FRI., DECEMBER 07, 2007
eMusic Q&A: Christian Scott
by Britt Robson
Still in his mid-twenties, Christian Scott has already taken his place in the distinguished lineage of great New Orleans jazz trumpeters that extends back to Louis Armstrong. Early last year Scott released his debut disc, the Grammy-nominated Rewind That. The record featured original compositions which mixed elements of rock, hip-hop and funk, but also included the traditional chestnut “So What.”
This year’s follow-up, Anthem, was Scott’s reaction to the ravages wrought to his native city by Hurricane Katrina and the way its inhabitants were too often forced to fend for themselves. Both discs bear the unmistakable influence of Miles Davis (especially his early fusion discs like In A Silent Way and Bitches Brew) without being slavishly imitative. Now Scott wants to take another cue from Miles and forge a bold new genre-splicing direction for his music.
eMusic caught up with him shortly after Thanksgiving and his recent tour of Japan.
From Louis Armstrong to Wynton Marsalis and Nicholas Payton, New Orleans obviously has a phenomenal legacy for nurturing African American jazz trumpet players. Growing up in the Crescent City, was it daunting or exciting or even something that was part of your consciousness to extend that lineage?
Yeah, it’s strange how that seems to work out. I just feel it is a legacy that will probably never end. Even with the trouble from [Hurricane Katrina], you go down there and kids still want to play the trumpet. That’s why I don’t like it when I hear people say, "What if you are the last New Orleans trumpet player?" This music is a great way for disadvantaged African American men to transcend their circumstance. Those ideas are reinforced daily through the teachers, and it makes it different than any place in the world. Since I was a small boy, teachers were telling me, "Listen, you are going to be a jazz musician. It fortifies you and gives you faith in what you do." African-Americans are usually told to be athletes, or it’s their negative behaviors that are usually fortified. I was lucky to grow up where I did.
You’ve got a really distinctive tone, a warm breathy sound. Where did it come from?
It came from a lot of different things. [Jazz trumpeter and elder statesman] Clark Terry told me about the technique Clifford Brown used to get an airy sound when he played. I wanted my sound to be different than any other. Miles [Davis] and Dizzy [Gillespie] and others made their mark on their generation because their sound was unique.
I didn’t recall any other trumpeter making a sound a lot like a human voice and so I started working on trying to do that. I had been practicing it for two years and I thought it wasn’t going to happen. Then, one day, I sat down with an objective. I said to myself, “Make me sound like my mom sounds when she sings.” Ever since then, I haven’t had any problem. She has this unique texture to her voice even when she speaks. She was always very — I don’t know — kind of daunting but with this underlying beauty. She’s my mother, I know, but it's beautiful because she pulls you in and it gives weight to what she is doing.
I know you were so advanced that you got a double degree from Berklee in half the normal time. What made you choose that route?
Oh, man. I had received a full scholarship to go to Juilliard as part of their first class of jazz musicians but, to be honest with you, I didn’t want to go to a place where it might be bad or wrong just because you didn’t fall into certain lines. I liked the idea of Berklee because you could turn around [in class] and see a kid with a Mohawk, or wearing chains, or with different parts in their hair — just different backgrounds. And so I went and got degrees in professional music and film scoring.
I want to blur the lines and the context in terms of what people think and feel about each other.
Why were you so advanced? Just naturally precocious?
No, I come from a musical family, and my uncle [renowned saxophonist and former Jazz Messenger Donald Harrison] helped me a lot. I think high school [at the New Orleans Center for the Creative Arts] had a lot to do with it. I studied with people like Clyde Kerr and Kent Jordan. Clyde is one of the great trumpet masters and an unsung hero in New Orleans — everybody studied with him. I think one of the main things I learned from him and from Donald, too, is they always told me to play music with love in my heart, and that will touch people. They told me to question the boundaries and not bring ego into everything because it blocks the receptor and the gift you are given.
Your first record, Rewind That, was nominated for a Grammy and in many ways is very different than the next one, Anthem. What were you trying to do there?
I wanted to make a record that made people feel good. Make a disc that would make people literally go back and rewind those songs. The comments I got from people said that it often did that, that it was a record that stayed in their CD players. Anthem was different because of the meaning of the record. There were a lot of things I thought were going wrong with the government: Political things, even international things. I just wanted to resolve those issues within myself by engaging in musical dialogue. I thought that through conflict and conversation you can achieve musical harmony, and that sets an example for what I wanted to accomplish in a life situation.
They are both very percussive albums, but in different ways. On Rewind That, there is a driving rhythm; you have to get up, get a small audience — it comes back to dance music like it was before. On Anthem the beats are very wide, very reactive, more conversational.
Both albums have a lot of the same personnel. Is that something you want to be known for, having a set band that plays with you?
Actually, just now I am just finishing up the process of getting a brand new band. The guitar player, Matthew Stevens, might be the only person staying on.
Why is that?
I wanted to create a band with people mostly the same age, who grew up listening to the same things and have the same mentality about pushing the music forward. Before, the people in the band had different agendas — and that was good because it created good dialogue. But lately I have been listening to a lot of John Coltrane’s quartet and you can hear that they all have the same focus; they’re purging themselves and using each other as conduits to do that. I want to do that with this band, make it a microcosmic example of things I want to help solve. I’m really excited to hear the next chapter; it’s already got me nervous and jittery.
How will it be different than the kind of thing you’ve already done?
Parts of these things are still being formulated so I can’t tell you definitely. It has to do with [pause] — I see a lot of problems socially that are easier for me to pinpoint musically because I have had more experience dealing with dilemmas musically. The concept is the same: I want to blur the lines and the context in terms of what people think and feel about each other. There are musical boundaries out there that I think are unhealthy and separate people from themselves. My main interest with this [new] band is to obliterate those boundaries, which also relates to life. On a human level, people are more similar than we allow ourselves to admit; our fears and sources of happiness and those kinds of things are the same.
So how far along are you in this process? And by breaking musical boundaries, do you mean in the style of music? You had a hip-hop tune close out as the final song on Anthem. Other jazz artists, like another New Orleans musician, Branford Marsalis, with his band Buckshot LaFonque, have experimented with bringing together jazz and hip-hop and funk music. Is that what you have in mind?
I’ve written some stuff already that I think we’ll use. Three or four tunes. I think the palette will be similar to Rewind That and Anthem in some ways, and in some ways it will be very different. I don’t know if I’ll use a saxophonist as much; it’s hard for me to play with sax players because my uncle, Donald was so strong [when he played with him early in his career]. I think there will be more keyboards. And I might get a turntablist in the band, or on stage, just try things out.
Like you said, Branford did some of this and I respect him for that. But to really break the boundaries, someone has to do it with enough conviction to make an artistic choice about it. Like, Miles loved to play ballads, just loved it, but he realized the music needed to be moved forward, and so he went ahead [with his funkier, fusion band]. Me, I love to play straight ahead, but I also want to move the music forward, and not go back and grab something someone else did fifty years ago. I don’t want to just dabble with this [new direction]; I want to take it further than other guys have taken it. Like I said, I’m excited about it.
Well, speaking of blurring boundaries, you got a lot of press for hanging with Prince and playing on his record. And you probably know that Miles and Prince had a mutual admiration society. How did you and Prince get together?
[PBS television commentator] Tavis Smiley basically met with Prince and gave him my record, got him hipped to what I was doing. And about a week later, Prince called and said he wanted to meet with me and said that what I was doing was pivotal, and he had me write stuff and work on his record. That was just perfect, because when I was a kid, if anybody asked me who was my favorite musician, I said Prince. So that couldn’t have been better.
This year’s follow-up, Anthem, was Scott’s reaction to the ravages wrought to his native city by Hurricane Katrina and the way its inhabitants were too often forced to fend for themselves. Both discs bear the unmistakable influence of Miles Davis (especially his early fusion discs like In A Silent Way and Bitches Brew) without being slavishly imitative. Now Scott wants to take another cue from Miles and forge a bold new genre-splicing direction for his music.
eMusic caught up with him shortly after Thanksgiving and his recent tour of Japan.
From Louis Armstrong to Wynton Marsalis and Nicholas Payton, New Orleans obviously has a phenomenal legacy for nurturing African American jazz trumpet players. Growing up in the Crescent City, was it daunting or exciting or even something that was part of your consciousness to extend that lineage?
Yeah, it’s strange how that seems to work out. I just feel it is a legacy that will probably never end. Even with the trouble from [Hurricane Katrina], you go down there and kids still want to play the trumpet. That’s why I don’t like it when I hear people say, "What if you are the last New Orleans trumpet player?" This music is a great way for disadvantaged African American men to transcend their circumstance. Those ideas are reinforced daily through the teachers, and it makes it different than any place in the world. Since I was a small boy, teachers were telling me, "Listen, you are going to be a jazz musician. It fortifies you and gives you faith in what you do." African-Americans are usually told to be athletes, or it’s their negative behaviors that are usually fortified. I was lucky to grow up where I did.
You’ve got a really distinctive tone, a warm breathy sound. Where did it come from?
It came from a lot of different things. [Jazz trumpeter and elder statesman] Clark Terry told me about the technique Clifford Brown used to get an airy sound when he played. I wanted my sound to be different than any other. Miles [Davis] and Dizzy [Gillespie] and others made their mark on their generation because their sound was unique.
I didn’t recall any other trumpeter making a sound a lot like a human voice and so I started working on trying to do that. I had been practicing it for two years and I thought it wasn’t going to happen. Then, one day, I sat down with an objective. I said to myself, “Make me sound like my mom sounds when she sings.” Ever since then, I haven’t had any problem. She has this unique texture to her voice even when she speaks. She was always very — I don’t know — kind of daunting but with this underlying beauty. She’s my mother, I know, but it's beautiful because she pulls you in and it gives weight to what she is doing.
I know you were so advanced that you got a double degree from Berklee in half the normal time. What made you choose that route?
Oh, man. I had received a full scholarship to go to Juilliard as part of their first class of jazz musicians but, to be honest with you, I didn’t want to go to a place where it might be bad or wrong just because you didn’t fall into certain lines. I liked the idea of Berklee because you could turn around [in class] and see a kid with a Mohawk, or wearing chains, or with different parts in their hair — just different backgrounds. And so I went and got degrees in professional music and film scoring.
Why were you so advanced? Just naturally precocious?
No, I come from a musical family, and my uncle [renowned saxophonist and former Jazz Messenger Donald Harrison] helped me a lot. I think high school [at the New Orleans Center for the Creative Arts] had a lot to do with it. I studied with people like Clyde Kerr and Kent Jordan. Clyde is one of the great trumpet masters and an unsung hero in New Orleans — everybody studied with him. I think one of the main things I learned from him and from Donald, too, is they always told me to play music with love in my heart, and that will touch people. They told me to question the boundaries and not bring ego into everything because it blocks the receptor and the gift you are given.
Your first record, Rewind That, was nominated for a Grammy and in many ways is very different than the next one, Anthem. What were you trying to do there?
I wanted to make a record that made people feel good. Make a disc that would make people literally go back and rewind those songs. The comments I got from people said that it often did that, that it was a record that stayed in their CD players. Anthem was different because of the meaning of the record. There were a lot of things I thought were going wrong with the government: Political things, even international things. I just wanted to resolve those issues within myself by engaging in musical dialogue. I thought that through conflict and conversation you can achieve musical harmony, and that sets an example for what I wanted to accomplish in a life situation.
They are both very percussive albums, but in different ways. On Rewind That, there is a driving rhythm; you have to get up, get a small audience — it comes back to dance music like it was before. On Anthem the beats are very wide, very reactive, more conversational.
Both albums have a lot of the same personnel. Is that something you want to be known for, having a set band that plays with you?
Actually, just now I am just finishing up the process of getting a brand new band. The guitar player, Matthew Stevens, might be the only person staying on.
Why is that?
I wanted to create a band with people mostly the same age, who grew up listening to the same things and have the same mentality about pushing the music forward. Before, the people in the band had different agendas — and that was good because it created good dialogue. But lately I have been listening to a lot of John Coltrane’s quartet and you can hear that they all have the same focus; they’re purging themselves and using each other as conduits to do that. I want to do that with this band, make it a microcosmic example of things I want to help solve. I’m really excited to hear the next chapter; it’s already got me nervous and jittery.
How will it be different than the kind of thing you’ve already done?
Parts of these things are still being formulated so I can’t tell you definitely. It has to do with [pause] — I see a lot of problems socially that are easier for me to pinpoint musically because I have had more experience dealing with dilemmas musically. The concept is the same: I want to blur the lines and the context in terms of what people think and feel about each other. There are musical boundaries out there that I think are unhealthy and separate people from themselves. My main interest with this [new] band is to obliterate those boundaries, which also relates to life. On a human level, people are more similar than we allow ourselves to admit; our fears and sources of happiness and those kinds of things are the same.
So how far along are you in this process? And by breaking musical boundaries, do you mean in the style of music? You had a hip-hop tune close out as the final song on Anthem. Other jazz artists, like another New Orleans musician, Branford Marsalis, with his band Buckshot LaFonque, have experimented with bringing together jazz and hip-hop and funk music. Is that what you have in mind?
I’ve written some stuff already that I think we’ll use. Three or four tunes. I think the palette will be similar to Rewind That and Anthem in some ways, and in some ways it will be very different. I don’t know if I’ll use a saxophonist as much; it’s hard for me to play with sax players because my uncle, Donald was so strong [when he played with him early in his career]. I think there will be more keyboards. And I might get a turntablist in the band, or on stage, just try things out.
Like you said, Branford did some of this and I respect him for that. But to really break the boundaries, someone has to do it with enough conviction to make an artistic choice about it. Like, Miles loved to play ballads, just loved it, but he realized the music needed to be moved forward, and so he went ahead [with his funkier, fusion band]. Me, I love to play straight ahead, but I also want to move the music forward, and not go back and grab something someone else did fifty years ago. I don’t want to just dabble with this [new direction]; I want to take it further than other guys have taken it. Like I said, I’m excited about it.
Well, speaking of blurring boundaries, you got a lot of press for hanging with Prince and playing on his record. And you probably know that Miles and Prince had a mutual admiration society. How did you and Prince get together?
[PBS television commentator] Tavis Smiley basically met with Prince and gave him my record, got him hipped to what I was doing. And about a week later, Prince called and said he wanted to meet with me and said that what I was doing was pivotal, and he had me write stuff and work on his record. That was just perfect, because when I was a kid, if anybody asked me who was my favorite musician, I said Prince. So that couldn’t have been better.
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