It's more of the same on The Gil Scott Suite, a quick three-song EP on which 2-Tone finds even more Wu vocals to use. This time though, he mixes those verses with Gil Scott-Heron instrumentals as a tribute to the late poet and musician. "Gil's Pinky Ring (pt. 1)" pairs the Clan's "Uzi" with Scott-Heron's "The Bottle." Method Man's head-nodding "PLO Style" meets the moody "Rivers Of My Fathers."

Listen to "Gil's Pinky Ring (pt. 1)" below.

Gil's Pinky Ring (pt.1) by DJ 2-Tone Jones

Currently a faculty member at the California Institute of the Arts, Smith is working on a large set of these compositions, Ten Freedom Summers, commissioned by Chamber Music America and the Doris Duke Charitable Foundation; he and his Golden Quartet will be giving some parts their East Coast premiere at the Library of Congress. Ahead of that performance, Smith took time to talk about Ankhrasmation and the band that plays it, and to school WCP on his music's connection to Miles Davis.

Washington City Paper: This band seems inclined toward the Miles Davis mold of electronics in jazz. Tell me about that.

Wadada Leo Smith: I’ve been working with electronics for over ten years. And with Golden Quartet, the only recording where we have used any electronics is the recent recording [Spiritual Dimensions], the one that was done at the Vision Festival. And if you notice, only one or two pieces have electronics on it. And when you look at the electronics that we use, the only thing that makes it sound similar to the past is that there’s a Fender Rhodes there. Most people can’t get past the idea that the Fender is used that way again.

And let me say this about the comparison everybody likes to make with Miles Davis’ music. Miles Davis’ music was a fantastic music, and it’s a major influence on modern music in America, and maybe around the world. But the language he used is quite different than any of the language that I use. Miles dealt with a much more refined notion of fusion; I'm not looking at fusion. What I’m interested in is sound, and all the possibilities that there are with sound.

The common ground is this: Miles Davis is a great trumpet player; Wadada Leo Smith is a great trumpet player. He has a tremendous dramatic use of his musical language; I do the same thing. He has an exceptional range; I have an exceptional range. Then, when you look at the language inside that range, it’s very, very different. But still, the relationship is very deep. And I don’t mean it just in terms of music; I mean it in terms of states of awareness. For example, I’ve had a series of dreams over the last 15 years that relate to Miles Davis and me.

WCP: Do you feel in communication with him when you are playing?

WLS: No, I don’t feel that when I’m playing, because for me, the only way I can play is to be completely absent of all the stuff that is happening. One of the things that I used to reduce, let’s say, 50 to 60 percent of the distortion around me, is that I close my eyes. And then the other part is deep focus—if you’ve got deep focus, you can hear the ensemble playing, but they are not going to control you or dictate the way you go because you have achieved this kind of connection yet detachment. So when I’m in that state of mind, and I open my eyes, I am literally surprised that I’m playing before somebody.

WCP: How does the Golden Quartet differ, as a concept, from other ensembles and projects you’ve worked on? How does it work in conjunction with those other projects?

WLS: This is the distinction: When I made the Golden Quartet, my intention was to make an ensemble that I would keep for life. It’s the only ensemble that I’ve ever had that intention. And I wanted to make a nod toward the classical notion of the ensemble: piano, bass, drums, and the horn. It feels to me kind of like the four cardinal points that we have in creation, the north, south, east, and west. It’s a perfect platform for solos, duets, trios, quartets; the ensemble or orchestral.

WCP: Speaking of which, you’ve just released a trumpet-drum duo [Blue Mountain Sun Drummer, a 1986 recording with the late Ed Blackwell], your second in two years and fifth overall. What attracts you to that configuration?

WLS: There’s actually another one with a guy in Sweden that’s not out yet, and there’s one in the can with Hamid Drake that’s not out yet. I love drum and trumpet things. It goes back to that whole early brass-band music, where the brass and the percussion kind of made things happen. Actually I was always impressed with duets, primarily because of Louis Armstrong and Earl Hines. That music is fantastic. Joseph Oliver and Jelly Roll Morton also had duets, and they covered one of the same pieces, “Weather Bird.” It’s just a fascinating thing to me.

WCP: The fact that you play "Blue Mountain Sun Drummer" on your previous duet record [America, with Jack DeJohnette] suggests that the project meant a great deal to you.

WLS: It did, and I’ll tell you what: on that duet with Jack, I was wondering how I could make a connection with the duet with Ed. So I put the same melody, with a few twists and turns, into that recording that I made with Jack. I did it because I wanted to make that connection with Ed, and see if I could pull it forward. And I’m glad I did, because to tell you the truth that’s what inspired me to go back and get this project and look at it again.

WCP: Let’s talk about Ankhrasmation. When you are going over this with musicians, how much of the images and symbolism do you explain, and how much do you leave up to their own interpretation?

WLS: Well, there’s quite a bit that’s left up to them. In playing an Ankhrasmation score, you have to do research, independent of anyone else in the ensemble. So let’s say you’ve got one of those half triangles, which is a velocity unit, and let’s say that velocity unit is colored red. Each person will take that velocity unit and determine how fast or slow that velocity unit develops, depending on which symbol it is—but even if they all have the same symbol, it would by nature never come out to be the same velocity.

As for the red, the color has to be symbolically referenced. Red could be referenced as blood, for example, or it could be referenced as a cherry. If it’s referenced as blood, then they have to go and do the research and find out about all the properties of blood and come up with some reference of how blood is used in humans or other creatures. Then they start to transform that data about blood into musical property, which they are not allowed to tell me about because when we all get together, and we all got red, if there’s two of us or nine of us, we end up with two or nine different ideas about that red, and two or nine different ideas about that velocity: how fast it evolves, and how fast it’s moving horizontally.

But if you take the cherry, the cherry’s got an outer skin that’s red, and it also has a pit inside of it. It has a stem that comes out of the center of it. And you would take all of those elements and break them down into different parts and research them. Or you could make the color red have a relationship with sunlight, and that would mean you would reference off the spectrum of light. It’s left up to the musician to decide what the color red references.

WCP: With so much research and depth, doesn’t the music lose some of the spontaneity?

WLS: No, it doesn’t lose any. Because once the person does their research and begins to transform that into music, it’s just like practicing a score for any other kind of music. For example, when a guy plays music off a five line staff, he’s gotta know how to make that E-flat or that B-flat or that F. That’s the same kind of information; before, they’ve practiced that E-flat, F, B-flat, to make sure they can play it properly. That’s what’s happening with an ankhrasmation score: we actually work through it and find the level of creativity that comes out of it.

WCP: Do you consider yourself a composer?

WLS: I still call myself a composer, yes: a composer-performer-improviser. A composer is one that makes notes on some kind of surface or something; it could be musical notes, or it could be images or whatever. A performer will interpret those notes, and an improviser will bring that other quality, which is himself or herself, and transform those two other qualities into something that no one could ever imagine it would be until after it’s done.

Photo: California Institute of the Arts

Reid's professional career began at 16 as the house drummer of Harlem's Apollo Theater, with his first recording a year later behind Motown's Martha and the Vandellas. (Reid would eventually play on a number of Motown sessions, including the Vandellas' monster 1964 hit "Dancing in the Street.") From there, however, his work took a sharp left turn; after graduating from Adelphi University in 1965, Reid spent three years studying rhythm and percussion in Africa, working with—among others—Nigerian musician and activist Fela Kuti.

Upon returning to the U.S. he began working with similarly radical (in both music and politics) artists, including James Brown, Randy Weston, Ornette Coleman, Henry Threadgill, Sun Ra, and Miles Davis. After a brief career interruption in 1969, when he was arrested for draft refusal, Reid became an active participant in New York's 1970s loft-jazz scene; he played on the recently rereleased 1977 opus Odyssey of the Oblong Square.

In recent years, Reid gained an appreciative following among post-rock audiences via his collaborations with electronic musician Kieran Hebden—better known as Four Tet. Hebden and Reid were responsible for the two-volume The Exchange Session CDs, as well as two other discs.

Reid's legacy, while not well-known, is tremendous. He will be missed.

Dec. 31
The District's strongest NYE jazz tradition, and its Cadillac option, remains Ahmad Jamal. The Chicago-born pianist's name is mostly known by its tie to Miles Davis—the two never played together, but the trumpet legend was outspoken in his fascination with (and copying of) Jamal's use of space in his solos. Long and unusually placed rests are still a distinction in Jamal's work, but they shouldn't overshadow his other extraordinary abilities: lyricism, strong rhythm, clever and catchy compositions, and a surprising ability to turn all of these into a furious, even confrontational performance. The combination, no doubt, has ensured his regular return to DC for weeklong year's-end engagements at Blues Alley, where he plays every set to a capacity house. Tonight's performance is a special one, featuring a dinner package and stellar locals Paul Bollenbach (guitar), Michael Bowie (bass), and Lenny Robinson (drums) accompanying Jamal. Expensive, but extraordinary. Sets at 6:30 and 10 p.m. at Blues Alley, 1073 Wisconsin Avenue NW. $110-$160.

Another piano icon performs at Twins Jazz. Larry Willis first made his name on the challenging free-leaning music of Jackie McLean in the mid '60s, but quickly extended his reach into bebop, swing, progressive, Latin, African, and even fusion and jazz-rock. Most famously, Willis worked for seven years as a member of Blood, Sweat, and Tears—a band that was once extremely popular for some reason. Still, it does count as a major accomplishment for this man who's as comfortable playing behind Dizzy Gillespie as David Clayton-Thomas, and equally adept at composing and arranging strong, challenging tunes. Willis plays with his quartet and saxophonist James Gates at 9 p.m. at Twins Jazz, 1344 U St. NW, with a package that includes dinner, champagne, and two sets of music. $75.

But if piano doesn't do it for you, there's the great guitarist John Pizzarelli at the Kennedy Center. The son of another great guitarist, Bucky Pizzarelli, John is every bit the sterling virtuoso and improvisational imagination that his father is—but with added skills as both a singer and raconteur. Appropriate, then, that he should spend the evening in tribute to another singer and talker, Frank Sinatra, in a show called—wait for it—"Dear Mr. Sinatra." Pizzarelli's voice doesn't really approximate the Chairman of the Board's in any meaningful sense, save the sense of warmth that comes through in his croon. Yet he also plays his ass off on the six-string. Pizzarelli plays at 7:30 and 9:30 p.m. in the Kennedy Center's Terrace Theater, 2700 F St. NW. $65-85.

Yes, yes, I know. Incredibly expensive, all of them. But there are great options on the local level as well—the Young Lions play their regular set at Cafe Nema on U Street; violinist Susan Jones and her band play First Night festivities in Alexandria; the Potomac Jazz Project performs at the Kennedy Center's Rooftop Terrace restaurant; and the weekly Thursday night jam session goes on as usual at HR-57.

And, finally:

Jan. 3, 2010
Alto saxophonist John Kocur isn't called "The Smoker" for nothing. He's simply one of the finest soloists the D.C. jazz scene has to offer—and, it turns out, one of its most promising composers and bandleaders, too. Kocur's quartet with pianist Amy Bormet, bassist Oliver Albertini, and drummer C.V. Dashiell III recorded an intriguing album in 2009, and promoted it with some spectacular gigs around town. And they're starting the new year off strong, with a high-profile gig on the Kennedy Center's Millennium Stage. Kocur and the band will play some standards as well as their original material in a set that's just in time to catch on your way to Sunday dinner. That's at the Millennium Stage, 2700 F St. NW. Free.

Ever the bearer of bad news, I'd like to alert BPB readers to another rock 'n roll fatality: This time it's Merl Saunders, who passed away last Friday at the age of 74. Complications from a stroke sidelined him in 2002, effectively ending a remarkable career that included luminous collaborations with Miles Davis, B.B. King, Mike Bloomfield, and Jerry Garcia. His keyboard stylings combined an earthy rhythm-and-blues approach with a jazz aesthetic and, in the early 90s, a surprisingly unregrettable foray into New Age-style fusion.

For anyone interested in the remarkable, decades-long, "let's make David Grisman jealous" collaboration between Saunders and Garcia, check out the Legion of Mary sessions and the Keystone concerts. Of special note: Saunders' fat, swirly Hammond on Dylan's "Positively Fourth Street" (below, from the Keystone). Troppo largo, perhaps, but a textural improvement over the already lovely Kooper-era original.