Eric Dolphy
Eric Dolphy
You know you want to be Eric Dolphy. You want to be that cool, but you can’t, because, you’re not Eric Dolphy. Do you really know who Eric Dolphy is/was? He’s dead, you know. Been dead a long time. You can get to know him through his music—by means of video. That’s how you get to know Eric Dolphy.
Perception will weigh heavily when trying to decipher the cipher that was Eric Dolphy. If you dig John Coltrane, you’ll probably dig Eric Dolphy. If Black radicalism is your thing, then, you may dig Eric Dolphy, although I’m not sure what constitutes radicalism nowadays, let alone 50 plus years ago.
Was Eric Dolphy more Malcolm X, or Martin Luther King, the king of swing, the radical African prince, part European intellectual by the way of Africa—sub-Saharan, not Egypt. At least, not the Egypt of Mark Anthony and Cleopatra.
Part radical hipster—maybe that was Eric Dolphy. What was he doing when he played Billie Holiday’s God Bless The Child on the oboe? First inside, but just barely, then outside in small moves, almost classical moves.
Could that be cultural appropriation? Can a radical, Black African prince, avant-garde Jazz-Man culturally appropriate?
The brain, like a river flows, moved by the earth and wind. It can do nothing but culturally appropriate. It absorbs everything that is useful, and much that isn’t. It filters the wheat from the chaff—Italian food, Chinese food, Southern food, Soul Food, French cuisine—American cuisine.
Inevitably, everything in the pot melts, morphing into new colors, new things, new food, eaten and appropriated. Only the bigots stand in the way—the ones that don’t seem like bigots. They’re the bigots, though. You’ll see them soon enough.
Eric Dolphy was no bigot, He was a pioneer. A free man. Playing free jazz - because he could.
Goodbye Eric Dolphy.
God bless the child, who’s got his own.
Busta’ Crab
You know you want to be Eric Dolphy. You want to be that cool, but you can’t, because, you’re not Eric Dolphy. Do you really know who Eric Dolphy is/was? He’s dead, you know. Been dead a long time. You can get to know him through his music—by means of video. That’s how you get to know Eric Dolphy.
Perception will weigh heavily when trying to decipher the cipher that was Eric Dolphy. If you dig John Coltrane, you’ll probably dig Eric Dolphy. If Black radicalism is your thing, then, you may dig Eric Dolphy, although I’m not sure what constitutes radicalism nowadays, let alone 50 plus years ago.
Was Eric Dolphy more Malcolm X, or Martin Luther King, the king of swing, the radical African prince, part European intellectual by the way of Africa—sub-Saharan, not Egypt. At least, not the Egypt of Mark Anthony and Cleopatra.
Part radical hipster—maybe that was Eric Dolphy. What was he doing when he played Billie Holiday’s God Bless The Child on the oboe? First inside, but just barely, then outside in small moves, almost classical moves.
Could that be cultural appropriation? Can a radical, Black African prince, avant-garde Jazz-Man culturally appropriate?
The brain, like a river flows, moved by the earth and wind. It can do nothing but culturally appropriate. It absorbs everything that is useful, and much that isn’t. It filters the wheat from the chaff—Italian food, Chinese food, Southern food, Soul Food, French cuisine—American cuisine.
Inevitably, everything in the pot melts, morphing into new colors, new things, new food, eaten and appropriated. Only the bigots stand in the way—the ones that don’t seem like bigots. They’re the bigots, though. You’ll see them soon enough.
Eric Dolphy was no bigot, He was a pioneer. A free man. Playing free jazz - because he could.
Goodbye Eric Dolphy.
God bless the child, who’s got his own.
Busta’ Crab