Greater Darkness, Greater Light by Geoffrey Himes Photo by Becca Meek
Most people who are aware of Gee’s Bend, Ala., know the African- American community for its quilts. Two different exhibitions of the brightly colored, geometric bed coverings toured museums in New York, Washington, Houston and elsewhere in the ’00s. What most folks don’t know is that the quilters often sang a cappella hymns as they sewed. It was a recording of that singing that Jaimeo Brown first encountered before he ever heard of the quilts. Samples from those hymns serve as the connecting tissue on Brown’s remarkable debut solo album, Transcendence (Motéma). On half of the disc’s dozen tracks, the sound of women and men sitting around a rectangular quilting table, singing in a kind of moaning joy, rises out of a buried past to be seized and improvised upon by Brown’s drum kit, Chris Sholar’s electric guitar and JD Allen’s tenor saxophone. Brown and Sholar, the project’s co-producers, are big hip-hop fans, and they use that genre’s audio-collage techniques as the adhesive to bind those 19th-century blues harmonies, odd meters and gospel lyrics to 21st-century jazz. It all started in 2004, when the then 25-year-old Brown and his Bay Area pal Howard Wiley, the saxophonist, would get together to play blues records for each other. One day Wiley brought in an album he had found at El Cerrito’s Down Home Music Store, and as soon as Brown heard the Gee’s Bend Singers, it immediately became his favorite record. Since that day, he never goes into a recording session without first pulling that record out and listening to it again. “There was something about their voices that expressed faith in the face of pain,” Brown says, “that expressed a love that comes from real sacrifice. The music told a lot of my own story and confirmed where I was going. It was meatier than modern gospel music, more purified, less watered-down, less lukewarm. All black music today comes from a source, and this music sounded closer to that source than other things I was hearing. It came from a time when the church was more the center of the black community. It came from a time of greater darkness, but it produced a greater light. “Revil Mosely, one of the Gee’s Bend singers, told this story of how they’d be out in the field picking cotton, and even there they’d be singing and some of them would be completely overcome by joy. She called it ‘the good, old, hard times,’ and her emphasis was on both the ‘good’ and the ‘hard.’ There’s something that happens in the middle of struggle that can be extremely bright and valuable. In my own experience, some of the greatest strength and hope can come out of the hardest times.” The “hard” can be heard on “Mean World,” the opening track on Transcendence. It begins with Frank Titus’ unaccompanied voice singing, “This world is a mean world to live in.” Before long the shudder in the man’s 1941 lament is echoed by the 2012 tremble of Brown’s cymbals and Sholar’s sitar-like guitar drone. “No mother, no father, no sister, Lord, no brother,” Titus adds, tallying up an orphan’s losses, and 71 years later Allen answers him with a Coltrane-like cry of pain and prayer. “Being jazz musicians allowed us to be free within the structure of those samples and to let the unexpected happen,” Brown says. He’s sitting in the atrium on the fifth floor of Jazz at Lincoln Center. Needlethin sideburns stab down his jawline toward a chin beard; he’s wearing a black T-shirt under a black coat. The wall of windows behind him offers an IMAX-like view of the traffic on Manhattan’s Columbus Circle, but