But now, rather than simply relying on the contemporary jazz template responsible for such milestones, the 31-year-old Spalding is making yet another bold choice. On her latest album, Emily’s D+Evolution (pronounced “D plus evolution”), Spalding shakes things up by mining her early childhood interests in theater, poetry, and movement and channeling them into a much broader concept of performance. It’s been four years since her last release, Radio Music Society, and the muse she’s cultivated, or shepherded, in that time is both aurally adventurous and aesthetically compelling. Check out her videos for “One” and “Good Lava” and you’ll get a clear sense of where her head is at these days.
“There’s this theme of inviting your brain out to play with your body and your heart,” Spalding explains. “It’s also a willingness to throw away, tear apart, strip down, and evolve all that you know, all that you’ve planned, all that you’ve progressed towards—a willingness to devolve so that you can evolve. It’s the willingness to break down all that you’ve built up for the sake of moving forward.”
Her persona transformation into the spirited, visually eccentric, electric-bass-wielding Emily is the kind of metamorphosis one might expect from a pop star like Prince, rather than jazz’s reigning low-end phenom, but, similarly, it’s a definitive statement from an artist/musician who refuses to be boxed in. And while she hasn’t completely eschewed her jazz heritage in favor of a multifarious vibe, it’s clear that her frame of reference is expanding. Elements of Joni Mitchell’s Jaco-era Hejira pervade songs like “Earth to Heaven” and “Noble Nobles,” while “Funk the Fear” invokes the politically charged mayhem of early ’70s Funkadelic.
The final track, a cover of “I Want It Now” from 1971’s Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory soundtrack, perfectly epitomizes the youthful energy at play on Emily’s D+Evolution. It’s extremely evocative, with Emily at her most overt as catalyst and muse. The spoiled brat character Veruca Salt, who originally sang the song, may contradict Spalding’s openhearted personality, but the sentiment clearly illustrates there’s another force at work on this record. And though the entire album brings this new spirit to life, it’s Spalding’s seemingly innate ability to tune in and listen that allows her to chart a new course right before our very eyes and ears.
Premier Guitar spoke to Spalding during her tour stop in Portland, Oregon, and she provided the lowdown on Emily, her new album, and the trajectory that resulted in such a singular-sounding effort.
Listening to Emily’s D+Evolution for the first time, my immediate reaction was just, “Wow!” How did you learn to sing and play such complex lines simultaneously?
I guess the same way anybody does anything. You just work on it. I play and sing a lot, so by this point it’s not something I have to work out. Once I know the bass line and I know the kind of thing I want to sing, I can do it. And with this album, we played a lot of the material live first, so by the time we went into the studio, we just did the show—in front of people and in front of microphones.
Do you write on bass or on other instruments?
I write songs on the piano, but a couple of the songs on this record came from bass—at least from bass lines on the piano. I wrote “Rest in Pleasure” on bass. And “Judas” started as a bass line and the song grew around it.
I understand that childhood interests, like theater, poetry and dance, influenced this new record. How so?
I don’t know yet. I’m trying to figure that shit out. But I know it’s important. I actually didn’t remember that I was so interested in those things when I was a kid, until I started this project and started remembering how I used to present my ideas to family and friends. They were always staged and they were very physical. And I realized that, for whatever reason, I never pursued that mode of expression in my life, and yet, I think it’s important to me. Learning about it is important to me, so part of what Emily does is she opens the channel for that to happen in my life.
So, besides being your middle name, is Emily your alter ego?
I don’t see her as an alter ego. It’s my own archetype of something. She’s the archetype of an energy—a way of engaging with the world. So, at times, when I was gaining clarity about the direction I wanted the show to take, I’d ask her, “What do you want to do? Why did you come here? What do you need to say that I haven’t said—that I can’t say?” And one of the things she said was, “I’m here to move.” That was really clear when I was communing with the embodiment of energy she represents.
There’s definitely real vibrant imagery to the songs.
I understood that intuitively from when I first got the inspiration to do this project, because I was seeing the music happen in vignettes. They were almost like music videos, but it was performance. So I thought, “Okay, this is deeper than what I’ve done before, but I don’t know how to do this, so I guess it’s going to be a difficult project.” I’ve been reaching out in different directions to try to find the kind of collaborators and codirectors that can help get us there. But because I haven’t exactly seen it yet, I’m not sure where to point as an example of what I want this thing to do. So, we speak a lot in functional terms, which are not very specific in terms of aesthetic or actual movement or actual direction. It’s a slow, slogging process [laughs].
The physicality of the music is palpable. How did you capture that on the album?
I thought the best way to capture that would be if we actually performed it for the recording, so I invited a bunch of people—friends, coworkers, etc.—into the studio and we did the show for them. That’s the record. And I think you can hear that on those songs. It’s not like we were in this isolated space doing our best to get the song on tape. We’re performing the songs in this world we created for a live audience sitting in the control room. It’s Emily’s cerebral world, with her jungle. And I do think that energy comes through. It’s a different energy.
Is that “different energy” why there’s no acoustic bass on this record?
No. I just heard electric bass on it from the beginning. It wasn’t deep. And it’s not really me. I’m using my talent and my gift to give body and story and sound and presence to Emily’s energy. I still play acoustic all the time, so, in that regard, it didn’t feel like I was leaving something to go somewhere.
What gear did you use to craft your bass tone?
All of it is through an Ampeg SVT-4 PRO, which sounded awesome. The studio had lots of different stuff. I told them I wanted a “tacky” sound. I wanted it to be real buoyant and have a thickness, but I also wanted to have the clarity. I call that “tackiness,” like caramel stuck on your shoe or something. And so the engineer recommended the Ampeg. I heard it and I said, “Yep, that’s exactly what I need.”
What about Simon Propert’s South Paw bass? Did he make that for you?
He didn’t make it for me, but he let me take it once he made it. He’s one of the luthiers at David Gage in NYC, which is where I’ve taken my upright bass a few times to get it worked on. He started making his own instruments and he was like, “If you ever want to try it out, let me know.” And I was like, “Yeah, I want to try it out.” So, he let me take it to try and I really liked it. He said I didn’t have to give it back. I just had to pay for the Bartolini electronics, which I did, and we’ve been happy ever since.
Do you have a preference between the 4- and 5-string?
No, I just wasn’t comfortable enough with the 5-string to play it full time, but now I am, so on this tour I’m playing the 5-string.
After winning an impressive five Grammys, Spalding has opted for the unusual career move of an artistic and personal makeover. Photo by Holly Andres
What did famed David Bowie producer Tony Visconti bring to the project? He came in after the material was recorded, correct?
He’s a sound-craft master. He mixed and did stuff to the songs that I can’t even explain to you. I didn’t understand what he was doing, but he brought the sound to where it was always supposed to be.
Did you give him any direction or did you simply hand it off to him?
I told him I wanted it to feel intimate, but be in-your-face. I wanted people to really be able to hear what we were playing—to hear the interplay between us, because so much of what makes the music special is the interplay between the drummer, the guitar player, and me. I felt he highlighted that interplay and made it feel like a whole. And he believed in it. At that point I needed a champion. I needed somebody to believe in this project with me and he did.
Did you have the musicians in mind when you started this project?
I reached out to specific people who I thought would be right for it, and that was Karriem [Riggins, on drums] and Matt [Stevens, on guitar]. They were into it. I thought that was all we needed. I thought that would give it the sound I was looking for.
Esperanza Spalding's Gear
Basses
• Simon Propert South Paw 5-string fretless (with a Bartolini 5-string Music Man Stingray pickup)
• Fender Jaco Pastorius Jazz Bass (fretless 4-string)
Amps
• Ampeg SVT-4PRO
• Ampeg PN-410HLF cab
Strings and Picks
• Fender 9050M Stainless Steel Flatwound Long Scale (.055-.105)
Matthew Stevens’ Gear
Guitars
• Harrison GB
• Moollon T Classic
• 1959 Fender Telecaster
• 1959 Fender Stratocaster
• 1968 Gibson Les Paul goldtop with P-90s
• 1960 Gibson Les Paul Junior
Amps
• 1964 Vox AC30 (2)
Effects
• Boss TU-2 Chromatic Tuner
• Binson Echorec
• Fulltone Tape Echo
• EarthQuaker Disaster Transport Jr.
• Strymon Deco Tape Saturation & Doubletracker
• Boss DD-7 Digital Delay
• Strymon BlueSky Reverberator
• Tech 21 Boost RVB
Strings and Picks
• D’Addario Nickel Wound (.011–.050 sets with a .012 replacing the .011)
• Dunlop Gator 2.0 mm
Did you know when you were first writing these songs that a three-piece was the right configuration?
At the beginning of a project, you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing—at least in my case [laughs]. I don’t think you can plan ahead too much. You have to trust your instincts and then you can plan your brains out. But in the mode of initial inspiration I tend to operate out of an intuitive sense with regard to people and things. I get in touch with what I want to do with the project first, then think about who could partner in that. And both guys immediately came to mind because of experiences I’ve had playing with them. I knew about the breadth of their musicianship.
I often feel that at some point in the creative process the music takes on a life of its own and it becomes an artist’s job to be a good steward, rather than imposing his or her will on it. Is that true for you?
Another way of saying that is you have to be honest about what’s working. Often I find that’s the impetus for change. I’ll be like, “God, this isn’t working. Why?” Then you try something different and you stumble upon something that works or, inversely, you might be in the early development stage and you stumble upon a piece that you hadn’t expected to be a part of it and you realize, “Oh man, that’s really working and it’s supporting this whole project as it grows in a way that will make it more compelling, inviting, stronger, or unified.” There’s no absolute. I think we all get a sense of what’s working and what’s not. I feel like it’s really important to be unattached to everything as you’re going along because the project is teaching you. Be in touch with what’s working and what’s not and let that be the guide. It can help you ask better questions.
You started out on violin and you also play piano. Does knowing other instruments give you an edge as a bassist?
If you really learn any instrument thoroughly, you’re going to gain access to an understanding of music. Particularly if you’re beyond the student level and you’re out playing with other people professionally. You get drawn in a million different directions on your instrument, and it’s wonderful—whatever instrument it is. If you have the time or the talent to cultivate a second instrument, that’s great, but I don’t think it’s necessary. The fact that I started on violin just happened to be my direction. That was the first way I got involved in learning about and playing music. I played for 10 years and then I switched to the bass, but it could’ve been anything, really.
Playing the violin for so long must’ve helped you transition to bass though, no?
When I picked up the bass I could figure out how to get to the notes I wanted to hear because I was familiar with a non-fretted, stringed instrument. I understood the spatial things, depressing the strings and creating the tone. But I was also immediately introduced to the idea of improv. I was able to engage in improvising right away, at that shitty little, very beginner, level, but it allowed me to get a taste for it. And once I had a taste for improvising, that drew me out into the rest of my life. Improvised music was the key for me.
What about the piano?
Having access to the piano is important, because of how you can see harmony on it. It’s such a wonderful tool. But then again, you’ll think about harmony differently if you don’t play piano. It’s important to take the time to really wrap your brain and body and instrument around harmonic concepts. Every way is valid.
You started college at Portland State, then transferred to Berklee. Why?
I was very happy at Portland, but I got a full scholarship to go to this music school in Boston I’d heard so much about. I was excited about getting out of Portland and trying something new. It wasn’t that I was dissatisfied with Portland State. It was amazing. I had an incredible time there. I just didn’t have a full scholarship and I did at Berklee.
Were you a good student?
I wasn’t a good student my whole life. I’m not proud of that fact, but it’s the reality of how my brain was operating and where my priorities were. I loved reading and learning about things and doing homework, but I’d always get shitty grades. It was so disheartening, because the affirmation I was getting from my school environment didn’t reflect how I felt about learning. It was hard. I think I carried some of that when I moved on to college.
You ended up teaching at Berklee. What did you teach? And were you better at teaching than being a student?
I taught a couple of ensembles. I had a lot of private bass students. I really love teaching. I got to teach at the Banff Centre a couple years ago and I loved every second of it. I think I’m good at it. I decided to quit because I was starting to tour as a bandleader and I couldn’t give Berklee or the students the focus that they deserved.
Who were some of your early influences?
All my bass teachers from Portland: Dave Captein, [the late] Ken Baldwin, Andre St. James, and Dan Schulte. One of them turned me on to Leroy Vinnegar, who was a Portland resident for a while. I checked him out a lot. Obviously Paul Chambers, because [Miles Davis’ 1959 classic] Kind of Blue was the first record I really got into once I was invited into the world of improv. And then I got into Slam Stewart, because it was the first time I heard that kind of linear, melodic playing on the bass. Not that Paul Chambers didn’t do that, but with the arco sound and Stewart’s voice, I was really hearing the singing quality of the lines and it became a goal of mine to play a melody like that. [Editor’s note: Stewart’s trademark was his ability to bow the bass and simultaneously hum or sing an octave higher.]
You won a Grammy for Best New Artist in 2011. Did you experience any pressure from that afterwards?
No. It has a limited effect. It helped bring in a more diverse crowd to the venues we were playing. I got more promo out of it. I get that caption now, in association with my name. I didn’t feel any pressure. I thought it was weird. I quickly realized that just because it happened doesn’t mean my craft is received in the commercial playing field. It hasn’t been so far, and the Grammy didn’t change that.
I do, however, recognize what it represents in terms of how many people chose to tick my name off on a ballot. And that was intentional, on all of those people’s parts, and I really appreciate that. It was a big affirmation for me to keep going.
What have you learned from playing with guys like Wayne Shorter and Herbie Hancock?
I admire them so deeply. Their music is so profound, magical, brilliant, intelligent, and soulful. And that’s how they are as people. So maybe the takeaway is that you have to act like and be like you want your music to be. Being a little satellite in their orbit was a great lesson in how to live one’s life. It’s one of the greatest blessings in my life.
YouTube It
The official video for “Good Lava,” the first single from Esperanza Spalding’s new album, Emily’s D+Evolution, is a psychedelic summation of its uninhibited strengths. Musically intense, poetic, packed with movement, and visually explosive, it’s also a showcase for her new 5-string South Paw bass.
Photo by Meg Stacker
Matthew Stevens on Defying Guitar Dogma: How an NYC jazzer’s free-thinking background prepared him for performing with Esperanza Spalding.
New York City-based jazz guitarist Matthew Stevens has carved out quite a solid career for himself over the past decade, working with artists like New Orleans trumpeter Christian Scott and drummers Terri Lyne Carrington and Harvey Mason, Sr. In 2015, Stevens released Woodwork, his debut recording as a bandleader.
Not surprising, given his unique approach, the guitarists who’ve influenced Stevens the most over the years are musicians he says are often difficult to categorize. “Jimi Hendrix, John Scofield, and Pat Metheny are examples of players who aren’t self-consciously or heavy-handedly combining genres,” he explains. “They just don’t adhere to that dogma to begin with. They do what they want in the moment.” Stevens grew up in Toronto, so he also drew from Canadian guitarists Ed Bickert and Lorne Lofsky—guys who come from the equally free-ranging Lenny Breau jazz tradition.
“Follow your guiding principles as a musician, listen to the music, and collaborate with what it’s asking for,” Stevens offers as his approach, echoing a sentiment Esperanza Spalding applied to her latest album. Stevens’ playing on Emily’s D+Evolution defies categorization, but he says one of his—and the band’s—guiding principles for the sessions was to channel a bit of rock ’n’ roll bombast. “We wanted to make the stuff in-your-face and really punchy and aggressive, like some of the power trios we’d all been inspired by at different points,” he says, naming Band of Gypsys and Cream as two prime examples.
“It was really interesting to jump into Esperanza’s demos,” he continues, “which were basically just piano and voice, while we’re a guitar, bass, and drums trio. We worked from really stark demos that were awesome, but just guides. It was more about capturing the spirit of something.” He says Spalding invited him to interpret the songs in his own way right from the get-go. “Since there’s no piano in the band, some of the stuff needed to be represented harmonically on guitar,” he relates. “She’s a really open-minded musician, obviously, and a really inclusive leader and collaborator, so it wasn’t scripted. It didn’t have to be a certain way.”
As for tracking guitars on Emily’s D+Evolution, Stevens says he tapped into an unorthodox approach for the first time. “I don’t usually go true stereo, but I did on this record,” he explains. “We were messing around with it on the first session, we liked how it sounded, and, because we were a trio, there was the sonic room for it. I hadn’t ever done that for an entire record.” Among the go-to effects in play was an old piece of studio gear he thinks was the Cooper Time Cube—an obscure delay that actually uses a section of garden hose in its works and is highly regarding for its doubling effect.
His goal was to simply be true to himself and the music. “When it’s not your own music, it’s rare to feel so connected to it,” he says. “It does happen under great leadership and with great material. I was like, ‘I can genuinely connect to this music, even though I didn’t write it. It speaks to me, and the person who wrote it is inviting me in—not just as a guitar player, but as an artist.’ And that’s the best—when you have an opportunity like that. I think the songs are so strong and she’s an amazing lyricist. The whole spirit of the music and the project was just leaping into the unknown together.”
Discovering the bass, says Esperanza Spalding, was like “waking up and realizing you’re in love with a co-worker.” Although she moved to upright bass at the tender age of 15, the 27-year-old winner of Best New Artist at last year’s Grammys was already a classical concertmaster with 10 years of violin study and performance experience in her hometown of Portland, Oregon.
Switching to bass carried a slightly scandalous whiff in Spalding’s previous circles, but it didn’t matter—the appeal of jazz greats like Slam Stewart, Scott LaFaro, and Leroy Vinnegar had won heart. Indeed, even more than her prodigious talent, heart—her ability to “transmit a certain kind of personal vision and energy that is all her own”—is what Pat Metheny once described as Spalding’s “X factor.”
That certainly extends to her bass playing. As demonstrated on her second album, 2010’s Chamber Music Society, whether she’s playing a 7/8 or 3/4 upright double-bass, Spalding shows a technical command that’s as at home with the colors of Bart—k and Webern as it is with the ghost notes and broad swaths of sound that Paul Chambers laid down on “Kind of Blue.” And then there’s her fretless electric work, which has an energy and phrasing reminiscent of Jaco Pastorius on “Teen Town” and “Come On, Come Over,” with a loaded lower-mid attack and heavily syncopated lines that suggest the middle ground between popping and rest-stroke.
Spalding—a mix of African American, Welsh, Latin, and Native American ancestry— is both lovely and instantly endearing. She’s as likely to express herself humbly as she is to be firm about her many strengths and her point of view. That combination is part of what makes her latest album, Radio Music Society, such a compelling hybrid and such an arresting listen. Fusing Afro- Cuban, bop, chamber music, jazz vocalese, and R&B with the dizzying chanteuse streak of her elastic vocals, the album is shot through with savvy lyrics that take on real-world subjects like racial pride and identity (“Black Gold”), the nature of friendship (“Cinnamon Tree”), and the price of war (“Vague Suspicions”). And then there’s the fact that she sings in perfect Portuguese.
If all that sounds improbably mature and totally kick-ass for someone still in their mid-20s, well, it is. Still, given that Spalding is the first jazz artist ever to win a Grammy for Best New Artist—and the youngest instructor ever hired by her alma mater, Berklee College of Music—it does help cement the less-than-vague suspicion that Spalding is something of a smoldering cross between a Jaco Pastorius and an Adele.
You began on the violin and upright
before picking up electric bass. How
does the one inform the other—what’s
the hand-off?
Functionally, there are a lot of things
that translate across the two, but the
situations I’ve played electric in are so
distinctly electric. I wouldn’t have tried
to do that music on upright, and vice
versa, so it’s hard to tell. I will say that
things that are second nature for me on
upright, I really need to think about
on electric.
Fretless bass is a very difficult instrument
to play well—you almost need
experience with an upright to do it.
Well, I play fretless partly because frets
defy my capacity to understand. Never
having played a fretted instrument,
the frets just… wow—I don’t know
where to begin on a fretted instrument!
With a guitar, I’m down with that. I
get it: For chords, it helps you stay in
the right place. But on the bass, with
melodic movement and lines, it really
trips me up.
The Fender Jaco Pastorius Jazz
bass appears to be a good fit
for Esperanza Spalding, whose
chops have been compared to the
legendary Jaco. Photo By Carlos
Pericas, Courtesy of Montuno
Why?
It’s a whole different philosophy of being in
tune. If you grow up playing violin, everything
is about how you get to the right note
in time. Then, if you land on the wrong
note, how do you quickly adjust? All these
things really revolve around intonation.
Intonation becomes about distance and
time—how much time do I need to get a
particular distance across the fingerboard?
And your ear guides so much of what you
do when you’re playing a fretless instrument:
So much depends on being able to
quickly hear how close you are to the pitch.
Which instruments are you mostly
playing these days?
For electrics, I’m playing a Fender Jaco
Pastorius Jazz bass and a Godin A5 Semi-
Acoustic 5-string, which has an L.R. Baggs
undersaddle ribbon transducer. The Godin
is really cool—it just sounds beautiful. It
was different for them, and different for
me, so they encouraged me to experiment
with it. For uprights, I play a 7/8 double
bass. It’s the one bass I’ve always used.
Luthiers can’t come to a consensus on who
made it or when, but evidently it was an
orchestra bass for years until the owner
died and the family sold it. It’s just really
alive and really open—super resonant. But
I don’t travel with it. On the road, I just
ask for a 7/8 or 3/4 bass, hope it’s cool,
and go for it.
You’ve played with some legendary musicians,
including Stevie Wonder, Prince,
and Herbie Hancock. But for jazz nuts, a
couple of them—[legendary jazz drummers]
Billy Hart and Jack DeJohnette—
are just … “Holy crap!”
That’s how I feel—woo! I mean, they’re
my friends, and I love and admire them,
so if I feel I have something to offer them
by being on the project, why not invite
them to play on my album? I asked Billy
to play on my album after a gig at the
Village Vanguard, and he said, “Sure kid,
but you’re never going to call me.” But of
course, I did, and he just came in and laid
down that crazy, beautiful groove on “Hold
on Me.” I got to know Jack from doing a
few gigs with Herbie Hancock. We hit it
off—just had a really beautiful rapport as
human beings, talking about music and
life. It was like, “Let’s do this—I’ll play
on your record [DeJohnette’s new Sound
Travels], and you’ll play on mine.”
Jack is such a musical drummer—it’s as if
he’s playing a little orchestra.
That’s something I really like about Terri
Lyne Carrington, too. It’s not like, “I
worked out a bunch of shit on the drums,
and I’m going to play it.” It’s more like she’s
orchestrating around the kit, so it sounds
like multiple percussion instruments being
played at once. And yeah, Jack is the same
way. He’s not locked into patterns. He
comes up with the right combination of
notes and rhythms for the context of every
moment, and that’s really rare.
You take on some pretty potent topics,
and you also do something very few
young songwriters do—you write about
stuff other than yourself.
I talk about myself an awful lot, doing
so many interviews, and I’m just not that
interesting to myself! I find a lot of inspiration
in the people I know and the world
around me, and if I’m going to spend all
this time that it takes to put together a
song that I’m happy with, it’s got to keep
me interested. The songs that capture my
attention—the ones that really feel done in
the end—are the ones where I have to really
dig to find out what it’s talking about.
“Cinnamon Tree” was a real challenge. Sure,
the metaphor was there first, this little nickname,
but how to unpack that, turn that
little phrase into a song and a story about
friendship?
You’ve been quoted as saying you write
songs and albums in fragments, yet your
albums hang together very nicely—
despite being stylistically diverse. How do
you pull that off?
Well, I make a record because the music
seems like it’s got something to tell.
Through the process of unpacking the
songs, step by step, you’re just trying to
do service to the music. So if it seems like
some dissonance is in order, then that’s
what you do. If it’s a good place for a
simple IV-I cadence, I’ll do that. There’s not
a guiding principle that comes from outside
the music. The guiding principle comes
from within each song and from within
each ensemble.
So you take it one song at a time, without
any sort of overarching theme?
Yeah—whether it’s Esperanza Spalding,
Chamber Music Society, or Radio Music
Society, it’s been a song-by-song process,
and then when I look at the final list of
songs, I figure the ensemble will give it
the color that will connect the whole
album. The same is true for bass lines and
bass playing.
I’ve talked about this in terms of playing with [veteran jazz saxophonist] Joe Lovano, regarding playing between the two drummers. With that group, there’s no single approach that works. There’s no specific way of playing that you can count on. I’m just listening. In fact, I try to almost pretend that I’m not playing at all—just to listen, from the outside, to the full sound coming off the stage. Then, as an arranger/ composer, I want to place the bass part so that it will do the most good for the music happening at that moment. And it’s different every night—even the same song can be really different, night to night.
There’s a great line [Thelonious] Monk wrote about how he’d heard a lot of universities had a class called “Communications.” And he said, “I don’t know what that class is for, but I hope they teach deep listening and loving speech!” Communication is ultimately what everybody has signed up for when they get on the bandstand. They are there to communicate honestly and truthfully and even compassionately. You are trying to contribute to a flowing conversation in time, so you listen in order to be better able to speak, and to ask questions, and to make sense.
Spalding’s approach to
playing with jazz’s elite is to
listen to the other players
and forget that she’s playing
at all. By Carlos Pericas,
Courtesy of Montuno
What sorts of questions?
You can offer opinions. You can ask,
“Could you describe that further?” Or,
“Have you ever looked at it from this
perspective?” Or you can say, “No, no,
no—I’ve heard that shit before and I don’t
agree!” It’s like there’s a flowing, morphing
conversation, so of course you have
to listen—just like you would if you were
talking to someone you really cared about
and you wanted to know more about what
they were saying. And it’s not just jazz.
Great pop bands are made up of musicians
who exercise all those same skills. That’s the
foundation of music.
YouTube It
Check out Ms. Spalding in action in the following YouTube clips.
Shot live in San Sebastian, Spain, in 2009, this clip shows
Spalding and her band playing a spirited version of “I
Know You Know,” plus some inspired blowing on both
upright and electric.
At this January 2009 tribute to Stevie Wonder at the White
House, Spalding is stunning in so many ways—with her
slippery upright playing, her sultry voice, her classy couture,
and her beautiful smile.
In this gorgeously moody clip, Spalding proves she’s as
adept with a bow as she is playing fingerstyle—and the
vocal work is mind blowing.