Con Alma - With Soul

Con Alma – With Soul
Proverbs 12:25, 15:13, 15:15, 15:30, 17:22
September 5, 2021
2021 Jazz Communion

Anxiety weighs down the human heart, but a good word cheers it up. (12:25)
A glad heart makes a cheerful countenance, but by sorrow of heart the spirit is broken. (15:13)
All the days of the poor are hard, but a cheerful heart has a continual feast. (15:15)
The light of the eyes rejoices the heart, and good news refreshes the body. (15:30)
A cheerful heart is a good medicine, but a downcast spirit dries up the bones. (17:22)

 

Over the years, the jazz tradition has had its share of crazy characters (present company excluded, of course). Of all its characters, Dizzy Gillespie was the dizziest.

He got the nickname in Philadelphia, the story goes, and it was only a matter of time. He blew trumpet solos in Cab Calloway’s band, one of the great swing bands. One day, Calloway got hit by a spitball that originated somewhere in the trumpet section. He accused Dizzy, who denied it. He insisted, and Dizzy pulled a knife. The episode went downhill from there and Dizzy was summarily fired. Someone was heard to say, “That cat’s crazy.” Crazy like a fox, in fact.

Teaming up with saxophonist Charlie Parker, he sped up the tempos, added more angles to the harmony, and multiplied the eighth notes. They named that kind of jazz “bebop,” taking the name from the sound of the phrases (ya-dabba-dabba-bebop). The challenges of bebop weeded out the lesser musicians as the music went faster and higher. Mainstream America had its ears stretched by the notes – the “crazy” notes.

These crazy notes came with a fashion statement. Dizzy grew a thin goatee, wore horned-rimmed glasses, and put a beret on his head. In 1948, Life magazine did a photo spread for Dizzy to interpret bebop to all the civilians. There were hand motions: the five-finger greeting to model the flatted-fifth of the chord; the shout of greeting: eel-ya-dah, mimicking the trumpet triplet; and the jargon of jive: you’re either hip or you’re square, a daddy-o or a drag, the party is a blast, the music is a gas, and the musicians are cats.

But most of all, Dizzy embodied that ancient proverb, “A cheerful heart is a good medicine, but a downcast spirit dries up the bones” (17:22).

You could see it when he did a guest spot on the Muppet Show. Dressed in a turban and tunic, he begins a rhythm on bongo drums. He sings, “Swing low, sweet Cadillac … I looked over the Jordan, what did I see? An Eldorado coming after me.” Then he picks up his angular trumpet and blows two minutes of crazy notes. When the bit is done, he demonstrates to Kermit the Frog how he could puff out his cheeks to an impossible width. He had a cheerful heart.

My first introduction to his music came when my mother, against all wisdom, allowed me to select a couple of records from the Columbia Record Club. Remember that? Ten records for $1.99? I picked “Dizzy’s Big Four,” an album that I still have. It was fast, it was furious. As a teenager, I couldn’t figure it out. Those notes were in the stratosphere.

When I learned he was playing at a jazz festival three hours away, I convinced my dad that we needed to go. The band came out, played a couple of tunes, and blew the hair off our heads. It was stunning. Then Dizzy stepped to the microphone, thank us for the applause, and said, “Ladies and gentleman, I would like to take a moment to introduce the band…”

“Al, this is Jeff. Tyler, say hello to Tony. Mike, my name is Bill.” I saw him do that bit a half-dozen times, and every time it got a laugh – because he had a cheerful heart.

The guy had an extraordinary sense of humor, often in spite of living as an African American in a divisive world. One day, he was walking down a street in Scotland with pianist Lalo Schifrin. Dizzy stops somebody he doesn’t know, and with a perfect British accent, says, “Pardon me, my name is Gillespie, and I’m looking for my relatives.”

Another time, he had a recording date and lined up Sonny Stitt and Sonny Rollins, two of the greatest tenor saxophonists of the time. The day before the session, he dialed up Sonny Stitt to say, “Hey man, I’m looking forward to playing with you tomorrow, but I hope you can keep up. That Sonny Rollins is playing a whole lot of saxophone.” Then he called Rollins to say, “Can’t wait ‘til tomorrow, but I have to tell you, Sonny Stitt is blowing off the roof these days. I hope he doesn’t out-play you.” Then he hung up with a broad smile, knowing the next day, those two titans would be at the top of their game. And they were.

The text to remember is the proverb: “A cheerful heart is a good medicine, but a downcast spirit dries up the bones.” It is not complicated. We don’t have to look up any obscure words. The wise sage knows the world is divided between those cheerful and those downcast. The cheerful ones don’t hoard their delight. They give it away as medicine for other souls.

We know this to be true. The past eighteen months have challenged us at every turn. We have been isolated from one another. We have lost work. We have been stuck in our homes. We have made significant changes in our lives and careers. Let me ask you to reflect: how have you gotten through this demanding time? Do a little inventory on your soul.

Some have discovered that binge-watching cable TV is ok for a while but offers little protein for the brain. Other have decided to lose weight, get in shape, and clean up a long slide of bad habits. It’s all a matter of stewardship – of paying attention to what makes us well. Of cultivating the things that give us life and lift our spirits.

We have a relative who pulled out a card table and put together a 1500-piece puzzle. That was 42 puzzles ago. Now he puts some of them in frames, decorates the walls, and gives some of them away. It has been good medicine, and he is doing well.

I know somebody else who has taken up reading. And if she put up a card table, it wouldn’t hold all the books that she has read in the past year and a half. Her soul is in fine shape.

Some of us need human contact. And we have discovered that the old George Jetson telephone (remember that? The video telephone of the space age?) is on our computers, iPads, and other devices. So they schedule regular conversations with friends and family. It continues to keep them intact. It has nourished their spirits.

And that’s why we play Dizzy’s music. Not to offer anything profound, but in the hope that we will lift somebody’s spirits. Maybe there will be a song or a solo or a single note that will release somebody’s burden. Perhaps trumpet, flute, or sax will chase away the dark clouds. If so, it will be a sign that there is more to human existence than dried-up bones. There is life, and breath, and joy.

And it is good medicine.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.