[SPEAKER_04]: Get it, honey, I can't provide. The atmosphere is warm. I want you to feel inside. Don't want to be saying that you should've. You got the flavor, I've got the sugar. So would you get with the vibe, like when the jacks and fives hit? Shake your body down to the ground, like this. Shake me to the ground. I'ma call you up, honey, please make it good.
[SPEAKER_02]: Yeah!
[SPEAKER_04]: Our daughter, Jessie, loves playing detective. A clue.
[SPEAKER_05]: But since we discovered she has sensitive
[SPEAKER_01]: Jim was at the laundromat when he heard, his ear said, maraca, senor, but his nose said, hey, freshest scent ever. Following his nose, Jim found a man pointing scent beads into the washer. The scent, the freshness, Jim blurted. Sir, your scent maracas smell amazing. You could call them scent maracas, but most noses call them.
[SPEAKER_10]: I heard it was a good spot.
[SPEAKER_02]: Yeah. Okay. It's not on the same list? Okay, that's my bad.
[SPEAKER_13]: Hello, good afternoon, everyone. So happy to see you out here today. The sky has really, really lightened up. It's warm, but it's not hot. It's a good day for jazz, don't you think? Fantastic, fantastic. All right, so let me just set the scene a little bit for you. This is the West Medford Community Center, for those of you that don't know. You're sitting in the historical heart of the African American community of West Medford, one of the oldest African American settlements, not only in Massachusetts, but in the country. And I was born and raised in this community a few streets over. I lived on Jerome Street first, and then I lived on Monument Street. That park over there, Duggar Park, was where we played as kids. And this building, the second building on the site, is where we did literally everything. I learned how to make spaghetti here. I learned how to build model cars here, just a whole list of things. Now if you get a chance to go in, if you haven't been in before, go in because there's a lot of history on the walls and it's the history of a neighborhood. And as with anything, change is the only constant. So the neighborhood has changed pretty significantly from the time when I was you know, tooling around on those basketball courts over there. I don't have the knees to do it anymore, so I'm gonna mind my business and stay over here where I'm in my element again. But we have a nice program for you. This is the Ally Project, and it is a conglomeration of four folks now, started out as two, myself and Jonathan, over here, we got together at what we like to refer to as the intersection of jazz and social justice. We were both seeking something. He was looking for kind of musical collaboration that spoke to the issues of the day. And I was looking for an opportunity to take poetry and blend it with jazz and see what it would look like. So we met in a very, very congenial space and some good stuff has developed from it. Our drummer, John Dalton, came into the space as well. He has his own music. He does this really, really dynamic, progressive thing with a group called Spheres of Influence. So before it's over, we'll have them here at the center playing as well. And then Greg Turo here on the big sexy. That's what I call his bass. You know, Grey came into it at a very early stage as well. And we've been a quartet now for a couple years, John? A couple years now. We have a CD that we've done. We have them up on the porch there. It's called the Ally Project. It's $15. If you got some money floating around, you want to hear some good music, go on and grab yourself. I've got some books up there as well. In case you were wondering what I am, I'm a poet. That's what I do. And I'm going to turn it over to Jonathan. He's going to talk about our sponsors and give a few thank yous. And then we're going to go on ahead and get started with the music.
[SPEAKER_00]: No, thank you very much, Terry. It's been a pleasure to work with this group for the past couple of years, especially in collaboration with this festival, which also started in 2020, which was not a great year for live music. I'll just put it that way. But it's gone from a virtual festival. It's been five years now, actually, that we've been plugging away at this. And the support, the community support has grown substantially in that time. Before we get started, I just wanted to thank a couple of people that have made this possible. First of all, a couple of individual sponsors this year, Susan Klein, Steve Shulman, and Ken Krause, as well as our Patreon members, who are people just, you know, people that love jazz and music and community events that have put in a couple dollars every month. It's a subscription service, kind of like, you know, we all have too many subscriptions anyways, so why not add one more, you figure? But it really adds up over time, and it allows us to sustain our jam session series and other events that happen over here at the community center, and now at Arts Collaborative Medford, where we were last night, which is a wonderful new space that will soon have lots of performing arts events there. So, that said, a couple of other people that have made this possible this year, Thank you to Shayla, my partner Shayla. I happen to be a little bit biased about how great a job she's done this year, but she is the one responsible for these beautiful programs. So please feel free to take them and look through them. And if you want any more information about particular artists, it is all in there along with links to websites and personal pages. Also to, well, he isn't here today, but our friend Joe DeMore, who's done a lot of editing and has just built us our brand new website this year. So even if you don't remember your program or it blows away in the wind, I don't know, you can access all of that on our website. And soon we'll have a lot of video content for you. MedfordJazzFestival.com, she's telling me to say. Speaking of media, Medford Community Media is here this entire weekend, thanks to Kevin Harrington. And also, thanks so much to our sound department, which happens to be Avi Fagan over there, and his assistant, Gilel, as well, who's been helping out for the whole weekend. Thanks also to our student volunteer, Eva Balo. She's one of my piano students from Brandeis University. Helped us set up a lot of things. So it truly is an entire team of people, especially this year. It grows a little bit each time. Last, a couple of organizational sponsors to, first of all, where we've gotten some of our grants, Medford Arts Council, the Arts Alive Medford Foundation, Berkeley's Institute of Jazz and Gender Justice, who's responsible for the next group that you're going to hear after this. Anastasia is an amazing piano player. I've known her for several years. And she's just doing some great things. So you're going to want to stick around for that. to the spaces that we're using this year, Arts Collaborative Medford, that art center from last night, for those of you who were there, and for this West Medford Community Center, which is just the perfect place to have this entire weekend in music. Morningside Music Studio, also, to Members Plus Credit Union, Triangle Manor, who printed our beautiful t-shirts, another business right here in Medford. So grab a shirt if you haven't already. And to Nomen Copy and Print, too, which helped us out with these crisp-looking programs. So with that said, I'll turn it back over to Terry, who's our poet and is going to kind of be the master of ceremonies here. All right, let's get to it.
[SPEAKER_13]: So I talked a little bit about the beginnings of this community. And when we first started out, there were three streets. And this is after the Civil War, 1890s or so, when black folks first came to this area. there were three streets that they could live on based on redlining and, you know, unspoken, unwritten covenants that were made by the city fathers that, you know, if there were going to be people of color here, this is where they were going to be. So Jerome Street, Arlington Street, and Lincoln Street were the first three streets. And we were right by the Mystic River, and the Mystic River was no great shakes at that point in time. It's much friendlier these days. So we're going to start at the beginning with a piece called Hired by the Mystic. They gave my people the lowlands and not much of it. Just a few streets hired by the river. Banks turned a blind eye behind the red lines. And it wasn't about the money. Class was an irresistible force. Race was an immovable object. Perhaps it wasn't a written rule, but white folks knew the legal tool to keep us in our space, in this mystic valley place, where slaves and rum and ships had built some mansions, made some millionaires, and hid some old money. So it was hard by the mystic we went. Muddy and a bit turned down. The only place where one could be brown in this ancient Middlesex County town. But we named it. We claimed it. We made it our own. Even in the heat of summer when the shores were parched and the soil was rank with the decay of aquatic alchemy, we were one with the river. We followed his flow to the lakes and the sandy beach front. On our own Jordan shore, we baptized and blessed our brothers and sisters in Christ. We caught the little fishes to go with our loaves of bread and became the teeming multitude who our Lord Jesus fed hard by the mystery. We became community. We commanded unity. We embraced the village and raised up our children in the way they should go. As the river ebbs and flows, the tides will turn and our fortune grows. A few more streets become our home. Houses on Sharon join kin on Jerome. From Duggar Park to the railroad tracks, the white folks make more room for blacks. The color line recedes a bit. Church and school and center fit. The bill becomes the heart of it, hard by the mystic shores. Now the worm has surely turned, and folks who left have surely learned things couldn't stay the same. Muddy Mystic most days is clean. The banks are freshly cut and green. Faces once distinctly brown are not the only ones in town. These streets that once were our confines must now embrace what gentry defines, condominium culture, bedroom convenience, university sprawl, access, egress, invest, and dispossess. Now those lowlands have become the highlights of a trending city. And sometimes success isn't pretty when it's at the expense of your black and brown and tan friends. And yet, the river still turns and bends. from where it begins to where it ends. The only place where one could be brown in this ancient Middlesex County town, where we named it and claimed it and made it our own.
[SPEAKER_12]: All right, all right.
[SPEAKER_13]: Okay. All right. All right, so that kind of establishes a little bit of a theme, and so we're gonna follow it just a little bit further with a piece we call Gentrified.
[SPEAKER_12]: Yeah.
[SPEAKER_13]: See John Dalton back there, he's the soul of ingenuity with the paper, with the clothespins. Yeah, man. All right. All right, we good? All right, let's do it. They talk about renovating, reimagining, and rehabilitating. They rave about new visions, new horizons, and new perspectives. They revel in bistros, boutiques, and boulangeries. They barely skip to the subway stations. They bike on the painted pathways. They Uber and Lyft religiously. Everything's on trend and on point and au pair. They've codified the way we, they speak about what used to be. Urban blight, eyesores, drug dens, crack houses, tenements and slums, the ghetto. They modify the way they speak about what we now see. Makeovers, investment properties, B&Bs, brownstones, townhouses, condos, and co-ops. Everything's vintage, bohemian, artsy, and retro, with creative green spaces and lofted open places. Speculators bought lower than low, patiently waiting for the change, waiting for the junkies to move on, waiting for the squatters to give up, waiting for the black and the brown and the tan to fade. They waited for the graffiti to erode. They waited for the chain link to corrode. They waited for the families to implode. They waited for the prices to explode. They waited and they calculated. They waited as folks capitulated. They waited as folks evacuated. They waited as folks migrated. Then the realtors came and dispelled white folks' fears. The architects came and re-engineered. The designers came and changed the veneers. The builders came and the new folk cheered. Now they've moved closer to work in the city, to quartz countertops that made kitchens pretty, to charter schools, nannies, and drivers, and bike frames made with carbon fibers, to Starbucks lattes and artisanal breads, and articulated sleep number beds, to million dollar urban show places, and fewer and fewer black and brown faces. They showed us their heels when they took the white flight. Then they crept back in in the dead of night. With fat bank accounts, they were IPO wealthy. Their move to displace was measured and stealthy. All of the potholes now smoothly paved over. Brown folks got schooled like a curry crossover. White folks doing a long-term sleepover. Exclusive, obtrusive, extreme home makeover. With a spoonful of sugar, they took all the clover. Changing the context of neighborhood with subway tile and exotic wood. Harlem, Detroit, and Chicago's South Side. Boston's South End surely gentrified. Emptied the church, emptied the steeple, now it's a spot for the chai-drinking people. Took down the poles in the basketball hoops, now it's the park for the dog-walking troops. No more wrecking community center, but a new parking lot for the monthly rental. Some folks hang on, but the die is cast. The fire consumes and the torch is passed. Invisible lines are drawn again, and folks can't buy when the banks won't lend. Some folks keep their roots in the ground, but the waiting game is deep and profound. They tour the streets noting history, yet what they want is no mystery. Harlem, Detroit, and Chicago South Tide, a reoccupation is being applied to model cities that trickle down no longer suited to black and brown. The urban sprawl that used to be the only homes we got to see is now the place for a growing infusion, is now the place that the gentry is choosing. low rise projects slowly yield to equity building leases sealed to folks who came from far afield who won the fight when the poor folk appealed to lawyers and doctors and high tech heroes with trust fund ones and hedge fund zeros. No preserving community, no real thought of legacy. A small plaque here, a street sign there, nothing that bronzes the atmosphere. Oakland, Brooklyn, and New Orleans, all made targets by whites with means. Even in venerable Chocolate City, the news in the district inspires much pity. killing the concept of neighborhood in ways they've never understood. And now we witness the slow, painful slide as the village we built becomes gentrified. All right. OK. All right, so that's some of the intersection of jazz and social justice. Let's rest on jazz for a little minute. We're going to do a piece called Reprise for Afro Blue. And Afro Blue song has been done by a lot of different folks, Herbie Hancock, more recently Robert Yeah, Robert Glasper does a real nice version of it. Erykah Badu actually sings on that version. It's really, really nice. But we like it. And so wrote a few little lyrics. And we're just going to let the band do what the band does. So this is Reprise for Afro Blue. Dark is the mystery of the soul. Drums are its heartbeat pole to pole. Coated with roasted umber hue, coffee and caramel afro blue. Pretty black boy, lovely brown girl. Glowing and glistening mother of pearl. Surely the love is deep and true. Cobalt and indigo, afro blue. The dawn of the first pink light reveals a smoldering kiss that the darkness conceals. Coated with roasted umber hue, coffee and caramel afro blue. Soul beckons soul as the lovers embrace. Fire melts ice beyond time and space. Surely the love is strong and true. Cobalt and indigo, afro blue. There is no misery in their song. Heartbeats and rhythms solid and strong. Coated with roasted umber, you. Coffee and caramel, afro blue. Coated with roasted umber, you. Coffee and caramel, afro blue. John Dalton on drums, Greg Toro on bass, Jonathan Fagan on the keys.
[SPEAKER_12]: All right. OK. Yeah, let's do that.
[SPEAKER_13]: So there are a few names in the jazz canon that are synonymous with excellence. And like, if you're really into jazz, like these are folks that you just know, you just know them. Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Thelonious Monk. So we're gonna do a piece, Jonathan and I, that's kind of a takeoff on the music of Thelonious Monk. And if you know about Monk, genius, that's first thing, but led a very, very tragic life and relatively short-lived. So see if we can tell a little bit of a story. You were the mystic and the mage with every scribble on each lined page. So deadly serious at that bench with eyes ablaze and teeth in clinch. Tones that spin discordant perfection, harmonic twists in every reflection. What is the meaning of all this scatter as you summon rhythmic antimatter? Why must you rage and violently pound each key to achieve such a potent sound? Reveling in a cerulean funk, you were the least obedient monk. Sometimes you wax melodic and quiet. Then you revert to the din of a riot. Every chord with a stranglehold on conventional music centerfold. A bit of the Duke's panache in style with James P. Johnson's strident guile. Yours were the most ambitious spirit in every bar the night can hear it. The grand piano majestically sits. It has no sense of the crimes it commits. It tolerates explosive bits of cosmic slop as the maestro sits. in a soft felt fez or a pork pie hat, you are a different kind of cat. Fingers like Harlem stickball bats, scurrying quick like tenement rats, over those keys while the saxophone scats, over those keys while the drummer pats, over those keys with sharps and flats, while the bass man thumbs out welcome mats in front of the door of Handy and Fats. Real conversation, not idle chats. Wed to the notes like a pretty young wife. You brought jazz piano back to life and made the music cut like a knife. Skipping chords and dissonant strife. Never to march like a drum and fife. With crackling sparks, your soul was rife. Yet waves of sickness embrace your spirit. The music allowed you to hardly hear it. Oceans of darkness and you didn't fear it. A constant hurdle, we watched you clear it. Or rather we listened in special awe As camels buckled with every star You piled on top of harmonic law As bop and stride made doubters thaw You'd ever succumb to a tragic flaw And be undone by depression's claw So still the vinyl adorns the platter as we revel in musical anti-matter. Madame Panonica's lilting splatter round midnight with a truly, truly mad hatter. Solitude embraces a tortured soul that scales the peaks of an opposite pole through a Thorazine haze that takes control and still the maestro maintains control. The Steinway bursts in dynamic tone, and yet the madness won't leave him alone. The abbot cowers and refuses to pray as the musical friar prepares to slay. The Steinway engages in mythical work while legions of demons quietly lurk. ready to take the altar away to assault the monk as we hear him play. Thank you. Thank you. All right. So there are a few folks here, not many, a few folks here who are going to know exactly what I'm talking about. But the beauty of this thing is that for the rest of you, even if you don't know about my situation, you're going to be able to wed it to your situation. That's the beauty of community-based poetry. So this is called The Little Store.
[SPEAKER_09]: Me?
[SPEAKER_13]: It was a tiny red hovel on Upper Jerome. A bit run down and rough around the edges. And Mr. Henry seemed so old to us. Even then, with a lot of whiskers, impatient, and a little scary. One would suspect that he didn't even like kids. But he really must have loved us. Or else, where did all that penny candy come from? He had all of it. No, seriously. We'd bust in there with a few nickels or a handful of copper, all loud and unruly. He'd hush us up while he finished with grown folks' business. Then he'd be back, like a black Willy Wonka up in that old shack. He'd peer over those old horn-rimmed glasses and tell us he didn't have all day. Then he'd blow open one of those small brown craft paper bags. and get to stuffin' while we were oohin' and ahin' and huffin' and puffin'. See, Mr. Henry had all the treats, all of our favorites, a hundred great sweets. root beer barrels and pixie sticks, squirrel nut zippers and banana splits, green mint juleps and button strips, red licorice ropes and bottle nips. He had bazooka Joe bubble gum and a tiny sucker called a dum-dum, jawbreakers and tootsie rolls. Sugary love for little kid souls. Candy necklaces to wear and bite and waxy red lips with such a sight. Fat gum cigars and kid cigarettes right beside the crunchy six-lets. Mary Jane chewies and BB bats, hot fireballs and Mexican hats. Just the genuine Hershey's kisses. All of the hits and none of the misses. Like Kit, taffy squares, and Necco wafers. Liquor made in Boston baked beans. Gold rocks, nuggets of gum in a bag. A kid's idea, sweet tooth swag. Before the days of Laffy Taffys, we would gobble up peppermint patties. Before we knew about gummy bears, Twizzlers always came in pairs. Chewy cow tails had a creamy filling, but sugar babies had top filling. Reese's peanut butter cups had us squealing like newborn pups. Mikey Nikes and orange slices, saltwater taffy and tiny prices. Lifesavers and charms and fruity flavors, we grabbed those bags like potty favors. Chuckles were a favorite choice, and Milk Duds made us all rejoice. Jolly Ranchers and Bitter Honey, we always got a lot for our money. Talk about kids getting excited. You can't imagine the flame he ignited. Our greedy fingers could barely wait to take that candy like fish take bait. From cold January to chilly December, more kinds of candy than I can remember. At the Ville storefront on Upper Jerome, I knew I had to write this poem. See, Mr. Henry had all the treats, all of our favorites, a hundred great sweets. So you see, you know, everybody in their own way, own neighborhood, bodega, whatever, can relate. Because every community had a Mr. Henry in a little store. Okay. All right. So, yeah. Where is it? Oh, here it is. OK. Again, what we began doing when we got together, Jonathan and I, is figuring out how we could tell some stories. And so that's what the endeavor has been all about. At the soul of it is telling stories. So this piece is called Legacy, and it'll come to you. It's not for you to tell your own story. That is the burden of your children. They must shoulder this yoke with love and loyalty. And yet, you have not gathered them up and bid them sit before the campfires of their elders. You have not seasoned their meals with the spice of their identity and the savor of their name. How will they learn to walk the walk and talk the talk? How will they learn to tell your stories even as they live out their own? Sons and daughters and heirs, if you didn't smell the ash burning or feel the warmth of the flame on your neck, you don't know. If you didn't revel in the growl of the griot's earthy reply or the trill of the mockingbird's cry, you don't know. If mama was too tired and daddy too long gone to carry the wood, light the spark, and stoke the flames, you don't know. And until the lion cub knows how to tell the pride stories, the hunters will always tell them first. The good book says train up the child in the way they should go. Will we let them depart from the community of faith and the city on a hill without the master's touch, without the oil of his anointing and his full measure of grace? Will we not show them Anansi's clever ways? Popo and Fafida's journey, Mufaro's beautiful daughters, the people who could fly, the wonders of Wakanda and Songololo's new tackies. The prophet says he will encourage fathers and their children to return. But how will they know the way home if no map charts the scenes, measures the roads, cites the peaks and valleys, and names each forest despite the thickening trees? Will the burden of the elder stories be too heavy for the children? Will they care to carry? Will they dare to tarry? Will they linger at the foot of the griot? Will they hunger for the wisdom of the sage? We must put them on the page, where hard work earns a man his wage, where power is measured by God's own gauge, where miracles scoff at the wand of a mage. We must share with them this truth that is loyal and fierce like Naomi and Ruth, that doesn't wait for the confessional booth, that has the bite of the panther's tooth. This is a gift of legacy, where a glorious past sets the captives free, and a candle's light beckons liberty. Sons and daughters and heirs, I bid you sit before the campfires of your elders, hear their stories, gather up their stones, and build up your strength. They will show you Anansi's clever ways, Popo and Fathina's journey, Mufaro's beautiful daughters, the people who could fly, the wonders of Wakanda, and Songololo's new tackies. Soon you will be the herald. Write these things down on the tablets of your spirit. Let them put a running in your feet. With each quickening step you repel the arrows of the hunter with the shield of abiding faith. You capture the flags of your enemies and gather up their spoils. You remain the lions of the pride and your tails will always be your children's bread. You will never abandon the community of faith, though you build a thousand cities on a hill, drawing wondrous strength from the master's touch, as the oil of his anointing fills your clay jars with his grace. Thank you. Thank you. I am, in my estimation, probably the luckiest poet I know because I get to play with these guys. And I didn't, when I started writing poetry and I've been doing it, publishing poetry for let's see, first book in 2010, so almost 15 years now, and I've been writing poetry, you know, really for as long as I can remember. But, you know, had I not met Jonathan, I don't know if I would have gotten to this place, this intersection of jazz and social justice and poetry, and I'm really, I'm very thankful and somewhat humbled by it. Thanks, John D. Thank you, Greg T. Thank you, Jonathan. All right. OK. All right.
[SPEAKER_12]: All right.
[SPEAKER_13]: So we really, really want this thing to work for everybody. That's part of why we came together, because we wanted to espouse the finer virtues of what we believe that this country honestly can be if it finds the fundamental soul of its people. And its people are from everywhere, every part of the globe. every, you know, haunt and haven, and we bring them here and we harbor them, and if we do it the right way, then what we end up with is a wonderful melting pot and a blissful soup of diversity. So, this is for the search for that beloved country, and that's what it's called, Beloved Country.
[SPEAKER_09]: you
[SPEAKER_13]: I can love this country, too. I didn't have to be born on these barney shores. I didn't have to be a son of the Pentacook, Quinnipiac, or Mohican. I didn't have to have a pilgrim pedigree or be a Connecticut Yankee from King Arthur's Court. I can be the Dahomian, the Pole, or the child of Caribbean suns and Amazon shades. I can love this country, too. My green card was a welcome ticket to a new life in a new land. My passport was stamped with new hopes and new dreams. My suitcases were packed full with new aspirations and some apprehensions, too. Perhaps I didn't see the harbor sign that said, give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuge of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me. I lift my lamp beside the golden door. Perhaps I didn't see the lady in the lamp, but I did see the gleaming city on a hill that couldn't be hid, and my soul responded. I can love this country, too. I can love its rolling meadows and its gospel songs. I can love its asphalt highways and its born-to-run boss. I can love its teeming ghetto and its urban sprawl. I can love its old spires, new minarets, and golden menorahs. But can America love me, too? Can she love my hijab and henna tattoos? Can she love my Hajj, my Mecca, and my Medina? Can she love my Cinco de Mayo and my Dia de los Muertos? Can she love my kente cloth, dreads, twists, and locks? Can she love the skin I'm in, be it ebony, ivory, dulce de leche, or cafe au lait? Can she love me by name? Shekinah Glory, Muhammad Bin Saeed, Anastasia Kozov, Cleophis Dorcio, Claudia Gonzalez. Can she love me by name? And what if I am among those huddled masses in that wretched refuge or that homeless, tempest-tossed? Will she still continue to lift her lamp? Or do war and rumors of war, IEDs, sleeper cells, and faith distortions make me a pariah to be eliminated, a scourge to be annihilated, and a plague to be exterminated? I come in peace. I love this country too. I love its boundless opportunity. I love its generosity of spirit. I love the audacity of its hope. I love its rolling meadows and its joyful songs. I love its asphalt highways and its little red Corvette. I love its teeming ghetto and its urban sprawl. I love its old spires, new minarets, and golden menorahs. I come in peace, and I love America too. All right. All right. OK, so we're going to take that equation, and we're going to flip it around a little bit. And what you're going to end up with is a piece called Alienation. I'm gonna flip the script again. Okay. So as I was saying a little bit earlier, John Dalton, one of the really fine drummers in this area, has a couple of different projects that he's working with. And one of them is called Spheres of Influence. And one of the pieces that he composed is called Justice. And when I heard it, I said, well, you know, you got to write poetry for that. You can't have justice walking around without no poetry. So I wrote this piece called Justice. And we're going to play that because I want to highlight the excellent work that John is doing in his own right. The streets call out no justice, no peace. When will the war against black folks cease? When will you say a farewell to arms and finally yield to equality's charms? When will the wounds that run blood red no longer mean that a brown boy is dead? The state of the nation is vile and rank, retching with bile, who do we thank? Political discourse fails to achieve any good hope that our hearts can conceive. Block by block, there's fire and smoke. Society smolders, it's chaos, it's broke. Piles of dreams just rot and congeal. A sting the children will always feel. This kind of justice is hardly blind. It makes no mention of good or kind. We know too well why you strangle our vote. We tear down the fences and fill in the moat. Freedom delayed is just us denied. We watch the hollow point bullets glide. It ain't no magic carpet ride, no handsome groom and pretty bride. Toward the abyss we quickly slide amid the mounting genocide, amid the stain of racial pride. Our precious liberty shoved aside, scorn at every tear that's cried. You called us brother and sister. You lied. critical theories of racial hate. You won't let them penetrate the fundamental institution without swift blows of retribution. You bought the founder's constitution without the price of restitution. You won't let children hear the truth for fear that they will become like Ruth, for fear that they will face their kings and gain the courage that freedom brings. The streets now edge toward riot and rage. You'd loose the hatred from every cage and soon erase from every page any white fault for slavery's wage. You'd hide the truth of God's own gage, but he sees every play you stage. You will not swallow any pill that codifies a supremacist will. Instead, you seek to normalize a sovereign right to sanitize. You hold no right self-evident. Accept your rights to own, not rent. Accept your rights to every cent. Accept your rights to close the tent. Accept your choice to not repent. The streets call out, no justice, no peace. We pray for redemption, we crave release. We hope against hope for every child that urban streets become less wild. And the gaping wounds that run blood red don't again mean that a brown boy is dead. All right, give the drummer some. All right, all right. Two more, okay. All right. Tell me a bedtime story?
[SPEAKER_12]: Okay, all right. Yeah. Little scared of dragonflies, I'm sorry about that. Yeah, I am a little scared of dragonflies.
[SPEAKER_13]: All righty, okay, so we're gonna go back and do another nice little jazzy piece for you. Another piece that we know at least that Herbie Hancock and Quincy Jones have done. It's called Tell Me a Bedtime Story, and so we've taken it to a slightly different place. This is called Tell Me Another Bedtime Story. Is this where the sandman picks up each grain? Restoring the beauty, reducing the pain. Is this where we fly to never, never land like a troop of lost boys with Peter Pan? All of the mystery of hidden dreams. Nothing now is as it seems. Tell a sweet tale that sugars and creams with flashes of stardust and shining moonbeams. As I lay down to my slumber, paint a landscape of ochre and umber, let there be a hint of romance. Turn up the quiet. Love wants to dance. Tell me a bedtime story, please, of secret gardens and pecan trees, of babbling brooks and waterfalls, of giant gentle breezes that summer calls, of hidden havens and wondrous places, of astral planes and mystical spaces. Let there be a melody that sings in four-part harmony. Let it resound in symphony, then fold into dreamland's reverie. Tell me a fable of Arabian lights sped on the table of earthly delights, free from the label of anger and fights, willing and able to scale higher heights. Tell me a bedtime story now, as the baby rocks in the maple bough, as the blue ox puts his nose to the plow, and the sweaty farmer wipes his brow, as each green seedling happily vows to yield each fruit the ground allows, and seven dwarfs whistle a happy tune, and sleeping beauty awakens soon. Let there be a melody that sings in four-part harmony. Let it resound in symphony, then fold into dreamland's reverie. This is the time when the sandman whispers and seven grooms meet seven sisters and the prairie sings an ode to love as angels release the turtle dove. For now I lay me down to sleep and pray to God my soul to keep. Okay. Okay. Again, part of the rationale for doing this is to kind of bring people together in a place and a space that they all recognize, no matter where they're from, no matter what they do, no matter who their people are. And this piece that we're gonna end with represents that coming together that every family has as part of their history and part of their legacy. This piece is called kitchen table poem. Nobody ever wants to leave. They're like the blueberry stains on mama's apron, settled and satisfied. Good food has been eaten, fresh corn and collard greens, fried chicken and potato salad. Bellies are fat and full. This is that room. Oh my God, and girl, and are you serious right now? It's real talk. We're real people. Family, you know what I'm saying? We're family. You can smell the love long before the door opens. You know there's going to be pecan pie and the sweet tea will be ice cold. Southern folk will slip out of their northern nests. Accents will thicken and the country shade will feel closer to the city sun. and they'll stay at that table. Long after the crumbs are cleared, the dishes will be all washed, the food will be put away or packed in Tupperware and Ziploc totes. Everybody will have a doggie bag and a story to tell. The men will be playing bitter, slapping down dominoes, sipping on a little something something, and talking big trash. The smiles will be broad, and the laughter will be contagious. The women will be fanning and fussing. Good lord, she know she too big for that dress. That ain't no Sunday saved outfit. That's for Saturday night sinning. You know I'm right. Girl, you know I'm right. Nobody ever wants to leave. They're like black Jesus's eyes on that old wall hanging, loving and insistent. Soul food has been shared. My gene has prayed down heaven and the baby sang their song. Everyone's trickled and tranquil. This is that room. I really, really miss Pap. Is baby boy's cancer in remission? And when you coming back to church, it's real talk. We're real people, family. You know what I'm saying? We're family. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. All right. Once again, Johnny Dalton on drums. Greg Toro on the big bass. Jonathan Fagan on the keys. I'm Terry Cotter. We are the Ally Project. Thank you very much. So we're going to take a break. There'll be another group coming along shortly. And if you've heard the name and know the fame, Terry Lynn Carrington, who is an eminent professor of music at Berklee now, but has also been a Grammy Award winning drummer that has traveled literally all over the world and played with the best. best that jazz has to offer. She has an institute called the Institute of Jazz for Gender Justice, and she's sending a group here to play for us. They were here doing one of our jazz jams, and as the old heads would say, young cats, but they could play. They could really play. So they'll be along shortly. We have refreshments. Go over to the table and get some snacks. Maybe a t-shirt will perk your interest. You can go upstairs and check out the books and the CDs. Restrooms are in the main room on the left. There's two of them halfway down and then two thirds of the way down. Thank you for your attentiveness, thank you for your appreciation of this great music, and we'll see you in a little bit.
[SPEAKER_05]: Downey rinse and refresh.
[SPEAKER_11]: We took a whole summer song and remixed it
[SPEAKER_09]: Are you looking for tasty and easy summer meals? Check out our website for quick recipes and shopping tips. Add in the fruits and vegetables you love. Find the perfect recipe for summer.
[SPEAKER_02]: you No forcing discussion. Have you seen Kind of Kindness? No spoilers. No spoilers. A little more of myself. I don't have a control on it. you
[SPEAKER_08]: No, no, no.
[SPEAKER_00]: Thanks for calling.
[SPEAKER_08]: Really?
[SPEAKER_14]: Well, the way it's printed, it's really confusing.
[SPEAKER_08]: Okay, that's good feedback for them, yeah.
[SPEAKER_14]: Oh, wow.
[SPEAKER_08]: Oh, okay. Because it's at Thurning-Harrington Institute of Justice and Injustice.
[SPEAKER_13]: Yeah, I don't know where she went.
[SPEAKER_08]: She's inside.
[SPEAKER_07]: She's inside?
[SPEAKER_06]: Yeah. Yeah. th th th Yeah, so I'm happy about that. I'll tell you something. It's in Belmont. It's Powers Music School. Awesome, awesome. Yeah, so it's like double my pay that I was going to do. It's the only place I went. It's awesome. But man, I'll tell you the, it's like, I called. I gave my two weeks. I got like, furious. He's like, get this, dig this, man. He's like, oh, well, this person gave me $9,000. This person gave me $6,000. It's like, the guy's crazy. I had to apply, but he's like, he didn't even say it's like most of it.
[SPEAKER_13]: Good afternoon, everybody. All right, all right. All right, so we successfully navigated through the first act of the day. Hope everybody that was here to hear it enjoyed it. And we are now back for round two. Okay, now lest we get accused of false advertising, I wanna say upfront, No, Terry Lynn Carrington is not here. We'll get her here at some point in time. What is here are members of her Institute for Jazz and Gender Justice. Okay. So multi-year initiative by Berkeley. And the design, as I've heard and understand it, is to make sure that the local area, state of Massachusetts, New England, the United States, And globally, jazz by different performers, different stripes, ethnicities, characters, genders, is being heard. And opportunities are being given to all groups to play together and enjoy the music, which is really, really meant for everybody, which is one of the tools that we still have to bring people together. She sent her best, and we're ready to receive them. The group is led by Anastasia Podrova, okay, who's currently an assistant professor at Berkeley and Long Beach School of Music, has accolades, I mean, I can't even begin to go all the places that she's been, but, you know, Italy, Bulgaria, just all over the world, Monterey, California, everywhere. So she has a bachelor's degree in professional music and performance at Berkeley and a master's degree in global jazz as well. Joining her is and I hope I'm gonna pronounce these things right, Annabelle Gil-Diaz, and she's a flautist, and she also plays clarinet and a couple of wood instruments, highly skilled, also a Berklee product. And also on the stand-up bass is Chris Lee, another Berklee alum, and on the drums is Aidan Ward-Richter. Okay, so they are going to do the Don thing. I am going to get out of the Don way and make room for the music. Ladies and gentlemen, from the Terry Lynn Carrington's Institute for Jazz and Gender Justice, here's our quartet.
[SPEAKER_08]: Well, hello, everyone. Thank you so much for being here on a sunny, hot day. This was a composition by Brias Kornberg, the trumpet player, which I didn't know until this book was published either. So the book, most of the musicians we're playing today is from the book that's called New Standards. which was published by Taylor and Carrington two years ago, and it's such an incredible book because it features a lot of music that has been unheard for years and years and years. I had the pleasure of putting this together as a copyist, working with some of the composers. directly, and Higher Grounds is the next competition that we're going to do is the competition, the chart for which we put together with Ingrid Jensen directly over the email, and then I got a chance to meet with her as well. So all of these incredible musicians, composers, they're also great people. So it's a great combo to have, and I'm lucky to have all these incredible musicians on stage with me as well. which I worked with every one of them separately in different capacities, but never really together as a band. So this is an interesting adventure for us as well. All right, next one is Higher Grounds by Ingrid Jansen.
[SPEAKER_02]: do do
[SPEAKER_08]: That was Blues for Orb by Emily Remler, a very talented guitar player. And now we're going to switch things up a little bit. We're going to do a ballad. And this one is very special, because it's actually written by Terlyn Carrington, and it's written four ways shorter. And both of them are, I believe, to all of us, they are mentors, if not in a... direct way and definitely indirect way. I had the pleasure studying with Wayne Shorter during COVID. That was the only advantage of being locked down that Wayne Shorter could zoom in and spend some time with us just teaching us. Maybe you were there too. Maybe. And We've all worked with Taylor Lincoln in different ways and I actually met Anna the first time at the Landmark Orchestra at the Head Show because we presented her work at the Head Show in Boston along the Charles River and that's how we met. Well, we worked with Chris as a host in the jam session, the new standards jam session, where we were playing this music. And whoever came in, they had to also read the music and join us. So this is one of the songs that has a special meaning, because it's by Terling Harkin, Four Way and Shorter. And it's called Samsara. That was Samsara by Terlyn Carrington. And by the way, I also have to mention that, you know, if you're interested in hearing more of this music, it's recorded by Dillian Carrington and other incredible musicians. Some of them do work in the Institute of Jazz and Gender Justice. Some of them work at Berklee. Some of them just don't work at Berklee at all. And that's cool too, you know. And it's called New Standards. So it's the same title as the book. And I actually brought the physical copy of the book. Anna also has the physical copy. It's not for sale. It's my personal copy. But this is the book. It has all the shit music for many different tunes, different genres. Some of them are really, really hard, to be honest. Very hard. And one of the hardest ones, actually, is not even in the book, and I brought it because Sterling Hankin brought this chart from Jerry Allen to the ensemble that I was taking at the time as a student in 2018, the first year of the institute. And right now, we're basically six years in, and it has grown immensely, which is amazing. But this is the tune that I played with her in 2018. I'm not afraid to say that her favorite pianist is Jerry Allen, right? Would it be right to say that? I think she has mentioned that. And when Jerry passed away unexpectedly, it was just such a very tough time. And this is the song by Jerry Allen. If you don't know who Jerry Allen is, check it out on YouTube. There is a live recording of the song. And this song is a drum feature. It's called Drummer's Song.
[SPEAKER_02]: do do
[SPEAKER_08]: That was Drummer's Song by incredible pianist Jerry Allen. I started talking about the New Standards album, and I actually didn't finish what I was going to say. But New Standards album, Volume 1. Why is it Volume 1? Because she wants to record the whole 101 compositions. And I have to mention that Anna just received her recognition of participation on that album, because that album got the Grammy, won the Grammy. So Anna officially is a Grammy winning artist as well. Who knows John Coltrane? Who knows Alice Coltrane? She's the wife of John Coltrane, but she's an incredible, incredible pianist, harpist, organist, and composer. And this is one of her tunes, Blue Nile. That was Blue Now by Alice Coltrane. I also have to tell you, this does feel surreal, because we're playing all the music by female composers, and that's pretty surreal, because when I was back home in Kazakhstan, I'm from Almaty, Kazakhstan, Taylor Lincoln brought her band called Mosaic, and it was all women, and I was a teenager, I was like, yeah, there are no women in music. I mean, I know it, so it's fine. I'm like, I'm trying to be one, but you know, it's fine. My mom is also a musician, but... Okay, it's fine. If it doesn't work out, it doesn't work out. So I went to get a non-music degree, because I didn't really see any examples of female musicians out there. And Terry was one of them, and when she came to my hometown in 2013, I was blown away, and I was blown away by the music too, that was just... putting me in a certain place, like when I listen to music, and I'm sure you can relate to that, like it just puts you somewhere else. It's just like, oh, I just start thinking about things you haven't really thought before or didn't have time to think before. So that was a life-changing event. I would never imagine that I would be here in the U.S. years later studying with her in person and now professionally working with her to performing, recording, which is really an honor. she's really, she's building the community. She's from Medford and she's indirectly building the Medford community too, and just the women around the world and non-binary musicians as well. So it's, I just, I was playing the song and I was like, wow, this is insane. This is pretty, pretty cool. So the next one we're going to do, we're going to bring it back up a little bit. And this is Syllogism by Mary Lou Williams. This song is not in the book, but there is a song by Mary Lou Williams in the book that's called Pisces, which is from her Zodiac suit, which we actually got to celebrate with Landmark Orchestra. And so this is Syllogism.
[SPEAKER_00]: all right again they have a couple more tunes but aren't they great really berkeley's institute for jazz for gender justice uh just before they wrap up with a couple more um just wanted again to thank our sponsors this is not possible without them it really takes an entire community of support in order to make an event like this happen so again medford arts council the arts alive foundation Medford Berkeley Institute of Jazz and Gender Justice, of course, the Arts Collaborative Medford, which is where we hosted our student night last night, the West, and of course, to the West Medford Community Center, which is this amazing historic space. If you haven't walked around inside to learn about some of the history of this building on your way out, perhaps, I'd highly encourage you to do that. Thank you also to Audient Sound Company. to Kevin Harrington over there with West Med, not West Medford, Medford Community Media. to Triangle Mander, Gnomon Copy and Print, and Members Plus Credit Union. So again, thank you so much. Last but not least, this is a free public event, but of course, events are not entirely free without crowdfunding support. So if you feel inspired by what you hear today, there are QR code links for donations on the back of your programs, or you can always hit up one of the many cash boxes that are strategically placed around this community center. That said, I'll let them do a couple more. And thanks again to you all. Sounds wonderful. It's such a treat for all of us.
[SPEAKER_08]: Jonathan, thank you so much for having us here. And I always mention when I talk about this festival, it's just really like us four just putting together a festival. There's two people, Shayla and Jonathan. It's very impressive. All right, we're going to continue with The Message Continues by Nubia Garcia. And then we're going to close it off with Lawns by Carla Bley, which another title of that is Two Hearts, for which Teri Lankanathan wrote lyrics. So that's Message Continues, and then Lawns, and then we'll see how we feel. And by the way, shout out to these incredible musicians. Annabelle Gil-Diaz from Cuba. Chris Lee is from California. Aidan Ward-Richters from Seattle. Well, thank you so much for being here. We have one more. We're going to do a quick one. And this will be by Carla Bley, as I mentioned already. Carla Bley. Who knows Paul Bley? That's her husband. And we actually, we're going to do our own arrangement. We're going to do it in samba. Well, it's actually, it's a very slow tune, but we're going to, it's a slow but groovy tune, but we're going to groove it in the Brazilian way. Thank you so much for being here. Thank you, Met for Jazz Festival, for having us. And we will see you next time. Annabelle Gil-Diaz on flute, Chris Lee on bass, Aidan Warchrichter on drums, and my name is Anna Petrova. Thank you so much.
[SPEAKER_13]: Once again, ladies and gentlemen, give it up Terry Lynn Carrington's Berklee Institute. Jazz for Gender Justice. Hallelujah. And as Anna said, she's on the piano. Aiden Ward Richter, Chris Lee, Annabelle Diaz, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful representatives from that institute. We so appreciate you coming out and sharing your beautiful music with us today and we hope to see you again in West Medford. All right. Come away from the speaker. Come away from the speaker. Okay. Sorry about that. We'll be back tomorrow, okay? And we'll have two other bands for you to enjoy. Kevin Harris will be here with his quartet. And the gym repper, Nonet, that's nine pieces, all right? Right up here. They'll be here tomorrow too. I'm gonna have... Jonathan Fagan, the founder of the Medford Jazz Festival, come to close us out. Thank you for coming. Hope you enjoyed yourselves. Hope you'll come back tomorrow. We'll be here.
[SPEAKER_00]: All right, thanks again to Terry. You beat me to it. I was just going to announce the two groups tomorrow, the Jim Reba Nonette and also Kevin Harris Project, featuring a pretty legendary Boston trumpet player, Jason Palmer. So please come back. And again, consider donating to the festival if you like what you see. Thanks again to our sponsors, to all the people working behind the scenes to make this happen, and to Anna, well, I guess the two Annas, actually, and this wonderful group. So have a great afternoon.
[SPEAKER_03]: Yeah.