For years, I have used micro-essays to think through what I was learning. More recently, the writing has taken on another purpose. It gives me time to recognize how an experience has affected me before I turn it into an argument or a problem to solve. Research on expressive writing has helped me understand why this practice creates space for emotional processing (Pennebaker 2018:226–29, Ruini and Mortara 2022:23–34). I began noticing how often I left a class, meeting, or conversation before I had fully registered its effect on me.

Once I recognized that pattern, I began thinking about the places where I hold some measure of authority. Students and colleagues learn the habits of an institution by watching it operate. They notice what gets rewarded, whose discomfort receives attention, how a mistake is handled, and who is expected to absorb the consequences. I participate in shaping that culture whenever I lead a discussion, evaluate someone’s work, or allow an urgent request to become urgent for everyone else.

Professional musicians know what background anxiety can do to attention. Research on musicians’ mental health and occupational stress describes how performance demands, uncertainty, and career pressures become part of daily life (Cardoso et al. 2025:3611–21, Willis et al. 2024). Building a career around music can strain the very relationship that sustains us (Musgrave 2023:280–95). The mind drifts to what could go wrong. Years of training also produce automatic ways of hearing and responding before deliberate analysis begins (Alluri et al. 2017:2955–70). The body prepares for a problem before the mind has decided whether one exists.

I recognize the same reflex in academic life. Calendars, committee work, deadlines, and back-to-back commitments keep the mind oriented toward the next demand. By the time I enter another class or meeting, I may already be assessing the situation before I have fully arrived. Research with concert audiences shows how a task as simple as listening for structure can alter the felt experience of a performance (Weining et al. 2025).

Many organizations call this vigilance excellence. The person who catches every problem, takes on additional work, and keeps the day from falling apart often looks like the obvious leader. Once that person begins supervising others, everyone starts working around the habit.

An urgent email arrives, and I answer it immediately. From my side, that response may feel responsible. Everyone copied on the exchange learns that the request deserves the same urgency. Someone with less institutional power watches carefully before deciding how candidly to raise a concern. Reflection gets whatever time remains after deadlines, reports, and meetings have claimed the day. People learn the institution’s priorities from these small decisions.

They also watch closely during a difficult quarter, a canceled project, or a public mistake. What they see becomes the standard. If I ignore every physical and emotional signal and continue at the same pace, I make endurance look like the price of belonging. Others carry that lesson into the next meeting. Before long, the response feels like part of the job.

The burden lands unevenly across race, gender, disability, class, and institutional rank, shaping how safely a person can speak candidly or recover from a mistake (Edmondson 2018). Many individuals enter meetings performing a second layer of work by constantly scanning for signs of belonging, calculating safe levels of visibility, and weighing the personal cost of being misread (Steele 2010, Dickens and Chavez 2018). This ongoing identity-based vigilance consumes vital energy before the agenda even begins, whereas performance reviews strictly evaluate visible output.

As a middle-aged, cisgender, heterosexual, white, able-bodied man, my background carries an inherent presumption of belonging in most professional settings (McIntosh 1988, Secules et al. 2021). I work to understand institutional life beyond my own perspective, recognizing that listening carefully allows space for others to define their own lived experiences. Women, people of color, LGBTQ+ individuals, disabled colleagues, and those with less institutional authority frequently navigate the quiet toll of reading a room and assessing the risk of being misread. Institutions have historically treated this systemic pressure as an individual burden, and this essay seeks to address that institutional gap.

Institutions committed to equity have to examine the signals embedded in their ordinary routines. Leaders need time to notice what is happening in their bodies and remain present with the people they lead. That time belongs in the workday. Scheduling, workload decisions, and performance measures should recognize reflection and presence as part of leadership.

Research on mindfulness and meditation among musicians has given me another language for this practice of attention (Paese and Egermann 2024:59–74, Czajkowski, Greasley, and Allis 2022:259–79). I now put five quiet minutes on my calendar after a difficult class or meeting. During that time, I pay attention to what happened in my body, what I carried away, and what my response may have communicated to the people around me. Five minutes gives me a chance to catch the lesson before I repeat it.

For those who lead people or help shape institutional culture: how are you helping leaders notice what their daily habits teach the people around them?

Making a living from what you love can be difficult. Maintaining balance can be even harder. If this essay resonated with you, sharing it with a colleague, fellow artist, or friend is the highest compliment.

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Sources

Alluri, Vinoo, Petri Toiviainen, Iballa Burunat, Marina Kliuchko, Peter Vuust, and Elvira Brattico. “Connectivity Patterns during Music Listening: Evidence for Action-Based Processing in Musicians.” Human Brain Mapping 38, no. 6 (2017): 2955–70. https://doi.org/10.1002/hbm.23565.

Amarnani, Rajiv K., Jennifer Ann L. Lajom, Simon Lloyd D. Restubog, and Alessandra Capezio. “Consumed by Obsession: Career Adaptability Resources and the Performance Consequences of Obsessive Passion and Harmonious Passion for Work.” Human Relations 73, no. 6 (2020): 811–36. https://doi.org/10.1177/0018726719844812.

Cardoso, Mário, Levi Leonido, Antonino Pereira, and Elsa Morgado. “Mental Health Challenges in Professional Musicians: A Systematic Review of Stress, Anxiety, and Depression.” International Journal of Innovative Research and Scientific Studies 8, no. 2 (2025): 3611–21. https://doi.org/10.53894/ijirss.v8i2.6065.

Czajkowski, Anne-Marie L., Alinka E. Greasley, and Michael Allis. “Mindfulness for Musicians: A Mixed Methods Study Investigating the Effects of 8-Week Mindfulness Courses on Music Students at a Leading Conservatoire.” Musicae Scientiae 26, no. 2 (2022): 306–31. https://doi.org/10.1177/1029864920941570.

Dai, Ruijiao, Petri Toiviainen, Fulvia Francesca Campo, and Elvira Brattico. “Differences in Dynamic Functional Connectivity between Musicians and Non-Musicians during Naturalistic Music Listening.” Frontiers in Neuroscience 19 (2025): article 1649733. https://doi.org/10.3389/fnins.2025.1649733.

Dickens, Donyell D., and Amber L. Chavez. “Navigating White Academy Spaces: Identity Code-Switching and Emotional Labor among Black Women Faculty.” Journal of Diversity in Higher Education 11, no. 1 (2018): 82–95.

Edmondson, Amy C. The Fearless Organization: Creating Psychological Safety in the Workplace for Learning, Innovation, and Growth. Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons, 2018.

McIntosh, Peggy. “White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack.” Peace and Freedom Magazine (1988): 10–12.

Musgrave, George. “Music and Wellbeing vs. Musicians’ Wellbeing: Examining the Paradox of Music-Making Positively Impacting Wellbeing, but Musicians Suffering from Poor Mental Health.” Cultural Trends 32, no. 3 (2023): 280–95. https://doi.org/10.1080/09548963.2022.2058354.

Paese, Serena, and Hauke Egermann. “Meditation as a Tool to Counteract Music Performance Anxiety from the Experts’ Perspective.” Psychology of Music 52, no. 3 (2024): 465–84. https://doi.org/10.1177/03057356231155968.

Pennebaker, James W. “Expressive Writing in Psychological Science.” Perspectives on Psychological Science 13, no. 2 (2018): 226–29. https://doi.org/10.1177/1745691617707315.

Ruini, Chiara, and Cristina C. Mortara. “Writing Technique across Psychotherapies: From Traditional Expressive Writing to New Positive Psychology Interventions, a Narrative Review.” Journal of Contemporary Psychotherapy 52, no. 1 (2022): 23–34. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10879-021-09520-9.

Secules, Stephen, Cassandra McCall, Julia M. Philips, Teresa S. Vance, Lisa D. McNair, and Richard C. Choi. “Positionality Practices: From Reflection to Action in Institutional Cultures.” Journal of Engineering Education 110, no. 1 (2021): 19–43.

Steele, Claude M. Whistling Vivaldi: How Stereotypes Affect Us and What We Can Do. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2010.

Weining, Christian, Deborah Meier, Melanie Wald-Fuhrmann, and Martin Tröndle. “From Structural Listening to Daydreaming: Listening Modes Influence the Individual Experience in Live Concerts.” Psychology of Music (2025). Advance online publication. https://doi.org/10.1177/03057356241310863.

Willis, Simone, Mikel Mellick, Rich Neil, and David Wasley. “’I Feel Like a Fish out of Water’: Interpreting the Occupational Stress and Well-Being Experiences of Professional Classical Musicians.” Frontiers in Psychology 15 (2024): article 1374773. https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyg.2024.1374773.

Zhang, Chengyu, Yan Wang, Xinyi Liu, and Jing Zhang. “Mindfulness- and Acceptance-Based Interventions for Music Performance Anxiety: A Three-Level Meta-Analysis of Therapeutic Effects, Mechanisms, and Boundary Conditions.” Frontiers in Psychology 17 (2026): article 1851221. https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyg.2026.1851221.

What began as a single blog about the tuba in jazz has become a series of three connected essays. That expansion reflects the history of the instruments themselves and the different musical worlds that gather around them.

The first essay, “The Lasting Legacy of the Tuba in Jazz,” began with a familiar historical problem. The tuba is often treated as an early jazz bass instrument that disappeared once the string bass became common. That account leaves too much out. The instrument remained active in jazz orchestration, small groups, experimental ensembles, studio work, and the hands of musicians who developed it as a featured improvising voice.

The essay followed the tuba through those settings. It considers the musicians who established the instrument’s place in recorded jazz, from early bass players and orchestral specialists to modern soloists. After its initial publication, a reader, Stanislav “Stas” Cheremushkin (often known online by his tubastas YouTube handle), reminded me that Rich Matteson and the euphonium also belonged in the story. He was right. That addition clarified the larger subject. The history concerned a family of low-brass voices whose roles had changed across generations.

Even with that broader frame, one absence became increasingly difficult to ignore. Another reader, Chris Butcher, asked the question directly: no write-up on Tuba Fats himself? He was right as well, and his question named the absence precisely.

The sousaphone received comparatively little attention.

That omission was strange because the sousaphone is central to my own work as a musician and scholar. I have spent years studying New Orleans brass band traditions, second lines, Congo Square, Black community life, and the continuities connecting those practices to jazz. I also know the instrument through performance. Its weight, airflow, projection, and relationship with the drums have shaped the way I hear music from the bottom of an ensemble.

At first, I understood the omission as an editorial decision. A full discussion of the sousaphone would have changed the proportions of the original essay. The instrument leads into street processions, funerals, social aid and pleasure clubs, neighborhood parades, schools, dance, public space, and the collective work of the brass band. Those subjects required another frame.

That recognition led to the second essay, “The Bass Voice in Motion: The Sousaphone and the Living History of the New Orleans Brass Band.”

This essay traces the bass voice through New Orleans brass band history. It begins before the sousaphone entered common use, when bass horns, helicons, and tubas supplied the bottom of nineteenth-century military bands and wind ensembles. It then considers how New Orleans musicians adapted the sousaphone to the demands of outdoor performance, procession, dancing, and collective improvisation.

The instrument’s design made it practical for movement, but its musical identity came from the players. They developed bass lines that could establish harmony, interact with the drums, answer the horns, signal transitions, and shape the movement of dancers. A sousaphonist might improvise throughout a performance without taking a conventional solo. Variation appears through rhythm, articulation, register, note length, repetition, and the changing relationship between the bass line and the percussion.

That history also requires attention to individual musicians. Joseph “Red” Clark and Wilbert “Bird” Tillman belong to an earlier brass band world. Allan and Ben Jaffe represent one line of preservation, institutional work, and family transmission. Anthony “Tuba Fats” Lacen stands near the center of the modern lineage. His playing connected traditional brass band practice with blues, rhythm and blues, funk, and the changing Black musical environment of New Orleans.

Kirk Joseph developed the sousaphone as a walking, improvising, and compositionally independent bass voice with the Dirty Dozen Brass Band. Philip “Tuba Phil” Frazier made the bass line a hook, a loop, and a defining element of Rebirth’s sound. Edward Lee Jr. helped place the instrument within the layered hip-hop and funk arrangements of the Soul Rebels. Bennie Pete’s work with the Hot 8 Brass Band reveals how musical leadership can include mentorship, organization, survival, and responsibility to an ensemble. Jeffrey Hills brought extraordinary melodic freedom and expressive control—and an amazing ear for subsitutions!—to the bass function. Matt Perrine approaches the instrument through composition and arrangement, often shaping a piece’s architecture from the bass chair. Steve Glenn represents the versatility required of a working New Orleans musician moving among brass bands, jazz orchestras, parades, traditional repertory, and music from several parts of the world.

As that essay developed, another group of musicians kept entering the discussion. Their work remained connected to the broader history of low brass, but the New Orleans brass band lineage could not explain it all.

Nat McIntosh helped establish the sousaphone as a compositional center within Youngblood Brass Band. His playing translates elements of hip-hop production into acoustic performance through loops, beatboxing, multiphonics, percussive attacks, and sounds associated with turntables and electronic instruments. Damon “Tuba Gooding Jr.” Bryson brought the sousaphone into The Roots, one of the most visible hip-hop ensembles in the world. His musical formation in the United House of Prayer connects his work to a Black sacred brass tradition. His career with The Roots places that sound inside concert performance, television production, comedy, popular-song quotation, and the rapid musical decisions required of a live house band.

Bill Muter has developed an independent low-brass platform through performance, pedagogy, production, international touring, hip-hop, and online media. Sérgio Carolino approaches the tuba through orchestral playing, jazz, funk, contemporary composition, free improvisation, extended technique, and Portugal’s community-band culture. Devon “TubaRed” Taylor joins New Orleans experience with the demands of Los Angeles studio work, film, television, hip-hop, jazz, and multi-instrumental performance.

These musicians demanded a third essay.

The third essay is “The Contemporary Low-Brass Imagination: Tuba and Sousaphone Across Jazz, Hip-Hop, Experimental Music, and Global Performance.”

This essay follows the tuba and sousaphone into professional and creative settings that older histories of the instrument rarely anticipated: hip-hop rhythm sections, experimental trios, television bands, film sessions, amplified ensembles, international collaborations, and independent projects built around the artistic identity of the low-brass player.

The connections among these musicians do not depend upon a single lineage or style. Their work grows from different communities, educational systems, repertoires, and professional circumstances. What they share is an expanded understanding of the bass role.

The low-brass player may establish the groove, introduce the principal motive, organize the harmony, imitate electronic production, create percussion, improvise above the ensemble, write the arrangement, produce the recording, and design the project. The instrument continues to provide weight and foundation. Each musician in this essay had to adapt it to a particular ensemble, a particular set of production tools, and a particular repertory before it could do any of that work.

My own work appears within the series because I write from inside these histories. I approach them as an ethnomusicologist, African American Studies scholar, educator, trombonist, bass trombonist, tuba player, and performer-scholar. My recorded work has placed the tuba in early jazz repertory, dub, improvised music, orchestral writing, theatrical projects, and ensembles where bass, countermelody, texture, and solo voice overlap.

The sousaphone is both my subject and one of the ways I understand the music.

Playing low brass changes how I understand rhythm, breath, movement, ensemble balance, and the labor required to make a performance cohere. It also reminds me that the history of an instrument cannot be separated from the people, institutions, and communities that gave its sound meaning.

Together, the three essays follow related histories:

“The Lasting Legacy of the Tuba in Jazz” examines the tuba and euphonium across jazz history, orchestration, recording, and improvisation.

“The Bass Voice in Motion: The Sousaphone and the Living History of the New Orleans Brass Band” follows the sousaphone through New Orleans streets, neighborhoods, institutions, ensembles, and generations.

“The Contemporary Low-Brass Imagination: Tuba and Sousaphone Across Jazz, Hip-Hop, Experimental Music, and Global Performance” considers the musicians who have developed the instruments within contemporary performance, production, pedagogy, and international low-brass culture.

Each essay begins in a different place. Together, they form a larger history of musicians who have shaped rhythm, harmony, motion, and collective sound from the bottom of the ensemble.

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I thought I was telling a broad history of the instrument and the musicians who expanded its role. The essay followed the tuba through early jazz ensembles, orchestral writing, modern improvisation, and the work of players who established it as a serious jazz voice.

Yet I gave comparatively little space to the instrument closest…

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This is the third essay in a series that began with “The Lasting Legacy of the Tuba in Jazz” Image created with DALL·E.

The Contemporary Low-Brass Imagination

Tuba and Sousaphone Across Jazz, Hip-Hop, Experimental Music, and Global Performance

This is the third essay in a series that began with “The Lasting Legacy of the Tuba in Jazz” and continued with “The Bass Voice in Motion,” which followed the sousaphone through New Orleans brass-band history and the musicians who shaped its bass voice across streets, stages, schools, recordings, and community institutions.

While that essay took shape, another group of musicians entered the discussion. Their work connects low-brass history with conservatories, churches, European community bands, recording studios, and professional settings far beyond New Orleans. Some studied the New Orleans tradition directly. Others developed related approaches through different musical communities. This essay follows the tuba and sousaphone through hip-hop rhythm sections, experimental trios, television bands, film sessions, amplified ensembles, international collaborations, and independent projects centered on the low-brass player.

These musicians come from different communities, educational systems, repertories, and professional circumstances. They share an expansive understanding of the bass role. The low-brass player can establish the groove, introduce the principal motive, organize the harmony, translate electronic production into acoustic sound, improvise above the ensemble, write the arrangement, produce the recording, and design the project. Each musician shapes the instrument to the needs of a particular ensemble, repertory, technology, and working environment.

Bill Muter and the Independent Low-Brass Platform

Bill Muter has built an independent low-brass practice across contemporary tuba performance, hip-hop, jazz, neo-soul, touring, education, and production.

Known as the “Tubavisionary,” Muter has built a career that treats the tuba as a modern bass instrument capable of participating directly in groove-based music. His approach includes improvisation, rhythmic articulation, sound production, and techniques drawn from beatboxing. The instrument can anchor a bass line, support a rapper or singer, create percussive effects, or become the featured voice of a performance.

Muter has performed internationally across jazz, pop, Haitian music, and commercial entertainment.^[1] He also toured as tuba player and music director for Drew Tucker and the New Standard through the U.S. State Department’s Jazz Ambassadors program. That work carried contemporary low brass into educational and diplomatic settings.^[2]

Muter extends that work through publication and teaching. His book A Practical Approach addresses brass pedagogy through the needs of the contemporary player. His courses and clinics bring groove, improvisation, theory, and professional versatility into tuba instruction. Recordings including Off Script and Topless in Tokyo place the instrument at the center of self-produced projects built around his own musical identity.

Muter broadens the geographic and professional frame of the tuba story. Independent production, online media, global touring, hip-hop collaboration, and pedagogy support a career built around the tuba as a lead voice.

Sérgio Carolino and the Experimental Tuba

Sérgio Carolino brings Portugal’s community-band culture, orchestral practice, contemporary composition, jazz, funk, and free improvisation into this history. His concert tuba functions as a bass voice, lead instrument, source of percussion, improvising partner, and generator of new timbres.

Carolino began studying tuba at eleven. Since 2002, he has served as principal tuba of the Orquestra Sinfónica do Porto Casa da Música.^[3] His work as a teacher and artistic director has included leadership of GRAVÍSSIMO!, the international low-brass academy and festival in Alcobaça. His reputation rests equally on standard tuba repertory and his approaches to jazz, funk, contemporary music, and free improvisation.

Curiosity organizes Carolino’s playing. He approaches each setting as an opportunity to reconsider articulation, range, timbre, rhythmic function, and the tuba’s relationship with the surrounding instruments.

His trio TGB offers one of the clearest examples. Carolino performs with guitarist Mário Delgado and drummer Alexandre Frazão in an open trio that places the tuba at every level of the music. He supplies bass lines and harmonic direction while improvising as an equal melodic voice. The group draws from jazz, rock, folk, country, and experimental music. Its identity grows from the interaction among the three musicians.

TGB places Carolino in a position familiar to the brass-band sousaphonist. He carries the bottom, responds to the drums, shapes the harmony, and remains free to redirect the music as an improviser.

Carolino’s involvement with the Postcard Brass Band provides a more direct relationship to brass-band performance. His larger collection of projects includes TGB, the Postcard Brass Band, Mr. SC & the Wild Bones Gang, SubWoof3r, Funky Bones Factory!, the European Tuba Trio, and several ensembles built around combinations of tubas, percussion, guitar, accordion, trumpet, horn, and electronics. The titles often lean toward humor, but the musicianship is exacting.

His virtuosity includes multiphonics, extreme registers, vocalized sounds, unusual articulations, rapid passagework, circular breathing, and a broad range of tonal effects. Carolino gives each technique a musical function. A multiphonic becomes harmony. A pedal tone becomes a rhythmic event. Noise, breath, resonance, and pitch become compositional materials.

His groove playing gives those experiments a rhythmic center. His rhythmic precision allows the tuba to occupy territory associated with electric bass, distorted guitar, synthesizer, or bass drum. In TGB, the low-brass line can lock tightly with the drum set, then separate from it and become the principal improvising voice.

Across different musical lineages and social settings, Carolino, Kirk Joseph, Philip Frazier, Bennie Pete, and Bill Muter treat the bass function as a source of structural responsibility and creative possibility.

Carolino also demonstrates how deeply brass-band culture extends beyond the United States. Portugal has a long history of local wind bands that provide musical education, civic participation, repertory, and intergenerational transmission. His career traces an entirely different pathway, shaped by Portuguese band traditions, European improvised music, orchestral practice, and global tuba pedagogy.

Carolino has pushed the tuba across an unusually broad musical range while maintaining a recognizable voice. His playing combines technical command, rhythmic precision, curiosity, and humor. Together, those qualities make experimentation sound like an extension of the instrument’s musical life.

Devon “TubaRed” Taylor: From New Orleans to Los Angeles

Devon Taylor’s career traces a living route between New Orleans brass-band practice and the Los Angeles recording industry.

Taylor studied at the Herb Alpert School of Music at CalArts, developing the technical foundation associated with conservatory low-brass training.^[4] He later moved to New Orleans, where he performed with Preservation Hall and numerous local ensembles, and was given the name “TubaRed” by New Orleans musicians. He eventually returned to Los Angeles with a musical vocabulary shaped by both environments.^[5]

Taylor’s career joins conservatory training, New Orleans brass-band experience, and studio work. He performs on tuba, sousaphone, electric and upright bass, trombone, bass trombone, cimbasso, saxophones, trumpet, and French horn. That range supports work across jazz, pop, hip-hop, R&B, Latin music, orchestral performance, television, film, and commercial recording.

The breadth of that work is especially relevant in Los Angeles, where a musician may be asked to move from a written orchestral part to a New Orleans-style bass line, a hip-hop groove, or a theatrical visual performance within the same professional network. Taylor’s experience gives him access to the brass-band bass sound from within the tradition. He understands its articulation, physicality, and relationship to percussion.

His appearance in the Super Bowl LVI halftime show placed the sousaphone within a massive presentation of Los Angeles hip-hop featuring Dr. Dre, Snoop Dogg, Eminem, Mary J. Blige, Kendrick Lamar, 50 Cent, and Anderson .Paak, under the direction of musical director Adam Blackstone. In that setting, the instrument added visual force and connected the staged production to the long history of mobile Black brass performance.

Taylor carries New Orleans articulation, rhythmic practice, and ensemble knowledge into studios, film scores, stadiums, and performance spaces across Los Angeles. The sousaphone retains its brass-band memory as he adapts it to each setting.

India Anderson: Leadership, Arranging, and the Los Angeles Pop-Brass Continuum

Devon Taylor’s trajectory connects New Orleans brass-band practice with West Coast commercial networks. India Anderson’s work brings conservatory training, marching arts leadership, and commercial arranging together within the Los Angeles professional music world.

Anderson studied at the University of Southern California’s Thornton School of Music, where she earned her degree in tuba performance and became the first woman to serve as drum major in the 139-year history of the USC Trojan Marching Band. Leading an ensemble of that scale required physical command, sonic projection, and structural leadership. Those qualities carried into her professional work across Los Angeles recording stages and television studios.

As a tubist, sousaphonist, contractor, and arranger, Anderson occupies a central role in the city’s professional brass world. Her credits include studio sessions and live performances with John Williams, Quincy Jones, Herbie Hancock, and Beyoncé. She played sousaphone during Beyoncé’s opening performance at the 94th Academy Awards.

Anderson extends this commercial versatility as the founder, leader, and primary arranger of BLOW Brass, an eight-piece Los Angeles ensemble. The ensemble traces its beginnings to a 2020 lecture-demonstration master class I gave at USC on New Orleans brass bands. After a short talk on the tradition, we spent two hours learning tunes entirely by ear. Nothing was printed, and we played along with recordings until the music sat in the room. The group had multiples of every instrument, including three tuba players, and I brought my bass drum to hold the tempo. The instrumentation already carried a New Orleans shape. Several participants from that session became founding members of BLOW Brass.

Through BLOW Brass, she arranges contemporary R&B, hip-hop, pop, and funk for brass-band instrumentation. Her sousaphone parts anchor the rhythm and organize the harmony of modern pop repertoire.

Anderson holds the bass voice in the Disneyland Band, arranges for broadcast events, and leads grooves in street and stadium settings across Southern California. She performs the parts, writes the arrangements, and runs the ensemble.

Low Brass in New York

New York supports a busy low-brass network built through touring ensembles, recording work, clubs, commercial performance, independent projects, and screen media. Musicians place tuba and sousaphone inside rock, jazz manouche, pop, and ensembles inspired by New Orleans brass-band instrumentation.

Steven Duffy in Brass Against and Django New Orleans

Steven Duffy works across projects that require distinct low-brass sounds. His career includes brass-driven rock, hip-hop, jazz manouche, New Orleans repertory, popular touring, and studio performance.

With Brass Against, Duffy places the sousaphone inside arrangements drawn from rock, alternative music, hip-hop, and politically charged popular repertory. The ensemble combines brass with guitar, drum set, amplified voices, and dense rhythmic textures. Duffy reinforces guitar riffs, locks with the drums, thickens unison passages, and establishes central grooves.

In Django New Orleans, Stéphane Wrembel brings New Orleans brass instrumentation into conversation with Django Reinhardt’s guitar language and jazz manouche. Duffy supports guitars, violin, washboard, drums, reeds, trumpet, and voice. His bass parts join acoustic swing with second-line rhythm and arranged brass figures.

Duffy appears on Django New Orleans II: Hors-Série and has toured with Lauryn Hill and Jon Batiste. Those engagements require different attacks, registers, sounds, and relationships with amplification.

Across these settings, Duffy listens for the ensemble’s rhythmic center and the space available to the bass voice. He reshapes his attack, register, tone, and relationship with amplification according to the arrangement.

Nora Nalepka: Brass Bands and Screen Media

Nora Nalepka combines tuba and sousaphone performance with composition, music supervision, and music clearance. Her career connects music made onstage with the professional systems that place recordings inside film, television, advertising, and other visual media.

Raised in New Jersey in a family of professional jazz musicians, Nalepka studied voice and tuba before majoring in music business at Belmont University. She entered the screen industries through music-supervision internships and later worked in television, film, advertising, clearance, and postproduction.

At VICE Media Group, Nalepka recommended and cleared music across television and news programming. Her subsequent work included music clearance for the first season of The Bear and coordination on Killers of the Flower Moon, Harry & Meghan, Apollo 10½, and Hit Man. She also supervised Atropia, winner of the 2025 Sundance Film Festival’s U.S. Dramatic Grand Jury Prize.

Nalepka performs on tuba and sousaphone with Lucky Chops and Brass Queens. Lucky Chops places her inside a touring ensemble shaped by original compositions, popular-song arrangements, online circulation, and a highly physical performance style. In Brass Queens, she works within an all-woman ensemble she helped build through collaboration, arranging, and composition.

She arranged Brass Queens’ version of “Thank U, Next” and co-wrote “Make Believe” with Steven Duffy, Minerva Johnson, and Josh Holcomb. Her writing places the sousaphone inside decisions about form, groove, repertory, and ensemble identity.

Onstage, Nalepka organizes harmony and rhythm through breath, articulation, and physical sound. In music supervision and clearance, she selects, licenses, coordinates, and places recordings within visual media. Her work gives her practical knowledge of music at both ends of its circulation: the moment musicians create it and the systems through which audiences encounter it.

Hip-Hop and Popular Visibility

Nat McIntosh and Damon Bryson place the sousaphone inside two distinct relationships with hip-hop. McIntosh translates production techniques into acoustic brass writing. Bryson performs within one of the genre’s most visible live ensembles.

Nat McIntosh and the Sousaphone as an Acoustic DJ

Nat McIntosh helped redefine contemporary brass-band writing outside New Orleans. As a co-founder, composer, arranger, producer, and sousaphonist with Youngblood Brass Band, he placed the sousaphone at the center of the ensemble’s musical identity.

McIntosh grew up in Longmont, Colorado, and studied tuba performance with John Stevens at the University of Wisconsin–Madison. His formal training included work with the Sotto Voce Tuba Quartet, as well as professional experience on tuba, euphonium, trombone, and sousaphone.^[6] Those instruments merged into a single broad low-brass vocabulary.

Youngblood Brass Band developed a musical language shaped by New Orleans brass-band instrumentation, hip-hop, jazz, funk, Afro-Cuban music, Brazilian rhythm, punk intensity, and the musical experiences of its own members. McIntosh’s writing placed the sousaphone near the center of that synthesis. His sousaphone lines often function as compositions within compositions. They establish groove, reinforce harmonic movement, introduce motives, answer the horns, and create transitions. A figure may operate as the bass line and the principal hook. The listener can frequently identify the piece through the sousaphone before the melody arrives.

McIntosh also expanded the instrument’s sonic vocabulary through beatboxing, multiphonics, simulated record scratches, percussive attacks, vocal effects, and sounds resembling electric guitar, synthesizer, or didgeridoo. He has been described as the ensemble’s “acoustic DJ,” a phrase that captures the function of these techniques.^[7] McIntosh translates hip-hop production methods into live brass performance.

McIntosh’s extended techniques rest on a deeply grounded bass line. He moves between scratch effects, vocalized notes, upper-register phrases, and the central groove without weakening the ensemble’s foundation. Each effect gains force from its placement inside the rhythm.

McIntosh builds experimentation through repetition. Hip-hop draws power from the loop, and brass-band music draws power from the player’s ability to sustain and revise a recurring pattern. McIntosh joins those practices. He can repeat a figure until it becomes the foundation of the performance, then alter its articulation, register, density, or rhythmic placement without breaking its identity.

Youngblood’s arrangements add another dimension to his influence. The band has published transcriptions and developed educational materials that allow school and university ensembles to study its repertoire. McIntosh’s bass lines have therefore circulated through recordings, performances, classrooms, marching programs, and student brass bands. His influence reaches musicians who may have had little direct exposure to New Orleans brass-band performance but encounter its instrumentation and ensemble principles through Youngblood’s music.

Youngblood emerged from a Midwestern geography and social environment distinct from the New Orleans bands that shaped the modern sousaphone. McIntosh developed that regional practice while remaining attentive to the instrument’s established functions as bass voice, rhythmic engine, and organizing force.

McIntosh brought composition, groove, extended technique, and production knowledge into a single musical voice. His sousaphone functions as bass instrument, percussion section, turntable, synthesizer, arranging voice, and featured improviser.

McIntosh helped show an international generation of players that the bass voice could run the entire production.

Damon “Tuba Gooding Jr.” Bryson and the Hip-Hop Bass Line

Damon “Tuba Gooding Jr.” Bryson brought the sousaphone into one of the most visible hip-hop ensembles in the world. As a member of The Roots, he placed the instrument within a rhythm section built from drums, electric bass, keyboards, guitar, percussion, turntablism, rap, and live arrangement.

Bryson’s path to The Roots began in South Philadelphia. He started playing at six years old at the United House of Prayer for All People, part of a church culture in which brass instruments remain central to worship, procession, testimony, and collective sound.^[8] His early relationship with the instrument, therefore, developed inside a Black sacred brass tradition with its own musical practices and community responsibilities.

Bryson’s church formation places his work within a longer Black brass continuum. Church music, neighborhood bands, funk, and hip-hop share musicians, rhythmic practices, repertories, and forms of collective participation. His sousaphone entered The Roots through that history.

Bryson continued performing while working a night shift at a Philadelphia department store. He played with Brass Heaven at venues including Warmdaddy’s and Chris’ Jazz Cafe, where his work attracted the attention of Ahmir “Questlove” Thompson. Bryson joined The Roots in 2007 and became part of the band’s expanding live sound.

The sousaphone gives The Roots another kind of bottom. It can reinforce the electric bass, double a riff, create a countermelody, imitate a sampled brass line, or step forward as a featured voice. Its sound can be massive without losing the articulation required for funk and hip-hop. Each note carries breath, attack, pitch, and the physical resonance of a large column of air.

Bryson’s role also demonstrates the instrument’s visual force. The sousaphone surrounds the player and directs the bell toward the audience. Within a Roots performance, it becomes part of the group’s stage language. Bryson can move, dance, interact with other members, and project a bass presence that audiences can see as clearly as they hear it.

That mobility connects his work to the instrument’s history in parades and marching ensembles. The Roots’ concerts and television performances depend upon rapid transitions, spontaneous cues, comic interruptions, audience interaction, and continuous rearrangement. Bryson must remain ready to enter a fragment of a song, supply a short riff, support a guest artist, or shift between repertoires with almost no preparation.

This skill became especially visible through the band’s nightly television work. The Roots served as the house band for Late Night with Jimmy Fallon and continued in that role when Fallon moved to The Tonight Show in 2014. Bryson’s sousaphone became a regular presence within a program that moves among full performances, brief musical quotations, comedy sketches, walk-on cues, commercial transitions, and collaborations with artists from across popular culture.

Television requires a particular form of musical concentration. A player may have only a few seconds to establish a recognizable bass line. The note must speak immediately, fit the arrangement, and register beneath voices, applause, and a large amplified ensemble. Bryson’s ability to give the instrument a clear identity within those compressed spaces has introduced the sousaphone to audiences who may never have encountered it in a brass band.

His nickname adds humor to that visibility while his playing establishes the seriousness of the musicianship. “Tuba Gooding Jr.” is memorable because the player is memorable. Bryson combines sound, movement, timing, and personality while fulfilling the bass responsibilities of an exceptionally flexible band.

His custom black Conn sousaphone, which he named Onyx, strengthened that visual identity. The instrument became associated with Bryson in much the same way that a particular bass, guitar, or drum kit can become inseparable from a musician’s public image.

Bryson has made the sousaphone a durable part of a major hip-hop ensemble. The instrument remains present night after night, song after song, alongside electronic production, electric bass, and one of popular music’s most accomplished rhythm sections.

Within The Roots, the sousaphone anchors the bass line, participates in the arrangement, responds to the drummer, supports the MC, and contributes to the band’s public identity.

Bryson revealed how modern the sousaphone had always been.

The Bell Still Faces Forward

The musicians in this essay learned the bass voice in community bands, conservatories, churches, marching bands, studios, touring ensembles, and independent projects. Those settings taught them how to hear repertory, technology, and professional work from the bottom of an ensemble.

Muter and McIntosh translate elements of hip-hop production into breath, articulation, and acoustic rhythm. Carolino brings extended techniques into improvising ensembles. Taylor carries New Orleans practice into Los Angeles recording work. Duffy moves between amplified rock and acoustic swing. Nalepka connects performance, composition, and screen-media work. Anderson leads, contracts, and arranges across the Los Angeles brass world while running her own ensemble. Bryson gives The Roots a mobile bass voice responsive to concerts, guest artists, television cues, and changing arrangements.

Each musician begins with function: the groove, the available register, the density of the ensemble, and the physical demands of the performance. From there, they shape the bass voice through the tools and traditions at hand. Low brass supplies weight, rhythm, and harmonic direction while helping define the character of the arrangement.

The Bass Voice in Motion ends in New Orleans, the historical center of the sousaphone story. This essay follows the bell through studios, concert halls, television stages, classrooms, clubs, film projects, sanctuaries, and independent ensembles. Each setting asks something different of the instrument. These musicians answer from the bottom.

About Marc

Marc T. Gaspard Bolin is a multi-instrumentalist, performer, scholar, writer, and educator whose work moves among jazz, low-brass performance, Black music history, and cultural criticism. He plays tuba, bass trombone, and related low-brass instruments, and teaches the tuba studio at California State Polytechnic University, Pomona.

These essays grew from that combination of performance and research, though the tuba clearly took over somewhere along the way.

You can hear selected recordings, performances, and interviews on Marc’s media page.

← To read essay #1: “The Lasting Legacy of the Tuba in Jazz,” click here.

← To read essay #2: “The Bass Voice in Motion,”click here.

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Sources

Arts + Literature Laboratory. “Nat McIntosh.” Accessed July 2026. https://artlitlab.org/artists/nat-mcintosh.

Casa da Música. “Sérgio Carolino.” Accessed July 2026. https://casadamusica.com/artist/sergio-carolino/.

Devon Taylor. devontaylormusic.com. Accessed July 2026. https://www.devontaylormusic.com/.

Gray, Ellen. “‘Tuba Gooding Jr.’ Marches from South Philly to ‘Tonight Show.’” Philadelphia Inquirer, February 19, 2014. https://www.inquirer.com/philly/entertainment/20140219__Tuba_Gooding_Jr___marches_from_South_Philly_to__Tonight_Show_.html.

Last Row Music. “Tuba Player Dies on an Airplane, Wakes Up Topless in Tokyo, and Writes a New Book/Album to Tell the Story.” March 16, 2019. https://www.lastrowmusic.com/tuba-player-dies-on-an-airplane-wakes-up-topless-in-tokyo-and-writes-a-new-book-album-to-tell-the-story/.

Muter, Bill. billmuter.net. Accessed July 2026. https://www.billmuter.net/themoderntuba.

“Tuba Student Devon Taylor Receives High Honor.” 24700 (CalArts blog), February 21, 2013. https://blog.calarts.edu/2013/02/21/tuba-student-devon-taylor-receives-high-honor/.

Notes

^[1] “Tuba Player Dies on an Airplane, Wakes Up Topless in Tokyo, and Writes a New Book/Album to Tell the Story,” Last Row Music, March 16, 2019, https://www.lastrowmusic.com/tuba-player-dies-on-an-airplane-wakes-up-topless-in-tokyo-and-writes-a-new-book-album-to-tell-the-story/.

^[2] Last Row Music, “Tuba Player Dies on an Airplane”; Bill Muter, billmuter.net, accessed July 2026, https://www.billmuter.net/themoderntuba.

^[3] “Sérgio Carolino,” Casa da Música, accessed July 2026, https://casadamusica.com/artist/sergio-carolino/.

^[4] “Tuba Student Devon Taylor Receives High Honor,” 24700 (CalArts blog), February 21, 2013, https://blog.calarts.edu/2013/02/21/tuba-student-devon-taylor-receives-high-honor/.

^[5] Devon Taylor, devontaylormusic.com, accessed July 2026, https://www.devontaylormusic.com/.

^[6] Nat McIntosh, “Artist Biography,” Arts + Literature Laboratory, accessed July 2026, https://artlitlab.org/artists/nat-mcintosh.

^[7] Arts + Literature Laboratory, “Nat McIntosh.”

^[8] Ellen Gray, “’Tuba Gooding Jr.’ Marches from South Philly to ‘Tonight Show,’” Philadelphia Inquirer, February 19, 2014, https://www.inquirer.com/philly/entertainment/20140219__Tuba_Gooding_Jr___marches_from_South_Philly_to__Tonight_Show_.html.

I might be totally dating myself here, but I still believe the best way to listen to an album is with the physical liner notes firmly in hand. The useful ones identify an arranger whose contribution might otherwise go unnoticed, explain a change in instrumental color, preserve a musician’s account of how a composition developed, or document the circumstances of a session. They give me something specific to listen for. Other notes offer a personnel list and several paragraphs of praise.

I am thinking about that difference because I am writing liner notes for a forthcoming jazz-orchestra album by a longtime friend, colleague, and collaborator. I also played bass trombone on the recording. I am using this essay to work through what makes liner notes viable as criticism, compelling as writing, and useful to the listener. I also want to understand where my own position fits within a tradition shaped by critics, historians, producers, musicians, and writers who knew the music closely.

Jazz liner notes have historically established personnel and authorship, recorded what happened in the studio, explained how compositions and arrangements work, and preserved musicians’ accounts of their own development. They have also documented the budgets, contracts, travel, segregation, family responsibilities, and institutional support that shaped a recording. The strongest examples connect those conditions to the music and give the listener information that the record cannot supply by itself. The writers considered here show how liner notes can operate as musical interpretation, oral history, cultural history, documentation, and an invitation to listen more closely, moving roughly from the sound itself outward to the conditions that made it possible.

Bill Evans and the Governing Idea

Bill Evans’s original essay for Miles Davis’s Kind of Blue, “Improvisation in Jazz,” demonstrates how one clear idea can organize an entire album. Evans begins with Japanese ink painting, where each brushstroke must be placed with commitment because “erasures or changes are impossible.” He applies the image to improvisation: each note, silence, and response remains in the performance, and in a group, every musician must follow the developing form while responding to the others.

Evans briefly identifies the frameworks Davis provided. “So What” uses a modal structure. “All Blues” is a blues in 6/8. “Flamenco Sketches” gives each soloist a sequence of scales and allows the player to decide how long to remain within each one. Evans’s larger concern is the discipline created by those frameworks.

The ink-painting analogy directs attention to the musicians’ commitment to each gesture and their shared responsibility for the developing form. The listener can apply that idea to Paul Chambers’s opening figure in “So What,” the space around Davis’s phrases, the transition between scales in “Flamenco Sketches,” and the rhythm section’s response to each soloist. Evans does not provide a technical analysis of every piece. He gives the listener a concept that applies across the record, and one well-chosen image establishes what to follow.

Nat Hentoff and the Musician’s Own Analysis

Nat Hentoff’s notes for John Coltrane’s Giant Steps place Coltrane’s analysis at the center of the essay. Coltrane discusses his practice routine, his work at the piano, his changing approach to harmony, and his concern that prolonged technical study could make his playing sound like an exercise. He explains the bass movement behind “Giant Steps,” the relationship between “Countdown” and “Tune Up,” and the personal associations behind “Cousin Mary,” “Syeeda’s Song Flute,” and “Naima.”

These comments document compositional decisions that a critic could otherwise only infer. They also show how Coltrane understood the relationship among practice, composition, and improvisation, with harmonic development appearing as sustained labor involving repetition, revision, and uncertainty. Hentoff treats Coltrane as an analyst of his own music, someone who defines the problems he is trying to solve and explains the methods he has developed to address them. A musician’s statement earns its place in liner notes on those terms: when it explains a method, corrects an assumption, or identifies a concern that the finished recording cannot establish on its own.

Orrin Keepnews and the Work of the Session

Orrin Keepnews wrote the notes for Thelonious Monk’s Brilliant Corners as producer and witness. He describes the repeated takes, Monk’s revisions, and the concentration required by the title composition, staying close enough to the sessions that the account reads as testimony rather than reconstruction.

Keepnews also records details that explain the album’s textures. Monk plays celeste with one hand and piano with the other on “Pannonica.” Max Roach moves between drums and timpani on “Bemsha Swing.” During the sessions, Monk continued adjusting phrasing and other details, and the title piece placed unusual demands on the musicians through its form, meter, phrasing, and tempo.

Keepnews shows Monk testing the composition and requiring the band to meet its structural demands. The session history helps explain the tension and precision audible in the finished performance. Accounts of difficult sessions often acquire unnecessary drama through repetition, and conflict, fatigue, and multiple takes become proof of genius rather than evidence of craft. Keepnews avoids that drift by staying close to what the musicians actually had to solve.

André Hodeir, Pete Welding, and Orchestral Detail

André Hodeir’s notes for Miles Davis and Gil Evans’s Miles Ahead show how a writer can discuss orchestration while keeping technical detail tied to audible effects. He explains how Davis’s flugelhorn functions against the orchestra, and he directs attention to Evans’s use of tuba, the placement of accents, the movement of ensemble backgrounds, and the continuity among the album’s pieces. He identifies specific passages, including the tuba writing in “My Ship” and the brass figures in “Springsville.”

Pete Welding addresses related questions in his reissue notes for Birth of the Cool. He explains how trumpet, trombone, French horn, tuba, reeds, and rhythm section produce an orchestral range of color with nine players, and he describes how the arrangements frame the improvised solos and guide the ensemble back into the written material. Both writers connect technical language to the recording. Terms such as register, voicing, counterpoint, and inner motion are useful when they identify a passage or effect.

Saying that the tuba sits inside a voicing is incomplete. The writer should explain whether it darkens the harmony, reinforces an inner line, adds weight beneath the soloist, or changes the ensemble balance. The same standard applies to bass trombone, French horn, bass clarinet, baritone saxophone, and the lower reeds generally. A list of instruments identifies the ensemble, while musical description explains what those instruments do in the arrangement, and from here, the strongest liner-note writing tends to widen its lens further still, from what an instrument does to what made its presence possible in the first place.

Evans, Hentoff, Keepnews, Hodeir, and Welding show how liner notes can interpret improvisation, preserve musicians’ accounts, document a session, and explain orchestral writing. Robin D. G. Kelley widens the form further by connecting recordings to labor, institutions, families, communities, and archival history.

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I was sent to the Middle East the day after Christmas.

December 26, 1990. Operation Desert Storm. I was young enough to think I understood what service meant and old enough to know I was supposed to be afraid, even if I had been trained to keep that fear from showing in any ordinary way.

The desert did not feel symbolic then. It was not a metaphor. It was heat and exhaustion. Sand in everything. Machinery. Waiting. Orders. Weapons. Distance. It was the strange compression of time that comes when your body understands danger before your mind has finished forming the thought.

We worked impossible shifts. Eighteen hours on, six hours off, or something close enough to that memory no longer cares about the exact accounting. Fatigue became weather. Sleep was not rest so much as disappearance. The body took what it could get when it could get it.

Outside the tents, we had hollow metal poles hanging like crude tubular bells. If there was a chemical alert, someone was supposed to strike the pole with a clamp or some other piece of metal. The sound would carry through the camp. That was the idea.

It was meant to warn us. It was a bell for the body. A way to tell us that the air itself might have become an enemy.

I have thought about that bell for years, partly because it failed. Or maybe because it worked and I simply did not hear it. John Donne wrote that the bell tolls for the one who hears it, that no death in the community leaves the rest of us untouched. Ours tolled for the whole camp at once, and I slept through it. I was too deep in sleep and too exhausted after the shift. Somewhere outside, metal struck metal, and the camp moved toward alarm.

I did not wake up to the bell.

I woke up to a body on top of mine.

Someone was shaking me hard. A friend. I could only recognize him by his eyes because he was already sealed inside the chemical protective gear we called MOPP gear. His voice came through the mask, muffled and urgent.

“Wake the fuck up. Wake the fuck up. Wake the fuck up.”

That is the sentence I remember.

Not the official language. Not the military protocol. Not whatever order must have passed through the chain of command. I remember the human version. A friend over my chest, trying to pull me back into the world before the world became unbreathable.

There are moments when fear does not arrive as panic. It arrives as information.

The body receives the message all at once. Wake up. Move. Seal the mask. Gear up. Find your weapon. Take position. Do not think too slowly. Do not ask for a fuller explanation. Do not wait for certainty.

A SCUD missile had been fired in our direction, possibly carrying a chemical or biological agent. That was the fear. Nerve gas. Something invisible. Something that would not look like an enemy until it was already inside you.

I had been trained for this. We all had.

Still, training is one thing when the body is rested and the danger is theoretical. It is another thing when you are pulled out of sleep by a masked face and a voice that sounds like it has crossed a great distance to reach you.

I remember the gear. I remember the scramble. I remember the movement into position. I remember the berm. I remember the perimeter. I remember the weapons ready. I remember the strange choreography of men trying to become useful before fear caught up.

And I remember the sound.

Not outside sound.

Inside sound.

That is the part I have never fully known how to explain except through music.

At some point, the adrenaline was so complete that the external world disappeared. My hearing did something I still do not entirely understand. It was as if my ears closed to everything outside me and opened somewhere else. The camp receded. So did the voices, the equipment, the orders, and the desert air.

In its place, I heard music.

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That realization did not arrive as a grand revelation. It came through ordinary sentences, the kind I say without noticing, the kind that organize a day before the day even begins.

“I have to.”

“All I need to do now.”

“I should already have this finished.”

Those phrases sound practical. Responsible. Adult. Focused. They can also make every task feel overdue before I even begin. They turn a calendar into a judge. They turn ambition into indictment.

I know that language well. I know the voice that says every task needs finishing now, the reflex that treats a delay as evidence, the old training that says push harder, hold longer, stand firmer, do not fold, do not stop, do not retreat. That voice once helped me survive certain rooms. It built discipline and gave me endurance, and I will not pretend it never served me. Lately I have started asking what it costs.

Work, writing, teaching, money, family, health, fatigue, deadlines, unfinished projects, unanswered emails, all of it can gather into one roar. I know exactly what the roar sounds like. It sounds like opening a calendar and seeing everything flagged red. It sounds like a timer going off after twenty minutes on a chapter and deciding not to stop because stopping feels like failure. It sounds like the sentence “all I have to do now is finish this one thing” turning into a list that never gets shorter.

Still, some old reflex keeps asking what I forgot, who I let down, what deadline slipped, and where the next problem waits. Some things in my life have begun to line up, and even that does not quiet the reflex. Progress can activate suspicion too.

That reflex speaks in the language of expectation.

From expectation to ambition

In therapy, a simple reframe landed with more force than I expected. What if I stopped calling them expectations and started calling them ambitions? That changed the temperature of the word. Expectations press down and ambitions point forward. Expectations say, “You should already have arrived.” Ambitions say, “You want to go there.”

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I have played the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival several times, and those stages taught me how a major festival can anchor itself in the culture around it. The lesson for Los Angeles is structural: who shapes the program, where local artists are placed, which histories are made public, and what remains after the last set ends. Los Angeles has its own musical geography, its own cultural workers, and its own histories of jazz in public life.

A serious jazz festival draws a map of the city that hosts it. In New Orleans, that map appears through stages, food booths, craft markets, interviews, neighborhood traditions, education programs, and year-round grants. Visiting stars enter a field already shaped by local musicians, local foodways, local memory, and local cultural labor. Los Angeles now has a chance to build something rooted in its own terms.

Festival culture can easily turn a city into scenery. The beach, skyline, warm night, and headliner can make a festival feel expansive while the city itself stays slightly out of focus.

The inaugural Los Angeles Jazz Festival, founded by Martin Ludlow and billed as the largest Black-owned jazz festival ever, arrives with real promise: park concerts, late-night programming, a Caribbean Street Carnival, a youth jazz camp, a State of Jazz Conference, and beach concerts with major national names. Los Angeles has needed a festival with this level of ambition for a long time.

The festival is already doing meaningful public work. Free concerts, youth programs, late-night shows, neighborhood events, and a citywide footprint all help it reach people. The next question is authorship. A festival shows its commitments through curatorial power, prime placement, commissions, publicity, local partnerships, and the structures it leaves behind.

Los Angeles should be the festival’s curatorial center, the place where the program takes its shape. A festival can bring the world to Los Angeles while teaching the world how Los Angeles sounds. A lineup built mostly around national visibility leaves too much of the city in the background. Los Angeles musicians belong in central, visible, and well-supported positions alongside the visiting artists who bring wider attention.

Local musicians should shape the structure of this festival. Los Angeles jazz moves through many neighborhoods, institutions, and styles. Its history runs through Central Avenue, Leimert Park, Watts, South Los Angeles churches, Eastside Latin jazz circuits, Venice, Little Tokyo, Inglewood, independent venues, Black radio, studio orchestras, school bands, and community festivals. It runs through the World Stage, the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra, Horace Tapscott’s legacy, Gerald Wilson’s large ensemble writing, Buddy Collette’s and Billy Higgins’s pedagogies, Latin jazz bandstands, Asian American musicians, the West Coast Get Down, and younger players building new musical languages across the city.

A festival that wants to represent Los Angeles should make those histories audible. The layout itself can teach the city’s jazz geography. Stages could be organized around historic Black Los Angeles, Leimert Park and the World Stage, the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra lineage, Venice, Afro-Latin and Latin jazz, sacred sound from church to bandstand, experimental Los Angeles, and contemporary collectives shaping the city now. The festival can let audiences hear Los Angeles through the layout itself.

The people who sustain this music belong in the frame as well. Venue founders, bookers, DJs, radio hosts, archivists, educators, instrument repair workers, and neighborhood organizers keep the music alive between performances. They remember who opened doors, who made the calls, who moved the chairs, and who kept showing up outside the spotlight.

Food belongs in that cultural map. Harold & Belle’s has served Creole cooking on Jefferson Boulevard since 1969, offering a direct line from New Orleans to Black Los Angeles. Eastside Mexican foodways, Salvadoran pupuserías in Pico-Union, Japanese family kitchens in Little Tokyo, Filipino cooks in Historic Filipinotown, and Jamaican plates in Leimert Park each hold a piece of the same map. The food should help explain the city.

The festival should also say who is helping define Los Angeles jazz. A public advisory council of musicians, presenters, venue operators, educators, historians, cultural workers, and youth music leaders would make that process visible. This is a civic matter. If a festival claims the city, the city should be able to see how cultural decisions are being made.

Commissions would deepen that commitment by funding new work for the festival to debut: a Central Avenue suite, a Horace Tapscott and Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra project, a Latin jazz in Los Angeles commission, a Black church-to-bandstand piece, and an intergenerational ensemble that brings youth players together with elders. Work like that would let the festival add new music to the city’s repertoire and become a producer of Los Angeles culture. The Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra under Mekala Session, the Clayton-Hamilton Jazz Orchestra, vocalist Dwight Trible, saxophonist Justo Almario, and artists from L.A.’s Afro-Caribbean and Latin jazz scenes are the kind of Los Angeles anchors who could make that possible.

Los Angeles already has jazz festivals and community-rooted efforts doing this work, from the AZZ-IS Venice Rebel Jazz Festival and the Central Avenue Jazz Festival to this year’s inaugural Santa Monica International Jazz Festival. A festival with real backing should platform and fund the work already here and join a field that is clearly alive.

Year-round investment should be part of the festival’s structure. The New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Foundation uses festival proceeds and philanthropic support to fund schools, artists, nonprofits, cultural events, education programs, and new artistic works tied to Louisiana culture. Los Angeles should establish a comparable jazz fund for artist grants, youth music programs, venue preservation, community archives, instrument repair, honoraria for elder musicians, recording projects, and emergency relief for working players. A fund like that would turn the festival into infrastructure.

Jazz in Los Angeles lives in labor: in rehearsal rooms and classrooms, churches, clubs, public parks, studios, community centers, and the hands of musicians who kept this city sounding long before a major festival arrived.

A poster can announce a festival. Only the city itself will decide whether it takes root. Los Angeles has already given it everything it needs to grow.

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Revised July 14, 2026

I began this essay as a short listening guide. The tuba, and later euphonium and trombonium, had other plans. Its jazz history runs through ragtime orchestras, jug bands, New Orleans ensembles, swing-era brass sections, bebop, free jazz, fusion, brass-band music, and contemporary improvisation. Along the way, the instrument pumped out bass lines, reshaped orchestral voicings, emerged as a solo voice, and became the center of ensembles built almost entirely from low brass.

The euphonium, sousaphone, and trombonium belong to this history as well. What follows is a selective account of those changing roles, with recordings that make the shifts audible.

Proto-Jazz Styles: Orchestrated Ragtime and Jug Bands

Before jazz became a settled commercial category, low brass was already carrying rhythm and harmony through concert bands, theater orchestras, dance ensembles, military bands, and jug bands. Orchestrated ragtime and jug-band music developed in different settings, but both help us hear the bass practices surrounding jazz’s emergence.

Orchestrated Ragtime

Orchestrated ragtime ensembles brought syncopated music into concert bands, military bands, theater orchestras, and dance halls during the early twentieth century. The style circulated through Black performance communities in cities including Chicago, Kansas City, Memphis, New Orleans, and New York, and it also entered the recording catalogs of white concert and marching bands between roughly 1905 and 1920.

Arthur Pryor is remembered primarily as one of the great trombone soloists of his era, but his relationship to ragtime deserves attention. He was born in St. Joseph, Missouri, near one of the central regions of classic ragtime, and composed “An Arkansaw Husking Bee” and “Southern Hospitality” in 1899. Both pieces reflect the rural and syncopated music he heard growing up near the Missouri, Kansas, and Arkansas borders. As assistant conductor and solo trombonist with John Philip Sousa, Pryor helped carry ragtime across the United States and Europe, and he also coached Sousa’s musicians in the relaxed, unhurried placement of the syncopations he knew from Missouri.

The instrumentation varied, but these ensembles often included clarinets, saxophones, trumpets and cornets, alto horns, French horns, valve and slide trombones, snare and bass drums, cymbals, banjos, guitars, and—you guessed it—tubas and helicons holding down the bass. The tuba supplied a steady rhythmic pattern, reinforced cadences, and outlined the harmony beneath the lead voices.

James Reese Europe, W. C. Handy, and Wilbur Sweatman carried related forms of Black syncopated music through ballrooms, theaters, recordings, and touring bands. Europe’s Society Orchestra became one of the most prominent Black ensembles of the period. During World War I, he led the 369th Infantry Band, the Harlem Hellfighters, which introduced French and other European audiences to its distinctive mixture of marches, ragtime, blues, and popular music.

Representative artists: James Reese Europe (1914-1919), W. C. Handy (1912-1944), Arthur Pryor (1895-1917), and Wilbur Sweatman (1903-1920).

Jug Band

Jug bands developed most visibly in Louisville, Kentucky, during the early twentieth century and became especially prominent in Black communities in Memphis and elsewhere in Tennessee and Mississippi. Their music grew through street performance, vaudeville, tent shows, medicine shows, blues, and social dancing before making its way onto records.

The instrumentation could include banjo, fiddle, guitar, mandolin, harmonica, cornet, clarinet, washboard, washtub bass, kazoo, musical saw, and comb and paper. The jug was played by buzzing into its opening rather than blowing across the top. The player’s lips created the vibration, while the jug served as a resonating chamber, producing a rough, breath-driven bass sound with an obvious connection to the low-brass instruments at the center of this essay.

Groups such as the Memphis Jug Band, Cannon’s Jug Stompers, the Dixieland Jug Blowers, the Five Harmaniacs, and the State Street Ramblers moved among blues, ragtime, popular song, and early jazz. Conventional brass, reeds, and strings often appeared alongside instruments adapted from household objects. Gus Cannon and Will Shade became two of the best-known figures in the tradition: Cannon led Cannon’s Jug Stompers, while Shade organized the Memphis Jug Band and recorded extensively during the late 1920s and early 1930s. Ma Rainey recorded with the Dixieland Jug Blowers, and Mamie Smith also performed with jug-band accompaniment.

Representative groups: Alabama Jug Band, Five Harmaniacs, Ma Rainey’s Dixieland Jug Blowers, Memphis Jug Band, Tub Jug Washboard Band, and State Street Ramblers.

* Mamie Smith’s “Crazy Blues” became the first major commercial blues hit recorded by a Black woman. Its success helped establish a market for recordings by Black performers and directed toward Black audiences.

The Jazz Tuba in Early Jazz

In New Orleans and early jazz, the tuba frequently supplied the bass line in parades, dance halls, riverboats, and recording studios. Outdoors, it worked alongside snare and bass drum. Indoors, it joined piano, banjo or guitar, and sometimes drums as part of the rhythm section.

The instrument’s portability made it practical for marching and outdoor performance, while its clear attack gave the ensemble a firm rhythmic edge. Early parts often emphasized roots, fifths, and two-beat “oompah” patterns. Before long, creative players developed more active approaches: they leaned into chord tones, walked up to important roots—bum-bum-bum-bum—anticipated cadences, and outlined the harmony through increasingly mobile bass lines. Solo opportunities remained limited, but the role was never purely mechanical. The strongest players shaped the time, interacted with the front line, and gave each ensemble a particular kind of movement from the bottom.

Numerous tuba players made significant contributions to early jazz recordings, even if many never achieved broad recognition. Hayes Alvis, Wellman Braud, Steve Brown, Lawson Buford, Cyrus St. Clair, Bert Cobb, June Lawrence Cole, Ralph Escudero, George Murphy “Pops” Foster, Jim Lannigan, Min Leibrook, Chink Martin, William “Bass” Moore, Joe Tarto, William “Billy” Taylor Sr., and Henry Turner remain familiar mainly to devoted jazz listeners. Yet they performed alongside Louis Armstrong, Bix Beiderbecke, Eddie Condon, Johnny Dodds, Albert Nicholas, Earl Hines, King Oliver, McKinney’s Cotton Pickers, Mezz Mezzrow, Bubber Miley, Jelly Roll Morton, Jimmie Noone, Kid Ory, Luis Russell, Bessie Smith, Jabbo Smith, Elmer Snowden, Muggsy Spanier, Omer Simeon, and Fats Waller. The following profiles consider several of the tubists who helped shape the music from the bottom up.

Wellman Braud (sometimes Breaux; January 25, 1891 – October 29, 1966)

Wellman Braud began his musical life in New Orleans, where he played tuba, guitar, drums, and string bass. After working with Charlie Elgar from 1920 to 1922, he toured Europe with Will Vodery’s Plantation Revue and later settled in New York. He joined Duke Ellington’s orchestra in 1927 and remained through 1935, becoming the first in a remarkable line of Ellington bassists that later included Jimmy Blanton, Oscar Pettiford, and Charles Mingus.

Braud’s early Ellington recordings allow us to hear the rhythm section during a period when tuba, banjo, and string bass still overlapped. On “East St. Louis Toodle-Oo,” he plays tuba; on “Black and Tan Fantasy,” he shifts to string bass while the banjo remains in the ensemble. His bass work continued to develop quickly: “Washington Wobble” includes a short pizzicato feature, “Misty Mornin’” finds Braud moving between arco and a four-beat walking style, “Black Beauty” shows his use of double-time figures, and “I Can’t Give You Anything but Love” recalls the shape of an earlier tuba introduction through the sound of the string bass.

Some historians have identified Braud’s “Washington Wobble” feature as an early recorded pizzicato jazz-bass solo, though claims for a single “first” remain difficult to settle. The larger point is audible across these sessions: Braud helped expand the rhythmic language of the string bass while carrying knowledge developed through his earlier work on tuba. After leaving Ellington, Braud worked with the Spirits of Rhythm, Jelly Roll Morton, Sidney Bechet, Bunk Johnson, and Kid Ory. His recordings preserve the broader movement from brass bass to string bass through the practice of one musician.

Steve Brown (b. 1890 – 1965)

Steve Brown was a prominent string bassist and tubist in the early twentieth century, known for an approach to the tuba that blended elements of ragtime and jazz. In 1926-27, he played with Jean Goldkette, and in 1928, he joined Paul Whiteman’s orchestra. Brown’s musical style had a significant impact on the development of orchestral jazz during the 1920s, and his recordings with both Goldkette and Whiteman remain popular with jazz enthusiasts to this day.

Here’s a recording of “Showboat Shuffle” by King Oliver with Lawson Buford on tuba.

Lawson Buford

Lawson Buford left an extensive group of recordings, although little is known about his life outside music. Discographies place him in Chicago during the second half of the 1920s, where he worked with several of the period’s important bands. On September 17, 1926, Buford recorded four titles for Vocalion with Elgar’s Creole Orchestra, which also included clarinetist Darnell Howard and drummer Ben Thigpen. In April 1927, he joined King Oliver’s Dixie Syncopators, an ensemble that included Kid Ory, Omer Simeon, Barney Bigard, Luis Russell, and Paul Barbarin. Buford’s tuba supports recordings such as “Willie the Weeper” and “Every Tub,” giving the rhythm section weight without making it feel earthbound.

During the summer of 1928, Buford recorded with Jimmie Noone’s Apex Club Orchestra, featuring Earl “Fatha” Hines. He briefly doubled on string bass during this period but never fully abandoned the tuba. In August 1929, Buford participated in approximately fifteen Brunswick sessions with Jabbo Smith’s Rhythm Aces. “Sau Sha Stomp,” “Croonin’ the Blues,” “Take Me to the River,” “Till Times Get Better,” and “Boston Skuffle” place him alongside Omer Simeon, pianist Alex Hill, and banjoist Ikey Robinson.

After 1929, Buford largely disappears from the discographical record. The recordings remain. They reveal a player with a clear attack, strong time, and an ear for bass movement that could hold the band together without settling into a static part.

June Lawrence Cole (b. 1903 – October 10, 1960)

June Lawrence Cole played tuba, string bass, and bass saxophone. He began his professional career with the Synco Jazz Band in his hometown of Springfield, Ohio, a group that developed into the original McKinney’s Cotton Pickers, with Cole continuing as a member. In late 1926, he joined Fletcher Henderson’s orchestra and remained through 1928. Listen to his large, centered tuba sound on Henderson’s “Sorry” from 1927, a recording that places Cole inside a tightly arranged ensemble while allowing the character of his instrument to come through.

Cole later toured Europe with bandleader Benny Peyton and worked with groups led by Sam Wooding and Willie Lewis. He belonged to an early generation of Black American jazz musicians who built extended careers abroad rather than treating Europe as a brief touring destination. After returning to the United States in 1941, Cole led groups in New York and performed in a quartet with Willie “The Lion” Smith. He also operated a record store in Harlem frequented by musicians and jazz listeners, and his later performances included appearances at Club 845, Small’s, and Wells’ Bar.

Ralph Escudero (July 16, 1898 – April 10, 1970)

Ralph Escudero was born in Puerto Rico and began playing bass at twelve. After moving to New York, he developed his professional career through the New Amsterdam Musical Association. His earliest recordings, made in 1920 and 1921, included sessions with vocalists Ethel Waters and Lucille Hegamin.

During a gig at the Howard Theatre in Washington, Escudero crossed paths with Wilbur Sweatman and bandleader Fletcher Henderson. Recognizing his potential, Henderson recruited him on the spot, and Escudero joined the group of skilled rhythm-section musicians handling Henderson’s daring musical endeavors until 1926. His tuba supported increasingly intricate arrangements by reinforcing the bass movement, clarifying ensemble attacks, and keeping the written sections aligned. Henderson’s “The Stampede” from 1926, in which the composer aimed to create a chaotic and exhilarating atmosphere, offers one example of that rhythm-section sound.

In 1926, Escudero joined McKinney’s Cotton Pickers, led musically by Don Redman, and remained with the group for several years. His work can be heard on recordings including “Cherry.” He later returned to Puerto Rico and continued performing there.

George Murphy “Pops” Foster

George Murphy “Pops” Foster belonged to the generation of New Orleans musicians who moved between tuba and string bass as jazz rhythm sections changed. Along with Steve Brown, Bill Johnson, and Wellman Braud, he helped establish a forceful bass style built from strong time, mobile lines, and slap technique.

Foster began performing in New Orleans around 1906. From 1918 to 1921, he played tuba with Fate Marable’s riverboat orchestra, carrying the bass in an ensemble that had to project across large rooms without amplification, and he later joined Kid Ory in California. During the mid-1920s, Foster worked in St. Louis with Charlie Creath and Dewey Jackson. He moved to New York in 1928, joined King Oliver, and then became a member of Luis Russell’s orchestra, where his broad sound and rhythmic attack became defining parts of the Russell rhythm section.

From 1935 through 1940, Russell’s orchestra served as Louis Armstrong’s principal backing band. Foster remained active through the New Orleans revival, working with Art Hodes, Mezz Mezzrow, Sidney Bechet, and Bob Wilber, and he continued performing slap-bass solos into the late 1960s—a direct link to the bass practices of early New Orleans jazz.

William “Billy” Taylor Sr. (April 3, 1906 – September 2, 1986)

William “Billy” Taylor Sr. was born in Washington, D.C. Initially, he played tuba before adding string bass to his repertoire. He relocated to New York City in 1924 and performed with an unusually wide range of notable musicians throughout his career, including Elmer Snowden, Willie Gant, Arthur Gibbs, Charlie Johnson, Duke Ellington, McKinney’s Cotton Pickers (on “Plain Dirt,” 1929), Fats Waller, Fletcher Henderson, Jelly Roll Morton, Cootie Williams, Johnny Hodges, Coleman Hawkins, Henry “Red” Allen, Joe Sullivan, Raymond Scott, Barney Bigard, Benny Morton, and Cozy Cole.

Taylor is best known for his association with Duke Ellington from 1935 to 1940, during which he often performed alongside other bassists such as Hayes Alvis or Jimmy Blanton. In the 1940s he worked with various artists before returning to Washington, D.C., in 1949, and he also led his own ensemble, recording for Keynote Records in 1944. His career reflects the mobility expected of many bass players of his generation, for whom tuba and string bass belonged to the same professional practice even as the balance between them changed.

Quinn Wilson (December 26, 1908 – June 14, 1978)

Quinn Wilson began on violin and later studied composition and arranging. By the mid-1920s, he was working professionally with Walter Barnes, Johnny Dodds, Jelly Roll Morton, Tiny Parham, King Oliver, Omer Simeon, and Erskine Tate. His work with Morton included the 1927 recording sessions that produced some of the composer’s best-known ensemble performances, and Wilson’s tuba can also be heard on King Oliver’s “Can I Tell You” from 1929, including a rare featured solo.

From 1931 to 1939, Wilson worked with Earl Hines as a bassist and arranger. His career joined instrumental doubling to a detailed knowledge of ensemble writing, allowing him to participate in the music from the bass chair and behind the arrangement.

Bob Ysaguirre (February 22, 1897 – March 27, 1982)

Bob Ysaguirre was a bassist and tubist from Belize whose career passed through military bands, New Orleans ensembles, New York recording studios, and Swing Era orchestras. He began playing tuba at eighteen and served in a military band from 1917 to 1919. Ysaguirre later moved to New Orleans, where he worked with cornetist Amos White in 1922, and from 1923 through 1925 he recorded in New York with violinist A. J. Piron’s orchestra, including “West Indies Blues.” His work during the 1920s also included Elmer Snowden, trombonist Te Roy Williams, Alex Jackson’s Plantation Orchestra, Henry “Red” Allen, the Boswell Sisters, Cab Calloway, Bubber Miley, and the Mills Brothers.

After Don Redman left McKinney’s Cotton Pickers to form his own orchestra in 1931, Ysaguirre joined the new band and remained through 1940, recording on both tuba and string bass and adjusting his role according to the arrangement and ensemble. Ysaguirre also spent shorter periods with Horace Henderson and Fletcher Henderson. After leaving Redman, he continued freelancing in New York through the late 1960s.

These musicians were rarely limited to one instrument. Many doubled on string bass, trombone, or bass saxophone, carrying ideas about articulation, register, rhythm, and ensemble balance from one instrument to the next. Some eventually made string bass their primary voice, while others remained principally brass players and used strings when the engagement required them. Their careers show that instrumental doubling was more than a response to changing technology or fashion; it was part of how working musicians adapted while retaining a recognizable approach to sound.

Louis Armstrong’s Hot Seven Recordings

Louis Armstrong’s Hot Five and Hot Seven recordings, made between 1925 and 1928, document a major change in jazz performance. Armstrong’s solos became more expansive, his rhythmic placement grew more flexible, and the ensemble increasingly organized itself around the improvising voice—and, oh, that sense of swing.

Lil Hardin Armstrong played a central role in this development. A pianist, composer, arranger, and bandleader in her own right, she encouraged Armstrong to leave King Oliver’s band and helped organize his early recording groups, and her compositions and arrangements became part of the Hot Five and Hot Seven repertory. For the May 1927 Hot Seven sessions, the earlier Hot Five lineup expanded with Pete Briggs on tuba and Baby Dodds on drums. Lil Hardin Armstrong remained on piano, Johnny St. Cyr played banjo or guitar, and Johnny Dodds and John Thomas completed the front line with Armstrong.

Briggs gives “Willie the Weeper,” “Wild Man Blues,” and “Potato Head Blues” a deep, sharply articulated foundation. His attack reinforces the pulse beneath Armstrong’s solos while adding weight to the ensemble passages. The tuba becomes a springboard for the band, giving Armstrong something firm to play against without restricting the movement above it.

Pete Briggs (1904–date of death unknown)

Pete Briggs was born in Charleston, South Carolina, in 1904. He began his professional career with local groups including the Jim Jam Jazzers and the Lucky Boy Minstrels. In 1926, he moved to Chicago, where he worked with Carroll Dickerson, Jimmie Noone, and Louis Armstrong.

Briggs contributed to several recordings made with Armstrong, including the Hot Seven sessions. He moved to New York in 1929 and continued working with Armstrong and Dickerson. During the 1930s, he played with the orchestras of Edgar Hayes and Vernon Andrade, and he later performed with Herman Autrey in Philadelphia.

During the second half of the 1940s, Briggs left professional music and turned to farming. Little is known about the remainder of his life, but the Hot Seven recordings secure his place in the history of jazz bass practice.

From Tuba Bass Lines to String Bass

In New Orleans and early jazz, the tuba supplied a strong and portable bass line. By the 1930s, the size and organization of jazz ensembles had begun to change. Early groups often contained six or seven musicians, while swing orchestras could include fifteen, twenty, or more, with written arrangements dividing the band into reed, trumpet, trombone, and rhythm sections.

String bass became increasingly common during this transition. Its sustain, pizzicato response, and ability to produce four-beat walking lines suited the rhythmic direction of the new bands. The shift happened gradually: many players doubled on tuba and string bass, and some ensembles continued using both. The tuba also found another job, moving from the rhythm section into the brass section, where it could reinforce a written passage, extend the register of a chord, or add weight to a particular ensemble color.

The instrument appeared in recordings and performances by Count Basie, the Boswell Sisters, Cab Calloway, June Christy, Duke Ellington, Ella Fitzgerald, Fletcher Henderson, Lena Horne, Harry James, Gene Krupa, Glenn Miller, the Mills Brothers, Don Redman, Frank Sinatra, Mel Tormé, Sarah Vaughan, Gerald Wilson, Nancy Wilson, and Woody Herman. Later bands led by Sammy Davis Jr., Maynard Ferguson, Dizzy Gillespie, Stan Kenton, and others also used the instrument. Arrangers including Neal Hefti, Billy May, Oliver Nelson, Shorty Rogers, and Lalo Schifrin found places for it in their writing, and tuba can also be heard in settings connected to Buddy Collette, Conte Candoli, Dave Brubeck, Rahsaan Roland Kirk, Charles Mingus, Gerry Mulligan, Art Pepper, Horace Tapscott, and Lennie Tristano.

Ed Cuffee, Gene Englund, John Kirby, William “Billy” Taylor Jr., and Red Callender belong to this transitional generation. Their careers show that the tuba did not vanish from jazz. Its responsibilities changed.

Ed Cuffee (June 7, 1902–January 3, 1959)

Ed Cuffee established himself as a trombonist in New York during the 1920s, working with Clarence Williams, McKinney’s Cotton Pickers, and several other bands. In 1936, he joined Fletcher Henderson’s orchestra, where he played both trombone and tuba, and remained for nearly three years.

Cuffee later worked with Count Basie and recorded with Bunk Johnson during the late 1940s. His playing was rooted in the blues, and he developed a reputation as a dependable ensemble musician who could step forward when the music called for something more pointed. His career also illustrates how frequently low-brass musicians doubled: trombone and tuba were related parts of his working vocabulary rather than separate professional identities.

Gene Englund (February 13, 1926–November 12, 2013)

Gene Englund played string bass, trombone, and tuba. That range made him useful in West Coast recording sessions and large ensembles where musicians were often expected to move among instruments according to the arrangement. His credits include Art Pepper, Anita O’Day, Stan Kenton, Maynard Ferguson, Billy Eckstine, Jimmy Giuffre, June Christy, and pianist Michael “Dodo” Marmarosa. Listen to Shorty Rogers’s “Popo” from 1951 for Englund’s tuba inside the emerging West Coast sound.

John Kirby (December 31, 1908–June 14, 1952)

John Kirby began as a tubist and string bassist before becoming one of the most distinctive bandleaders of the late 1930s and early 1940s. His tuba can be heard with Fletcher Henderson, including on the 1931 recording of “Sugar Foot Stomp.”

Kirby later led a group billed first as the Onyx Club Boys and then as the John Kirby Sextet. Its personnel included Charlie Shavers on trumpet, Buster Bailey on clarinet, Russell Procope on alto saxophone, Billy Kyle on piano, O’Neil Spencer on drums, and Kirby on bass. The sextet developed a chamber-jazz sound built through tightly organized arrangements, counterpoint, dynamic control, and unusually precise ensemble playing, and recordings such as “Undecided,” “Blue Skies,” and “Bye Bye Blues” point toward aspects of bebop before bebop became a named style—a kind of proto-bop, really.

The later group did not feature tuba, but Kirby carried his attention to register, balance, and internal motion into his string-bass playing and band leadership. The lessons of the bottom remained present even after the instrument changed.

Red Callender (March 6, 1916–March 8, 1992)

Red Callender was one of the most versatile bass musicians in Los Angeles, equally comfortable on string bass and tuba. After moving to the city in 1936, he worked across jazz, film, popular recording, television, and studio production. Callender reportedly declined offers to join Duke Ellington’s orchestra and Louis Armstrong’s All-Stars, and remaining in Los Angeles allowed him to become a central figure in a studio and jazz community that crossed styles with unusual regularity.

His collaborators included Louis Armstrong, Nat King Cole, Charlie Parker, Dexter Gordon, Ella Fitzgerald, Dizzy Gillespie, Charles Mingus, Art Pepper, Horace Tapscott, Gerald Wilson, Frank Sinatra, Sarah Vaughan, Mel Tormé, and Nancy Wilson, and his studio work extended to recordings with the Beach Boys, Sam Cooke, B. B. King, and James Taylor. On Callender Speaks Low, he placed the tuba at the center of a small-group session: listen to “Speak Low,” where he carries the melody, and “Dedicated to the Blues,” where he takes a complete solo through the blues form.

Callender also co-wrote “Primrose Lane,” which became a hit for Jerry Wallace in 1959. His autobiography, Unfinished Dream, documents the breadth of his musical life.

Women in Early Tuba and Sousaphone Performance

Women played tuba and sousaphone in touring ensembles, novelty orchestras, vaudeville productions, radio bands, and all-woman concert groups during the 1920s, 1930s, and 1940s. Much of this history remains difficult to reconstruct because publicity often named the ensemble while leaving individual musicians unidentified. The surviving evidence—photographs, film footage, radio listings, and promotional material—shows women performing on instruments whose size and cultural associations were often treated as incompatible with conventional femininity. They played them anyway.

The Ingenues

The Ingenues were an all-woman ensemble managed by Edward Gorman Sherman. They toured internationally from 1925 to 1937 and became known for their ability to move between novelty instruments, popular arrangements, and symphonic repertory.

Publicity sometimes called them "The Twenty Paul Whitemans of Syncopation," a phrase that says as much about the marketing language of the period as it does about their music. The group's presentations combined musicianship with spectacle, and its members often doubled on several instruments. Low brass contributed to the visual and sonic scale of the ensemble, and surviving photographs and film footage provide evidence of women performing on tuba and sousaphone, even when their names remain difficult to recover.

Phil Spitalny’s Hour of Charm Orchestra

Phil Spitalny’s Hour of Charm Orchestra occupied a space between radio entertainment, popular song, and light orchestral music. Its musicians were expected to double on instruments, sing, and participate in the group’s carefully managed public presentation. The associated radio program aired on CBS and NBC from 1934 to 1948. Photographs show women playing sousaphone and other low-brass instruments, though captions frequently identify the orchestra while leaving the performers unnamed.

Neither the Ingenues nor the Hour of Charm Orchestra fits neatly inside jazz history. Both show that women were performing low brass in prominent professional settings during the Swing Era. For broader histories, see Linda Dahl’s Stormy Weather: The Music and Lives of a Century of Jazz Women and Sherrie Tucker’s Swing Shift: “All-Girl” Bands of the 1940s.

“Stormy Weather” by Linda Dahl is a comprehensive book that explores the lives and contributions of women in jazz throughout the 20th century. Dahl delves into the challenges faced by these women in a male-dominated industry and highlights their incredible talents and achievements. The book offers a rich historical account of jazz women, from the early blues singers to the bebop and modern jazz eras. Dahl’s work sheds light on the significant role women played in shaping the jazz genre.

On the other hand, “Swing Shift” by Sherrie Tucker focuses specifically on the all-female swing bands that emerged during the 1940s. Tucker examines the cultural and social implications of these bands, which challenged gender norms and provided opportunities for women musicians. The book delves into the experiences of women in these bands, their struggles, and their impact on the music scene of that era. Tucker’s work provides a detailed account of the swing era and the unique contributions of all-female bands during that time.

Both books offer valuable insights into the lives of women musicians in jazz and swing and provide a deeper understanding of their historical significance and impact on the music industry. They shed light on the challenges faced by these women, their perseverance, and their lasting influence on the development of jazz and swing music.

Claude Thornhill, Stan Kenton, Gil Evans, and Gerry Mulligan

By the 1940s and 1950s, arrangers were using the tuba to reshape the balance of the jazz orchestra. It could reinforce the lower brass, double an inner voice, extend a chord downward, answer the baritone saxophone, or soften the ensemble’s lowest register.

Claude Thornhill’s orchestra became known for its spacious sonority and unusual blend of reeds, French horns, and low brass. Many of its most distinctive arrangements came from Gil Evans, whose writing placed the tuba inside the ensemble instead of treating it as a separate bass effect.

Stan Kenton approached the instrument differently. His “progressive jazz” ensembles could reach enormous proportions and often drew from twentieth-century concert music, Latin American music, and dense brass writing. Tuba added weight to these expanded bands, and the complete Cologne 76 concert, featuring Doug Purviance, offers a later example of the instrument inside Kenton’s orchestral sound.

Gil Evans continued using tuba throughout his career. In his work with Miles Davis and in his own orchestras, the instrument became part of a flexible middle and lower register. Listen to “Bess, You Is My Woman Now,” featuring Bill Barber, and the 1976 Warsaw performance of Evans’s Hendrix program with Bob Stewart.

Gerry Mulligan also drew on the instrument’s lower register. His “Westwood Walk,” recorded in 1953 with Ray Siegel on tuba, places it inside the transparent sound associated with his pianoless groups. One player connects several of these orchestral histories: Bill Barber.

Bill Barber (May 23, 1920–June 18, 2007)

Bill Barber gave the tuba one of its clearest orchestral identities in modern jazz. His work with Claude Thornhill brought him into Gil Evans’s arranging world, where French horns, reeds, and low brass combined in unusual registers. Barber also played in Stan Kenton’s Innovations in Modern Music ensembles, where the writing placed the tuba inside large brass structures, sometimes reinforcing the bottom and sometimes functioning as an independent voice.

His most enduring work came through Gil Evans and Miles Davis. Barber appears on Birth of the Cool, Miles Ahead, Porgy and Bess, and Sketches of Spain, and across these recordings, his sound anchors the ensemble without making it feel heavy. On “Moon Dreams,” the tuba helps shape the nontraditional ensemble blend associated with Birth of the Cool; “Bess, You Is My Woman Now” places Barber inside Evans’s sweeping orchestral writing; and “Solea” uses his register to deepen the darker sonority of Sketches of Spain.

Barber did not need a featured solo to make the tuba audible. His contribution lay in the way the entire ensemble sounded when his voice was present.

Don Ellis (July 25, 1934–December 17, 1978)

Don Ellis built large ensembles around irregular meters, layered percussion, electronic sound, and expansive brass writing. His quarter-tone trumpet allowed him to play pitches between the conventional half steps of Western tuning, though it formed only one part of his broader interest in rhythm and orchestral color.

Tubist Doug Bixby became a recurring voice in Ellis’s bands, appearing on Autumn (1968), The New Don Ellis Band Goes Underground (1969), At Fillmore (1970), Tears of Joy (1971), Connection (1972), and Soaring (1973). Bixby’s sound gave the lower brass enough definition to remain audible inside Ellis’s dense arrangements; listen to “A New Kind of Country” and “Wolfgang of All Seasons” for the tuba inside Ellis’s rhythmic language.

Bixby also compiled and arranged two volumes of Bach for Tuba, edited by Roger Bobo. Those books connect his orchestral work with the broader development of solo and pedagogical repertory for the instrument.

Innovative Tuba Soloists

The tuba’s role in jazz moved through several overlapping stages. It began as a member of the rhythm section in early jazz and brass bands, entered the brass section of swing and orchestral jazz, and gradually emerged as a featured improvising voice. Many histories of jazz tuba begin in the 1950s, when musicians placed the instrument at the front of modern small groups. That story begins with Ray Draper.

Ray Draper (August 3, 1940–November 1, 1982)

Ray Draper was still a teenager when he recorded Tuba Sounds in 1957. The following year, he released The Ray Draper Quintet Featuring John Coltrane. These recordings placed the tuba in the front line of a modern small group, where it carried melodies, improvised through hard-bop forms, and interacted directly with saxophone. Draper’s sound was broad and rhythmically alert: on “Essii’s Dance” and “Clifford’s Kappa,” the instrument participates fully in the language of the ensemble. Coltrane’s presence attracted attention to the session, but Draper does not require another musician to validate the musical idea. The tuba is already doing the work.

During the late 1960s, Draper moved toward blues, rock, and electric music. His band included trombonist George Bohanon, tenor saxophonist Hadley Caliman, bassist John Duke, drummer Paul Lagos, and guitarist Tom Trujillo, and the group performed in Los Angeles rock venues, including the Whisky a Go Go, sharing bills with musicians associated with the emerging rock scene.

Draper later formed Red Beans and Rice, reportedly named after a favorite meal prepared by his first wife, Cassondra. The group performed alongside Jimi Hendrix, Chicago Transit Authority, Jethro Tull, Gil Scott-Heron, and Dr. John, and Epic Records released Red Beans and Rice Featuring Sparerib Ray Draper. The group’s history became complicated after the album’s release, and Draper struggled with addiction during parts of his life. He spent time in London, returned to New York, continued composing, and briefly worked with Lionel Hampton in 1982.

Later that year, Draper was killed during a robbery in Harlem. He was forty-two. His early Prestige recordings remain among the clearest demonstrations that the tuba could participate fully in modern jazz improvisation.

Howard Johnson (August 7, 1941–January 11, 2021)

Howard Johnson was a tubist, baritone saxophonist, bass clarinetist, trumpeter, arranger, and musical director. That range gave him an unusually broad understanding of how low instruments could function inside an ensemble. After arriving in New York in 1963, Johnson worked with Charles Mingus’s Jazz Workshop and later with Gil Evans, and his collaborators included Hank Crawford, George Gruntz, Rahsaan Roland Kirk, Hank Mobley, Archie Shepp, McCoy Tyner, and Charlie Haden.

Johnson’s tuba could carry a melody, improvise through fast harmonic movement, reinforce an orchestral voicing, or answer another horn in counterpoint. He treated the instrument as part of modern jazz vocabulary rather than as a special effect. His work extended well outside jazz: Johnson recorded with the Band, John Lennon, and Taj Mahal, and for Mahal’s 1971 live album The Real Thing, he arranged a low-brass section featuring himself, Bob Stewart, Joe Daley, and Earl McIntyre.

Johnson also worked as a musical director for Saturday Night Live. He played bass saxophone in Steve Martin’s “King Tut” sketch and brought an all-tuba ensemble to the program in 1978, a performance that showed what Johnson had already understood: several tubas could supply bass, harmony, countermelody, and solo voices inside one ensemble.

* Howard Johnson’s musical experience and contributions to jazz and other genres have solidified his place as a highly respected and influential tuba player in the music world. He had a lasting impact on the jazz scene.

Bob Stewart (born February 3, 1945)

Bob Stewart began on trumpet before studying tuba at the Philadelphia College of the Performing Arts. After teaching in Pennsylvania and playing traditional jazz in Philadelphia, he moved to New York during the late 1960s and joined the low-brass ensemble Substructure, becoming part of a New York community that included Howard Johnson, Joe Daley, and Earl McIntyre. He worked with Gil Evans, Carla Bley, Sam Rivers, Charles Mingus, McCoy Tyner, Lester Bowie, Henry Threadgill, and David Murray.

His long association with alto saxophonist Arthur Blythe showed how effectively the tuba could replace string bass in a modern jazz group. On Lenox Avenue Breakdown, Stewart provides bass movement, countermelody, and rhythmic response without confining himself to one role. His recordings as a leader include First Line, Goin’ Home, Then & Now, and Connections: Mind the Gap, and his duo projects with Ray Anderson and Arthur Blythe place the tuba in close conversation with trombone and alto saxophone.

He has also devoted considerable energy to education and to documenting the tuba’s place in music history. His work connects early jazz bass practice to free improvisation, orchestral jazz, and contemporary chamber music.

Sam Pilafian (October 25, 1949–April 5, 2019)

Sam Pilafian built a career across classical performance, chamber brass, jazz, popular recording, and education. As a young musician, he won the concerto competition at the National Music Camp at Interlochen, and Leonard Bernstein later selected him to perform in the premiere of Mass at the opening of the Kennedy Center.

Pilafian studied at the University of Miami and became a founding member of the Empire Brass Quintet. He later toured and recorded with Boston Brass, bringing decades of chamber and orchestral experience to that ensemble. His jazz work included Travelin’ Light, a collaboration with guitarist Frank Vignola that placed the tuba inside traditional jazz, popular song, and small-group improvisation, and Pilafian also appeared on Pink Floyd’s The Wall.

With Patrick Sheridan, he developed The Breathing Gym, a widely used approach to breath, movement, and brass playing. His teaching connected physical efficiency to a broad idea of musicianship rather than treating breathing as an isolated technical exercise.

Joe Murphy

Joe Murphy’s career reaches across jazz, commercial recording, military bands, film, video games, television, and education. He performs on tuba and cimbasso and has recorded with artists including Steven Tyler, John Pizzarelli, Michael Bolton, and Alison Krauss. His screen and media work includes Call of Duty: Black Ops, Star Wars: Battlefront, the History Channel series Texas Rising, and the film The Last Witch Hunter, and he has also appeared on Austin City Limits and NBC’s Today.

Murphy is a producer, arranger, and tubist with the LOUDHORNS and the Modern Jazz Tuba Project. Those ensembles belong to a larger movement of musicians developing repertory in which the tuba can function as a section voice, soloist, and source of contemporary ensemble color.

Dave Bargeron (September 6, 1942–January 18, 2025)

Dave Bargeron brought the tuba into jazz-rock with unusual force and flexibility. Before joining Blood, Sweat & Tears in 1970, he played lead trombone with Clark Terry and bass trombone and tuba in Doc Severinsen’s orchestra. He made his Blood, Sweat & Tears debut on B, S & T; 4 and appeared on eleven albums with the group, and his extended solo on the live pairing of “And When I Die” and “One Room Country Shack” remains one of the clearest examples of jazz-rock tuba playing. Bargeron treats the instrument like a horn, shaping blues phrases across its range while retaining the breadth and physical weight of its sound.

During a break in the group’s schedule in 1972, he joined the Gil Evans Orchestra. His later work included Billy Joel, Paul Simon, Mick Jagger, James Taylor, Eric Clapton, David Sanborn, Carla Bley, Pat Metheny, George Gruntz, George Russell, and Jaco Pastorius’s Word of Mouth band. Bargeron also recorded and toured in Tuba Tuba with Michel Godard, accordionist Luciano Biondini, and drummer Kenwood Dennard, moving among trombone, bass trombone, tuba, and euphonium according to the needs of the music.

Michel Godard (born October 3, 1960)

Michel Godard is a French tubist whose work joins jazz, classical music, early music, and improvisation. He also plays the serpent, a curved bass wind instrument developed centuries before the modern tuba. Godard entered the Philharmonic Orchestra of Radio France at eighteen and later worked with the French National Jazz Orchestra and the Arban Chamber Brass Quintet, and his early-music collaborations brought the serpent into settings where historical performance and contemporary improvisation could meet.

His collaborators include Rabih Abou-Khalil, Ray Anderson, Dave Bargeron, Willem Breuker, Sylvie Courvoisier, Pierre Favre, Misha Mengelberg, Enrico Rava, Louis Sclavis, Horace Tapscott, Henry Texier, Gianluigi Trovesi, and Kenny Wheeler. Godard has also worked with a Breton pipe band, reggae artist Alpha Blondy, and musicians connected to the Canterbury rock scene, and albums including Three Seasons and Stupor Mundi reveal how naturally he moves among repertories that are usually kept separate.

His work with Bargeron in Tuba Tuba gave two contrasting tuba voices room to move through melody, bass function, counterpoint, and improvisation.

Oren Marshall (born June 14, 1966)

Oren Marshall works across jazz, free improvisation, African music, contemporary composition, and orchestral performance. His collaborators include Derek Bailey, Keith Tippett, Evan Parker, the Pan-African Orchestra, and the London Philharmonic, and he has also appeared with Sons of Kemet, the Grip, Big Air, This Is Not This Heat, and other groups that place low-frequency sound inside experimental and groove-centered music.

His solo work explores the acoustic and electronic possibilities of the tuba. The five-part Spedy Sponda project became a vehicle for extended technique, electronics, composition, and improvisation, and its opening section, In a Silent Room, earned Marshall a nomination for a BBC Innovation in Jazz Award.

The Charming Transport Band brings together musicians from West African traditions, jazz, and improvised music. The ensemble extends Marshall’s interest in the tuba as a meeting place for different approaches to rhythm and collective sound.

Marcus Rojas (born February 23, 1963)

Marcus Rojas has built a career across jazz, opera, contemporary classical music, film, popular recording, and free improvisation. His orchestral work includes the Metropolitan Opera, New York City Ballet, New York City Opera, American Symphony Orchestra, Joffrey Ballet, and Orpheus Chamber Orchestra, and he has performed and recorded with Michael Jackson, Paul Simon, Aretha Franklin, Ray Charles, Stevie Wonder, and many others. His studio work includes more than sixty film scores, along with television and commercial recording.

Rojas has remained equally committed to improvised and contemporary music. His work with Henry Threadgill’s Very Very Circus, ensembles including SingleTree, and his own projects treats the tuba as a complete improvising voice. His recordings as a leader include Life’s a Rojas and The Truth.

François Thuillier (born 1967)

François Thuillier works across jazz, improvised music, chamber music, and orchestral performance. He studied at conservatories in Amiens, Lille, and Roubaix before entering the Paris Conservatoire, where he received first prizes in saxhorn, tuba, and chamber music. Thuillier joined the musical ensemble of the Gardiens de la Paix in 1989 and developed a career as an orchestral musician, soloist, improviser, and composer, and his long association with Marc Steckar and Tubapack helped establish a substantial French repertory for jazz tuba.

His solo performances explore melody, multiphonics, articulation, and the instrument’s full register. He also leads the Elephant Tuba Horde, which turns several tubas into an ensemble capable of orchestral color, groove, and theatrical movement. Check out his solo tuba album here.

Check out his solo tuba album here.

Sérgio Carolino (born October 26, 1973)

Portuguese tubist Sérgio Carolino began playing at twelve and later studied at the Escola Profissional de Música de Espinho and the Escola Superior de Música e Artes do Espetáculo in Porto. His career moves among orchestral performance, contemporary music, solo repertory, jazz, and experimental low-brass projects, and he has received the Roger Bobo Award for Excellence in Recording several times, along with recognition for his work in jazz and Portuguese music.

Carolino has performed with ensembles including the London Symphony Orchestra, the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, and the Orquestra Sinfônica do Estado de São Paulo. His trio TGB—Tuba, Guitarra e Bateria—places tuba beside electric guitar and drums, and in that setting, the instrument functions as bass, melodic voice, rhythmic engine, and improvising horn. Recordings including Mr. Vertigo and Indigo, along with TGB’s albums and live performances, show the range of that approach.

TGB Live Streaming from Festival Antena 2, February 18, 2018 (the entire concert!)

Mattis Cederberg (born 1971)

Mattis Cederberg is a Swedish bass trombonist, tubist, and cimbasso player. He studied at the Malmö Academy of Music and became bass trombonist with the WDR Big Band in Cologne in 2002. His jazz collaborators include Joe Zawinul, McCoy Tyner, Patti Austin, Slide Hampton, Michael and Randy Brecker, Joe Lovano, and Toots Thielemans, and his work with the WDR Big Band places low brass inside some of Europe’s most detailed large-ensemble writing.

Cederberg also leads the Sonic Mechatronik Arkestra, whose recordings Mechatronycon and Overunity connect large-ensemble jazz with electronics and experimental sound. His popular-music work includes artists from across the Swedish and European recording scenes. Listen to his performance of Hoagy Carmichael’s “The Nearness of You” with the WDR Big Band for a more intimate side of his playing.

The Rise of the Tuba Group

Since the late 1960s, musicians have formed ensembles in which tubas and related low brass supply most or all of the horn section. Howard Johnson’s Gravity, Jon Sass’s Heavy Tuba, Kirk Joseph’s Tuba Tuba, François Thuillier’s Elephant Tuba Horde, and Matt Perrine’s Tuba Trinity approach the format differently. Some draw from swing, bebop, and blues, while others lean toward funk, brass-band music, free improvisation, world music, or contemporary composition. What they share is the idea that low brass can provide a complete musical environment.

Howard Johnson’s Gravity

Howard Johnson began developing all-tuba ensembles during the late 1960s, first through Substructure and later through Gravity. The group grew from a New York community of low-brass musicians who were already working across jazz, orchestral recording, popular music, and experimental ensembles. Gravity combined several tubas with piano, bass, and drums, and its players included Bob Stewart, Joe Daley, Earl McIntyre, Dave Bargeron, Marcus Rojas, Carl Kleinsteuber, Nedra Johnson, Velvet Brown, and Johnson himself at different points in the group’s history.

The arrangements treated the tubas as distinct voices rather than a single wall of low sound. One player might carry the bass line while others supplied melody, backgrounds, countermelody, or improvised solos, and changes in instrument size and register allowed the section to retain clarity. On Gravity!!! (1996), Right Now! (1997), and Testimony (2017), the ensemble moved among standards, blues, original compositions, and modern jazz, and Right Now! also brought Taj Mahal into the group for several vocal features.

Gravity’s influence reaches through later tuba ensembles and the individual work of its members. The group established that an all-tuba section could swing, accompany a singer, support a rhythm section, and sustain an entire album without turning the instrument into a gimmick.

Heavy Tuba and Jon Sass

Jon Sass was born in New York and began studying with Sam Pilafian as a teenager. He later settled in Vienna, where his work developed across jazz, blues, funk, popular music, and classical performance. Sass became associated with the Vienna Art Orchestra, Art of Brass Vienna, Hans Theessink, Erika Stucky, and Heavy Tuba, and his playing draws from the tuba’s traditional bass function while using multiphonics, circular breathing, electronics, and a highly vocal approach to articulation.

Heavy Tuba developed around Sass and a changing group of low-brass players in Europe. Albums including Faces, Sagenhaft, At Montreux Jazz Festival, and Pictures at an Exhibition move through original music, reworked concert repertory, jazz, and groove-centered arrangements. Sass’s solo recording Sassified and his later Souluba projects continue that work in smaller settings.

Taj Mahal and The Real Thing Tuba Band

Taj Mahal has spent his career moving through blues, folk traditions, Caribbean music, African diasporic styles, and popular song. His 1971 live album The Real Thing placed a four-tuba section at the center of that musical world. Recorded at the Fillmore East on February 13, 1971, the album features Howard Johnson, Bob Stewart, Joe Daley, and Earl McIntyre. Johnson supplied the brass arrangements, and the tubas provide sustained harmony, bass movement, backgrounds, and responses to Mahal’s voice.

The ensemble reunited for a performance at the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival in 2013. Near the end of the set, New Orleans sousaphonists joined the stage, expanding the original quartet into what could fairly be called a tuba attack. The meeting brought two related histories together: the modern jazz tuba ensemble Johnson developed in New York and the continuing sousaphone tradition of New Orleans.

* Tubas, front row, from left to right: Howard Johnson, Earl McIntyre (just out of view), Joe Daley, and Bob Stewart; New Orleans sousaphonists, back row, left to right: David Silverman (visiting sousaphonist; animator for The Simpsons), unknown sousaphonist, Satoru Ohashi, Jon Gross, Phil Frazier, Kirk Joseph.

Kirk Joseph’s Tuba Tuba

Kirk Joseph, a founding member of the Dirty Dozen Brass Band, helped transform the New Orleans sousaphone from a two-beat bass instrument into a mobile source of funk rhythm, counterpoint, and improvised response. At the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival on May 7, 2011, Joseph led Tuba Tuba, an ensemble built from several of the city’s leading sousaphonists and low-brass players, with a lineup that included Ben Jaffe, Matt Perrine, Edward Lee, and Jon Gross. Each player brought a different relationship to brass-band rhythm, and the result was less a choir of identical instruments than a conversation among several approaches to the New Orleans bass line.

François Thuillier’s Elephant Tuba Horde

François Thuillier’s Elephant Tuba Horde brings together several tubas in arrangements that draw from jazz, funk, improvised music, and theatrical performance. The group uses the instruments in sharply differentiated registers, dividing melody, bass movement, inner voices, and rhythmic figures so the ensemble can sound orchestral without losing the physical immediacy of brass.

Visual movement and choreography sometimes become part of the performance. The instruments are large, and the group does not pretend otherwise; their scale becomes part of the sound and the theater. The Elephant Tuba Horde also provides a setting in which players can develop ensemble skills specific to low brass, including balance, articulation, register separation, and collective improvisation.

Matt Perrine

Matt Perrine is a tubist, sousaphonist, bassist, composer, and arranger based in New Orleans. His work sits inside the city’s brass-band traditions while extending well beyond them. He is a co-founder of the New Orleans Nightcrawlers and has performed with the Tin Men, Bonerama, Ray Anderson’s Pocket Brass Band, Jon Cleary, the Midnite Disturbers, and numerous other groups, with recording credits that include Eric Clapton, Bonnie Raitt, Willie Nelson, Dr. John, Ani DiFranco, Florence and the Machine, Bruce Hornsby, Better Than Ezra, and Stanton Moore.

Perrine has also written and arranged for the Boston Pops, the Pfister Sisters, Bonerama, the New Orleans Nightcrawlers, and Michael Cerveris, and his music has appeared in HBO’s Treme. Like many of the musicians in this history, Perrine moves among tuba, sousaphone, and string bass. Each instrument changes the attack and physical feel of the bass line, but the musical intelligence behind it remains continuous.

Matt Perrine’s Tuba Trinity

Founded in 2018, Matt Perrine’s Tuba Trinity acknowledges the influence of Howard Johnson’s Gravity and Kirk Joseph’s Tuba Tuba while remaining rooted in New Orleans. The rotating lineup has included Steven Glenn, Miles Lyons, Manuel Perkins Jr., and Devon Taylor, along with younger low-brass and rhythm-section musicians, and pianist Brian Coogan and drummers including A. J. Hall and Stanton Moore have also participated. The group performs popular songs, New Orleans repertory, and Perrine’s compositions in arrangements that distribute melody, backgrounds, bass function, and solos across several tubas and sousaphones.

Special Mention: Henry Threadgill’s Very Very Circus

Henry Threadgill’s Very Very Circus was not an all-tuba group, but its instrumentation gives it a central place in this history. The ensemble used two tubas, two electric guitars, trombone or French horn, and drums, and Threadgill later expanded that core with Latin percussion, violin, accordion, voices, and other instruments. The combination gave the music a dark but surprisingly transparent texture, since the tubas could divide the bass function, form contrapuntal lines, or join the guitars in tightly organized rhythmic patterns.

Marcus Rojas and Edwin Rodriguez became crucial voices in the group. Recordings including Spirit of Nuff…Nuff, Too Much Sugar for a Dime, and Carry the Day show how Threadgill turned an unusual lineup into a complete compositional system.

A New Generation

A newer generation of jazz tubists has placed the instrument inside London jazz, Scandinavian chamber music, electronic production, brass-band practice, hip-hop, folk traditions, and contemporary improvisation, including Dr. Reginald Chapman, Jr., Theon Cross, Daniel Herskedal, and Stefan Kac.

Dr. Reginald Chapman, Jr.

Dr. Reginald Chapman, Jr. is a musician, composer, and educator based in New York City. He holds a bachelor’s degree in classical bass trombone from Virginia Commonwealth University and a master’s and doctorate in jazz bass trombone from the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign, where he studied with Jim Pugh. He has recorded in studios throughout his career, toured extensively with brass bands including Lucky Chops and No BS Brass, and performed with indie rock bands such as Foxygen.

Chapman has also been involved in Broadway productions including Frozen and has appeared in classical and jazz performances with artists including Hollenbeck and Argue. In 2018, he released his debut album, Prototype, which received positive reviews from Downbeat and Spotify’s State of Jazz and was featured on FOX’s Empire. He is an artist for BAC and exclusively plays a custom prototype-model bass trombone developed in collaboration with Mike Corrigan.

Theon Cross

London-born Theon Cross grew up in a Caribbean British family, with roots in Jamaica and Saint Lucia. He began on tenor horn in primary school and switched to tuba during his teens. Cross developed through school music programs and Tomorrow’s Warriors, the London organization led by bassist Gary Crosby, and he later studied classical music and jazz at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama.

As a member of Sons of Kemet, Cross helped create a sound built from saxophone, two drummers, and tuba. His instrument supplies bass, rhythmic pressure, countermelody, and low-frequency force, and it can suggest a brass band, a sound system, or an electronic bass line within the same performance. His solo releases include the EP Aspirations and the albums Fyah and Intra-I: Fyah places Cross in a trio with drummer Moses Boyd and saxophonist Nubya Garcia, while Intra-I connects tuba to vocals, dub, grime, hip-hop, and Afro-Caribbean sound-system culture.

Cross’s work does not treat the tuba’s history as a restriction. He uses that history as material.

Cross’s work does not treat the tuba’s history as a restriction. He uses that history as material.

Daniel Herskedal

Norwegian tubist Daniel Herskedal began on French horn before moving to tuba. He studied jazz at the Trondheim Conservatory and later completed graduate work at the Rhythmic Music Conservatory in Copenhagen. Herskedal has performed with pianist Espen Berg, saxophonist Marius Neset, and the Trondheim Jazz Orchestra, and he has also developed a substantial career as a composer and bandleader.

His writing often joins tuba to piano, percussion, strings, voice, and Scandinavian folk influences, with the instrument moving through long melodic lines and quiet chamber textures before returning to its low register. Herskedal also composed music for the film The Last Black Man in San Francisco. His recordings for Edition Records, including Out of the Fog, place the tuba inside an unusually spacious and cinematic sound.

Stefan Kac

Stefan Kac has performed with symphony orchestras, brass ensembles, and chamber groups over the course of his career, and his discography includes solo albums, collaborative projects, and contributions to larger ensemble recordings. He is also an active composer, writing original works for the tuba that explore the instrument’s range and extended possibilities. Check out his band, Evil Genius, at the 16th Outsound New Music Summit in 2017 here.

Kac currently performs at Disneyland in Anaheim, California, as a member of the Straw Hatters.

These are just a few examples of the talented and innovative tubists who are part of the new generation of jazz musicians. Their contributions are shaping the future of jazz and expanding the possibilities for the tuba in the genre.

Euphonium and Trombonium

The tuba’s jazz history overlaps with related low-brass instruments whose timbres and playing systems offered different possibilities. The euphonium brought a compact, vocal middle register, while the trombonium gave valve players access to the trombone’s range and color. These instruments remained uncommon, but several musicians built substantial jazz vocabularies around them.

Rich Matteson: Establishing the Euphonium as a Jazz Voice

Rich Matteson helped establish the euphonium as a credible improvising instrument in modern jazz. Born in Minnesota in 1929, he studied tuba and euphonium at the University of Iowa and worked early in his career with Bob Scobey and the Dukes of Dixieland. Although Matteson continued to play tuba, valve trombone, and other low-brass instruments, the euphonium gradually became his primary voice; he once estimated that he played it for approximately ninety percent of his work.

Matteson approached the instrument with the rhythmic precision, harmonic vocabulary, and melodic fluency associated with bebop. His playing demonstrated that the euphonium could negotiate fast-moving lines while retaining its broad, vocal tone, and recordings such as The Sound of the Wasp, Easy Street, and Groovey placed the instrument at the center of small-group jazz rather than treating it as an orchestral color or novelty.

His influence also came through teaching. Matteson taught jazz improvisation at North Texas State University and later worked at the University of North Florida, and he co-led the Matteson-Phillips Tubajazz Consort with Harvey Phillips, bringing euphoniums, tubas, and a rhythm section into clubs, festivals, and educational settings. The International Tuba Euphonium Association’s Rich Matteson Jazz Competition continues to bear his name.

Suggested listening: Easy Street, Groovey, The Sound of the Wasp, and recordings by the Matteson-Phillips Tubajazz Consort.

Bernard McKinney, Later Kiane Zawadi: The Euphonium in Hard Bop

Bernard McKinney, who later adopted the name Kiane Zawadi, brought the euphonium into some of the most adventurous hard-bop and post-bop ensembles of the 1960s and 1970s. Born in Detroit in 1932, he emerged from the same musical environment that produced Barry Harris, Donald Byrd, Pepper Adams, and the Jones brothers, and his early associations included Sonny Stitt, Art Blakey, Yusef Lateef, Slide Hampton, and James Moody.

Zawadi’s best-known euphonium performance appears on Freddie Hubbard’s Ready for Freddie. Hubbard selected the instrument for its mellow, baritone-like tone, placing Zawadi beside Wayne Shorter, McCoy Tyner, Art Davis, and Elvin Jones, and the euphonium gives the ensemble an unusually dark middle register that helps distinguish the session from the trumpet-and-tenor combinations common in hard bop.

Zawadi later contributed euphonium to Sun Ra’s The Futuristic Sounds of Sun Ra, Hank Mobley’s A Slice of the Top, Hubbard’s High Blues Pressure, and McCoy Tyner’s Song of the New World. Across these settings, the instrument blends with trumpet, saxophone, trombone, and tuba while retaining the flexibility to serve as a solo voice. Zawadi died in 2024 at ninety-one, leaving one of the most substantial recorded legacies by a jazz euphoniumist.

Howard Johnson and the Low-Brass Ensemble

Howard Johnson’s principal jazz voice was the tuba, but his ensembles created space for euphonium within a larger low-brass palette. In Gravity, musicians moved among different tubas and related instruments according to register, blend, and the needs of the arrangement, and Dave Bargeron and Earl McIntyre received euphonium credits on Gravity projects, using the instrument as a middle voice between trombone and tuba. Johnson’s contribution here lies in the framework he built: his arrangements allowed low-brass players to function as soloists, section musicians, background voices, and contrapuntal partners.

Suggested listening: Gravity’s Gravity!!!, Right Now!, and Testimony.

Dave Bargeron: Euphonium Within a Multi-Instrumental Practice

Dave Bargeron approached jazz through a broad command of the low-brass family. Euphonium formed one part of a practice that also included trombone, bass trombone, and tuba, and his clearest euphonium connection appears through Howard Johnson’s Gravity, where he moved among instruments according to the register and timbre required by the arrangement.

On “’Way ‘Cross Georgia,” Bargeron joins Earl McIntyre and Joe Daley to form a three-euphonium choir, their warmer middle register creating a clear contrast with the heavier tuba voicings heard elsewhere on the album. Bargeron’s work demonstrates how euphonium often entered jazz through musicians who treated the low-brass family as a connected field rather than a collection of rigidly separated instruments.

Suggested listening: Howard Johnson and Gravity’s Gravity!!!: On the song “’Way ‘Cross Georgia,” Dave Bargeron joins Earl McIntyre and Joseph Daley to form the album’s unique euphonium triumvirate. Together, they deliver a beautifully warm and fluid sound that provides a perfect contrast to the heavier tuba arrangements on the rest of the record; Bargeron’s Barge Burns…Slide Flies, Blood, Sweat & Tears’ live recordings, and Jaco Pastorius’s Word of Mouth projects.

J. J. Johnson and Kai Winding: The Model for the Modern Trombone Duo

J. J. Johnson and Kai Winding: The Model for the Modern Trombone Duo

The partnership between J. J. Johnson and Kai Winding, widely known as Jay and Kai, established a lasting model for the modern jazz trombone duo. Producer Ozzie Cadena brought them together for Savoy Records in 1954, and the collaboration developed into a working quintet built around two trombones, piano, bass, and drums. Johnson had already emerged as bebop’s leading trombone voice, while Winding brought experience from big bands and small modern-jazz ensembles, and together they demonstrated that two trombones could carry the front line of a jazz group with clarity, contrast, and considerable rhythmic force.

Their music depended on more than technical speed. Johnson and Winding moved between close harmonies, coordinated unisons, contrapuntal lines, background figures, and improvisation. At times, the two horns functioned as a compact brass section; elsewhere, they separated into distinct voices, exchanging phrases and building solos around differences in tone and articulation. Albums including Jay & Kai and Trombone for Two showed how blend and precision could support a flexible, conversational ensemble sound.

Their experiments also included the trombonium, a compact valve instrument pitched in the trombone register but shaped more like a baritone horn. Its valves allowed the musicians to execute fast, sharply articulated passages without the physical movement required by a trombone slide. The instrument appears prominently on the 1956 album Jay & Kai + 6: The Jay and Kai Trombone Octet: “Piece for Two Tromboniums” was composed to feature the sound and agility of two tromboniums, while their performance of Dizzy Gillespie’s “A Night in Tunisia” applied the instrument to the rapid lines and angular phrasing associated with bebop.

The album expanded the duo’s concept into an ensemble of eight trombones and rhythm section. Johnson and Winding later reunited for recordings including The Great Kai & J.J., Israel, Betwixt & Between, and Stonebone. Across these projects, they established a vocabulary for two-trombone groups and larger low-brass ensembles that later musicians continued to develop.

Conclusion

The tuba’s history in jazz follows several overlapping paths. In orchestrated ragtime, jug bands, parade ensembles, and early jazz groups, it supplied the bass foundation that organized harmony and rhythm. As string bass became more prominent, the tuba assumed new responsibilities: arrangers placed it inside expanded brass sections and used its register to reshape ensemble voicings, and its weight, warmth, and tonal contrast became part of big-band and orchestral sound.

Bill Barber, Red Callender, Ray Draper, Howard Johnson, Bob Stewart, and Dave Bargeron carried the instrument further into modern jazz. Their work placed it in melodic and improvisational roles across bebop, cool jazz, free jazz, fusion, funk, blues, and popular music. Ensembles including Gravity, Heavy Tuba, Tuba Tuba, the Elephant Tuba Horde, and Tuba Trinity extended these possibilities through collective sound, turning a low-brass section into a complete musical environment.

The euphonium and trombonium broaden the history. Rich Matteson and Kiane Zawadi developed the euphonium as a fluent jazz voice, Howard Johnson and Bargeron incorporated it into larger multi-instrumental practices, and J. J. Johnson and Kai Winding’s experiments with the trombonium belong to the same extended field.

A newer generation continues this work in New Orleans, New York, London, Scandinavia, continental Europe, and elsewhere. These musicians move among jazz, brass-band traditions, experimental composition, improvisation, and popular music, hearing the tuba, sousaphone, euphonium, and related instruments as members of the same family, each with its own response, register, and physical relationship to sound.

The tuba has remained present throughout jazz history, even when standard accounts placed it at the margins. Listening for it reveals another history of the music, one shaped by bass motion, breath, orchestral imagination, instrumental doubling, and musicians who kept finding new uses for a familiar sound. The tuba did far more than hold down the bottom. It helped define what the bottom could do.

Special thanks to Dan Weinstein, a stalwart of the Los Angeles music community with deep knowledge of traditional and modern jazz, along with many Latin American musical traditions, for reading closely and helping me catch omissions.

About Marc

Marc T. Gaspard Bolin is a multi-instrumentalist, performer, scholar, writer, and educator whose work moves among jazz, low-brass performance, Black music history, and cultural criticism. He plays tuba, bass trombone, and related low-brass instruments, and teaches the tuba studio at California State Polytechnic University, Pomona.

These essays grew from that combination of performance and research, though the tuba clearly took over somewhere along the way.

You can hear selected recordings, performances, and interviews on Marc’s media page.

To read essay #2: “The Bass Voice in Motion,” click here →

To read essay #3: “Contemporary Low Brass Imagination,” click here →

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Left to right: Carolyn “Carol” Jantsch, the first woman to hold a Principal Tuba chair among major orchestras in the U.S. and Wynton Marsalis, Pulitzer Prize and nine time Grammy award winner, trumpeter, composer, teacher, and artistic director of Jazz at Lincoln Center. Credit: lastrowmusic.com. https://www.lastrowmusic.com/marsalis-tuba-concerto/

Trailblazing Tubist Carol Jantsch’s ‘Weird and Different’ Instrument

https://news.wosu.org/show/the-american-sound/2016-03-17/trailblazing-tubist-carol-jantschs-weird-and-different-instrument

Discovering Hidden Gems: Jazz-Inspired Solo Tuba Repertoire

Despite its potential, the tuba is often pigeonholed as a slow and plodding instrument, relegated to the back of the band as a mere accompaniment to the more glamorous instruments. Its low register is often associated with a “blatty” sound, and its role in traditional “oom-pah” music doesn’t help its reputation. However, these expectations do not do justice to the tuba’s true capabilities.

In the hands of a skilled player, the tuba can produce a beautiful, warm tone with a lyrical high range that is surprisingly beautiful, with a lyrical quality that can rival any other brass instrument and impressive technical abilities. Its powerful foundation can anchor an ensemble and its versatility allows it to seamlessly blend with a variety of instruments. Skilled tuba players can perform complex runs, arpeggios, and other challenging passages with ease, creating a dazzling array of sounds that can be both melodic and percussive. In addition, the tuba is also capable of employing a range of extended techniques, such as multi-phonics, flutter tonguing, and glissandi, which further expand the instrument’s expressive possibilities.

Many people associate the tuba with traditional brass band music and do not realize its potential for improvisation and expression in a jazz context. Notwithstanding, jazz-inspired tuba solo repertoire has grown in popularity over the years, with many composers and performers exploring the unique sound and versatility of the tuba.

Here are some examples of jazz-inspired tuba solo repertoire:

Andy Scott’s Les Bleus (2012)

Les Bleus was composed by Andy Scott for the tuba virtuoso Les Neish. It premiered at ITEC 2012 in Linz, Austria. It is a single-movement piece that explores the full range of the tuba’s capabilities.

Andy Scott’s Les Bleus takes the listener on an extraordinary journey through the blues genre. It starts by highlighting the blues changes using multi-phonics (a technique used by brass players to simultaneously produce more than one note on their instrument by manipulating the airflow, embouchure, and valve combinations to create complex harmonies and dissonances) and tongue stops. Then, it transitions into a funkier section with a walking bass line, continuing to evolve, incorporating elements of swing from big band music and intricate double-time, bebop-oriented sections. Throughout the piece, you’ll also hear two-octave glissandos, doinks, and extreme intervals and ranges.

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Donald Grantham’s Tuba Concerto (2013)

Donald Grantham’s Tuba Concerto is a three-movement concerto solo tuba, orchestral winds, percussion, and piano that combines jazz and classical music elements. It was commissioned in 2012 by a consortium of academic entities, including the Marcus Wind Symphony. It was premiered by the University of Texas at Austin Wind Symphony, featuring University of Texas at Austin faculty and soloist Charles Villarrubia on tuba.

While the first two movements are wonderful, the third and final movement, “Boisterous!” earns its place in this blog post. “Boisterous!” pays tribute to Tiny Parham, a talented jazz musician who thrived in Chicago during the 1920s and 1930s. The concerto is dedicated to his memory, and the composer greatly admires Parham’s music and scoring abilities—I think Parham would be proud. “Boisterous!” is a fun, jazz-inspired piece full of languid melodies, funky interjections, “bluesy” licks, call-and-response figures between the soloist and the full ensemble, and a glorious glissando up to a high C to finish off the movement.

Maki Belkan and Patrick Mendez’s Concerto pour Tuba (2019)

Maki Belkan and Patrick Mendez’s Concerto pour Tuba is a contemporary work for piano, drum set, and solo tuba in three movements that incorporates jazz harmonies and rhythms into its composition and showcases the versatility and range of the tuba.

The piece consists of three movements, each with its distinct style and character:

The first movement, “I. Rock,” is a fast-paced and energetic piece that features groovy rhythms and complex harmonies—reminiscent of Chick Corea’s jazz fusion piece, “Spain.” The tubist is required to play with agility and precision, navigating through intricate melodic lines and challenging technical passages.

The second movement, “II. Lament,” is a slower and more reflective piece that explores the lyrical and expressive qualities of the tuba. The melodies are haunting and melancholic, demanding the tubist’s ability to convey emotion and nuance through their playing.

The final movement, “III. Dance,” is a lively and upbeat piece that features playful rhythms and catchy melodies. The tubist is required to play with a sense of joy and exuberance, showcasing their ability to improvise and interact with the other musicians in the ensemble.

Concerto pour Tuba is a demanding and rewarding piece that challenges the tubist’s technical abilities and musicality. Its grooves, nature of melodies, and demand for the tubist showcase the versatility and potential of the tuba in contemporary classical music.

Cech Christoph’s Concerto Aus Der Tube (1999)

Cech Christoph composed “Concerto Aus Der Tuba” in 1999 as a solo piece for Jon Sass and his group of heavy instruments, Heavy Tuba & Jon Sass. This jazz-inspired composition features evolving sections that create the impression of a larger structure in a condensed form.

The piece is characterized by its use of syncopated rhythms, improvisation, lush harmonic accompaniment, and call-and-response sections between the tuba soloist and other ensemble members. It also incorporates elements of funk and blues music, and contemporary jazz. Overall, “Concerto Aus Der Tuba” is a challenging and exciting piece for tuba players looking to explore the possibilities of jazz-inspired repertoire.

Heavy Tuba & Jon Sass

Jon Sass is an American tubist born on March 20, 1957, in New York City. He is known for his unique blend of jazz, funk, and world music styles, which he incorporates into his tuba playing. Sass began his musical training on the trumpet but switched to the tuba in college. He has since become one of the most sought-after tuba players in the world, performing and recording with a wide range of artists, including Gil Evans, Michael Brecker, and Dave Holland.

Sass is also a founding member of the avant-garde tuba quartet Heavy Tuba, which features four of the world’s finest tubists: Howard Johnson, Joe Daley, Bob Stewart, and Jon Sass himself. The group has released several albums, including the critically acclaimed “Tuba City” and “Umlauts.” Sass’s tuba playing is characterized by his exceptional control, expressiveness, and use of extended techniques, such as multi-phonics and circular breathing. He has been praised for his ability to blend seamlessly with other instruments, as well as for his dynamic and inventive solo playing.

Wynton Marsalis’s Tuba Concerto (2021)

Wynton Marsalis’s Tuba Concerto is a fusion of classical and jazz, showcasing Marsalis’ unique style. It had its world premiere with tubist Carol Jantsch on the Philadelphia Orchestra stage.

Marsalis is a renowned trumpeter, composer, teacher, and artistic director of Jazz at Lincoln Center. He has been honored with nine Grammys and won the Pulitzer Prize in music for his oratorio Blood on the Fields in 1997. His recent works include the Swing Symphony and Violin Concerto.

The work commences with a stimulating movement called “Up!”, which features multi-phonics, orchestral fanfares, a restless melodic line, rhythmic hand clapping from various parts of the orchestra, pronounced syncopation, and all sorts of enthusiastic tuba licks.

Next is a fun and playful movement entitled “Boogaloo Americana”—a mix of blues, Latin American styles and rhythms, and boogaloo elements. It features a wandering melody accompanied by a strong rhythmic beat.

“Lament” begins with short melodic phrases that are enhanced by gradual upward runs. This transforms into a passage with a march-like rhythm that is eventually dominated by the orchestra. The tuba took over and led into a hymn-like section before ending with a prolonged yet subdued wail.

The last movement, “In Bird’s Basement,” moves quickly with a series of notes that sound like a rolling aria. The orchestra accompanies the tubist here with a showy big-band style. To conclude the piece, the tuba delivers the final punchline playing a quick, exposed riff.

There is a lack of tuba solo repertoire in jazz, resulting in the instrument being overlooked. By introducing more jazz-inspired tuba solo pieces, composers and performers can demonstrate the tuba’s potential and push the limits of what is considered “appropriate.” The previously mentioned works aim to encourage tuba players and composers to expand the solo tuba repertoire for future generations and alter people’s perceptions of the instrument.

Unfortunately, there is not a YouTube video or easily accessible recording of the world premiere by Carol Jantsch, so I’m posting this one.

Co-commissioned by several orchestras including the National Arts Centre Orchestra, Wynton Marsalis composed his Tuba Concerto in 2021. Originally written for Carol Jantsch, principal tuba of the Philadelphia Orchestra, she premiered the piece with the Philadelphia Orchestra conducted by Yannick Nézet-Séguin on December 9, 2021. It has since been performed by several other tubists and orchestras; this presentation featuring NACO Principal Tuba Chris Lee as soloist is the concerto’s Canadian premiere.

MAYBE:

Roland Szentpáli’s Concerto For Tuba This is a tuba concerto composed by Roland Szentpali that combines elements of jazz and classical music. The piece features a jazz-inspired second movement that showcases the performer’s ability to swing and improvise. These pieces, as well as many others, demonstrate the versatility of the tuba in a jazz context and showcase the unique sound and capabilities of the instrument.

Edgar Crockett’s “Mystique” (2021)

One overlooked gem in the solo tuba repertoire is Edgar Crockett’s jazzy arrangement of “Mystique,” recorded by Patrick Sheridan on his 1998 album Lollipops.

“Mystique” is a composition by Edgar Crockett that was dedicated to the renowned tubist Kevin Stees. Created in 1989, this virtuosic showpiece for solo tuba highlights Crockett’s skillful composition. Hailing from Illinois, Crockett, who is both a trumpeter and a composer, infuses the piece with a lively jazz influence, resulting in a captivating musical experience.

Kevin Stees, to whom Crockett’s arrangement was dedicated, has enjoyed an impressive career of his own. As a professor at James Madison University for over 30 years, Stees has taught generations of students while maintaining an active performing schedule as a soloist and chamber musician.

The brilliant tuba artistry of Patrick Sheridan is on full display in his rendition. Sheridan is one of our most celebrated tuba soloists, having performed over 3,500 concerts globally in venues ranging from the White House to the Hollywood Bowl. He is a former member of the U.S. Marine Band and has been featured on NBC’s “Today Show” and NPR. As an educator, Sheridan has served on faculties at several top institutions, such as Arizona State University, Northern Arizona University, The Rotterdam Conservatory, The Royal Northern College of Music and The Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama. He most recently served on the music faculty at the UCLA—where I was fortunate to study under during my undergraduate—where he conducted the Brass Ensemble and Wind Ensemble and taught tuba/euphonium. Along with Sam Pilafian, he authored the bestselling book The Breathing Gym. His flawless technique and colorful musicality breathe new life into Crockett’s chart.

With its infectious swing rhythms and virtuosic demands, Crockett’s “Mystique” arranged for Stees deserves a place alongside the great showpieces of the tuba repertoire. Sheridan’s recording displays the technical brilliance and musical joie de vivre at the heart of this jazz-inspired work.

Conclusion:

There is a lack of tuba solo repertoire in jazz, resulting in the instrument being overlooked. By introducing more jazz-inspired tuba solo pieces, composers and performers can demonstrate the tuba’s potential and push the limits of what is considered “appropriate.” The previously mentioned works aim to encourage tuba players and composers to expand the solo tuba repertoire for future generations and alter people’s perceptions of the instrument.

* To read about the tuba and its close relative, the sousaphone, which played a significant role in early New Orleans-style jazz, they have now become more of a specialized musical instrument within jazz, click here to read my blog entitled “The Lasting Legacy of the Tuba in Jazz.”

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Poets are skilled creators who utilize meaningful symbols to convey deeper meanings. They possess the skill to go beyond surface-level interpretations and dive into the world of semiotics, exploring different forms of visual and symbolic art to surpass conventional boundaries.

Jazz is a style of music developed by African Americans in the late 19th century that incorporates elements from African, Indigenous, and European music traditions. It is a tapestry of rhythmic complexities and emotive melodies. Like poets, jazz musicians are skilled storytellers, painting vivid narratives with instruments and expressing profound emotions without uttering words. Just as poets delve into the world of symbols and semiotics, jazz musicians masterfully weave intricate improvisations and motifs, inviting listeners to explore the depths of their interpretations. Jazz embodies the essence of freedom and creativity as artists embrace the unknown, harmonizing their individual voices into a collective, dynamic experience that transcends boundaries and welcomes infinite interpretations. In this rich tapestry of sound and language, jazz poetry finds its muse, fusing the boundless spirit of jazz music with the poetic expressions of the human soul.

Rooted in West African oral traditions, “jazz poetry” lies at the intersection of these two art forms: jazz and poetry. It has given rise to some of the most impactful and culturally significant works of the 20th century. From Langston Hughes to Jayne Cortez and Amiri Baraka to Charles Mingus, artists have explored the connections between jazz and poetry, weaving rich histories and experiences into their work. In this blog, we will delve into jazz poetry, its roots in West African oral traditions, its history as a genre, and examine the life and works of influential artists who have contributed to this intersection, such as Amiri Baraka, Sterling Brown, Hayden Carruth, Jayne Cortez, Michael S. Harper, Jack Kerouac, Yusef Komunyakaa, Nathaniel Mackey, Eugene B. Redmond, Sonia Sanchez, and more.

Join us on a journey through the swinging words of jazz poetry and the rich history that has influenced it.

What is Jazz Poetry?

Jazz poetry is a unique form of artistic expression that emerged in the early 20th century, blending jazz music’s dynamic, rhythmic, and improvisational qualities with the expressive power of poetry. It can take many forms; jazz poetry can be written to demonstrate a jazz-like rhythm or the feel of improvisation, intended to be accompanied by jazz music, or integrate jazz music as a central piece of the work (hence, every performance is different).

Representative artists of jazz poetry include Langston Hughes, who is often considered the pioneer of the genre. Hughes’s poetry captured the vibrant energy of the Jazz Age and depicted the realities of African American life with candidness and beauty. Other notable artists include Sonia Sanchez, Amiri Baraka, and Jayne Cortez, who expanded the boundaries of jazz poetry and brought their unique perspectives to the art form.

Jazz poetry emerged as a response to the social and historical contexts of the early 20th century, particularly during the Harlem Renaissance. It represented the struggles and aspirations of African Americans, celebrating their cultural heritage while challenging societal norms.

The Progenitors of Jazz Poetry

In West African cultures, poetry was a form of entertainment and a means of preserving history and passing down important traditions. One of the most important figures of many West African cultures is the griot. This hereditary musician combines the functions of a praise singer, musician, genealogist, and oral historian, serving as the keepers of the community’s history and values.

In Mandinka culture, these culture bearers are known as jail. These jalis recite poetry, sing songs, and play instruments like the kora, a bridge harp with twenty-one strings, to create intricate and complex melodies—to entertain and educate their audiences. The jali holds a revered position in Mandika society, and their role as oral historians is highly respected. They are responsible for preserving the cultural heritage of the Mandika people and passing it on to future generations through storytelling, poetry, and music. Through their music, the jali brings to life the rich traditions and history of the Mandika people, ensuring that their culture remains vibrant and alive.

The Harlem Renaissance

In the 1920s in Harlem, Black art and literary figures led a movement known as the Harlem Renaissance.

Jazz poetry is closely linked to the cultural and artistic movements of the Harlem Renaissance, a flourishing period of African American creativity and intellectualism in the 1920s and 1930s. During this time, African Americans sought to reclaim their cultural identity and challenge society’s racial prejudices and inequalities. With its roots in African rhythms and its ability to convey a range of emotions, jazz music became a powerful symbol of resistance and artistic expression.

The social and historical contexts of jazz poetry are deeply intertwined with the experiences of African Americans during this era. The Great Migration, which saw millions of African Americans moving from the rural South to urban areas in the North, brought about significant cultural shifts. The vibrant nightlife and artistic communities of cities like New York and Chicago became fertile grounds for jazz musicians and poets to collaborate and create.

Jazz poetry not only reflected African Americans’ struggles and aspirations but also celebrated their culture’s beauty and resilience. It became a medium through which poets could explore themes of identity, race, love, and social justice. The rhythmic improvisation of jazz music provided a natural framework for poets to experiment with their writing, infusing their words with the syncopation and syncopated rhythms that defined the genre.

The legendary poet Langston Hughes is often credited as the creator of jazz poetry. Take this live rendition of his classic poem “The Weary Blues” on CBUT in 1958 as an example of his work:

Representative Artists

Numerous poets and musicians have contributed to the development of jazz poetry. Among them are:

Amiri Baraka. (Credit: telegraph.co.uk Photo: Zuma/Rex

Amiri Baraka (born Everett Leroy Jones; October 7, 1934 – January 9, 2014)

Amiri Baraka was an influential African American writer, poet, and playwright who often explored the intersection of jazz and poetry. He grew up in Newark, New Jersey, attending Rutgers University and Howard University, where he studied philosophy and religion. Baraka’s writing career began in the late 1950s when he published poetry and essays that explored themes of Black identity, social justice, and cultural criticism.

One of Baraka’s most important works is Blues People: Negro Music in White America, published in 1963. In Blues People, Baraka examines the history and significance of African American music, particularly jazz and the blues. Baraka explores these art forms’ cultural and political implications, arguing that they are expressions of Black experience and resistance.

He became deeply involved in the jazz poetry movement, which sought to merge the improvisational spirit of jazz with poetry. Baraka’s jazz poetry performances were known for their powerful delivery and incorporation of musical elements. He often performed alongside jazz musicians, collaborating to create spontaneous and immersive performances. His jazz-infused poetry became an influential aspect of the Black Arts Movement, a cultural and artistic movement that aimed to celebrate African-American culture and challenge white supremacy.

His second collection of poems, “Black Dada Nihilismus” (1964), exemplifies this fusion. In this work, he teams up with the avant-garde jazz band the New York Art Quartet (NYAQ)—originally made up of saxophonist John Tchicai, trombonist Roswell Rudd, drummer Milford Graves, and bassist Lewis Worrell—Baraka experiments with language, rhythm, and sound to create a visceral and musical experience for the listener.

Baraka taught at several revered institutions, including Columbia University, Stony Brook, and Rutgers University.

Amiri Baraka held the position of New Jersey’s Poet Laureate from July 2002 until July 2, 2003, when the position was abolished. Baraka received recognition from prestigious foundations, including fellowships from the Guggenheim Foundation and the National Endowment for the Arts. He also received the Langston Hughes Award from the City College of New York, the Rockefeller Foundation Award for Drama, an induction into the American Academy of Arts and Letters, and the Before Columbus Foundation Lifetime Achievement Award.

One of Amiri Baraka’s poems was chosen to be permanently displayed in New York City’s Pennsylvania Station as part of a larger installation by artist Larry Kirkland. This installation, which features excerpts from the works of various New Jersey poets, was created as part of the renovation and reconstruction of the New Jersey Transit section of the station in 2002.

I have seen many suns
use
the endless succession of hours
piled upon each other

Throughout his career, Baraka continued to write and perform poetry, plays, and essays. His work evolved, reflecting his shifting political and social beliefs. Baraka’s writing and activism significantly impacted African American literature and the broader cultural landscape. He passed away on January 9, 2014, leaving a legacy of artistic innovation and social critique.

Amiri Baraka “The Way of Things (In Town)”

New York Art Quartet / Amiri Baraka - Black Dada Nihilismus

Sterling A. Brown. (Credit: Williams College Library)

Sterling Allen Brown (May 1, 1901 – January 13, 1989)

Affectionately referred to as the Dean of African American Literature, Sterling Brown was an influential African American poet, critic, and scholar. Brown’s work often explored themes of Black identity, social justice, and cultural criticism.

Brown attended Williams College, where he studied English and graduated with honors in 1922. He then pursued graduate studies at Harvard University, earning his master’s degree in English in 1923.

Throughout his career, Brown produced several notable works. His debut poetry collection, Southern Road, was published in 1932 and received critical acclaim for its authentic portrayal of African American life in the South. Another important work by Brown is Negro Poetry and Drama (1937), which served as a significant contribution to the study of African American literature.

In addition to his writing, Brown had a successful academic career. He joined the faculty at Howard University in 1929, teaching English until his retirement in 1969. His scholarly pursuits focused on African American folklore, literature, and cultural heritage. He was dedicated to preserving and celebrating the rich traditions of African American oral and written expression.

Brown’s deep connection to jazz poetry is integral to his legacy. He was among the prominent figures of the Harlem Renaissance, a cultural movement in the 1920s that celebrated African American art, music, and literature. Brown’s poetry often incorporated elements of jazz, including rhythmic patterns, improvisation, and the use of vernacular language. His ability to capture the essence of jazz in his poetry made him a respected figure in the jazz poetry movement.

Throughout his career, Brown received numerous honors and accolades for his contributions to literature and academia. He was awarded the Anisfield-Wolf Book Award for Lifetime Achievement in 1984 and was named the Poet Laureate of the District of Columbia in 1984-1985. Brown’s work continues to inspire and resonate with readers, preserving the legacy of African-American culture and its intersections with jazz poetry.

Sterling Brown’s play Ma Rainey was first published in 1932 and is considered one of the seminal works of African American theater. The play focuses on the life of Gertrude “Ma” Rainey, a real-life blues singer known as the “Mother of the Blues,” and portrays how Rainey connects with a rural Black community in the South. Set in a recording studio in Chicago during the 1920s, the play explores themes of race, power, and exploitation in the music industry. Ma Rainey delves into the struggles faced by Black artists in a predominantly white industry, highlighting the tension and power dynamics between Ma Rainey and her white producers. The play also examines the cultural significance of the blues, portraying it as a form of resistance and a means of expressing the Black experience.

Sterling Brown’s poem, “Ma Rainey” (1932)

Sterling A. Brown Archivist and Curator Jessica C. Neal, Joey Hua-Phan , and Akhir Stewart compiled a Spotify playlist representing some of Sterling Brown’s record collection. Take a listen:

Hayden Carruth. (Credit: thepraisereview.org)

Hayden Carruth (August 3, 1921 – September 29, 2008)

Hayden Carruth, an American poet and literary critic known for his jazz-inspired style, was deeply influenced by jazz and often used the music as a metaphor. He was educated at the University of North Carolina and the University of Chicago. Carruth worked as an editor for various magazines, including Poetry. His poetry often examines ordinary subjects in controlled forms, reflecting his own experiences with mental illness. His long poem, The Bloomingdale Papers, explores psychiatric confinement and the human condition. Carruth’s best work, Brothers, I Loved You All, incorporates jazz elements.

Carruth received several honors, including the National Book Award for his Scrambled Eggs and Whiskey collection. His works have earned him praise for their wide variety. Carruth’s experience with jazz poetry is evident in his jazz-influenced style and exploration of improvisation.

Jayne Cortez in 1996. (Credit: KJEMJazz.org)

Jayne Cortez (May 10, 1934 – December 28, 2012)

Jayne Cortez was not just a poet but a force of nature. Cortez is one of the most influential voices in American poetry. With her powerful performances and unique blend of poetry and jazz, Cortez captivated audiences and impacted the literary and artistic world.

From a young age, Cortez showed a deep passion for words. She was drawn to the rhythm and cadence of language, and it was through poetry that she found her voice. Inspired by the likes of Langston Hughes and Amiri Baraka, Cortez began to explore the themes that would become the foundation of her work – love, politics, social justice, and the human experience.

Cortez’s poetry reflected the turbulent times in which she lived. In the 1960s, she actively participated in the civil rights movement, using her art as a tool for change. Her poems were a call to action, urging people to stand up against injustice and fight for equality. She became known for her powerful performances, combining her words with the improvisational sounds of jazz. Her work was not just meant to be read on the page; it was meant to be experienced, felt, and heard.

Her first poetry collection, Pisstained Stairs and the Monkeyman’s Wares (1969) is a heartfelt dedication to the Watts Repertory Theatre Company members, which she as a founder and artistic director. The title captures the gritty reality of ghetto life and explores its connection to the destructive influence of capitalism, symbolized by drugs. This passionate collection of poems is filled with tributes to influential figures such as Charlie Parker, Huddie “Leadbelly” Ledbetter, Dinah Washington, Ornette Coleman, Billie Holiday, John Coltrane, and Theodore “Fats” Navarro. The poet’s “How Long Has Trane Been Gone” (1969) is a moving tribute to the late tenor saxophonist John Coltrane.

Throughout her career, Cortez published numerous collections of poetry, including Somewhere in Advance of Nowhere (1996) and Mouth on Paper (1977), and continued to honor Black jazz musicians. For example, in “For Cecil Taylor,” which was published in her book Festivals and Funerals in 1971, she honors the great avant-garde pianist and poet Cecil Taylor and released several recordings, many of which feature her band, the Firespitters. Her work received critical acclaim and numerous accolades, including the American Book Award.

In addition to her poetry, Cortez was also a dedicated activist and educator, working tirelessly to bring the arts to underprivileged communities. She believed in the power of art to effect change and used her position to empower others.

Her legacy, however, lives on. Her words continue to inspire and challenge us, reminding us of the power of poetry to shape our world. Jayne Cortez was not just a poet; she was a visionary, an activist, and a true artist. Her impact on the literary and artistic world is immeasurable, and her voice will forever echo through the pages of history.

Jayne Cortez, “How Long Has Trane Been Gone” (1971)

Michael S. Harper in an undated photo. (Credit: Brown University. Photo: John Forasté )

Michael Steven Harper (March 18, 1938 – May 7, 2016)

Michael Steven Harper was an African American poet and professor known for his sensitive and personal verse, which explored themes of ancestral kinship, jazz, and the blues. Born on March 18, 1938, in Brooklyn, New York, Harper grew up in Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn, and Los Angeles. He attended Los Angeles City College before earning a BA, an MA, and an MFA in English studies. In his work, Harper’s poetry was heavily influenced by jazz and history, and he used music as a source of inspiration.

In addition to his poetry, Harper had a successful academic career. He taught at various colleges and universities, including Contra Costa College, Lewis & Clark College, Reed College, and Brown University, where he spent most of his career. Harper joined the faculty of Brown University and became an esteemed English professor.

Harper published ten books of poetry throughout his career, including notable works such as Dear John, Dear Coltrane (1970), “Nightmare Begins Responsibility” (1975), and Healing Song for the Inner Ear.

Harper’s use of jazz and blues in his poems is also remarkable, adding a musical and rhythmic quality to his writing. He also wrote several works incorporating live jazz performances, such as Poetry accompanied by jazz music: Double Take: Jazz - Poetry Conversations (2004), and I Do Believe in People: Remembrances of Walter Warren Harper (1915–2004).

His poetry explores the African American experience, history, and personal relationships, making him an influential figure in contemporary American poetry.

Michael S. Harper, “Dear John, Dear Coltrane” (2013)

Jack Kerouac in New York in 1958, a year after he wrote his full-length play, Beat Generation. (Credit: The Associated Press. Photo: Jerry Yulsman)

Jean-Louis “Jack” Lebris de Kérouac (March 12, 1922 – October 21, 1969)

Jack Kerouac, born on March 12, 1922, in Lowell, Massachusetts, was an American novelist, poet, and leading figure of the Beat Generation. He grew up in a working-class French-Canadian family, which influenced his writing style. Kerouac attended Columbia University on a football scholarship but dropped out after a few years.

His most influential work is undoubtedly On the Road, published in 1957. This semi-autobiographical novel, written in a spontaneous and stream-of-consciousness style, captures the essence of the Beat Generation’s wanderlust and rebellion against societal norms. Kerouac’s other notable works include The Dharma Bums and Big Sur.

His pursuit of jazz poetry, also known as “bop prosody,” was a significant aspect of his literary contributions. Kerouac sought to mimic the improvisational nature of jazz music in his writing, using spontaneous rhythms, long, breathless lines, and a free-flowing, experimental style. He saw poetry and jazz as interconnected art forms, expressing the essence of America’s counterculture.

Kerouac’s dedication to jazz poetry earned him accolades and admiration within the literary and jazz communities. He performed alongside jazz musicians, including Steve Allen and Zoot Sims, and recorded a spoken-word album, Blues and Haikus, featuring poems accompanied by saxophone solos. His fusion of jazz and poetry solidified his reputation as a pioneer of the Beat genre.

Although Kerouac’s work faced initial criticism, it has since become revered for its raw and honest portrayal of American life. His contributions to literature and his embodiment of the Beat Generation’s ideals have solidified his place in literary history.

Jack Kerouac on The Steve Allen Show (with Steve Allen accompanying Kerouac on piano!; 1959)

Yusef Komunyakaa. (Credit: voxpopulisphere.com)

Yusef Komunyakaa (born James William Brown; April 29, 1941)

Yusef Komunyakaa, born on April 29, 1947, in Bogalusa, Louisiana, is an American poet known for his powerful and evocative works, particularly his exploration of the Vietnam War and African American history. Komunyakaa grew up in a racially segregated community and served in the US Army during the Vietnam War, an experience that deeply influenced his poetry.

Komunyakaa attended the University of Colorado, earning his bachelor’s degree in 1975. He later pursued his MA in Creative Writing from Colorado State University in 1978. His education played a crucial role in honing his poetic skills and refining his unique voice.

Among his notable works, Dien Cai Dau (1988) stands out. This collection of poems draws from his experiences as a war correspondent in Vietnam, capturing the raw emotions and haunting imagery of the war. Another significant work is Neon Vernacular: New and Selected Poems (1994), which won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry. This collection explores themes of race, identity, and memory, showcasing Komunyakaa’s lyrical and incisive style.

Regarding his academic career, Komunyakaa has held teaching positions at various institutions, including Indiana University and Princeton University. He has shared his knowledge and passion for poetry with countless students, inspiring a new generation of writers.

Komunyakaa’s dedication to jazz poetry is evident in his work. He often incorporates elements of jazz music into his poems, using improvisation, rhythm, and syncopation to create a sense of musicality. His poems are filled with vivid imagery and sensory details, mimicking the improvisational nature of jazz. This fusion of poetry and music allows Komunyakaa to explore complex themes and emotions uniquely and captivatingly.

For his contributions to literature, Komunyakaa has received numerous honors and awards. In addition to the Pulitzer Prize, he has been awarded the Kingsley Tufts Poetry Award, the Wallace Stevens Award, and the Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize, among others. These accolades are a testament to his impact on the literary world and his mastery of the jazz poetry genre.

Yusef Komunyakaa’s exploration of the Vietnam War, African American history, and his innovative use of jazz poetry have solidified his place as one of the most influential poets of his generation. His ability to blend personal experiences with societal issues and his deep understanding of music has created a body of work that is both thought-provoking and emotionally resonant. Komunyakaa continues to inspire and captivate readers with his powerful words and unique poetic voice.

Poet Yusef Komunyakaa reads w/ music by David Cieri + Mike Brown (hosted by Danielle Blau)

* Poet Yusef Komunyakaa reads “The Plea,” “When Loneliness Is a Man,” “Sugar,” “Believing in Iron,” “Dolphy’s Aviary,” “Anodyne,” and “Requiem,” with original live music composed and improvised for his work by David Cieri (piano, etc) and Mike Brown (bass). Hosted by Danielle Blau Shot and edited by Unarmed Media -- Francesco Saviano and Marika Hacking

Image of Nathaniel Mackey. (Credit: Paris Review)

Nathaniel Mackey (b. September 14, 1947)

Nathaniel Mackey is a prominent figure in jazz poetry, known for his unique blend of music and language. Born on September 14, 1947, in Miami, Florida, Mackey grew up immersed in the vibrant jazz scene of his hometown. His early exposure to jazz music played a significant role in shaping his artistic sensibilities.

Mackey pursued his education at Princeton University, earning his Bachelor of Arts degree in 1969. He later obtained his Ph.D. in English from Stanford University in 1975. Mackey’s academic background in literature and poetry greatly influenced his approach to jazz poetry, allowing him to explore the intersections of sound, rhythm, and language in his work.

Throughout his career, Mackey has produced several important works that have solidified his reputation as a jazz poet. One of his notable collections is Eroding Witness, which won the prestigious National Book Award for Poetry in 2006. This collection showcases Mackey’s innovative use of musicality and improvisation in his poetry, drawing inspiration from jazz traditions.

In addition to his literary accomplishments, Mackey has had a distinguished academic career. He has taught at various institutions, including the University of California, Santa Cruz, where he served as a professor of literature until his retirement in 2015. His extensive knowledge of jazz and poetry has made him a sought-after speaker and scholar in the field.

Mackey’s contributions to jazz poetry have earned him numerous honors and accolades. In addition to the National Book Award, he has received the Guggenheim Fellowship, the Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize, and the Bollingen Prize for American Poetry, among others. These awards recognize his exceptional talent and the significant impact of his work on the genre of jazz poetry.

Nathaniel Mackey’s experience with jazz poetry is characterized by his ability to create a rhythmic and melodic flow in his writing, capturing the essence of jazz music within the written word. His fusion of music and language allows readers to experience the spontaneity and improvisation inherent in jazz. Mackey’s work serves as a testament to the enduring influence of jazz on the world of poetry and the power of artistic collaboration across different mediums.

Nathaniel Mackey and the Our True Day Begun Soon Come Qu’ahttet (2019)

* Nathaniel Mackey and the Our True Day Begun Soon Come Qu’ahttet, featuring Sandy Blocker (balafon and percussion), Vattel Cherry (bass), Jason Lentz (oud), and Dorian Lee Parreott II (baritone saxophone, cornet, and euphonium).

Kenneth Patchen in 1957 with a collection of his painted books. The late photographer Harry Redl took the photograph on the rooftop of his apartment house in San Francisco. (Credit: foundsf.org)

Kenneth Patchen (December 13, 1911 —January 8, 1972)

Kenneth Patchen was a poet and novelist known for his experimental approach to poetry, which often incorporated music and visual art. He was known for his countercultural and politically engaged poetry. Patchen’s works often addressed social and political issues, expressing his views on war, injustice, and the human condition. Throughout his career, Patchen produced several important works that showcased his distinctive blend of jazz and poetry.

One of his notable collections is The Journal of Albion Moonlight, published in 1961—twenty years after its inception. This experimental novel-poem hybrid reflects Patchen’s exploration of language, sound, and rhythm, reminiscent of jazz improvisation.

Patchen’s experience with jazz poetry extended beyond his written works. He often performed his poetry live, accompanied by jazz musicians, effectively merging the spontaneity of jazz with the spoken word. Some of these works include “The Murder of Two Men by a Young Kid Wearing Lemon Colored Gloves,” “State of the Nation,” “Do the Dead Know what Time it is?”, “And with the Sorrows of this Joyousness,” “The Lute in the Attic,” “Lonesome Boy Blues,” “Limericks”, and “I Went To The City.” These performances allowed Patchen to fully convey the musicality and energy of jazz in his poetry, creating a dynamic and captivating experience for the audience.

You can hear these works read by Patchen with Frank Leal, alto saxophone; Fred Dutton, bass; Tom Reynolds; drums; Allyn Ferguson, piano, French horn, and percussion; Modesto Briseno; tenor saxophone; and Robert Wilson, trumpet and percussion.

Kenneth Patchen, Reads His Poetry with the Chamber Jazz Sextet (1957)

Patchen’s talent and unique approach to jazz poetry earned him recognition and honors throughout his career. He received the Shelley Memorial Award in 1952 and the Harriet Monroe Memorial Prize in 1953. His impact on the genre of jazz poetry continues to inspire poets and musicians alike, as his work exemplifies the power of collaboration between language and music.

Patchen’s legacy as a jazz poet lies in his ability to transcend traditional boundaries and create a fusion of poetry and music that captures the essence and spirit of jazz. His exploration of rhythm, improvisation, and the spoken word in his poetry serves as a testament to the enduring influence of jazz on the world of literature and the power of artistic experimentation.

His works earned him recognition and honors, such as the Shelley Memorial Award and the Harriet Monroe Memorial Prize.

Eugene B. Redmond standing in front of a quilt commemorating 40 years of his life. Quilt by fabric artist Edna Patterson. (Credit: thismonthincas.com. Photo: E. Dustman)

Eugene B. Redmond (b. December 1, 1937)

Eugene B. Redmond is a prominent figure in jazz poetry, known for his significant contributions to the genre. Eugene B. Redmond is a highly regarded jazz poet whose works, academic career, and collaborations with jazz musicians have left an indelible mark on the genre. His poetry collections, Opening the Blues and Drumvoices, showcase his ability to fuse the rhythmic qualities of jazz with the expressive power of poetry.

Redmond earned a Bachelor of Arts in English from Southern Illinois University and later pursued graduate studies at Washington University in St. Louis, where he received a Master of Arts in Teaching degree. His educational background in literature and teaching laid a solid foundation for his future endeavors.

As a poet, Redmond’s works reflect his deep appreciation for jazz music and the African American experience. His poetry collection, “Opening the Blues,” published in 1973, showcases his ability to blend the rhythms and improvisation of jazz with the lyrical qualities of poetry. This collection, along with his subsequent works, solidified his reputation as a leading jazz poet.

Aside from his creative output, Redmond also made significant contributions to academia. He served as a professor of English and the director of the Black Studies Program at Southern Illinois University Edwardsville, where he inspired and mentored numerous aspiring poets and scholars.

Redmond’s achievements and contributions have earned him several honors and awards. In 1976, he received the American Book Award for his collection “Drumvoices: The Mission of Afro-American Poetry.” He was also named the first poet laureate of East St. Louis in 2001, further recognizing his impact on the community.

Redmond’s experience with jazz poetry extends beyond the written word. He has collaborated with renowned jazz musicians, such as Oliver Lake and Hamiet Bluiett, to create multidisciplinary performances that combine poetry, music, and visual arts. These dynamic live performances bring his poetry to life, adding another layer of depth and resonance to his powerful words.

Redmond’s dedication to his art and education has earned him numerous accolades, solidifying his place as a representative artist in jazz poetry.

Eugene B. Redmond, ‎ A “Poetic Excursion” Thru The Black Experience Via “Blood Links And Sacred Places.” (1973; full album)

Photo by Nat Farbman. (Credit: The LIFE Picture Collection, Getty Images, via poetryfoundation.org)

Kenneth Rexroth (b. December 22, 1905 — June 6, 1982)

Kenneth Rexroth is a prominent figure in jazz poetry, known for his significant contributions to the genre. Born on December 22, 1905, in South Bend, Indiana, Rexroth’s early exposure to music and art laid the foundation for his artistic pursuits. Despite a challenging upbringing, he developed a deep appreciation for literature and began writing poetry at a young age.

Rexroth’s education was non-traditional, as he largely educated himself through extensive reading and self-study. He immersed himself in classical literature, philosophy, and Eastern religions, greatly influencing his poetic style. His wide-ranging interests and studies allowed him to develop a unique voice combining jazz, nature, and spirituality.

Throughout his career, Rexroth published numerous poetry collections that showcased his mastery of blending jazz and poetry. One of his significant works is “The Signature of All Things,” published in 1950, which was heavily influenced by jazz improvisation and showcased his ability to capture the rhythm and energy of the music in his writing. Another notable collection is “The Dragon and the Unicorn,” published in 1952, which further solidified his reputation as a leading jazz poet.

Kenneth Rexroth’s “Married Blues” appears on Poetry And Jazz at the Blackhawk or Kenneth Rexroth at the Black Hawk with a group of uncredited musicians.

Aside from his creative output, Rexroth also made significant contributions to academia. He taught poetry at various universities, including the University of California, Santa Barbara, and the University of California, Davis. His teaching career allowed him to inspire and mentor numerous aspiring poets and scholars, leaving a lasting impact on the literary community.

Rexroth’s achievements and contributions earned him several honors and awards. In 1981, he received the Shelley Memorial Award from the Poetry Society of America, recognizing his outstanding contributions to American poetry. Additionally, he was honored with the American Academy of Arts and Letters Award in Literature in 1987.

Rexroth’s experience with jazz poetry extended beyond the written word. He often performed his poetry alongside jazz musicians, improvising and collaborating with them in live performances. These dynamic performances brought his poetry to life, capturing the essence of jazz and creating a powerful fusion of words and music.

Kenneth Rexroth is a highly influential jazz poet known for his innovative blend of jazz and poetry. His works, such as “The Signature of All Things” and “The Dragon and the Unicorn,” demonstrate his ability to capture the rhythm and energy of jazz music in his writing. Rexroth’s academic career, honors, and collaborations with jazz musicians further solidified his place as a representative artist in jazz poetry.

Sonia Sanchez. (Credit: Temple University Archives via wrti.org)

Sonia Sanchez (born Wilsonia Benita Driver; September 9, 1934)

Sonia Sanchez A poet and activist who was a central figure in the Black Arts Movement of the 1960s and 1970s. Her work often incorporates jazz rhythms and musical elements.

Sonia Sanchez is a prominent figure in jazz poetry, known for her powerful and evocative works that blend the elements of jazz and poetry. Born September 9, 1934, in Birmingham, Alabama, Sanchez’s early exposure to African American culture and her parents’ love for music influenced her artistic pursuits.

Sanchez pursued her education at Hunter College and received a bachelor’s degree in political science in 1955. She later earned a master’s degree in educational administration from New York University. Throughout her academic journey, Sanchez developed a deep appreciation for literature and began exploring the intersection of poetry and music.

Her important works include poetry collections such as Homecoming (1969), We a BaddDDD People (1970), and Shake Loose My Skin (1999). In these collections, Sanchez skillfully combines jazz’s rhythmic and improvisational qualities with the lyrical and emotive aspects of poetry, creating a unique and captivating fusion.

Sanchez’s academic career spanned over four decades, during which she taught at various universities, including San Francisco State University and Temple University. She played a crucial role in inspiring and mentoring aspiring poets and scholars, particularly in African American literature and culture.

Her contributions to the literary world and her dedication to education have earned Sanchez numerous honors and awards. She was named the first Poet Laureate of Philadelphia in 2012 and received the Robert Frost Medal for distinguished lifetime service to American poetry in 2001.

Sanchez’s experience with jazz poetry is profound and influential. She often performs her poetry alongside jazz musicians, creating dynamic and interactive live performances that showcase the synergy between spoken word and music. Her performances are characterized by their rhythmic intensity, improvisation, and a deep understanding of the African American experience.

Sonia Sanchez is a trailblazing artist in the realm of jazz poetry. Her biographical journey, education, important works, academic career, honors, and experience with jazz poetry all contribute to her significant impact on the genre. Her ability to capture the spirit and essence of jazz through her poetry has solidified her as a representative artist in jazz poetry.

Sonia Sanchez and the World Jazz Harmony Ensemble

* Performances by: Sonia Sanchez; Vie Boheme, dancer; Kikora Franklin, dancer; Ronnie Burrage, drums and keyboards; Bob DeBoo, Bass; Eric Slaughter, Guitar; Rick Tate, Jr., Alto and EWI; Rene McLean, tenor and flute; Rasul Siddik, trumpet and percussion. Recorded on Sonia Sanchez’s visit to Penn State University as the Institute for the Arts and Humanities Distinguished Visiting Professor (Spring 2013).

Honorable mention:

Charles Mingus’ “Scenes in the City” is a musical composition that blends jazz and spoken word poetry to create a portrait of urban life. “Scenes in the City” was written by actor Lonne Elder with assistance from Langston Hughes, with music composed by the renowned jazz musician and composer Charles Mingus and narration by character actor, television director, and musician Milton “Mel” Stewart, best known for playing Henry Jefferson on the television sitcom All in the Family.

Charles Mingus. (Credit: WTJU.net)

Mingus, known for his innovative and boundary-pushing compositions, created this piece as a fusion of music and spoken poetry. The poem captures the vibrant and chaotic energy of urban life, reflecting Mingus’ own experiences and observations of the city. In “Scenes in the City,” Mingus utilizes rhythmic patterns and improvisation to emulate the spontaneous nature of jazz music. The poem explores various themes, including societal issues, racial tensions, and personal reflections. Mingus’ powerful and evocative words, combined with his distinctive bass playing, create a dynamic and engaging piece that blurs the boundaries between music and poetry. “Scenes in the City” demonstrates Mingus’ ability to transcend traditional genres and experiment with different artistic forms. By infusing his poetry with jazz, Mingus creates a unique and captivating experience for the audience, challenging conventional notions of music and poetry. The piece is a testament to Mingus’ immense talent as a composer, musician, and poet, solidifying his influential role in jazz and beyond.

Conclusion

Jazz poetry stands as a vibrant and dynamic art form that weaves the expressive power of poetry with the spontaneous and improvisational nature of jazz music. Its roots trace back to the rich traditions of West African griots and jalis, who used storytelling and music to preserve history and culture. From the fertile grounds of the Harlem Renaissance in the early 20th century emerged a generation of influential poets who embraced jazz as a source of inspiration, shaping the genre’s trajectory and impact on American literature.

Representative artists of jazz poetry have left an indelible mark on the literary landscape, each contributing a unique voice to the genre. Amiri Baraka, a central figure in the Black Arts Movement, fearlessly used his words as a tool for social change, and his incorporation of jazz rhythms and musicality further heightened the impact of his message. Sterling Brown’s exploration of African American folklore and cultural heritage, interwoven with the essence of jazz, added depth and authenticity to his poetic expressions.

The innovative jazz poet Kenneth Patchen transcended traditional boundaries, merging music and language in a way that captured the essence of jazz improvisation. His dedication to live performances alongside jazz musicians showcased the synergy between spoken word and music, creating powerful and immersive experiences for audiences. Yusef Komunyakaa’s powerful and evocative works delved into the Vietnam War and African American history, making him a significant voice in contemporary American poetry. His fusion of jazz rhythms and musical elements enhanced the emotional resonance of his poetry.

Moreover, jazz poetry’s trailblazing legacy continued through the works of Sonia Sanchez, whose dynamic performances and deep understanding of the African American experience breathed life into her rhythmic and captivating poetry. Additionally, Charles Mingus, the renowned jazz musician and composer, demonstrated his prowess as a poet through his iconic piece “Scenes in the City,” which seamlessly blended jazz and spoken word to create a powerful portrait of urban life.

Beyond these representative artists, jazz poetry continues to evolve and inspire new generations of poets and musicians. Its ability to capture the complexities of human experience, explore social and political issues, and celebrate the spirit of jazz sets it apart as an influential and enduring form of artistic expression.

Jazz poetry’s journey from its West African roots to the Harlem Renaissance and its representation by exceptional artists has solidified its place as a significant genre in American literature. With its fusion of musicality, spontaneity, and social commentary, jazz poetry remains a vibrant and influential force that pushes the boundaries of artistic expression and continues to shape the rich tapestry of American culture. As we look to the future, jazz poetry stands as a testament to the power of collaboration between language and music, and its impact on the literary and artistic world will undoubtedly resonate for generations to come.

"A Night-Club Map of Harlem," by E. Simms Campbell, Cartographer, and Publisher Dell Publishing Company. New York, N.Y.: Dell Publishing Company, Inc., 1932. https://www.loc.gov/item/2016585261/.

The 1932 “Night-Club Map of Harlem” by acclaimed African American illustrator E. Simms Campbell presents a whimsically detailed Art Deco streetscape depicting the buzzing music venues and hotspots that brought Prohibition-era swing culture to life uptown. This iconic map provides a fascinating glimpse into the vibrant nightlife and cultural scene of Harlem during the Jazz Age and the Harlem Renaissance.

Introduction: The Jazz Age Streetscape

In the heart of the Harlem Renaissance, E. Simms Campbell’s “A Night-Club Map of Harlem” unfolds as a whimsically detailed Art Deco streetscape, offering a vivid guide to the thriving music venues and hotspots that brought Prohibition-era swing culture to life uptown. This iconic map, created in 1932, provides a fascinating glimpse into the vibrant nightlife and cultural scene of Harlem during one of the most transformative periods in American history.

E. Simms Campbell: A Pioneer in Black Illustration

E. Simms Campbell (1906–1971), born in St. Louis, Missouri, is a trailblazing African American cartoonist, illustrator, and art director. Notably, he became the first Black cartoonist nationally syndicated in the U.S., contributing single-panel cartoons known as ‘Cuties’ to mainstream periodicals like Esquire. Campbell’s distinctive and humorous style quickly gained recognition, setting the stage for his notable contributions to the Jazz Age and the Harlem Renaissance.

His illustrations graced nearly every Esquire issue between 1933 and 1958, and he consistently lent his artistic touch to publications such as The Chicagoan, Cosmopolitan, Ebony, The New Yorker, Playboy, Opportunity, Pictorial Review, and Redbook.

A Night-Club Map of Harlem: A Snapshot of the Harlem Renaissance

“A Night-Club Map of Harlem” is one of Campbell’s most iconic works, created during the height of the Harlem Renaissance. This visually stunning map serves as a time capsule, capturing the essence of Harlem’s cultural and entertainment scene during the early 1930s. Campbell’s crosshatch and woodcut style masterfully brings to life the bustling streets of Harlem, complete with speakeasies, ballrooms, revues, and the legendary musicians who graced the neighborhood.

The observer gazes southwest, capturing the expanse of Lenox Avenue and Seventh Avenue, framed by Central Park at 110th Street in the upper left corner and the Harlem River in the bottom left. The “Harlem Moon” graces the upper right, while a compass rose and a police station anchor the bottom right. The vibrant streetscape unfolds between 131st, 133rd, 134th, 135th, and 142nd streets, stretching east to west. Iconic venues like the Radium Club, Cotton Club featuring Cab Calloway’s band, Savoy Ballroom, Connie’s Inn, Lafayette Theatre, Log Cabin, Theatrical Grill, Gladys Bentley at Gladys’ Clam House, Club Hot-Cha, and Small’s Paradise populate the scene. Animated figures engage in popular dances like the Lindy Hop, the Bump, and Snakehips. Renowned musicians such as Harlan Lattimore, Garland Wilson, and Don Redman are spotlighted alongside tap dancer Bill “Bojangles” Robinson. The lively atmosphere includes a vendor peddling hot peanuts, Tillie’s restaurant showcasing fried chicken, and vendors known as “the Crab Man” and “the Reefer Man.” Each character and venue comes with a concise written description. A rectangular label at the bottom right proudly declares, “Engraved and copyrighted 1932 by E. Simms Campbell.”

The magazine, composed of four folded sheets (a, b, c, d), unveils the map in the centerfold of sheet d, spanning pages 8 and 9. The dark blue wrapper (e) features a graphic of a man and woman against an abstracted cityscape on the front and back covers, with the very bottom right corner teasing a “relief” map of Greenwich Village in the Feb. 1 Manhattan magazine. The magazine’s content encompasses printed text, advertisements, and illustrations.

Unveiling the Secrets: The Coded Locations

What sets this map apart is the inclusion of a secret code, a hidden layer of intrigue that invites viewers to explore hidden club locations marked by coded red dots. City records have confirmed that two of the clandestine gin mill addresses matching Campbell’s symbols were indeed real locations. This clever feature reflects the Prohibition era, adding depth to the map and allowing viewers to engage with the rebellious spirit of the time.

Cab Calloway’s Orchestra: A Highlight of the Map

Above the jaunty self-caricatures flanking a landmark theater, Cab Calloway’s orchestra takes center stage, marked with a red circle that serves as a veiled welcome for those “in the know.” Cab Calloway, a luminary of the Harlem Renaissance, brought energy and charisma to the scene. The inclusion of his orchestra on the map underlines the significant role that jazz and big band music played in shaping Harlem’s cultural landscape.

Celebrating the Tuba: A Musical Delight

Within Cab Calloway’s band, depicted on the map, a sousaphone (tuba) player stands out. This detail speaks volumes about Campbell’s attention to the musical richness of Harlem’s nightlife. The tuba, often underestimated, finds its place in the swinging jazz scene of Harlem, contributing to the dynamic and energetic sound of the era. The inclusion of the tuba player highlights the instrument’s importance in creating the rich soundscape that defined the Jazz Age.

The Sousaphone’s Role in Harlem’s Jazz Scene

The sousaphone played a pivotal role in shaping the dynamic sounds of Harlem’s jazz era, and Campbell’s map beautifully captures this musical heritage. As a fixture in hot jazz bands, the sousaphone’s bombastic “oomph” provided the essential bass foundation for the energetic performances at prime Harlem venues like the Savoy Ballroom and the Cotton Club. The map showcases the prominence of sousaphones in the swing orchestras that dominated the scene, with lively depictions of musicians carrying these iconic instruments.

In outfits led by maestros like Fletcher Henderson and Chick Webb and visiting Midwest orchestras, sousaphones were the driving force behind thumping, mobile basslines that propelled dancers at the Savoy Ballroom into twirling ecstasy. The map hints at the importance of sousaphones by featuring a marching sousaphone tuba in Cab Calloway’s orchestra, emphasizing its role in creating the swinging spectacle that characterized Harlem’s nightlife.

The Cotton Club and Sousaphone Resonance

Notably, the sousaphone found a prominent place in Cab Calloway’s band, particularly during their performances at the Cotton Club. As a renowned jazz venue, the Cotton Club was synonymous with the vibrant sounds of the swing era, and sousaphones were integral to the lively big band sound that defined the venue. The map captures the essence of this era by featuring a sousaphone player in Calloway’s orchestra, suggesting the instrument’s significance in creating the distinctive and spirited atmosphere for which the Cotton Club was celebrated.

Prolific studio vet Howard Scott, possibly featured in Calloway’s 1930 “Saint James Infirmary,” may have contributed to the rollicking sets at the Cotton Club. The sousaphone’s deep, resonant tones and rhythmic prowess would have provided the freight train traction needed to support the syncopated rhythms of swinging saxophones, growling trumpets, and booming drums. As the heartbeat of Calloway’s band, the sousaphone contributed to the infectious rhythms that electrified Northern crowds during the Jazz Age.

Sousaphones at the Savoy Ballroom

Similarly, at the Savoy Ballroom, another iconic Harlem venue famous for its role in the swing era, sousaphones were likely a prominent part of the bands that graced its stage. The Savoy was renowned for its contribution to the development of swing dancing and featured the best big bands of the time. Bands led by Chick Webb or Benny Goodman might have showcased sousaphones during their performances, infusing the ballroom with the powerful and resonant tones that defined the swing and big band sound of the 1930s and 1940s. The sousaphonists of the era were often skilled musicians who played a crucial role in creating the infectious rhythms and lively arrangements that defined the swing era.

For a more in-depth exploration of the tuba and sousaphone’s lasting legacy in jazz, you can read “The Lasting Legacy of the Tuba In Jazz: Its History, Trailblazing Musicians, and Essential Musical Examples” on [Brass Opera’s blog](https://www.brassopera.com/blog/the-lasting-legacy-of-the-tuba-in-jazz). Additionally, for insights into traditional jazz, “Traditional Jazz: A Brief Style Guide” is available [here](https://www.brassopera.com/blog/traditional-jazz-a-brief-style-guide).

A Time Capsule of Harlem’s Cultural Legacy

E. Simms Campbell’s “A Night-Club Map of Harlem” is both a historical document and a vibrant piece of art, offering a snapshot of the lively cultural scene in Harlem during the early 1930s. Campbell’s intricate illustrations and meticulous attention to detail transport viewers back in time, capturing the spirit of the Jazz Age and the rich cultural legacy of Harlem. The map serves as a testament to the resilience, creativity, and indomitable spirit of the Harlem Renaissance.

Experience the Magic: Exploring the Night-Club Map

For an immersive journey into the vibrant streetscape of 1930s Harlem, visit the [Library of Congress website](https://www.loc.gov/item/2016585261/) and explore “A Night-Club Map of Harlem.” This iconic map offers a unique opportunity to discover hidden gems, secret speakeasies, and legendary music venues that defined the cultural landscape of the Harlem Renaissance. Let E. Simms Campbell’s whimsical illustrations transport you to a time of swing music, artistic expression, and the indomitable spirit of Harlem’s vibrant nightlife.

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Friday, December 6, 2024

The Artist as Pioneer: How Jazz Musicians Anticipated Modern Physics

After nearly three decades as a performer, educator, and scholar in jazz, I’ve encountered a profound and largely unexplored phenomenon: jazz musicians have consistently been pioneers in exploring complex principles of modern physics. Their artistic explorations of sound, time, and collective interaction have led them to intuit fundamental truths about the nature of reality that physics would later confirm. This observation extends far beyond finding clever parallels between music and science; instead, it suggests that artistic intuition can serve as a powerful pathway to understanding the universe, sometimes preceding formal scientific discovery.

The relationship between artistic intuition and scientific discovery reveals a fascinating aspect of human cognition: our ability to grasp complex natural phenomena through embodied experience before we can describe them mathematically. Artists, particularly musicians, engage with physical reality through direct manipulation of sound, time, and space—elements that physics later describes through mathematical frameworks. This embodied understanding operates through what philosopher Maurice Merleau-Ponty called “operative intentionality”—a pre-reflective, bodily engagement with the world that precedes theoretical knowledge. In jazz, this manifests through musicians developing sophisticated practices that parallel scientific principles, not through conscious application of physics, but through deep engagement with sound’s fundamental properties.

Several mechanisms explain how artistic intuition can anticipate scientific understanding. First, artists work directly with physical phenomena, developing practical knowledge through experimentation and refinement. Second, artistic practice often involves holistic engagement with complex systems, allowing artists to intuit relationships that science later describes analytically. Third, the constraints of artistic mediums—in jazz’s case, the properties of sound, rhythm, and collective improvisation—naturally guide practitioners toward discoveries about fundamental physical principles. As cognitive scientist Lawrence Barsalou argues, our sensorimotor systems ground abstract concepts in physical experience, suggesting that artistic manipulation of physical media can lead to an implicit understanding of the principles governing those media.

This insight challenges traditional hierarchies that place scientific knowledge above artistic intuition. Instead, it suggests a complementary relationship where artistic practice can serve as a form of investigation parallel to scientific inquiry, sometimes revealing truths about the physical world that science has yet to describe formally. This process is particularly evident in jazz because the music’s emphasis on improvisation and collective interaction creates a laboratory-like environment for exploring fundamental sound, time, and energy properties.

This phenomenon isn’t new. History is full of artists whose intuition outpaced scientific discovery. Consider Renaissance visionaries like Leonardo da Vinci (1452-1519) and Albrecht Dürer (1471-1528) —they weren’t just painters or sculptors but experimenters, uncovering principles of perspective and proportion long before geometry textbooks caught up. Their careful observation and artistic experimentation revealed fundamental truths about how three-dimensional space projects onto two-dimensional surfaces—principles that wouldn’t be mathematically formalized until centuries later. Similarly, Ancient Greek sculptors discovered the golden ratio through artistic practice, creating works of compelling proportion before mathematicians provided formal proof of its properties.

In architecture, Gothic cathedral builders of the 12th and 13th centuries developed sophisticated structural principles through practical experimentation, effectively discovering principles of force distribution and load-bearing design that engineering would only formally describe centuries later. Their flying buttresses and ribbed vaults represented an intuitive understanding of structural forces that preceded scientific analysis. In music theory, composers like Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750) explored mathematical relationships through counterpoint and harmony centuries before these patterns were formally analyzed using group theory and other advanced mathematical tools.

More recently, textile artists in ancient cultures worldwide discovered principles of non-Euclidean geometry through their weaving patterns, creating complex hyperbolic forms in their craftwork long before mathematicians formally described these geometric principles. The Trobriand Islanders of Papua New Guinea, documented in the early 20th century, created patterns that demonstrate a sophisticated understanding of symmetry groups and non-Euclidean spaces through their woven art, anticipating mathematical discoveries by centuries.

Like these earlier artists who discovered mathematical and physical principles through their craft, jazz musicians’ innovations emerged from deep engagement with their artistic medium. Just as Renaissance artists uncovered the mathematics of perspective through painting and Gothic architects discovered structural principles through the building, jazz musicians revealed quantum mechanical and relativistic concepts by manipulating sound and time. The key difference is that while visual artists and architects worked primarily with space and structure, jazz musicians explored the physics of time, probability, and collective interaction. Their work with these elements was remarkably prescient, given that these would become central concerns of twentieth-century physics. This parallel is especially striking because jazz developed alongside modern physics, with musicians intuiting through performance what physicists were simultaneously discovering through mathematics and experiments.

This framework helps explain how jazz musicians, working years or decades before certain physics concepts were formally described, could develop practices that precisely parallel later scientific discoveries. It’s not that they were consciously anticipating physics principles, but rather that their deep engagement with sound and collective improvisation led them to discover, through practice, fundamental patterns that physics would later describe through mathematics.

With this understanding of how artistic practice can presage scientific discovery, we can trace how jazz’s development as an art form paralleled—and often anticipated—the major paradigm shifts in modern physics. Jazz’s evolution mirrors physics’ own journey from classical mechanics through quantum theory to our current understanding, manifesting in three distinct stages. The first stage reflects classical physics, where the collective improvisation of early jazz demonstrates basic field theory through ensemble interaction. The second stage parallels quantum mechanics, as bebop pioneers like Charlie Parker explored probability spaces in their solos, where each note choice affected future possibilities—similar to quantum state probability. The third stage corresponds to quantum field theory, where modal jazz and later developments unified these concepts. Musicians like Coltrane and Davis worked with both fields and probabilities simultaneously, creating music that reflected the sophisticated understanding of modern quantum field theory, often before these principles were fully articulated in physics.

This artistic anticipation of scientific principles reveals itself through concrete musical practices rather than mere metaphors. Consider the concept of a field in physics—a region where forces affect everything within it. Jazz musicians work within an analogous musical space where every performer’s actions influence and are influenced by the entire ensemble, developing this practical understanding of field theory through performance decades before quantum field theory was fully developed. Their intuitive grasp of these complex principles suggests that artistic exploration can sometimes reveal truths about the universe that science has yet to describe formally.

The intricate harmonies and rhythms of jazz ensembles resemble interference patterns in quantum mechanics. This connection is vividly demonstrated in the graphic, where overlapping waves create a complex interference pattern that mirrors

Interference Patterns in Quantum Mechanics vs. Jazz Ensembles: Two overlapping waves create a complex interference pattern, representing the layered harmonies and interactions within a jazz ensemble.

Early New Orleans Jazz: The First Laboratory of Collective Physics

Before physicists formalized the concept of fields influencing systems, communities in New Orleans were living out these principles in vibrant, collective spaces. The music emerging from these spaces wasn’t just entertainment; it was a sonic embodiment of dynamic interactions and shared influences. To see these principles at work in music, we need only look to the birthplace of jazz: New Orleans. Here, in the streets, dance halls, and other spaces, marginalized communities created a laboratory of sound—preserving cultural traditions while forging entirely new musical frameworks (Gaspard Bolin 2024: 42-44). The dance halls, street parades, and Social Aid and Pleasure Clubs of New Orleans served as vital spaces where African American musicians preserved and transformed cultural practices passed down through oral tradition (Sakakeeny and Birch 2013: 72-75). These leisure sites weren’t simply spaces for performance - they were centers of cultural preservation and community resilience where practitioners could explore new possibilities while maintaining connections to ancestral traditions (Evans 2011: 38-42; Smith 1994: 46-48).

Through Social Aid and Pleasure Clubs in particular, musicians found opportunities to develop distinctive ensemble approaches while serving crucial community functions (Gaspard Bolin 2021: 176-178). These organizations provided both mutual aid for their members and spaces for cultural expression, allowing musical innovations to emerge from genuine community needs and practices (Sublette 2008: 121-124).

King Oliver’s Creole Jazz Band exemplifies these collective principles in action. When Oliver and young Louis Armstrong performed their celebrated cornet duets, they weren’t merely harmonizing—they were engaging in a sophisticated form of musical dialogue rooted in African American call-and-response traditions. Their 1923 recording of “Dippermouth Blues” demonstrates how individual musical voices could maintain distinct identities while contributing to a larger unified ensemble sound, a practice traceable to the ring shout traditions of Congo Square and second line parades (Floyd 1995: 267-268; Floyd 1991: 271-273).

This approach to collective music-making emerged organically from the cultural contexts and community needs of African American musicians in New Orleans. The sophisticated ensemble interactions that developed reflected generations of preserved knowledge about how to create music that could serve both artistic and social functions within the community, particularly through the activities of Social Aid and Pleasure Clubs and their associated parades and celebrations (Stuckey 2013: 11-15; Murphy 1994: 174-176).

Through consistent utilization of oral transmission and embodied practice, early jazz musicians developed frameworks for collective improvisation that would profoundly influence the evolution of the art form (Berry 1995: 102-104). Their innovations emerged not from abstract experimentation but from deep engagement with living cultural traditions and community practices that remain vital to New Orleans culture today (Sakakeeny and Birch 2013: 158-160).

The collective interactions of early jazz ensembles resemble the dynamics of quantum fields, where every action radiates influence across the field. This concept is vividly illustrated in the visual accompanying this section, where concentric waves radiate from a central source. Just as energy ripples across a quantum field, each musician’s contribution interacts with and shapes the ensemble’s collective sound.

Quantum Field Analogy in Jazz: A visual representation of a “field,” with intensity radiating from a central source, analogous to a jazz ensemble’s interactions.

The Quantum Nature of Improvisation

The vibrant interplay within New Orleans ensembles laid the foundation for another innovation: improvisation. This creative freedom, embedded in structured frameworks, reflects the dynamic tension between individual agency and collective influence, mirroring concepts physicists would later describe as quantum superposition. When jazz musicians improvise, they work within a framework of possibilities that mirrors quantum behavior in fascinating ways. Each note chosen affects the probability of subsequent notes, just as quantum states influence future possibilities. The interplay between structure (chord changes) and freedom (improvisation) creates a musical uncertainty principle where precise position and momentum cannot be simultaneously known. As Alexander explains, a jazz improviser works with probabilities rather than certainties, just as we cannot simultaneously know a particle’s position and momentum perfectly (2016:162-163). Mark Turner articulated this concept to Alexander, noting, “When I’m in the middle of a solo, whenever I am most certain of the next note I have to play, the more possibilities open up for the notes that follow” (2016:159-160).

John Coltrane’s landmark composition “Giant Steps” (1960) illustrates this concept perfectly. Each moment contains multiple potential pathways, only crystallizing into specific notes when played. The rapid harmonic movement creates a field of possibilities that Coltrane navigates in real time. His sheets of sound approach—rapid cascades of notes that blend into continuous waves of music, paralleling how particles can behave as waves in quantum mechanics—isn’t just technical virtuosity—it’s a musical manifestation of probability clouds, where individual notes blur into a quantum-like sound field. Coltrane’s approach wasn’t merely intuitive—he actively studied Einstein’s special and general relativity theories, seeking to translate physics principles into musical innovation. In conversations with David Amram, Coltrane explicitly discussed his interest in Einstein’s work and how he wanted to find similarly elegant, simple principles for his music, as Alexander documents (2016:218-219).

Much like how quantum states collapse into a singular possibility upon observation, jazz improvisation distills countless potential notes into a performed reality. The accompanying visual shows a sinusoidal wave narrowing and peaking, capturing the essence of wave function collapse and the focused act of improvisation.

Wave Function Collapse: A sinusoidal wave narrows and peaks, representing the collapse of quantum states after observation.

Improvisation mirrors the many-worlds interpretation, where musicians navigate branching pathways of potential note choices, converging on a performed reality.

Improvisation as a Many-Worlds Parallel: Multiple branching waves represent potential improvisational choices, with one distinct wave illustrating the performed or “observed” choice.

Fields of Sound: Modal Jazz and Quantum Fields

It’s fascinating how the underlying patterns of the universe—its symmetries and hidden frameworks—mirror the creative breakthroughs of jazz. Modal jazz signaled a departure from rigid harmonic progressions, allowing musicians to explore musical possibilities within broader, freer landscapes. Just as quantum fields provide a continuous framework where particles can emerge, modal frameworks give rise to melodies and harmonies shaped by the properties of the scale rather than pre-determined chords. This flexibility revolutionized jazz and brought it closer to reflecting the behavior of the physical world. Bebop musicians, almost instinctively, tapped into these ideas, decades before physicists fully articulated them. Miles Davis’s “Kind of Blue” represents this profound shift in musical thinking through modal improvisation. In this approach, musicians explore within a fixed scale rather than following chord progressions, similar to how quantum particles exist within defined fields rather than at discrete points (Davis 1959).

The connection between modal jazz and quantum field theory runs deeper than metaphor. In quantum physics, particles don’t exist as isolated points but as excitations in underlying fields that permeate all space. Similarly, in modal jazz, notes aren’t just isolated events but expressions of underlying musical fields (modes) that define all possible musical choices. When Miles Davis and his ensemble played in modes rather than chord progressions, they essentially worked with musical field theory. Each mode creates a field of musical possibility, much like the electromagnetic field or the Higgs field in physics. Just as quantum fields can be excited to produce particles, these modal fields can produce notes and phrases. The revolutionary aspect of “Kind of Blue” was recognizing that music could emerge from exploring these fields rather than following predetermined harmonic pathways. The musicians were free to create “excitations” (notes and phrases) anywhere within the modal field. Still, these choices were shaped by the field’s properties - just as their fields’ properties shape quantum particles’ behaviors.

When you listen to “So What,” you’ll hear the musicians exploring within modal frameworks rather than adhering to rigid chord progressions; instead of jumping from chord to chord, the musicians navigate continuous possibilities of musical expression. This modal approach reflects deeper physical principles about symmetry and its breaking. Just as symmetric scales can break into asymmetric ones to create musical tension and resolution, physics shows how breaking symmetries in nature leads to fundamental forces and particles, as Alexander explains (2016:65-66). Like cosmic inflation, which created resonant frequencies in the early universe that led to structure formation, modal jazz creates resonant frequencies that give rise to musical structure. Physicist and musician David Amram noted this connection explicitly in discussions with Coltrane about Einstein’s theories and their application to music (Alexander 2016:218).

Modal jazz operates like quantum fields, with musical possibilities emerging as excitations within defined frameworks.

Modal Fields and Quantum Fields: Parallel graphs showing modal jazz as a dynamic musical field and quantum fields as continuous energy fields, drawing a visual connection between these concepts.

Like symmetry breaking in physics, modal jazz introduces tension and resolution by disrupting harmonic balance.

Symmetry Breaking in Modal Jazz: A transition from a symmetric wave (representing balanced musical structures) to an asymmetric wave (illustrating the tension and resolution in modal jazz).

Duke Ellington: Orchestrating the Field Theory of Jazz

Duke Ellington’s revolutionary approach to jazz composition and orchestration provides one of our most compelling examples of how musicians intuitively grasped advanced physics concepts. His work with the famous Ellington Orchestra demonstrated profound principles about fields, complexity, and emergence—how complex patterns and behaviors arise from simple interactions, as when individual musical voices combine to create effects greater than their sum.

Ellington’s revolutionary approach to orchestration in pieces like “Mood Indigo” (1930) demonstrates these principles. Instead of following conventional arranging wisdom, he inverted the typical clarinet-trumpet-trombone voicing, creating a perturbation—a deliberate disruption of standard patterns that generates new properties, similar to how physicists describe disturbances in quantum fields. This disruption generated entirely new properties in the ensemble’s sound, demonstrating how changing fundamental relationships can transform an entire system.

Ellington’s concept of composing for specific musicians rather than generic instruments parallels quantum mechanical principles about the individuality of particles. Just as quantum physics revealed that even seemingly identical particles have their own distinct states—described by what physicists call their wavefunction—a mathematical description that contains all possible states a quantum system can be in, Ellington understood that each musician’s distinctive voice contributed to the orchestra’s collective quantum state.

His extended compositions like “Black, Brown and Beige” (1944) demonstrate what physicists call coherent states—organized patterns that maintain their essential character while evolving in time, like how a sustained musical note keeps its identity while varying in expression. Throughout these longer works, musical themes appear, transform, and reappear in different contexts—like quantum particles that can exist simultaneously in multiple states. The way these motifs maintain their identity while changing their expression mirrors the wave-particle duality—the principle that elements can exhibit properties of both waves and particles, just as musical phrases can function both as distinct events and as parts of a continuous flow.

Ellington’s orchestration of quantum-like fields laid the groundwork for even more explicit explorations of physics through jazz. While Ellington intuited these connections through his compositional approach, the next generation of musicians would consciously incorporate physics concepts into their musical philosophy. Perhaps no artist embodied this evolution more completely than Sun Ra. Born Herman Poole Blount, Sun Ra created a comprehensive worldview connecting jazz to space, time, and the cosmos. His Arkestra wasn’t just a band—it was a living experiment in musical physics, exploring concepts of quantum mechanics, relativity, and cosmic order through sound.

Mathematical Precision in Cosmic Expression

Sun Ra stands as a singular figure in the union of art and science through jazz. His compositions transcended mere musical expression, emerging as carefully structured experiments in cosmic principles. In each piece, notes and rhythms aligned with quantum mechanical mathematics, creating sophisticated parallel structures. “The Magic City” (1965) offers perhaps the clearest example of his quantum-inspired approach. Throughout this piece, Sun Ra layered multiple concurrent tempos and rhythmic structures, deliberately creating what physicists term “interference patterns.” These patterns, familiar to quantum physicists as the interaction points of different wave functions, emerged in Sun Ra’s music through intricately interwoven rhythmic and harmonic structures. The result was an entirely new sonic vocabulary that mirrored quantum mechanical principles.

Sun Ra’s improvisational stages, from superposition to wave function collapse, align closely with the principles of quantum mechanics.

Sun Ra’s Creative Process as Quantum Mechanics: A flowchart illustrating the stages of Sun Ra’s improvisational process—superposition, interference, and wave function collapse.

Electronic Innovation and Wave Function Collapse

Sun Ra was among the first jazz musicians to extensively incorporate electronic instruments, particularly the Minimoog synthesizer, using them as novel timbres and tools to explore quantum concepts. His use of electronic instruments in pieces like “Cosmic Tones for Mental Therapy” (1967) demonstrated what physicists call “wave function collapse” - the moment when multiple quantum possibilities resolve into a specific state. As Alexander explains, the way he would manipulate electronic sounds to emerge from and dissolve back into collective improvisation mirrors this quantum mechanical principle (2016:183-185).

In “Strange Strings” (1966), Sun Ra handed unfamiliar stringed instruments to his band members, creating a situation where traditional musical training had to be abandoned. This approach parallels quantum indeterminacy - where precise outcomes cannot be predicted, only probabilities of various possibilities. The resulting music exists in a superposition of various potential musical states until the moment of performance “collapses” these possibilities into actual sound.

Arkestra as a Quantum Ensemble

The Arkestra functioned as a living experiment in quantum field theory, demonstrating what Alexander calls “antagonistic cooperation” (2016:231-232). Unlike traditional big bands, whose sections had clearly defined roles, Sun Ra’s ensemble operated more like a quantum field, where particles (musicians) could spontaneously emerge from and dissolve back into the collective sound. His piece “Space is the Place” (1973) demonstrates this concept through its use of simultaneous improvisation that creates field-like effects, sudden emergence and disappearance of instrumental voices, non-local correlations between seemingly unrelated musical elements, and quantum-like entanglement where changes in one voice immediately affect others.

Sun Ra’s improvisational approach reflects quantum mechanics principles, where overlapping possibilities culminate in an observed musical performance, as seen in this visualization of his improvisation process.

Sun Ra’s Improvisation: Overlapping wave patterns illustrate the choices during improvisation, culminating in a single, performed “observed” state.

Cosmic Time and Relativistic Principles

Sun Ra’s approach to rhythm and timing reflected Einstein’s concepts of relative time. In compositions like “Dancing Shadows” (1983), he created multiple simultaneous temporal frameworks, allowing different sections of the Arkestra to operate in different “time zones” while maintaining overall cohesion. This musical manifestation of relativistic time dilation was most apparent in his later works, where he would often conduct different sections of the band in different meters simultaneously, creating a musical analog to Einstein’s concept of relative reference frames.

Beyond Traditional Harmony: Quantum Harmonic Theory

Sun Ra’s harmonic concepts went beyond conventional Western theory, incorporating what he called “cosmo-harmonics” - relationships between notes that reflected his understanding of universal physical principles. His use of microtonality and alternative tuning systems in pieces like “Angels and Demons at Play” (1965) demonstrated an understanding of harmonic relationships that parallels quantum mechanical descriptions of electron energy states in atoms.

Legacy and Influence

Sun Ra’s integration of physics concepts into jazz composition and performance laid the groundwork for later avant-garde explorations. His influence resonates through the development of electronic jazz and fusion, modern compositional approaches to indeterminacy, and the integration of non-Western harmonic concepts in contemporary jazz. The use of scientific principles as compositional tools remains one of his most enduring contributions. His work demonstrated that the connection between physics and jazz could be explicit and intentional, not merely symbolic or coincidental. While earlier jazz musicians may have intuited physical principles through their music, Sun Ra consciously worked to manifest these principles in sound, creating a unique synthesis of scientific understanding and artistic expression.

As Alexander observes, this profound connection between music and physics reveals itself when we consider that “the first structures in the universe started out as sound waves in the primordial plasma, just after the birth of our universe, and that those, in turn, created galaxies with complex patterns and stars that sing with particular resonant frequencies... it changed everything” (2016:207). This understanding bridges us to our next exploration of how jazz musicians manipulate the fundamental fabric of space and time itself.

Time, Space, and the Jazz Ensemble

At its core, jazz challenges the conventional flow of time. Musicians create what is often referred to as “pocket time”—a shared temporal space where rhythm becomes flexible yet remains cohesive. This ability to bend time without breaking structure finds surprising parallels in Einstein’s theory of relativity. Time in jazz is elastic, bending and stretching in ways that feel almost otherworldly. This fluidity finds an unexpected parallel in Einstein’s revolutionary theory of relativity, where time is anything but fixed. From its earliest manifestations in New Orleans, jazz musicians developed sophisticated ways of manipulating time that anticipate key concepts in relativistic physics. Early jazz bands discovered “pocket time”—where the ensemble creates a gravitational center around which time can flex, similar to how massive objects in physics create wells in spacetime.

This manipulation of time evolved throughout jazz history. When a great ensemble locks into a groove, they manipulate time in ways that mirror Einstein’s principles of relativity, where time flows differently for different observers while maintaining an underlying coherence. The “swing” feeling creates a warping of straight time, similar to how mass warps spacetime, while the creation of pocket time in jazz ensembles demonstrates relative time perception. Big bands later expanded these concepts through sophisticated section interactions, as rhythm sections developed the ability to create stable reference frames while allowing temporal flexibility.

Individual time manipulation evolved alongside these collective innovations. Soloists learned to stretch and compress phrases while maintaining structural integrity—a practical demonstration of relative time frames that predated formal scientific understanding of these concepts. Listen to a Louis Armstrong Hot Five recording from the 1920s, like “West End Blues.” The way the ensemble creates a flexible, elastic sense of time while maintaining structure eerily presages Einstein’s concepts of relative time (Armstrong 1928). The rhythm section establishes a gravitational center around which time can bend and flex while soloists stretch and compress their phrases in ways that mirror time dilation. In this phenomenon, time flows at different rates for different observers depending on their motion and gravitational field.

The way different members of a jazz ensemble experience time differently while maintaining coordination reveals another fascinating parallel with relativity theory. Like observers in Einstein’s framework experiencing different time flows while describing the same physical reality, jazz musicians create multiple temporal perspectives that cohere into a unified whole. When John Coltrane stretches phrases across bar lines in “My Favorite Things,” he’s demonstrating how time can expand and contract relative to the fixed reference frame of the rhythm section, just as time dilates for objects moving at different velocities through space (Coltrane 1961). This collective manipulation of time is not just a technical skill but an expression of relational physics in sound. Just as massive objects warp spacetime, rhythm sections in jazz provide an anchor, allowing soloists to expand, contract, and transform temporal perception.

The flexible nature of time in jazz mirrors Einstein’s relativity, where rhythm sections create a gravitational center that anchors the ensemble, allowing soloists to stretch and warp temporal space. This relationship is visually represented in a spacetime-like graph, with the rhythm section depicted as a gravitational center around which soloists manipulate and distort time. This interplay is especially evident in pieces like John Coltrane’s My Favorite Things, where the rhythm section provides a steady pulse while Coltrane’s solos bend and stretch across bar lines, creating a dynamic tension akin to the warping of spacetime around massive objects.

Relativity in Jazz Time: A spacetime-like graph where the rhythm section creates a “gravitational center” and soloists stretch and manipulate time relative to this center.

Einstein’s time dilation finds a parallel in jazz, where soloists stretch phrases against the rhythm section’s steady tempo, visualized as differing clocks.

Time Dilation and Jazz Rhythm: Two clocks representing different time flows — the rhythm section (faster clock) and the soloist (slower clock) — showcasing the stretching and compression of time in jazz.

The dynamic relationship between steady rhythm and stretching solos can be visualized as a time warp spiral, where loops expand and contract in tandem.

Time Warp Spiral: A spiral illustrating time manipulation, where the soloist’s loops expand and stretch while the rhythm section maintains steadier, smaller loops.

Emergence and Collective Consciousness

From the bustling streets of New Orleans to the modal explorations of Coltrane and Davis, jazz has always been a collective endeavor. At its heart lies an intricate interplay between individuals, each contributing to a whole greater than the sum of its parts. This dynamic synergy is not only a hallmark of jazz but also a key principle in understanding complex systems across disciplines.

While these temporal explorations reveal one aspect of jazz’s connection to physics, the music’s collective nature demonstrates an even deeper principle. Modern physics reveals how seemingly chaotic systems can spontaneously organize into coherent structures through collective behavior. This concept is crucial in understanding everything from quantum systems to consciousness itself.

In jazz, individual musicians following simple rules create complex, organized music that transcends the sum of its parts. The group dynamics mirror quantum entanglement, where parts influence each other instantaneously. Listen to the Art Ensemble of Chicago’s “Theme de Yoyo”—their collective improvisations demonstrate how individual freedom within a structured framework can create emergent order from apparent chaos (Art Ensemble of Chicago 1970). The musicians respond to each other in real-time, creating complex patterns that couldn’t be predicted from their parts. This reflects what Alexander calls ‘antagonistic cooperation’—a process where jazz musicians simultaneously assert their individuality while contributing to a cohesive whole (2016:231-232). This dynamic is vividly illustrated in the Art Ensemble of Chicago’s ‘Theme de Yoyo,’ where contrasting improvisational lines interact to create unexpected harmonies. Like quantum particles that exhibit both localized and entangled states, the ensemble’s members demonstrate that individual expression need not disrupt collective coherence; instead, it can enhance it.

The journey from Congo Square to modern jazz illustrates the evolution of musical physics, encapsulated in this timeline.

From Congo Square to Quantum Mechanics,” illustrates the progression of concepts from Congo Square’s collective improvisation (1800s), through bebop’s revolutionary harmonic explorations (1940s), to modal jazz’s expanded frameworks for group interaction (1950s). Each era built upon and reimagined earlier traditions, creating new possibilities for musical expression.

A New Understanding of Reality

As physics and jazz continue to evolve, their parallel explorations of structure, freedom, time, and complexity offer complementary ways of understanding our universe. Jazz reminds us that the search for understanding is not confined to labs or observatories; it resonates in the creative spaces of music halls and studios. By listening to the improvisational interplay of musicians, we engage with a universal language that speaks to our shared curiosity, innovation, and capacity to uncover the profound mysteries of existence. Jazz musicians aren’t just making music—they’re engaging with fundamental principles of reality through sound, often anticipating scientific discoveries through pure intuition and artistry.

This dialogue between art and science reminds us that there are multiple paths to understanding reality. Sometimes, the artist’s intuition can perceive truths that science will only later confirm, suggesting that creativity and analytical thinking are not opposites but complementary ways of exploring the mysteries of existence. Through music, particularly jazz, we learn to accept uncertainty while maintaining structure, understand complex relationships without visual representation, and appreciate the emergence of order from apparent chaos. This emergent behavior in jazz ensembles mirrors how quantum fields can generate particles through resonance. Just as musical notes arise from the resonance of vibrating strings, particles can emerge from resonating quantum fields, as Alexander describes (2016:183-185).

Alexander captures this profound connection when he writes, “When I learned that the first structures in the universe started out as sound waves in the primordial plasma, just after the birth of our universe, and that those, in turn, created galaxies with complex patterns and stars that sing with particular resonant frequencies...it changed everything” (2016:207). The next time you listen to a jazz performance, consider that you’re not just hearing music—you’re experiencing quantum mechanics, field theory, and emergence in action. Through their artistic exploration, jazz musicians help us grasp complex scientific concepts in ways that equations alone never could.

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Works Cited

Book Reference

Alexander, Stephon. 2016. The Jazz of Physics: The Secret Link Between Music and the Structure of the Universe. New York: Basic Books.

Barsalou, Lawrence W. 2008. “Grounded Cognition.” Annual Review of Psychology 59: 617 645.

Berry, Jason. The Spirit of Black Hawk: A Mystery of Africans and Indians. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1995.

Evans, Freddi Williams. Congo Square: African Roots in New Orleans. Lafayette: University of Louisiana at Lafayette Press, 2011.

Floyd, Samuel A. The Power of Black Music: Interpreting Its History from Africa to the United States. New York: Oxford University Press, 1995.

Floyd, Samuel A. “Ring Shout! Literary Studies, Historical Studies, and Black Music Inquiry.” Black Music Research Journal 11, no. 2 (1991): 265–287.

Gaspard Bolin, Marc T. “Congo Square and the Second Line: Their Relevance to Shifting Narratives about Jazz History.” Journal of Jazz Studies 15, no. 1 (2024): 39-73.

Gaspard Bolin, Marc T. “The Second Line Parade: A Cultural Geography.” PhD diss., University of California, Los Angeles, 2021.

Murphy, Joseph M. Working the Spirit: Ceremonies of the African Diaspora. Boston: Beacon Press, 1994.

Sakakeeny, Matt, and Willie Birch. Roll with It: Brass Bands in the Streets of New Orleans. Durham: Duke University Press, 2013.

Smith, Michael P. “Behind the Lines: The Black Mardi Gras Indians and the New Orleans Second Line.” Black Music Research Journal 14, no. 1 (1994): 43–73.

Stuckey, Sterling. Slave Culture: Nationalist Theory and the Foundations of Black America. 25th Anniversary ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013.

Sublette, Ned. The World That Made New Orleans: From Spanish Silver to Congo Square. Chicago: Lawrence Hill Books, 2008.

Music Recordings

Armstrong, Louis. West End Blues. Okeh Records, 1928.

Armstrong, Louis and His Hot Five. “West End Blues.” Okeh 8597, 78 rpm, 1928.

Art Ensemble of Chicago. “Theme de Yoyo.” From Les Stances a Sophie. Nessa N-4, LP, 1970.

Coltrane, John. Giant Steps. Atlantic 1311, LP, 1960.

Coltrane, John. My Favorite Things. Atlantic SD-1361, LP, 1961.

Davis, Miles. Kind of Blue. Columbia CS 8163, LP, 1959.

Ellington, Duke and His Orchestra. “Mood Indigo.” Brunswick BR 4952, 78 rpm, 1930.

Ellington, Duke and His Orchestra. Black, Brown and Beige. RCA Victor P-167, LP, 1944.

King Oliver’s Creole Jazz Band. “Dippermouth Blues.” Gennett 5132, 78 rpm, 1923.

Sun Ra. Angels and Demons at Play. Saturn Records ESR 520, LP, 1965.

Sun Ra. Cosmic Tones for Mental Therapy. El Saturn Records ESR 507, LP, 1967.

Sun Ra. Dancing Shadows. El Saturn Records 519, LP, 1983.

Sun Ra. The Magic City. Saturn Records ESR 508, LP, 1965.

Sun Ra. Space is the Place. Blue Thumb Records BTS 41, LP, 1973.

Sun Ra. Strange Strings. Saturn Records ESR 512, LP, 1967.

As 2024 draws to a close, I find myself reflecting on the stories that shape our musical heritage. As a musician and scholar, I’ve often found that the stories behind the music are as powerful as the notes themselves. One of the most resonant stories in jazz history is the legacy of Chuck Connors, bass trombonist with Duke Ellington from 1961. Chuck’s contributions to Ellington’s orchestra helped shape the sound of jazz bass trombone and left a lasting imprint on how we think about the instrument. Despite its crucial role in providing depth and richness to the trombone section, the bass trombone is often overshadowed by its tenor counterpart, making Connors’ work even more significant.[1]

Through David Brubeck’s The Jazz Bass Trombone series, an oral history featuring Chuck’s wife Betty Connors,[2] and his interview with me, I will provide rare insights into this remarkable musician’s life and work as we honor his memory at year’s end.

By Marc T. Gaspard Bolin

Tuesday, December 31, 2024

What made Connors’ contribution revolutionary was his ability to combine the technical facility of a tenor trombonist with the robust, foundational sound of the bass trombone. He showed that the instrument could handle both intricate melodic lines and powerful bottom notes, expanding its role beyond mere support to become an integral voice in the ensemble.

The Jazz Bass Trombone Before Chuck Connors

The evolution of the bass trombone in jazz before Chuck Connors reflects the instrument’s journey from a supporting voice to an expressive force in its own right. The tuba typically handled the lower brass function in early jazz, particularly in New Orleans-style bands. Even as the trombone section evolved, most early jazz orchestras, including Duke Ellington’s, favored three tenor trombones rather than dedicated bass trombone parts.[3]

The transformation began in the late 1940s when George Roberts, known as “Mr. Bass Trombone,” pioneered the instrument’s use in commercial and studio music. Roberts demonstrated the bass trombone’s potential for power and lyricism, though primarily in West Coast jazz and commercial settings. Meanwhile, in big band jazz, arrangers like Billy May and Bill Holman were beginning to write specifically for bass trombone, but the instrument’s role remained largely supportive.[4]

Ellington’s approach before Connors was unique—he treated his three-trombone section as equal voices, with players like Lawrence Brown and Juan Tizol providing rich, warm tones that sometimes fulfilled the bass trombone function without actually using the instrument.[5] This changed fundamentally with Connors’ arrival in 1961, as Ellington began writing specifically for the bass trombone’s unique characteristics and capabilities.

A Pivotal Figure in Ellington’s Sound

Chuck’s arrival in 1961 marked a significant shift in Ellington’s sound. As documented in Brubeck’s research, before Connors, Duke’s trombone section operated as three equal voices, each bringing their unique character to the ensemble. Chuck’s addition introduced the typical configuration of two tenors and a bass trombone, bringing new depth and dimension to Ellington’s rich orchestrations.[6]

His technical prowess was remarkable. In pieces like “Moonbow” and “Absinthe” from the 1963 album “Afro-Bossa,” Chuck ventured into challenging low register territory, pushing the boundaries of what was expected from a bass trombonist. By 1971’s “Afrique,” he was reaching unprecedented depths, down to a low ‘B.’ Eventually settling on a Bach 50B double-valve, his equipment choice allowed him to achieve both the power needed for big band work and the flexibility for more nuanced passages.[7]

Connors’ contributions to Ellington’s Sacred Concerts deserve special mention. In these groundbreaking works that merged jazz with sacred music, his bass trombone provided crucial foundational support while taking on solo roles showcasing the instrument’s expressive capabilities. The First Sacred Concert (1965), in particular, features passages where Connors’ bass trombone serves as both a solemn anchor and a voice of jubilation.[8]

I’ll never forget my first visit to Chuck’s home in Cincinnati around 1991. I was a young musician who had pawned my bass trombone, and through a mutual friend at Pavilion Music Company, Marcus Ware, I reached out to Chuck. His immediate response? “Come by and pick out a horn. You can borrow it as long as you need.”

Personal Memories

I’ll never forget my first visit to Chuck’s home in Cincinnati around 1991. I was a young musician who had pawned my bass trombone, and through a mutual friend at Pavilion Music Company, Marcus Ware, I reached out to Chuck. His immediate response? “Come by and pick out a horn. You can borrow it as long as you need.” [9]

His wife, Betty, welcomed me into their modest home while Chuck was at a doctor’s appointment. The walls told the story of a life fully lived – photographs of Chuck with “Diz,” Ellington, Sammy Davis Jr., and countless moments with the Ellington orchestra. Each photo seemed to capture a different facet of jazz history, with Chuck playing his role not just as a musician but as a witness to an extraordinary era.[10]

In their basement, among roughly twenty trombone cases, Chuck offered me my choice of several instruments, including a Conn single-valve, a Bach 50B single-valve, and a Reynolds Contempora single-valve. The various instruments reflected his deep understanding of the bass trombone’s various voices—each horn had its own character and story to tell.

The Reynolds Contempora I chose became more than just a borrowed instrument—it became a symbol of Chuck’s generosity and the jazz community’s spirit of mentorship. During subsequent visits, Chuck would share insights about breathing techniques, slide positions for the trickiest passages, and stories about life on the road with Duke. His approach to teaching was as generous as his playing - always focused on helping others find their voice rather than imposing his own style.

My career was shaped, in no small part, by Chuck Connors’ generosity. His sound, his role in the Ellington Orchestra, and his kindness and warmth as both a person and musician all played crucial roles in my musical journey. When I hear his sound, I’m transported back to my youth in Cincinnati, where this remarkable man made an indelible impression on me as both a musician and human being.

A Lasting Impact

My career was shaped, in part, by Chuck Connors’ generosity. His sound, his role in the Ellington Orchestra, and his kindness and warmth as a person and musician all played crucial roles in my musical journey. When I hear his sound, I’m transported back to my youth in Cincinnati, where this remarkable man made an indelible impression on me as a musician and human being.[11]

His influence extends far beyond my personal experience. Contemporary bass trombonists like John Fedchock and Bill Reichenbach have acknowledged Connors’ impact on their approach to the instrument. His work with Ellington helped establish the modern concept of section playing with a dedicated bass trombone, an approach that became standard in jazz orchestration.[12]

The Role of Documentation

David Brubeck’s dedication to preserving jazz history, mainly through his The Jazz Bass Trombone series, has ensured that stories like Chuck’s continue to inspire future generations. His detailed documentation of the evolution of jazz trombone, from early New Orleans style through the big band era and beyond, provides crucial context for understanding Connors’ contributions.[13]

Closing Thoughts

As we approach 2025, Chuck Connors’ legacy resonates more powerfully than ever. He represented the best of jazz—not just in his masterful playing, but in his generosity of spirit. His understanding that music transcends individual achievement shaped his playing and teaching. Through his work with Ellington, he elevated the role of the bass trombone in jazz orchestration, while through his mentorship, he nurtured the next generation of musicians.

Connors’ contributions to jazz went far beyond his technical innovations. He understood that music wasn’t just about the notes but about community, mentorship, and lifting others up. This philosophy manifested in everything from his approach to section playing with Ellington to his willingness to share his instruments and knowledge with young musicians. His influence continues through the countless musicians he inspired and helped, myself included.

Reflecting on his impact today, I see that what stands out is how Connors’ musical excellence was matched by his human qualities. From his groundbreaking work with Ellington to his quiet acts of kindness, Chuck Connors showed us that greatness in jazz isn’t measured solely by what you play, but also by how you contribute to the music’s future through the lives you touch.

Notes

1. David William Brubeck, “The Jazz Bass Trombone, No. 2: An Interview with Marc T. Bolin,” davidbrubeck.com (blog), December 30, 2013.

2. Keloni Parks, “’Everyone Looked Out for You’: Betty Connors Shares her West End Story,” Cincinnati & Hamilton County Public Library (blog), March 30, 2022.

3. David William Brubeck, “Dedicated to Chuck Connors, Bass Trombonist with Duke Ellington from 1961, Stereogram (Yet Un-Numbered),” davidbrubeck.com (blog), December 27, 2024.

4. David William Brubeck, “Don’t Get Around Much Anymore: Prelude,” davidbrubeck.com (blog), December 30, 2013.

5. Brubeck, “The Jazz Bass Trombone, No. 2.”

6. Brubeck, “Dedicated to Chuck Connors.”

7. David William Brubeck, “Sacred Music in the Ellington Band,” davidbrubeck.com (blog), December 30, 2013.

8. Parks, “’Everyone Looked Out for You.’”

9. Brubeck, “The Jazz Bass Trombone, No. 2.”

10. Parks, “’Everyone Looked Out for You.’”

11. Brubeck, “The Jazz Bass Trombone, No. 2.”

12. Brubeck, “Dedicated to Chuck Connors.”

13. Brubeck, “The Jazz Bass Trombone, No. 2.”

he full text of Dr. David Brubeck’s interview “The Jazz Bass Trombone, No. 2: An Interview with Marc T. Bolin” (davidbrubeck.com, December 30, 2013) is reprinted below with permission from the author. The original can be found at: https://davidbrubeck.com/2013/12/the-jazz-bass-trombone-features-dont-get-around-much-anymore-arranged-by-tom-kubis-for-demetri-pagalidus/

An Interview with Marc T. Bolin, by David William Brubeck

1. How would you describe the use of the bass trombone in Duke Ellington’s orchestra? (Jazz bass trombone being defined as having a .547 bore or larger with at least one valve).

Ellington didn’t begin to utilize a large-bore trombone until 1961 with the addition of Chuck Connors. Duke always used the three trombones prior to 1963 as unique and individual voices that would blend to create a particular sound—the sound unique for each tune that matched the sound in his mind’s ear—and that would be determined in part by who was playing which part as this would depend on each tune. I would describe Ellington’s trombone section up until then as trombone 1, 2, and 3, not tenor 1, 2, and bass trombone. Dig? It wasn’t until the addition of Connors that Ellington would utilize a more stereotypical sound of two tenors and a bass section sound.

2. Why did Duke seem to favor three trombones? When did he switch to four?

Moon Mist recorded in Chicago late January 1957 (track 8) utilizes six trombones: Lawrence Brown (tracks 1-3 & 8-17), Buster Cooper (tracks 1-3 & 8-17), Quentin Jackson (track 8), Britt Woodman (track 8) – trombone, John Sanders – valve trombone (track 8), Chuck Connors – bass trombone (tracks 1-3 & 8-17).

Ellington was back to using three bones on the Symphomaniac (Symphonic or Bust) [recorded and released on the Reprise label in 1963], which is certainly a huge sound. But that’s Ellington. Ellington was able to get a sound out of three trombones that most jazz arrangers could only get using four.

Swinging Suites by Edward E. & Edward G. (also known as Peer Gynt Suite/Suite Thursday or “Zweet Zurzday”) was recorded for the Columbia label in 1960. Ellington made use of the four-trombone sound here, too. But, curiously, he only used four on the Grieg material: Lawrence Brown, Mathew Gee, Booty Wood, and Britt Woodman—all tenors, of course.

A Concert of Sacred Music Live from Grace Cathedral and on DVD as Love You Madly/A Concert of Sacred Music at Grace Cathedral. The official album on RCA, A Concert of Sacred Music, was recorded at two concerts at Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church in New York on December 26, 1965. The concert premiered on September 16, 1965 (First Sacred Concert): Lawrence Brown, Buster Cooper, Quentin Jackson, Britt Woodman – trombone, John Sanders – valve trombone, Chuck Connors – bass trombone.

January 19, 1968, Ellington’s Second Sacred Concert: Lawrence Brown, Buster Cooper, Bennie Green – tenor trombone, Chuck Connors – bass trombone.

Third Sacred Concert, October 24, 1973, Ellington was back to writing for three trombones: Art Baron, Vince Prudente – trombone, Chuck Connors – bass trombone.

3. Which is the first trombone part you are aware of that goes below low ‘E’, and would require a trigger?

I believe Ellington’s first use of the bass trombone (as BASS trombone—below low ‘E’) to be on the album Afro-Bossa recorded and released for Reprise in 1963:

• Low ‘D’ in “Moonbow”

• Low ‘C’ in “Absinthe”

• “Pyramid” has an interesting quasi-ostinato figure; Low ‘C’

Low ‘C’ Jam with Sam 1966 (Live 7/27/66 – Côte d’Azur). The Ella Fitzgerald & Duke Ellington Côte d’Azur Concerts on Verve. He keeps getting lower: Low ‘B’ in “Afrique” from The Afro-Eurasian Eclipse, recorded in 1971 and released on the Fantasy label in 1975.

4. Do you think that Harry Carney’s incredible tenure with Duke Ellington predisposed Duke’s thinking of the baritone sax as the bottom of the winds, and as his first consideration for a bass voice solo instrument?

I’m not sure Carney’s sound has a direct correlation to the “bass” sound in Ellington’s head, at least one that would relate to Ellington’s use of the bass trombone. “Agra” from the Far East Suite, Carney walks all the way down the instrument (baritone here), in a loud, gruff manner. Ellington never really uses Chuck (or Taylor) in that way.

5. When did Duke perform with tuba as opposed to string bass?

It seems that 1927 is the pivotal year that Ellington switches from tuba to bass. “East St. Louis Toodle-Oo”: Wellman Braud plays tuba. In the very next recording, “Black and Tan Fantasy”, Braud is heard playing string bass. It is interesting to note that Duke is still using banjo here. While, in the minds of many, there is a link between banjo and tuba, Ellington and Braud can be credited with the innovation of using the double bass rather than the tuba in jazz rhythm sections.

Braud’s initial recording sessions with Duke were in October 26, 1927. In “Washington Wobble”, Braud takes a short pizzicato solo. Braud’s brief solos are important, because some historians maintain Bill Johnson’s solo on Johnny Dodds’ July 1928 “Bull Fiddle Blues” is the first recorded pizzicato jazz bass solo. Also, Braud has been characterized as a two-beat player, but he often played four-beat pizzicato walking style, such as the November 1928 Okeh recording of “Misty Mornin’”, which is both arco and four-beat style. On a November 3, 1927 recording of “Black and Tan Fantasy”, Braud switches from arco to pizzicato and back. For the March 1928 Victor session of “Black Beauty”, Braud utilizes double-time. On a November 1928 session, “I Can’t Give You Anything but Love”, Braud recreates the tuba intro he played on an earlier version, but this time on bass.

6. Did you know Chuck Connors?

Chuck Connors was a friend of mine. Sometime, (I think it was 1991) I was in need of a bass trombone as I had hocked mine. I was put in touch with Chuck through a mutual friend who ran a big band in town (Pavilion Music Company), Marcus Ware. I called Chuck and he said to come on by and pick out a horn. He said I could borrow one as long as I needed! I drove to his house, then rang the bell. His wife (Betty, I believe) answered the door. She told me that Chuck was at a doctor’s appointment and would return shortly. She showed me around their modest home. Hundreds of pictures hung on the wall: some family pictures and artwork, but mostly pictures of Chuck with members of the Ellington band, playing in the Ellington band, of him with celebrities, etc. Occasionally she would point and reminisce at pictures of Chuck with “Diz”, Ellington, and Sammy Davis, Jr. I was star-struck.

Chuck returned. We continued to peruse the pictures on the wall and worked our way down some stairs to the basement. There were maybe twenty trombone cases strewn around the basement. He brought several closer to me and opened the cases: a Conn single-valve, a Bach 50B single-valve, a Remington Contempora single-valve, and one I can’t recall. He mentioned that he was playing a 50B double-valve lately and that any of these were mine for the choosing. I played on them all and opted for the Reynolds Contempora. I fell in love with this horn. I’ve seen several pictures of Chuck playing, or posing with this horn. It makes me smile every time. We stayed in touch. By the time I returned the horn, Chuck had passed. I returned the horn to Betty. I don’t know what happened to that horn, but my memories of Chuck reside permanently in the recesses of my mind. When I hear his sound, I am taken back to my youth in Cincinnati, Ohio, where a man made an indelible impression on me as a musician and human being.

I believe my career was in part shaped by the generosity of Chuck Connors. His sound, the Ellington Orchestra, his kindness and warmth as a person and musician—Ellington—all played a role in shaping my career choices.

About Dr. David Brubeck

Dr. David Brubeck is an acclaimed bass trombonist, composer, and educator whose groundbreaking contributions to music have left an indelible mark on the world of brass performance. Best known for his innovative Stereograms—a collection of solo works for bass clef instruments published internationally—Brubeck has performed and recorded with legendary artists such as Stevie Wonder, Ray Charles, and Joni Mitchell. His scholarly work, including The Pedagogy of Arnold Jacobs, is frequently cited and reflects his dedication to advancing brass pedagogy.

A third cousin of jazz pianist Dave Brubeck, Dr. Brubeck has performed at prestigious festivals and venues around the globe, showcasing his artistry in solo and duo formats, including his celebrated group, Duo Brubeck. As a professor of music and conductor, he has shaped generations of musicians, leading ensembles to national acclaim and developing innovative teaching methods. Dr. Brubeck’s passion for performance and education continues to inspire audiences and students alike.

Visit davidbrubeck.com to explore his music, writings, and more.

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For as long as I can remember, I have not listened to music for pleasure. Not really. The moment a song comes on, anywhere, in any context, something mechanical engages. My brain catalogs the harmony. It maps the chord progression, registers the groove, files the feel of the pocket, and stores the melody in case I need to reach for it on a gig next month. I am always, in some background process, working.

I used to think this was simply what happened when you made music your life. The professional’s occupational hazard: the chef who stops tasting dinner and starts auditing it. I told myself I was lucky to love what I do so much that I could not turn it off.

Lately, I have started to wonder if that story was too convenient. Maybe it helped me make peace with an absence I did not know how to name.

Here is what my life actually looks like right now: two universities, opposite sides of Los Angeles. Office hours, rehearsals, lectures, practice rooms. A marriage that deserves more presence than I sometimes give it. Freeway miles that stack up like unpaid debt. The particular fatigue of a city that asks you to be somewhere else before you have finished being where you are.

I have been anxious for years. Not dramatically. Not always in a way that announced itself clearly. More like a low, continuous hum running underneath whatever else I was doing. Academia gave me an intellectual vocabulary for nearly everything except what was happening in my own body. The musician in me kept playing. The teacher kept teaching. Somewhere underneath all of it, something was quietly going numb.

I was not listening to music. I was monitoring it. And I had been doing the same thing to myself.

It took sitting with a therapist, and later finding my way into writing about mindfulness and contemplative practice, to understand that what I had lost was not only the pleasure of listening. I had lost access to my own interior life. The trained ear and the anxious mind had merged into one efficient, always-on instrument of analysis. Nothing entered without being processed first. Felt second, if at all.

The practice that cracked something open was almost embarrassingly simple. Put on a song. Do not analyze it. Notice what your body does.

Does your toe tap? Does something in your chest open or tighten? Does your breathing change? Do your shoulders drop? Does your jaw unclench? These are not metaphors. They are information. The body gives its report before the analytical mind can intervene and reclassify the experience as content.

For a musician who had spent years turning sensation into knowledge, the toe tap felt almost radical. It was not analysis. It was response. It came before usefulness. My foot knew something my brain was too busy to notice.

I think about Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee, a Sufi teacher and writer whose work often returns to the heart as an organ of spiritual attention. He writes about the ear of the heart, the idea that there is a form of listening that does not begin with cognition. It comes through attention, stillness, and a slower kind of receptivity. I am not there yet. I am still learning what that distance feels like. Even that feels like progress.

I want to be careful not to make this sound like an arrival. I am not writing from the other side of anything. The traffic is still real. The teaching load is still real. Anxiety does not vanish because you noticed your foot tapping. The thoughts still fire. The defenses still engage. The body still holds things the mind refuses to face directly.

But something has changed, even if I cannot fully account for it. Sometimes I sit with a record now without trying to study it, classify it, or store it for later. I let it occupy the room. Occasionally, something lands. Not as information. As feeling. As the thing music was trying to do before I learned how to intercept it.

Harmony Holiday, a poet and critic whose writing on Black music treats listening as memory, archive, and cultural responsibility, has described music writing as a deeper contextual practice, something worthy of the music it covers rather than tethered to the speed of releases, markets, and industry cycles. I have been thinking about that in relation to my own life. I want to write about music in a way that still leaves room for feeling. I want to listen without immediately turning the experience into work. I want to notice what the body knows before the trained ear begins organizing everything into data.

That is part of why I am writing this. Not because I have figured it out, but because writing is one way I figure things out. The page gives me a place to notice the mess of it, the fatigue, the anxiety, the small clearings, and the strange relief of realizing that pleasure may still be available, even after years of turning it into labor.

If you are a musician who has lost the pleasure of listening, or if you are someone who made a passion into a profession and felt something slowly leave the room, I do not have a solution. I have a starting point.

Put on a song.

Notice if your toe taps.

That may be the first sign that listening is returning to the body. Stay with it.

Making a living from what you love can be difficult. Maintaining balance can be even harder. If this essay resonated with you, sharing it with a colleague, fellow artist, or friend is the highest compliment.

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