Back in the Saddle

Hello again. Were back from our extended August break, a little refreshed, a little jazzed, more than a little sad, a little confused, a little angry and otherwise trying to catch up to a world where songwriters are getting a raise, where the golden road to unlimited acquisition of classic music catalogs is sprouting potholes (paywall), where pop stars can fix their questionable lyrics in real time and where 12- and 16-year-old drummers are stealing the show at all-star rock concerts. August is supposed to be a slow month. This was not one of those Augusts. The story mixes this week will be sprinkled with some of the more noteworthy stories from the past six weeks, and there may be some looking back and reflecting in the rants and raves, along with some looking back and reflecting on what exactly we do here at MusicREDEF.

Rest in Peace

The photos atop this week’s newsletters will honor music greats we’ve lost in the past month and a half, of which there have been far too many, including Motown songwriting/producing giant LAMONT DOZIER; ‘70s and ‘80s pop queen OLIVIA NEWTON-JOHN; transformative record exec MO OSTIN; jazz musicians JOEY DEFRANCESCO, RAMSEY LEWIS, ABDUL WADUD and MONNETTE SUDLER; jazz producer and label founder CREED TAYLOR; Fisk Jubilee Singers music director DR. PAUL T. KWAMI; cult country singer/songwriter LUKE BELL; Argentine rock icon MARCIANO CANTERO; Indigenous Australian singer/songwriter/activist ARCHIE ROACH; Crickets drummer JERRY ALLISON; and, on Monday afternoon, “Selfish” rapper PNB ROCK, who became at least the 19th rapper murdered in the US in 2022 (eight more hip-hop artists, by my count, have been murdered worldwide).

And then there was the unexpected, devastating death of JAIMIE BRANCH, one of the most unique and vital voices in 21st century jazz, whose passing at age 39 leaves a gaping hole far beyond the confines of a single genre (and a deep, personal wound in the music communities of Chicago, where she grew up, and New York, where she lived). She was a virtuosic, soulful player whose trumpet was a hurricane of possibilities. And she was so much more than that trumpet, and so much more than many people’s notions of what jazz is, or should be. In her numerous guises, including her band Fly or Die and her partnership with drummer Jason Nazary in the electronic-centered Anteloper, branch seemed to improvise not only on songs and chords but on the very idea of musical space. She loved her electronics and she loved to tinker, and she was never far from a looper pedal and a table full of instruments and toys to run through it. She frequently sang and chanted, too, with a kind of punk-rock accent (her “Love Song” was addressed to “a**holes and clowns”).

branch’s concerts were unpredictable, generous, welcoming, mesmerizing. She had a loose, decidedly casual stage presence that, as Natalie Weiner wrote, “allowed her work to be felt within the community rather than above it.” The word “community” comes up a lot in discussions of branch’s life and music. It was essential to her work. She was fond of asking her audiences to “take care of each other.” I saw her every chance I got, which wasn’t enough, and she was the obvious choice for my first proper concert in the Covid era, after 15 months of nothing but livestreams. “It’s yesterday’s tomorrow,” the trumpeter/vocalist/composer/tinkerer began chanting at one point. I was overcome by a swirl of emotions suggested by those three simple words, but the community around me, in that moment, seemed to push me toward the more optimistic ones. The words still ring true today, and the emotions continue to swirl. RIP.