A fascinating vocal jazz album,
Lincoln and the band play sparse, reserved music with some
Afrocentric and political themes and content, especially “Afro
Blue,” wherein Lincoln sings about an African prince and is nearly
as good as any instrumental recording from Coltrane or Santamaria.
Though lacking strong, obvious Afro-Cuban rhythms because the drummer
plays so silently, Lincoln’s lyrics are beautiful, “shades of
delight, cocoa hue, rich as the night, Afro Blue.” The song asserts
pride and sensuality, a defense of blackness as beautiful, which, for
1959, was quite rare in popular culture. Her horrifying, solitary
voice on “Lonely House” is quite soothing and depressing, but
sheer delight in her range. “Funny, with so many neighbors, how
lonely it can be!” Clearly, there is some political meaning to the
lyric here beyond the universal feelings of loneliness anyone feels,
perhaps a reflection on the loneliness of urban living, too, but also
African-American ‘loneliness’ in the US under Jim Crow
segregation from alienation from mainstream America? The lyrics were
written by Langston Hughes, so I shall leave the interpretation up to
you. Some songs use elements of the blues, such as “Let Up,” a
stirring number with, again, muted accompaniment and excellent
saxophone back up. “Sure enough fed up” of course entails not
only anger in personal relationships, or life, but, naturally, the
political climate at the time. Though nothing is as “out there”
or avant-garde as her screaming on Max Roach’s We
Insist!—Fredom Now but
this is definitely unique when compared to most vocal jazz of the
late 1950s and early 1960s. Her rendition of songs like “Thursday’s
Child” are quite emotive, deep, and, at times, sounds something
like Billie Holiday on more mysterious, sinister-toned songs like “No
More,” itself a rather unusual jazz ballad with an ominous tone.
Likewise, Lincoln, who, alas, passed away in recent years while never
relenting on her dedication to the civil rights movement and black
power, channels Holiday. The relaxed feel of the band and their
rather muted performance enhances the solitude and loneliness of the
piece, accentuating Lincoln’s strong voice, vocal range, and, at
times, haunting beauty. My favorite song, “Brother, Where Are You,”
a composition of Oscar Brown, who wrote lyrics for Max Roach, begins
on a dark note with spiritual, pleading vocals from Lincoln,
searching for her brother. “Brother, where are you, they said you
came this way. The simple piano accompaniment is played beautifully
and is reminiscent of church hymns, something I am sure was intended
by Lincoln. This “brother” seems to be despised, nobody wanting
to answer his call or help, perhaps a reference to the
African-American civil rights movement, lost in 1959. The flautist
ends it perfectly, too.
“Laugh,
Clown, Laugh” is a cute, light-hearted track where Lincoln’s
vocals evoke laughter. “You’re supposed to brighten up the place,
and laugh clown, laugh, clown” suggests an attempt to raise and
lighten spirits after the sorrowful “Brother, Where Are You.” We
even hear some swing, a walking bassline, and more uplifting horns.
“Don’t let your heart grow too mellow, just be a real punginello
fellow,” as well as other lyrics, are fun puns and suggest that
perhaps the listener is the clown, or, to read this as a ‘political’
subtext, perhaps satirically referring to the expectation that black
musicians and entertainers play the “coon” and foolishly
perpetuate negative stereotypes and caricatures for white audiences,
especially as she says, “go on creating those false impressions,
never let your looks be too revealing.” Similarly, Charles Mingus’s
“The Clown,” incorporating poetry, has also been read by some as
an allusion to race strife and identity in 1950s America.
Subsequently, “Come Sunday,” Ellington’s tribute to God,
includes lyrics by Lincoln that are unquestionably, like the gospel
and spirituals that sustained resistance, a tribute to the moral
justification and campaigns for equality across the US. Her vocal
style, perfect with balladry and, as mentioned previously, emoting,
calling for God’s assistance. “And love will bloom at springtime,
birds will sing” implies a hopeful optimism. “Come Sunday, oh,
come Sunday…”
“Softly
As in a Morning Sunrise” begins with just light swing and Lincoln’s
solitary voice, “for the passions that thrill love and lift you
high to heaven, are the passions that kill love and let you fall to
Hell.” As a warning song, a premonition, it conveys the danger of
love that can come and go quickly, which, as for previous songs,
could easily be interpreted politically for Blacks to not take the
recent progress as a given and realize things could worsen despite
their ‘love’ and non-violent protests. The bassist perfectly
accompanies her, and the instrumental sections also echo her theme of
danger in optimism, danger in love. She improvises herself with the
melody and lyrics of the song at its conclusion, showing her range
and dexterity again. As for “Lost in Stars,” a more conventional
jazz ballad and a standard, sounds majestic with Lincoln’s soaring,
booming, and well-paced voice. “Well the lord God hunted, through
the wild night air, for the little lost star on the wind…” sounds
heavenly while the light accompaniment from the band allows one to
focus entirely on Lincoln’s voice as an instrument. “Well, I’ve
been walking, through the night and day, and then my eyes grow weary
and my head turns gray, and sometimes I think, maybe God’s gone
away, forgetting his promise, and words he’d say, and we’re lost
out here in stars…blowing through the night, and we’re lost out
here in the stars.” Again, this is another song with a potentially
dark, ominous relationship to African Americans, who, like Lincoln in
this song, are lost in the stars, waiting for a God who has forsaken
or forgotten her. Lincoln concludes the album with “Long As You’re
Living,” a swinging number where she has this sing-talk quality to
her lyric, for a strange-sounding composition. “They say the truth
will make you free, and that’s the way you want to be, Brother,
this is your life.” Lincoln’s song, slightly ‘avant-garde’
perhaps by vocal jazz standards, makes the song a warning for
self-improvement and to live every minute, an inspirational song
urging people to exert agency and take their lives in their own
hands. Of course, the rather quirky chorus and horn arrangement and
the political climate in 1959 make this an obvious reference to the
Black Freedom Struggle. Note the use of the term “brother,” for
instance, another marker of African American vernacular English
widely used by Lincoln. Thus, her entire album, marking the beginning
of a career away from simple acting roles and jazz-pop, Lincoln makes
subtle and not-so-subtle references to the burgeoning Civil Rights
Movement and an uncertain political climate. Even better for us, the
listeners, her vocal style, range, arrangements, and lyrics are
brilliantly conceived and delivered, making for a vocal jazz album
with infinite repeatable listens and, for those in the mood for late
night ‘blues,’ an excellent way to conclude the night.
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