroy studied with the fabled Captain Walter Dyett, celebrated far and wide for the pupils he had nurtured to success in the music world—Dinah Washington, Nat “King” Cole, Richard Davis, Eddie Harris, Dorothy Donegan, Henry Threadgill. 

Leroy attended the historically black Florida A&M University in Tallahassee on (of all things) a bassoon scholarship.  He continued his classical violin studies with his other major teacher, Bruce Hayden, and was teaching himself the craft of composition.  He returned to Chicago in 1965, intending to develop a more or less conventional jazz violin repertoire, when he attended a concert by Roscoe Mitchell, Kalaparusha Maurice McIntyre, Malachi Favors, Alvin Fielder, Thurman Barker—the beginnings of the Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians.  “I felt so ignorant—Man, what are they doing? But I was fascinated by it. So I joined up, and after a while I changed my whole style on the violin.  The atmosphere was free enough for you to do your thing. I didn’t have to copy off anybody.  It was different from what I had associated with jazz before.”

This was the beginning of the odyssey of Leroy Jenkins.  By 1969, he was in Paris, where he and the first generation of AACM musicians—Joseph Jarman, Leo Smith, Anthony Braxton, Roscoe Mitchell, Malachi Favors, Steve McCall, and Lester Bowie—realized that their experimental music was succeeding in an international arena. “L’école de Chicago” was breaking all the rules. No sound was excluded and no tradition was sacrosanct, and as audiences for the events sometimes approached rock-concert levels, Leroy observed with his customary self-deprecating humor, “Country boys from Chicago, we weren’t used to that kind of thing.”

The power of music is founded on soul-infused bodies—bodies that change, learn, grow, and decline. What musicians must do to keep both tradition and mobility alive is to work to create the conditions under which new bodies consecrate themselves to the musical act.  This is one of two great gifts that Leroy gave to younger artists—Anthony Davis, James Emery, John Blake, Brandon Ross, Myra Melford, myself, and so many others. The other great gift was Leroy himself, playing the violin and bouncing around in ecstatic joy; conducting an ensemble with arms akimbo, gesturing wildly, eyes wide open, hopping on one foot; or simply excited about some new idea or sound, talking faster and faster and faster.

Leroy Jenkins spent his life defending the spirit of the great musicians who realized that the absence of definite borders is the greatest strength of any music that seeks to endure as an international symbol of freedom and mobility. As Henry Threadgill told me, this kind of accomplishment requires a certain type of character. “These people kept stretching their own boundaries, in spite of adversity, and with great bulldog tenacity, have forged ahead when there was no payday, through all these years, and have not fallen by the wayside into obscurity.”

These are just some of the many great lessons—of sacrifice, renewal, and triumph—that Leroy Jenkins has given us.

George Lewis

Columbia University

 

 

 


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