(photo - M.L. Liebler, seen middle)
I came to Detroit a few years later with my good friend, D.J. Renegade, aka Joel Dias-Porter, the poet, and now professional poker player. Renegade was always open for a road trip going back years. He liked to live on the edge, free, and unencumbered by the burdens of life.
Once again, M.L. had invited us up to the city to read poetry and to hang out. This time it was the Detroit Festival for the Arts, a big deal in a city fighting for its civic life and place in the world. I had another book of poems [out and Renegade, as I called my good friend, had a few chapbooks to sell as well. Yet, in a very real sense we came to Detroit because M.L. was going to pay us a little cash, and because it was Detroit and we figured it would be fun. A nice hang so to speak in a different city that despite its issues had a lot going on.
When I talked to M.L. on the phone all he talked about was how the old YMCA from before had been torn down. The city had moved on and was fixing up the downtown area and trying to rebound from decades of economic challenges and a deterioration of civic life.
As D.J. and I rode towards the city we still did not know which Detroit we would get. The highway leading into the city was pretty poorly maintained. There were cracks in the roads and weeds growing out of the cracks off the side of the road. The state of Michigan did not care much to care for the roads that led into one of the world’s great cities.
In the city, M.L. was not lying. The downtown area was being rebuilt with a new baseball stadium and there was a new YMCA. It was optimistic but considering I didn’t live there it was quite hard to even understand what I was witnessing: a great renaissance at work or some window dressing. I didn’t really dwell on it. I still always liked coming to the city and interacting with the poets and artists of the city. They were genuine people and that is all that mattered.
Yet, we cruised through the city during our time in Detroit and it was apparent that the city was still barely making it. I had come to the city in 1995 and now, less than a decade later, the city was getting better in some areas, but in others, it had died. Buildings high into the sky were vacant and boarded up.
Other buildings had been vacant so long weeds had taken over parts of it. Broken windows and abandoned cars were everywhere. The city had been sold out by the whims of capitalism; it was going to be a long road back for the Motor City.
Paul Desmond
Frankie the K begins. That famous melody from “Take Five.” Whenever I hear “Take Five,” I immediately think about the late Dave Brubeck, one of jazz’s true giants. Years ago, I had a wild idea of writing a book about the year, 1959 in jazz because it was such a monumental year in the music.
Miles Davis released one of his best, “Kind of Blue,” John Coltrane delivered, “Giant Steps,” Ornette Coleman had “The Shape of Jazz To Come,” and Dave Brubeck’s offering was “Time Out,” which included the single, “Take Five.” But, the music also lost three of its giants that year – Lester Young, Sidney Bechet, and Billie Holiday. Sonny Rollins, the great saxophonist, decided that year to drop out of performing and recording and spent his time playing on the Williamsburg Bridge each night.
I once set up an interview with Brubeck to get my book started and it was going to happen; only, Brubeck spent his time in the South by this point in his life (he was nearly 90 as I recall) so coordination was a challenge. Nevertheless, the effort made by his handlers and one of his sons impressed me. I also read that when Brubeck made the cover of Time Magazine back in the 1950’s, he felt bad about it because he felt it was a racial issue.
He knew he only made it because he was a white jazz musician of some note. Brubeck didn’t see how he could make it before Duke Ellington, jazz’s must enduring star. Brubeck gave this account to music historian, Hendrick Smith many years later for PBS:
Duke and I were on tour together across the country and this night, we were in Denver. ... And at seven o'clock in the morning, there was a knock on my door, and I opened the door, and there's Duke, and he said, 'You're on the cover of Time.' And he handed me Time magazine. It was the worst and the best moment possible, all mixed up, because I didn't want to have my story come first. I was so hoping that they would do Duke first, because I idolized him. He was so much more important than I was ... he deserved to be first.
I also would think about Paul Desmond when I heard the song. Desmond, son of San Francisco, wrote “Take Five” and upon his death donated any royalties for the song to the Red Cross. That always impressed me. Desmond also was a heavy drinker and kind of burned out slightly early from the world and jazz. But he was white jazz artist (Pee Wee Russell is another) who I found fascinating and a real free spirit, which is the essence of the music and the culture.
Desmond’s soprano saxophone carries “Take Five.” It is a happy, expressive tune, speaking to the listener’s quiet emotions. The song has a driving drum beat backed by Brubeck’s famous piano. Few people I know don’t know the song and few aren’t immediately captivated by it.
Frankie the K was popping it at the Scarab Club. For a moment, I just listened. It was beautiful. I have heard dozens of versions of the song by many great artists; yet, Frankie and I now were playing our version. He was playing Brubeck’s rhythm, the part that keeps the band in gear, locked in and focused, and I was Paul Desmond, except I was reciting poetry.
It never dawned on me that Brubeck’s “Take Five” would work on a poem about Duke Ellington. But as Frankie the K locked into the groove, I felt it. I felt the song speaking to the poem. It was a universal sound. I looked over at Frankie wearing that porkpie hat like Lester Young and he was smiling.
I am sure he knew he was correct. I smiled back. He had picked the right song. He was happy. I knew he had picked the right song as well. I felt it. My poem was the blues and Desmond and Brubeck’s “Take Five” was the contrast. It was perfect for the city at that moment with so much blues and so much hope. The song bounced and bounced.
“There is much more to this blues,” I began.
I looked at Frankie and he smiled again. It was Duke and Dave Brubeck. My poem about Duke enduring racism and Brubeck’s polyrhythmic ode to jazz’s Black sensibilities so central to the sound.
And, of course, it was cool to be back in Detroit reading poetry yet again at the behest of my friend, M.L. Liebler, the great singer and poet. The place always delivered me. Took me up and away. It was the music, the people, and their character. That fighting spirit in the Motor City. Especially the people who stuck it out in the city through all of the spasms of post-capitalism. They were still trying to make the city live for them and not just the moneychangers. People like M.L. and Frankie the K who were putting out the music and the words.
I didn’t care much for the part of Michigan where I lived yet but this gave me hope. There was something going on in Detroit, so that spirit had to be everywhere. I had to find it.
But no matter what, Detroit was different. I knew that going back to 1995 when I first came out and stayed at the downtown YMCA. I loved the spirit of the city. Like I used to love the taste of Moon Pies.
Part I of this saga can be found on RED LIGHT as well, thanks for supporting my work. Check it out below -
Amazing and entertaining, Brian!