This hurts.
Of course jazz enthusiasts are (always have been?) a small if discerning bunch, so it’s unlikely the sudden passing of Billy Bang will register as much as it should on the collective consciousness. This is a shame, but it can’t be helped. Those who knew Billy, and those who know and love his work, already miss him, and shall have to console ourselves that a great man has moved to the great beyond.
I fall back on what is, at this point, a somewhat formulaic observation, but I’m content to repeat it since it’s true: the death of any meaningful artist, particularly at a painfully young age (Bang was 63, which might not seem particularly painful or young to you, but it does to me, especially since, as a working jazz musician, he was still relevant, engaged and important to music) is always difficult to endure, but we have little choice but to console ourselves with the work left behind.
In the end that is probably the fairest trade we can expect or ask for: we respect the artist and mourn their absence, but we keep them alive by listening –and responding to– their efforts. This is the only type of immortality we can verify, and it seems more than a little satisfying for all parties.
So…who was Billy Bang?
Check out an overview of his life and career here.
A more detailed, and very touching tribute, from NPR, is here.
Pretty remarkable and very American life. He came up in a time when intolerance based on skin color still held sway, and of course that pain was reflected in his subsequent work. Not being wealthy or connected, he was one of the thousands drafted to fight in Vietnam. Needless to say those experiences played a significant role in his aesthetic. Indeed, he made two masterpieces that draw specifically –and movingly– from those experiences, Vietnam: The Aftermath and Vietnam: Reflections. For anyone interested in Bang’s work (and sublime semi-contemporary jazz in general) would do well to check out either.
From the NPR story:
At least initially, the period after his service was hardly any better. In 2005, Bang told Roy Hurst of NPR’s News and Notes that returning was a shock.
“When I came home from Vietnam — when I got off the airplane — the next thing I was on was the New York City subway, and that was extremely traumatic for me — I mean, just really destructive to my whole system,” Bang said. “I couldn’t take the sounds. I couldn’t take the people all around. So I finally got home; I didn’t want to come outside for a long time, which I didn’t do. So my mother was coaxing me to come out and sort of — she was trying to help me to get back to some kind of normality. But I still criticize the United States government for not having a real bona fide re-entry program for veterans.”
Again from the NPR piece:
The Vietnam albums proved to be more high-water marks for his career. Bang called up fellow musicians who had also served in Vietnam for the recording sessions, including conductor Butch Morris.
“It was quite heavy,” Morris told Howard Mandel. “I’ve never seen so many grown men cry. It’s not only how he brought this thematic stuff back — it’s how he brought the experience back, the experience of being there, the experience of smelling, the experience of seeing, the experience of feeling, the experience of fear, the experience of joy, the experience — he brought back all these experiences. That’s what was so frightening in the studio. He brought back the same experience that each of us had.”
My personal favorite is his 2003 collaboration with William Parker and Hamid Drake, Scrapbook. If you are the sort of person who still pays for music, you can download this sucker for $6 at Amazon: a dollar per song; it’s worth missing a meal to procure. Of course this is somewhat of an acquired taste: it’s jazz and it’s just bass, drums and…violin. For me, it’s musical crack, but I also think it’s sufficiently accessible and original that anyone with half-opened ears can pick up what’s being put down. And like all top-tier efforts, it never loses its luster. It still entrances and inspires me every time I hear it, and that is not only because of the first-rate compositions, it’s all about the playing and the indescribable empathy these musicians have for one another (Parker and Drake, as I’ve opined, are far and away the bass/drum combo of this generation, no one else especially close).
Unfortunately, there is only one song from this album on YouTube; I wish a few others were available since this one (typically) is probably the most difficult of the six. The last song on the album, “Holiday For Flowers” (link at Rhapsody here) is one of my desert island tracks from the last decade: it is swinging, ebullient yet elegaic; a particularly appropriate tune to serve for this somber occasion.
Here he is, live with Parker, in 2007.
The more I think about Billy Bang, the more I’m convinced his life is the kind of story someone should write a novel about. Except someone already did: Billy Bang did, and his novel was his life, and his life’s story is articulated in his music. And his music lives on.
