The Phoenix and The Thank Yous

I’ve been pretty quiet lately, but it hasn’t been because nothing has been happening.

I’m gearing up for SXSW – a music, film, interactive festival that takes place in my home town of little ol’ Austin, TX. I’ll keep you informed on all the shows I see and workshops I attend, most definitely.

I received two thank you letters today. Both from fellow African Americans. The first one was from Ms. Green, a very kind graduate student studying Viola performance at the Peabody School in Baltimore, MD. I helped her secure a $20,000 grant from the Texas Women For The Arts and she is forever grateful for my drafting the original proposal and my administration of the grant through my day job.

The beauty of the whole situation is that she will go on to be one of the first African American viola players in a symphony orchestra in some city in the world. One day a child will walk into a ginormous concert hall – a child that was doubtful that she might see anyone like herself. This young child of the future will look up to the stage and she will see something she’s never seen before: she see a beautiful African American woman playing the first chair viola. This child will see Ms. Green. And Ms. Green will blow the child’s mind with an exquisite, effervescent solo. And when that moment happens, hopefully my essence of my energy passing through the universe will collect and reform, tingle like only a happy ghost can tingle, and then I’ll burst into a zillion pieces of energy again.

Hannibal Lokumbe - a.k.a. Marvin Peterson - blowing it up in NYC, July 6, 1976.

Yesterday being Ornette Coleman’s birthday, it was fitting that I’d receive a thank you letter from a contemporary and friend of Coleman’s that I had the opportunity of meeting for the first time about a week ago. Living jazz legend, Hannibal Lockumbe. At my dayjob, we do consulting for musicians…helping them achieve their goals. Hannibal explained over lunch that his new opera about Rosa Parks is going to be revolutionary. He nearly burst into tears just describing the music. My ears nearly exploded in salt water fountains as I thought of Rosa too. She was the most beautiful tipping point you’ll ever see. And she was ours. She was America’s. She was a daughter of planet Earth. She was the best of us…humanity at it’s best.

Hannibal’s thank you letter was short and sweet (and his handwriting flowed with artistry like a masterwork):

“Hey (black swan),

I just wanted to say thank you so much for the kind words. I will surly (sic) keep you in mind for the project. Much successes in everything you do.

God Bless you Brother.

In music,

Hannibal Lokumbe”

Hannibal has played with the giants. When we went out to lunch at East Side Cafe, he spoke very humbly about his life extraordinary life experiences. He often had to be coaxed into providing more details during stories…like when Gil Evans took him on as a protege after Mr. Evans finished mentoring Jimi Hendrix. Hannibal also shyly, soft-spokenly explained about the time he had to turn down an invitation from Duke Ellington to join his band so he could keep his word to a high school teacher friend. (His friend would later say, “You turned down a gig with the Duke to help my ass out? Are you fucking out of you mind?”)