It was some months ago at work when, upon hearing a boiling cauldron of thoroughly powerful jazz rhythm playing on satellite radio, I made a point to talk some {John} Coltrane with a friend who I knew was surely enjoying the music as much as I was.
As I got into how unmistakeable that saxophone’s tone was and how hard Elvin Jones plays, my friend looks at me smiling and says, “This is Kamasi Washington.”
To excuse my lapse in musical knowledge, I will say that the frequent comparisons are justified, and I’d back that up even more now that I’ve seen Washington perform. Not only do they both have a strong physical presence, but their technical command of the instrument, propensity for a quite exploratory improvisation, and even fondnesses for diverse world music, about which they’ve both spoken plainly, speak volumes.
But the real reason for my bringing Coltrane into this is more based on the feeling I get whenever I listen to Washington. It is the writer’s humble and non-generational opinion that the feeling of listening to Washington now has got to be very close to what listening to Coltrane in his time was like. This is not in the strict sense of how Coltrane’s sound was breaking new ground at the time, but in the sense of excitement and fervor of the soloing and even the expansive compositions themselves reflect a patient, talented contentment. It is this hugeness of spirit, earnestness, and exploration by which Washington’s aptly-titled album, The Epic takes shape, and also for me, the top reason why it is so reminiscent of Coltrane’s era.
If you were a part of the diverse crowd at The National on Dec. 1, then you, too, experienced all of this. Some old, some young, reflecting, as Kamasi told us at one point during a song break, his view that, “We need to celebrate our diversity.”
After witnessing some of the younger participants who clearly came from the festival/jam-based music camp just to hear and scream at big solo builds, I took a breath and heeded his advice. And that’s not to be cynical because it was great that so many people were out for the occasion, although I was almost shocked when I was still able to buy a ticket the morning of the show. Attendance definitely ramped up after opener Moonchild left the stage.
Although I wasn’t able to secure an interview with him, I’d expect that the man is quite down to earth. It wasn’t totally apparent to me until after the show, but I realized that what I think is most striking about the Kamasi Washington listening or concert experience is the humility. Much more so than his virtuosity, or that of his bandmates, it’s the orchestration and his sense of non-spotlit bandleading that really shine through.
His band was phenomenal. There were two drummers, both sporting double kick drums of the transparent Tama variety, for all you B.Cobham fans out there, but their playing was so inseparable, you wouldn’t know unless you looked. Speaking of separation, the lone vocalist, Patrice Quinn, was necessarily cordoned off via soundscreen from the drummer staged right. Vocals are such a great inclusion to their sound and although her role wasn’t as prominent as the instrumental voices at the show, I feel that her support, both recorded and live, is one of the more modern and uniquely dramatic-sounding elements of their music. It is this and the effects-laden treatment of Washington’s sax that are some of the more obviously contemporary elements that withstand the cosmic weight of the rest of the sound.
A real treat befell us with the appearance – and then reappearance – of Washington’s father onstage, soprano sax in hand. I’m not sure if Rickey Washington, to whom Kamasi credited his musical everything, appeared much on this tour but it didn’t matter given the joy of watching family in music unfold.
We stayed on the subject of family, as Washington told us of his favorite cartoon, as it happens, a shared nostalgia from my own childhood: “Charlie Brown.” As the artistic story goes, Washington wanted to try a hometown edition, “Charlie Brown Goes To Inglewood.” So instead of Linus and Lucy, he wrote the story of Leroy and Lanisha, and although I didn’t quite understand the characters, I was totally invested in listening as best I could to arrive at the appreciation of the harmony of difference.
That is to say, if you are willing and listening, Washington and Co. will take you there.
Photo Credits: Daryl Tankersley
