May I talk to you about my Dad right now?
On December 9, 2018 at 9:40 a.m., my Dad passed away, making this year the 6th anniversary of his transition. As I think about his final moments, I will forever remember how when he passed, he exited quieter than a whisper's whisper. For a man who was always the lion of my life, the quietness of it all was so remarkable and for that, I remain thankful because of its utter peacefulness. Perhaps a reward for a full life lived fully and surrounded with love. No temperament. Just less than a hush. A grace note to mark an ending.
On the day that he passed, I know that I was running on considerable adrenaline. For mere hours afterwards, I was already on a bus from downtown Chicago to return to Madison, WI. and I was already thinking about returning to work the very next day, a thought I was thankfully and quickly talked out of by my wife. Soon, adrenaline changed to sorrow and as sorrowful as I was feeling, life, as it does without consideration or mercy, continued to move forwards. I did return to work two days afterwards and then, just three days afterwards, I had to return to my shift at WVMO for the next episode of Savage Radio.
For that broadcast, I was gifted two hours to myself and I utilized that time to pay tribute to my Dad by playing music and artists that he liked and the very music through which he and I connected. It all went well emotionally until I played the The Beatles' "Golden Slumbers/Carry That Weight/The End" medley from "Abbey Road" (released September 26, 1969), an album from his collection which he revered and according to him and my Mother, side two of which was often played for me as a baby, the side song suite always settling me down tranquilly. The first notes of the song combined with Paul McCartney's first lines ("Once there was a way...") upended me and right then and there, I broke down as I sat all alone in the studio. Believe me, as I am typically surrounded by people throughout my days, I was more than appreciative of the solitude during that song at that time.
Since then, I have performed tributes to my dad upon Savage Radio every year. Additionally, I have found myself upon return visits to my Mother in Chicago, to taking extended perusals through my Dad's beautiful record collection. I remember looking at the vinyl spines as a child, and as I remember those time as I am writing, I am thinking that I was perhaps performing the same feat as I am right now: I am trying to gather a sense of who my parents are as people through the music they loved and collected.
My Dad's favorite musical genre was jazz and his hero above all others was Miles Davis, an artist he followed from beginning to end. While he marveled at all of the stylistic changes just as I marveled at the evolutions of The Beatles and Prince, my Dad's favorite period of Davis' career arc was essentially between 1950-1968, the era of his first and second quintets plus his collaborations with Gil Evans, with "Kind Of Blue" (released August1 7, 1959) his favorite album.
Music was a constant within my household. While largely, what we as a family experienced was the soul and R&B of the time, it co-existed with jazz, gospel, showtunes, classic film scores, and by the time I came along, I naturally gravitated to rock music. Over my childhood, formative years and adolescence, my Dad would extol his passion for jazz, which never quite reached me as it just felt so foreign to my ears yet over time, especially as I became obsessed with progressive rock from the likes of Rush, Genesis and Yes, both my Dad and I saw it as a gateway to beginning to understanding jazz as he introduced me to the fusion albums he owned from Mahavishnu Orchestra, Billy Cobham and Jeff Beck.
And through everything, he continued to showcase jazz music he adored powerfully from songs to artists, including one time in particular in which I remember him placing a record upon the turntable he just LOVED. The song was "Mercy Mercy Mercy" as composed by Joe Zawinul and performed by Cannonball Adderley. I thought that name was hysterical. Quite a response from someone whose first passionate musical love was for a band called The Monkees.
This past summer, while visiting my Mother, I found myself again pouring through my Dad's records and this time, I became so interested in the history of these albums as they were obviously the original releases. But beyond the music itself, I found myself imagining my parents taking their own trips to record stores, just as I did and still do, wondering was was traveling through their spirits to inspire them to make those journeys, finger through the stacks and then select the music that spoke to themselves. Some of the records still even possessed the labels of the actual--and long defunct--record stores they visited! The life and memories contained in these inanimate objects, representations of their individual selves. In some way, looking through his records made me feel a piece of him somehow.
And so, I came upon the idea of perhaps making any and all future tributes for my Dad arrive exclusively from his collection. It would help me honor him better by giving what could be heard as a musical portrait of my Dad. But doing so would present a challenge as I do not know his music as intimately as my own. It had to be ephemeral.
I began taking random photos of album covers and once the time arrived to begin piecing together a show, I would look through my photos and randomly pick albums and artists to feature. Then, I would look online at album track listings and song samples and randomly pick selections to weave together into a tribute. Yes, I keep using the word "random," but...you know, I wish to believe that it was all my Dad somehow guiding me, reaching through me and making his suggestions. One could never know for certain. But, that is what I want to believe and truth be told, especially from my Mom's reactions, this is indeed what I am sticking with. Remember...the life and the memories are all in the music.
This time around, an album by The Cannonball Adderley Quintet--the artist whose name I once found to be so hysterical--announced itself to me. "The Price You Got To Pay To Be Free" (released December 1970), featuring the keyboard work and compositions of Joe Zawinul before his departure from the group, is a double live album largely culled from the 1970 Monterey Jazz Festival. I just knew that I had to feature a track from it, so I chose the truly rambunctious "Rumpelstiltskin," a selection fueled by rock and roll energy and featuring an equally vibrant audience.
Yet, something else occurred for me through this selection. While listening to this one song, I found myself unable to shake its power, much like any music, at first unfamiliar, weaves its way into my consciousness with a fervent curiosity to hear more. The sensation was not nagging but a gently persistent mental poke, pushing me to look further and seek out the album in full. Since I did not have my Dad's copy in my possession, I turned to online sources for a CD copy, of which it is looking to be out of print. This dead end led me to streaming services and from there, I took the plunge and purchased a digital copy of the entire album.
DAMN!!! What a release this album is!! The first cacophonous moments of the album--the first 40-45 seconds, to be exact--contained words that I have heard since 1990 but never knew the original source. Under the rabble chattering of the audience, the rhythmic chant of a tambourine and some ethereal notes from Joe Zawinul's electric piano, I am assuming I am hearing the spoken voice of Cannonball Adderley himself as he invokes, "Sex!! Freaks!! Freaks!! PEACE!!"
Those words...THOSE words!!! Those words have long been reconstituted and have found an additional home in the concluding moments of "Bonita Applebaum" from A Tribe Called Quest's iconic debut album "People's Instinctive Travels and the Paths of Rhythm" (released April 10, 1990), an album that has existed in my collection and life since its release. Hearing those words in its original context was a mind blower to say the least. Yet, on a deeper, more soulful level of thinking about this discovery, this musical moment was not solely one where I enjoyed something of his and then appropriated it for myself or even vice versa, when he would honestly enjoy something that I loved. This was a moment when our respective collections connected --two musical souls finding a joined point of contact.
While jazz is firmly the musical bedrock from this auspicious starting point, the quintet stretches outwards into an experience that feels like four distinct movements that play out upon each album side and flowing through soul ("Exquisition"), rock and blues ("Down In Black Bottom"), folk ("Bridges"), vocal selections ("Pra Dizer Adeus (To Say Goodbye)," "Lonesome Stranger"), protest songs (the album's title track, "Together," "Get Up Off Your Knees"), avant garde ("Inquisition," "1-2-3--GO-O-O-O") the sacred ("Painted Desert") and the profane ("Wild Cat Pee," "Alto Sex").
If this album was to be the most serious introduction to the musical universe of Cannonball Adderley, I am not certain if there would have been a better one for my ears to experience, for this album just had it all! Its breadth, depth and combination of musical styles and genres spoke directly to the very fabrics I love about my most favorite albums. The diversity of instrumentation, approaches, sounds and voicings made me hear just how formidable this grouping actually was and it made for a gripping, propulsive listening experience.
From the primary quintet core of bandleader Cannonball Adderley (alto and soprano saxophones, vocals), Nat Adderley (cornet, vocals), Walter Booker (bass), Roy McCurdy (drums), and Joe Zawinul (piano, electric piano, ring modulator) who were themselves augmented by 15 year old Nat Adderley Jr. (piano, electric piano, guitar, vocals, songwriting), Bob West (bass) and even then, augmented further by the audience heard throughout the album (especially one raucous woman heard yowling vibrantly in the right speaker over and again) to the point where even their church revival responses and reactions serve as additional instruments to an overall album, experience that feels like a force of nature. Not only have I listened to this album several times since paying tribute to my Dad once again, I have begun to seek out additional Cannonball Adderley albums to hopefully extend this experience to a greater and deeper level.
If anything, and long beyond my own enjoyment of the music, I am hoping that somehow, somewhere, through the act of listening, my Dad can feel our connection ever still, knowing that he was absolutely correct in voicing his love for this artists so long ago to me.
For planting this particular seed which has taken this much time to grow.
You know, for a short spell immediately after my Dad's passing, I began to see signs of him. Largely, I was seeing the time of his passing--9:40--everywhere...always without looking for it, but inexplicably so present. It was never disturbing or troubling. It was a marker, a reminder, an acknowledgement of this seismic event that happened between both of us. It is unable to be forgotten but even so, that sign of our connection, our unbreakable bond.
A greater sign occurred on the week of his funeral as I was returning to Chicago by bus, my source of travel from Wisconsin since my college days (as I am not a confident driver and suffer from anxiety on highways--the travel time is perfect for me to just sleep and zone). On this trip back home, and upon arriving in Chicago and exiting the Dan Ryan Expressway, the bus ended up taking a route it had NEVER taken before or since as it drove directly in front of the Whitney M. Young Magnet High School...where my Dad presided as Principal during the 1980s and 1990s. It really felt as if I was the only person on that crowded bus even taking notice and certainly, I would be the only one to know of the significance. Again, it was not disturbing or troubling. It was one of warm astonishment. Something that told me that the bond between my Dad and I was real and everlasting despite the lack of his physical presence.
Since then, if there have been any more signs, they have been so subtle that they may have slipped past me. He occasionally visits me in my dreams but aside from that, signs feel quiet. Maybe...just maybe...looking through my Dad's albums is a form of seeing those signs. Maybe...just maybe...the songs I have played on air in tribute are signs of him guiding my hand, making musical suggestions to tell his story to me and whomever is listening, including my Mom.
And maybe...just maybe...finding The Cannonball Adderley Quintet's "The Price You Got To Pay To Be Free" is a more direct sign from him. To show me even now the man he existed as through the music he cherished...even now, as we head into what is bound to be a turbulent 2025, the man he is hoping and instructing me to be in his stead as I move forward in this life.
Thank you, Dad. Please keep sending me signs and I will keep looking.
