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CDs by Gil-Scott Heron
From
South Africa To South Carolina (1976)
Winter
In America (1974) /
Pieces
Of A Man (1971) /
The First Minute Of A New Day
The Mind Of Gil Scott-Heron
/
Moving Target
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Books by Gil-Scott Heron
The Vulture and The Nigger Factory)
/
Small Talk At 125th And Lenox
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Breath
of Life
Presents
Gil
Scott-Heron & His Music
Reviews
by Mtume
ya Salaam & Kalamu ya Salaam
|
They
need to study music. I played in several bands before I
began my career as a poet. There’s a big difference
between putting words over some music, and blending
those same words into the music. There’s not a lot of
humor. They use a lot of slang and colloquialisms, and
you don’t really see inside the person. Instead, you
just get a lot of posturing. —Gil on rap in the 90s |
I’d
intended to write about something else this week, but I woke up
on a particularly good side of the bed this morning (‘this
morning’ being the morning of December 31st, the last morning
of 2005) and thereby decided to write instead about a few songs
that express the way I feel this morning: realistic and
determined yet joyful and optimistic.
Actually, it isn’t just this morning—I’m in the midst of
the longest streak of consecutive good days that I can ever
recall having. I’m not talking about a few days. I’m not
even talking about a few weeks. I’m talking about a couple of
months or more without a single day that I didn’t actually
enjoy. At first, I kept waiting for my usual cantankerous,
ornery, cynical self to reappear. But every morning, I’d go in
the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face and there’d be
the same happy face looking back at me. So, I give in. I’m
officially happy.
On
to the music . . .
Gil
Scott-Heron is probably best-known for his stridently political
material—songs like “Johannesburg,” “The Bottle,” and
of course, “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised”—but my
favorite Gil Scott Heron songs are the ballads. Invariably
pensive and reflective yet always filled with hope, Gil’s
ballads range in tone from the political (“Winter In
America”) to the nostalgic (“A Very Precious Time”) to the
outright optimistic (“A Lovely Day”).
Gil
wrote so many great ballads that it’s impossible for me to
pick a favorite, but at the moment, the one I’m feeling the
most (no doubt because of the imminent New Year) is
“Beginnings (The First Minute Of A Brand New Day).”
“Beginnings” is a lament, I admit that, but the soaring
vocals and the raw honesty of the lyrics raise my spirits. And,
although Gil sings “We’re struggling here / Faced with our
every fear / Just to survive,” that isn’t the part that
stays with me after the song ends. The part that stays with me
is when he sings “We’re searching out our every doubt / And
winning.” And winning. That’s the part I always remember.
The lyrics to “A Very Precious Time” read like a requiem to
innocence: “Was there a touch of spring? / Was there the
faintest breeze? / And did she have a pink dress on? / And when
she smiled…could you almost touch the warmth?” But
“Precious Time” isn’t a simple nostalgia trip, that
isn’t Brother Gil’s style. In the bridge, Gil defines his
wistful look back as a means to remain in the present, to remain
cognizant of the reasons we struggle on, even when we would much
rather give in: “And now they got me trying to define in later
life how much her love means to me / And it keeps me struggling
to remember my first touch of spring.” The song ends with Gil
picking out notes on his keyboard and humming softly to himself
“La-da da-da da-da-dum…”—a statement of considerable
eloquence which, in my opinion, sums up the matter perfectly.
“A Lovely Day” and “I Think I’ll Call It Morning” are
peas in a pod: twin dedications to joy, happiness and freedom.
It isn’t often that a revolutionary is willing or able to give
in to unvarnished optimism. So, listen to these two tracks and
decide for yourself: if a conflicted and complicated musical
revolutionary like Brother Gil can write and sing earnest paeans
to sunshine and flowers, what kind of mood do you want to be in
today? What kind of mood do you want to be in tomorrow? What
kind of mood do you want to be in next year?
All
I really want to say
Is that the problems come and go
But the sunshine seems to stay
Just look around
I think we’ve found a lovely day…. |
Happy
2006, mi jente. Let’s do this! —Mtume ya Salaam
*
* * * *
It’s not easy
It’s not easy being Gil Scott-Heron, an
icon everyone respects as well as a fuck-up everyone feels sorry
for. How do you contain the contradiction of being an
insightful, revolutionary artist and a habitual addict? My man,
Richard Pryor had a similar problem, except he never was seen as
a political leader. If any one artist represents the post-civil
rights journey of African Americans, it’s Gil Scott-Heron.
Mtume likes Gil’s music. He got it from his Mama & Daddy.
Literally. At some points, Gil was playing damn near everyday in
the house. I still play Gil’s music, but I no longer play it
with unadulterated joy—today, Gil’s music always calls to
mind contradictions and the difficult struggle of coping with,
and sometimes even overcoming, those human failings we all have,
those failings which Gil has in spades.
Gil has a deep catalogue, deep as in beaucoup beautiful songs
and deep as in profound music. Turn the lights out, sit quietly
in the dark and review your life; if you’re over 35, a few of
these songs are damn near guaranteed to churn up shit inside you
that will make even the hardest of the hard blink back a tear or
two.
In the midst of all of his contradictions and
shortcomings, one thing Gil never did was lie about it in his
music. All he is (as they say, the good, the bad… etc.) is in
there, poetically so, beautifully so, sing-along so. Who else
would be honest enough to say, home is where the hatred is…? A
junkie on his way back home.
Ultimately, Gill is uplifting not because he is perfect, but
rather because he is honest about his flaws, and in being so
honest about being so fucked up, he encourages us who are less
fucked up than he is to be honest about our own contradictions.
A little further down the line, I think I’ll do a Gil
Scott-Heron write-up, but for now, let’s just resolve:
regardless of how painful it be, let’s make a pact that we
will at the very least be honest with ourselves about who we
actually are. —Kalamu ya Salaam
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Gil Scott-Heron—b.
1 April 1949, Chicago, Illinois, USA. Raised in Jackson,
Tennessee, by his grandmother, Scott-Heron moved to New York at
the age of 13. His estranged father played for Glasgow Celtic, a
Scottish football team. Astonishingly precocious, Scott-Heron
had published two novels (The Vulture and The Nigger Factory)
plus a book of poems (Small Talk At 125th And Lenox) by
1972.
He
met musician Brian Jackson when both were students at Lincoln
University, Pennsylvania, and in 1970 they formed the Midnight
Band to play their original blend of jazz, soul and prototype
rap music. Small Talk At 125th And Lenox was mostly an album of
poems (from his book of the same name), but later albums showed
Scott-Heron developing into a skilled songwriter whose work was
soon covered by other artists: for example, LaBelle recorded his
"The Revolution Will Not Be Televised" and Esther
Phillips made a gripping version of "Home Is Where The
Hatred Is."
In
1973, Scott-Heron had a minor hit with "The Bottle," a
song inspired by a group of alcoholics who congregated outside
his and Jackson's communal house in Washington, DC.
Winter
In America (on which Jackson was co-credited for the first
time) and
The First Minute Of A New Day, the latter for
new label Arista Records, were both heavily jazz-influenced, but
later sets saw Scott-Heron and Jackson exploring more
pop-orientated formats, and in 1976 they scored a hit with the
disco-based protest single, "Johannesburg".
From
South Africa To South Carolina (Arista 1976)
Winter
In America (Strata-East 1974)
Pieces
Of A Man (Flying Dutchman 1971)
posted 3 January 2005
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posted 21 October 2007 |