12:21 am Sep. 2, 2010
We asked Seth to tell us about his summer "outro." This is what he sent us.
Yeah, I enjoyed Robyn's singles, a couple of the "B.M.F." freestyles, and the late contributions from Kanye—but if I'm honest about it, all that sounded as though it was really for those of you who were out there enjoying your summers. Mine? It started with an emergency trip down south to see an ailing relative, and ended in August with an inter-borough apartment move. In between, an initially promising dating scenario went kabloom (which I compensated for by working extra hard at a job that continually threatened to maybe not exist in the near future). Also, I failed at the basic seasonal task of finding the time to swim in a body of water.
No, it wasn't hard-knock stuff compared to all the genuine misery at loose in the world, but still: bleargh.
So you know what my summer jam was? I mean, aside from the brutal-as-hell Cruising LP, from the dark-hardcore outfit Slices (which was vinyl-only and quickly went out of print anyway)? It had to be Charles Mingus's "Fables of Faubus," specifically the version on Cornell 1964, a recently discovered live recording of the classic Mingus sextet that included Eric Dolphy on alto sax/flute/bass clarinet, and Jaki Byard on piano.
Hang with me for a second. "Fables of Faubus" was always a political piece. Specifically, its sardonic lyrics (and title) were directed at the segregationist Arkansas governor of the same name. ("Oh lord, don't let 'em tar and feather us / Oh lord, no more swastikas," etc.) A nervous Columbia Records suggested that an instrumental version of the song be featured on the 1959 Mingus Ah Um album, which is why Mingus's live, unexpurgated performances of "Faubus" from the 60s are so important (in addition to a somewhat thinly recorded full studio take for a jazz indie label).
But at Cornell, in 1964, something even more radical, inspired--and well, damned American (in the best sense)--than the lyric itself occurs during "Faubus." In the middle of an extended solo, Byard drops in the carefree, sprightly melody of "Yankee Doodle Dandy," a sort of sonic reference to America's sweep-the-problems-under-the-
But then, in a surprise twist, Byard mashes up the melody of "Dandy" with the opening chords from "Lift Every Voice and Sing" (known then, and sometimes now, as the "black" national anthem). Snark and anger get bound up with sincerity and hope in the space of about five seconds. It's pretty profound stuff, as if Byard is saying: look, I'll do the integrating for you, at my piano. And just when you get your hopes up, bam: he switches it up again, this time with a reference to Chopin's Death March. This is beyond mere musical dexterity; it's actually telling a kind of story—about injustice, inspiration, and the frustrating pace of reform—with a discernible arc. Oh, and it also just happens to be casually brilliant as a matter of improvisation and feeling.
During the Cordoba House debate, this version of "Faubus" made me feel better—or at least more reassured about the prospects of cross-cultural understanding—than anything new out there. Blake Shelton may take pride in bringing his New York City pal to the local honky tonk to learn about Conway Twitty in his song "Hillbilly Bone," but at the end of the day, he's just talking about teaching a bro to enjoy his beer to a different soundtrack. This song (and this performance), in addition to being 18 kinds of melodic and beautiful, actually manages to fulfill a lot of what we like to suppose is best about us. Which I guess is why I'd like to play it for people at the end of the summer.
Oh, so now you're going to tell me that a 29-minute version of "Faubus" isn't fit for a Labor Day rooftop party? Well, I humbly submit that this is a problem with our conception of Labor Day rooftop parties, rather than with the song. But yeah, I can concede that "Teenage Dream" was a pretty well-sculpted serving of spun sugar, if you wanna throw that track on instead.
