Tribute to the Passing of Legend Sheila Jordan, and the Life-Changing Magic of Bass and Voice

Hello everyone, 

One of the very greatest, Sheila Jordan passed away a few weeks ago. She was a real-deal, deeply passionate musical pioneer, totally fearless in her approach to life and music, and while I didn't know her personally I have long admired her commitment to music education, peculiar boldness, and her body of work - especially her solo bass and voice work. I was honored to pay tribute to her memory at The Jazz Kitchen last Monday.

Portrait of Sheila Jordan, by Mark Sheldon. (Used with permission) Recommended listening: I've Grown Accustomed to the Bass (2000)

I had reached out to Indianapolis bassist Fred Withrow telling him I wanted to sing my favorite song of hers,  to process the grief of the loss. Fred said - sounds good, just come Monday and we'll talk about it. I knew I wanted to do it right away, so I really wasn't going to talk about it, I was going to immediately spring it on them. Kevin Anker on piano, and Mike Kessler drums. They can handle just about anything they get thrown on Mondays. So it was not bass and voice as I had envisioned, but I was more than fine with that. 

They did an AMAZING job with zero prep, and I could have been more polished but it was honest-to-right-now, because right now was the mix of the jazz culture pain of this huge loss, and the hopefulness of the next generation. To capture that I decided to sing a Sheila Jordan favorite which talks about raising young kids. As a mom of a 6 year old and 4 year old, with a couple subtle lyrical tweaks, I brought out Dat Dere to the Jazz Kitchen open mic.

Here is the recording. I had managed my nerves up to solos... Shout out to Mike on the rebound to set me back on the bridge. Truly a great band makes a huge difference, and when you don't work together often these moments make you appreciate other's mastery.

To reflect on Mark Sheldon's photography, you need to know that he's not only an artist and music lover himself, but a passionate advocate of the arts. Indianapolis truly has a treasure in him, and the jazz foundation honored him this year with a place in the Jazz Hall of Fame. Here's a compilation video I made at Mark's annual Jazz House Party and Jazz Jam he and his wife Lin hosted in August. Watch to the end for a snippet of my sit-in, "East of the Sun"

This couple absolutely pours their support into the Naptown Jazz Scene. This celebrates those who also serve the broader jazz community (my volunteer work for the Indianapolis Jazz Foundation with their social media was certainly the ticket here, not my personal music pursuits). Mark is a renowned photographer and shadowing him whenever I can is a major leg up for my eye... if eyes had legs? I've told this couple more than once that they are doing what I want to do someday, having experienced DalyJazz in Missoula, MT, Rob and I have long dreamed to host jam sessions with great food in our home. I only had a taste of this with hosting my band when we lived in the ponderosa woods there in Montana, and the long drive meant I'd certainly also be cooking. Jazz mama, indeed!

Back to the program.

Sheila Jordan did have a major impact on my musical journey, and that's not just lip service. I come back to Sheila's legacy of mentorship, and I'm always thinking about past educators who have shaped me. 

Bass and voice. A combo not for the faint of heart- but one that had become normalized for me from hours upon hours of Sheila and Cameron on repeat, mainly the song "I've Grown Accustomed to the Bass. I was obsessed with the bass. And her lyrical genius. And spirit. And tone. More recently, she has sung an autobiographical song here, which was recorded recently: Shiela's Blues at Emmet's Place.

One thing I know for sure, it's not always a music educator who shapes our music.

Bass and voice... In 2004, a mere 21 years ago, I took the invitation of an amazing educator, my professor, the late Michael Jones (we called him Señor Jones) at Niskayuna High School and conjured up this unusual pairing, working with fellow Junior, bassist Zach Greene. I sang a song in Spanish, entitled Por Un Beso, which I was listening to and singing endlessly to help me process my first heartbreak, which took entirely too long and only was fixed by music.

High school is not normally the time one takes such social risks, but that was me at the time. Risky. And a flight risk too as the following year I'd be in DC at Duke Ellington school.

I plan to share more high school facts and figures in next week's post. 

As I continue to delve back into music, the memories and all associated feelings seem to have intensified with time and my only outlets are prayer, singing, and writing. I don't know if that is normal, but I'm so grateful I have music for the processing of it. Even though music is the portal to the pain, there are ways of healing.

I'm not sure how much of my real life anyone is interested in, but there sure are a lot of people who I'm wanting to feature and highlight, thank, and maybe even apologize to, so that's more of what this is about for me. It's a smorgasbord.

Thank you Sheila for the path you created. Grateful to be playing in this sandbox with such talented musicians.

Life's Brutality, and the Joy of Jazz at the Kurt Vonnegut Museum & Library

My son and I recently enjoyed a visit to the Kurt Vonnegut Museum & Library, and their expertly curated jazz room was the highlight for me.

The visit was prompted by the gnawing sense that something is missing from my experience here in Indianapolis, and that thing is causing static in my communication with the audience. More on that in another post, we don't have all day, (and I really could go on about that all day.)

Indianapolis was Vonnegut's nesting place but not his resting place.

A visit to Crown Hill Cemetery will yield nothing - more on that another time too - so it's almost as if Vonnegut is pointing you right back into the museum to find whatever it was you were looking for among the headstones. 

Cemeteries can be very enlightening. On my honeymoon, we made sure to visit the burial site of my favorite author, Ralph Waldo Emerson (sorry Kurt) who used a giant boulder of unfinished rose quartz in place of the traditional headstone. It was a statement I won't forget- I suppose I was expecting something in that vein. Something aimed specifically at us left-behinds who crave a touchstone.

No, Indiana Ave is the place to find what you need. This time, the needed inspiration isn't set in stone, it's somewhere on the wind.

The Ave was birthplace both to a rich jazz legacy and a writer who would enjoy it thoroughly... The Kurt Vonnegut museum lives in a cool flatiron that makes Indiana Ave into a spearhead aimed at the rest of the city, which makes the connection feel ready for ink.

My son signs the museum guestbook:

Although we did explore the full museum, my son and I spent the most time in the lighthearted corners, even stopping for a round of ping pong. Because Kurt's life was marked by war, I did get the chance to discuss it with him, how Kurt was once a prisoner, and other more challenging topics in this safe space for learning. And I really appreciate that. Life is brutal and it's hard to talk about that with children, especially when the child is your own. But I hate to think a teacher, a person I don't personally know, would be the first one to share the truth of the world with my own child. I believe that's my job, and great museums like these help me do my job well.

Up on one of the walls of the jazz room there was a line I loved:

“Kurt Vonnegut said that other people were often sad and depressed, but the people who were listening to jazz were happy and fun to be around.”

Going home, I couldn't stop thinking about the line. I was imagining Kurt's life and all I learned there in the jazz room, and thinking about how I would be singing "Get Happy" later that week with a Big Band at the Fountain Square Ballroom for some swing dancers... learning Kurt's perspective and the genuine joy he got out of the music emboldened me some... I had always found the lyrics a little strange for my mental palette and hard to embody. (Watching Judy Garland's rendition of Get Happy hadn't helped.) It's hard to explain how the muse works, but hearing Kurt say what he did about music in this exhibit helped me understand how to sing the song. The show turned out great, and the Vonnegut library even shared about it on their social. Deeply grateful.

The room is small, but chock full of archival photos, posters, and copy that do an excellent job connecting the Indiana Ave story with Vonnegut’s philosophies. And arranged in such a way that it's not overwhelming. Very well done.

This placard was highly entertaining: Vonnegut recalls sharing a taxi cab ride with Benny Goodman and a snippet of their conversation, telling him, “I used to play a little licorice stick myself.” (“Licorice stick,”  being clarinet.)  Benny Goodman, King of Swing, has been tapping me on the shoulder lately in numerous roundabout ways. I received a signed copy of a book about his life from Indianapolis-area mixed media artist and jazz lover Sabrena Scott after one of her famed craft parties in her home studio. She didn't know what it meant to me and couldn't. I look through the book often as it supplies a connection to deeply nostalgic, counter-cultural ideas that my heart dances on but my mouth hasn't quite learned how to summon.

Vonnegut's clarinet is displayed there beside the quote, probably mostly for proof that although he probably tasted more licorice than reed, he was certainly not a liar.

A more famous line, from A Man Without a Country:

“If I should ever die, God forbid, let this be my epitaph: The only proof he needed for the existence of God was music.” 

Familiar faces on the wall: Rob Dixon, Steven Jones 

Another highlight of the room, a feature on saxophonist Rob Dixon - known as Indy’s “Musical Mayor.” It was wonderful to see this level of intention, connecting Vonnegut's legacy to our city’s commitment to its unique sound and living legends from Indiana Avenue of yesterday and today. I'm proud to call Rob Dixon a friend, he gave me my first local restaurant/lounge gig at Geraldines a few months ago, paired with pianist Steven Jones. Seeing the Musical Mayor's face in the exhibit was reassuring, it's people like him that make Indianapolis feel like home. Here's a cut from that Geraldine's gig, "God Bless the Child"

There was a QR code to listen to Dixon / Mark Buseli / Kenny Phelps / Nick Tucker / Steven Jones playing The Charleston (I would paste here, but my blog doesn't allow Vimeo) such a smart way to breathe life into the room. Though there was already music piped in, I appreciated the curation here and ability to carry it home with me in my pocket.

There's Life Beyond the Jazz Room

Beyond the odd shaped room are other rooms boasting many artifacts, important reflections on wartime, an unexpected emphasis on women, a video with a Kurt Vonnegut commencement speech, and much more. With my 4 year old son leading the way, it was all about the typewriter. Here, he practiced typing his name while I tried my hand at the lyrics I wrote to Blue Bossa.

• Visit the Kurt Vonnegut Museum & Library- take your time in the jazz room! Play some ping pong! Get a snack and a drink.  Kurt Vonnegut Museum and Library

• Explore Naptown Sound - the ongoing project that keeps our local jazz heritage alive. Indianapolis Jazz Foundation

And a personal note: I’ll be at Indy Jazz Fest, covering Naptown Sound and the main event for the Indianapolis Jazz Foundation. INDY JAZZ FEST My whole September is set aside (no shows) for this. Right now I'm in the listening phase while I get to know the artists and their work before I start sharing about them. Let me know if you're coming to one or more of the events.

Until next time my jazz loving friends. 🎷

In the comments please tell me - who is your favorite author? What are your thoughts on the connection between Vonnegut and jazz?