Kim Massie: Singing Beyond Genre

Kim Massie is an incredibly versatile vocalist from St. Louis; from blues and gospel to rock and pop, she can sing nearly anything, and she’s sung at many respected venues around the USA. She’s been twice awarded the Best Female Vocalist of the Year Award from the Riverfront Times, and made her television debut singing “I Finally Forgot Your Name” on TNT’s Good Behavior. What follows are excerpts from a transcript of the lecture she gave to a group at BluesGeek 2018, transcribed by Chelsea Adams, and edited for length and clarity. All photographs are courtesy of BluesGeek and Brad Nathanson Photography.

On Her Musical Start

The gospel thing I’ve been doing it all my life: Singing gospel since I was nine years old, going to church. One time I was in five choirs because I loved music that much and at the time, there was nothing much for teenagers. I was a teenager, I was 14, 15, in the choir in middle school and special choir and trio and all that, and I couldn’t get enough of the music.

In the 90s, I didn’t sing with bands, I did what was called band in a box. I did a lot of karaoke, and I did a lot of that when I first started in 1992. And I would go around, and I would love it at that time. I would go into bars and it was the canned music. So in ‘92 up until I came to St. Louis I was doing that. That’s where I was. And I’m glad that I moved from a bad relationship from Ohio to St. Louis, and I’m so glad that he dumped me.

You know, we do things for various reasons, and sometimes we stay and become complacent at times until something happens to make us say get me to try something else. I’m glad the relationship did break up, because I went someplace different, and my mother and my grandmother live in the St. Louis area, perfect for me to come. I actually got with, I went to hear this band, that band, and I got asked to sit in, and eventually I was asked to be a guest singer, and then asked to have my own band, and I was scared as hell trying to transition from a band in a box where you’re looking at the words on the screen to actually singing.

I’ve got to be creative now. I’ve got to try to make this room work for me. And that was a hard thing to do, but I have a passion for the music to the point where I can walk into a room like this and I can just go “Lookin’ out, on the morning rain. I used to feel, so uninspired. And when I knew, I had to face another day, Lord made me feel so tired.” And it’s true that the passion that I have for this thing called music, I feel it so deeply, I feel it, I almost want to cry. That’s how it’s affected me, and I know if it affects me like this, what is it doing to you?

How awesome is that, to have that kind of gift? To be blessed like that? And I don’t take advantage of it, not one bit. I really don’t because I was an introvert. I was scared to sing in front of people, for real. I couldn’t look at you like this. So the way it evolved for me is that it also enriched me like you wouldn’t believe. It has given me confidence and shown me where I’m able, there are some people, you feel that connection, you just want to talk to me and tell me your whole life story, and guess what? I’ll listen. And I crave it, I love it, every time I come into contact with a group of folks. Ain’t that something?

And I keep singing because I couldn’t imagine being a little girl, having dreams of singing, that I would actually be able to sustain a career, everybody should have a job that they love, that they look forward to. And it just seemed like it came so naturally for me. I’m so fortunate to have had this opportunity. I’ve been making my living for 17 years singing. That’s my nine to five, 17 years.

On Transitioning from Karaoke to Singing with a Live Band

Baby let me tell you! See, it’s a different thing where your words are right there. Your words are right there, so you can do your thing, and your words are right there. But with a live band you have to right now on the spot, do a song that we just rehearsed the other day, and you’re not really sure if you know all the words. That was the hardest transition. And I would freeze up a little bit. But what happened was this: over the years I grew more comfortable with myself because I’m a big woman, and by the way I’ve lost 150 pounds, and I had some health issues but I feel a whole lot better. I was a little intimidated being on stage being a big woman and thinking, no one want to see this big woman up here singing. Once I got past that, I could stand up here and do whatever, except for dropping it like it’s hot. I got bad knees!

I made my mistakes. What I did, for real, when I sing a song, I would forget the words, I would do, I was always taught, never let the song die, so when I’d go and do, let me see, give me a song, name a song. Dr. Feelgood?

“I don’t want nobody, always” I forget the words “. . . duh duh duh, oooooh yeah!” So when I did that, everybody would laugh, and I got through it. I used to be a perfectionist when it came to my singing back in the day to a degree, but I’m not so hard on myself when I make a mistake. Okay. I’ll start singing something else. Something to get through that song, so over time, I wasn’t afraid because I could play. Last night when we did the “Push it Real Good” what we was supposed to be doing was something else, but I decided to go back and do something else. And I didn’t know all the words, so I went so far with the song and told the band stop, okay, now let’s go do this other song, so, there you go. I’m not afraid to make a mistake because I can always regroup, and I feel confident.

Initially, when Bud approached me to sing at Beale on Broadway, he had just opened up his place in 2000, and in 2001 he asked me to be in one of his ads, and he put the thing together. That being said, I had a problem with the band that was playing with me, doing the same 25 songs to dance to. I got frustrated and said, “Can we do Karaoke?” And he said, “That scares me, why?” And I said,  “Either they don’t want to learn any new music or they’re not able to,” and of course, we all have our limitations, so with that, what he did was he got rid of the whole band and got me new people, someone who could do what I needed done. People were asking can you do so and so? Can you do that? And a man who asked “can you do A Whole Lot of Love?” And see at that time I was kind of feeling out the band, I didn’t know what they could do, but they would surprise me every time. So all of a sudden, the band would go, and I could sing. That is where they came from, where I decided the audience picks my songs. Most of the time it works, sometimes it don’t.

I get all kind of incentive when my tip jar fills up. It’s amazing, amazing. I can bring some notes from places you wouldn’t believe. Awesome! And so yes, I love that being able to just have my audience here and not have a song list, because you might be feeling like some blues, but you might be feeling Billy Joel, and you might be feeling like “I can’t stand the rain against my window bringing back sweet memories!” So you all have your own, bring yourself, and I like to build, to connect with that, and you go home saying, hey, that was alright! And you bring someone back with you, and I tell folks, your lives will never be the same after Kim Massie. And you call it arrogant if you want but I just call it confidence because I feel so good about what I do, and can’t nobody take this from me, nobody.

On Blues and Musical Connection

People got problems all the time. You know what I’m saying? All the damn time. My dog died. I got evicted. And my car just got stole. My car did get stolen a couple months ago. So that thing of just going oh, I don’t want to think about it for a minute. I think that, deep down, and when I talk to people, and they are so interesting, who they are, where they come from. Why are you paying to see me? What can I do for you? You know what I’m saying? So it just leaves me, and I wasn’t a blues per se, singer.

KimMassieClap
Kim Massie, BluesGeek 2018

I don’t like to be stereotyped into one genre of music. You see a black woman, here, I will just do blues. Or gospel. I do blues, jazz, gospel, R&B because I don’t ever want to limit myself, and once I limit myself, it doesn’t make me happy, and I want to be able to be free and able to express myself whatever way that evening dictates. So I never have a song list. You never see me with a song list. You might see me with a reference. One thing I did in particular, it was a birthday party for a young lady, and they wanted all Aretha Franklin. I sang Aretha Franklin five songs in, and I noticed no one was listening to me, for real. And I looked around, and I said okay, hang on, and I switched it up. I did some blues, straight up blues, and I got the whole room, got their attention. You just have to be connected with your audience and see if they’d like some rock and roll, maybe. I’m just saying. For some reason you kind of remind me of Billy Joel. I feel like I want to sing “Don’t go changing, to try to please me!” I get motivated by all of you. I see someone smile and it grasps me, and I’m like oh, okay. So it’ll take me somewhere else, where I was planning on going this way, and that’s what I love about what I do. 

Do you give yourself goosebumps? 

Yes I do! Let me tell you, that’s how I know that I’ve got my connection with my audience, because whenever I sing, I’ll do maybe five, six, seven songs and not get a bump, but that next song, it’s just something about how I’m doing the song, and what I’m feeling coming to me, because you exude energy, you really do, and I grab that energy, and when I get the goosebumps, I got the goosebumps now talking about this, and that’s what that is, that’s my radar, when I get the goosebumps, I’m feeling it. And I try to share this with my audience, you know what, I just sang five songs and haven’t got a goosebump yet. What’s up? Y’all need one more drink? Let’s make this work, and it will kind of turn around.

On Having Thyroid Surgery and Cancer

Back in 2013, I had a thyroid surgery, which was close to the vocal chords, and yes I was very, very scared, and I even paid for a device to monitor during the surgery to make sure that they didn’t touch the vocal chords. The operation, the heal time, was like five to seven days, and I was singing in ten days after my surgery. I was very scared, very scared that my voice wouldn’t come back and the doctor said it would take a good year for me to be reacquainted with my voice, and I had my whole thyroid removed. It was ten times the size of a regular thyroid and it was choking me so when the thing was removed my head was kind of wobbly.

And so within that year, my voice actually did come back even stronger. I could sing without ceasing, for like two hours straight with my band. We have done this. And sometimes we’ve done three hours straight with no break, and I notice in the first hour before my surgery, it was hard for me to, it was a struggle, I was fatigued and sure enough, I had cancer. And had it all removed, and I get checked every year but so far everything is good. But I was just so scared with that.

Advice for New Singers

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Kim Massie lecturing to a group of dancers at BluesGeek 2018.

Record yourself. Get your phone and just start singing a song that you like and listen to yourself. And if your ears are trained, tuned, or whatever, you can hear things that might be wrong. I did that with myself fin 1982 and I’ll never forget it. I hated it. And I am self-taught by the way. I don’t have any formal training like going to school. I’m self-taught. I was a fan of Aretha Franklin, Luther Vandross, Whitney Houston, and so what I did was try to mimic what they did, and once I so-called perfected it, I would only put my own, myself into that. So listen to yourself, record yourself. I paid attention more, because sometimes you don’t pay attention to how you’re singing something, and you have to pay attention. Know how you want to start and end a sentence. Know where you’re going to end. Know what you’re going to be doing, and practice, practice, practice. Listen to yourself. Get comfortable with hearing your voice, and I think that you’ll see some improvement. And get with somebody that you trust, not your mamma, not your daddy, okay? Get with someone who has a trained ear who will tell you the truth. The best thing they can do is tell you the truth. Don’t sugarcoat it. That puts you in a false sense of security, and I think that you will correct yourself. You might do that. 

On Writing Her First Song

I wrote a song. And I have copies of the song here. I have, it’s a compilation CD that was put out by the St. Louis Blues Society. It was titled 17 at 17, and I was asked to do an original song and I did, and the song was titled “Little Girl Lost,” and it came out of inspiration. I have a great granddaughter who is five years old, a beautiful thing, and her grandmother was my daughter. They all lived with me, and she turns six this month. We’ve had her since she was two because her parents were drug addicts: that’s my grandson, her father, and her mother has not spoken to her in two years. And this started as a temporary thing so the mother could get clean, but now she is with us, and my daughter took some pictures of her at age two, and when I looked at the pictures, I knew what I would write about. It spoke to me. This one was very, very heartfelt, and the music to it, and my goal is to bring awareness, more awareness with what’s going on, grandparents raising children. It’s terrible, but it’s happening to these children; they’re lost. And at the end of the song I say, little girl, found. Okay? I’m very proud of that, that somebody told me a long time ago, before I even thought about this, that you’re an entertainer, you sing. So don’t tell me you can’t do that. And I shied away from it, but I’m inspired, and I’m going to be doing more. I’m doing a CD. We’re going to be working on my own collection. I’m really happy about that.

On Filming Good Behavior

And, oh! I was in a movie! Yes, I was! Not one of those kinds of movies. That’d be the first thing the keyboard player would say. In 2015, I was in a movie called Good Behavior on the TNT network, and I played the role of a blues singer. Such a stretch, right? Oh my god. And the gentleman that saw me was one of the producers of the Behavior, and he came to see me with the summer theater thing in St. Louis at Forest Park. The Muni. They brought him to see me and he liked me, and within two weeks I was in North Carolina, and he, I just had to do one song and it was Long Tall Deb, entitled “I Finally Forgot Your Name.” So you can still see it. I’m still getting residual checks. It was a lovely thing, I’ll tell you. The song itself is just for y’all. It’s for y’all. You’re going to love it. But the 21 minutes and 16 seconds into the movie is where you hear it. You’ll hear my voice first, and I’m actually singing the whole song throughout this one little thing with the main characters are talking and you can see me in the background. I spent 7 hours on stage doing one damn song. And then they said break time! Break time? I’m ready to go home! It’s midnight! I gotta go! But it was an awesome experience and I would love to do it again. It’s called Good Behavior, the first episode, “So You’re not a School Teacher.” It’s back on. So check it out.

 

What do you wish you could go back and change? 

I wish I had done it sooner. I wish I had done this sooner. Because, and look, also, my career started when, actually started I feel, when I turned 40. I’m going to be 60 this year. I was very young when I had my children. I was a teenage mother, and so during that time, I would have done things different, so that I started my career earlier, but then who knows who I would be as far as—and I’m not talking about prestige or status—I’m talking about me, who knows where I would have been had I started earlier. You know?

I think things happen when they’re supposed to happen, and it’s not about what you go through; it’s how you deal with what you go through. And I tell my children, my grandchildren, I have great grandchildren, too, and let them know that it’s integrity, integrity. I have a good rapport with my band and audiences, and I’m not goody two shoes, I just believe in treating people right and the good you put out, it comes back. And I have been so enriched by doing this thing called music, that when I see the looks on your faces when I’m doing what I’m doing, oh yeah.

When you all get to dancing, I get goosebumps on my arms, yes, yes, I got them! And then it just empowers me, and when I see this going on, no telling what it’s doing for you, okay? You might go out and go do something, go climb a mountain or something! It gives that oomph, and we need that, we really do. Some of us become so complacent with no energy and things. We have some folks that are self-motivators, and I like to think that I can help motivate you to attain your goal. I have a saying among many sayings: Aspire, inspire, before you expire. I wish that was mine. I read that someplace and I was like wow, so that’s what I’m about.

In Shadow and Light: A Look Into Jazz Choreography

Jazz Choreographer Pat Taylor discusses her performance company experiences and their relation to shadow, light, and representing marginalized people.

Not long ago I was reminiscing with members of my dance company, JazzAntiqua Dance & Music Ensemble, about a piece we premiered ten or so years ago titled “Celestial Blues.” The original music and lyrics of the same name were written and recorded by Gary Bartz in 1971, followed some years later by a popular version arranged by Andy Bey. We danced to a less funkily futuristic arrangement by our frequent collaborator, jazz vocalist Dwight Trible.

We must get closer to the essence of life

But be aware that it takes courage and strife

Expand your mind, don’t let it wither and die

You’ll find that it lifts your spirits high to the sky

So meditate

C’mon let’s contemplate

Talk to the heavenly bodies

Of the universe, of the universe….

…I’ve got to be free, my spirit’s telling me

– Gary Bartz

The dancers and I laughed about all the behind the scenes mishaps and the road to the finished work, and they shared with me for the first time that for most of the performances they could not see much of anything on stage due to the lighting design being so dark. They could feel each other’s energy, hear the breath, but didn’t concretely know where another dancer was until they stepped from the near darkness into the light. Most of the time they danced through a shadowy landscape, confidently, but with an edge of uncertainty.

What they described to me sounded like a void. And admittedly my intention was for the dancers to become the ‘heavenly bodies’ inhabiting this space as described in the lyrics.  They confirmed that they had indeed felt suspended in that moment.

As I later thought about this particular exchange and our further conversations about other works of mine that move in and out of darkness: Sankofa (2008), Transitions (2012), Ooh Child (2013), By the Rivers of Babylon (2014), Slippin’ Into Darkness (2016), and others… I began to realize that I have been drawn for some time to a particular use of darkness, the interplay between shadow and light and the invisibility it provides as both a dramatic effect and in support of the stories I feel compelled to tell through my jazz dance expression. At first glance this presented as something that was happening innately, without me being fully aware of what might lie behind the artistic choices I was making. Over time I have come to understand that I am intrigued by something more than just a lighting design effect. This feeling of slipping in and out of the darkness has always felt like natural storytelling choices to me as I explored the nature of jazz. Creating a sense of being there – yet not there, appearing and disappearing, gone – but not really, present and absent at the same time – maybe even differing levels of presence, being fully seen or not, and feeling suspended in time and place, is something that stirs my imagination. This shadowy metaphor for the experiences of African Americans, indeed the experiences of any marginalized group, is powerful.

TRANSITIONS (2012) – Excerpts from Pat Taylor on Vimeo.

The unnamed protagonist in novelist and essayist Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man states as a matter of course, “I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me” (3). A black man in a white world, he navigates through life as a shadow, trying on and discarding personas while blues and jazz music shadow his journey. He listens to a recording of Louis Armstrong singing “What Did I Do to Be So Black and Blue?” He sees his invisibility not only as a curse and an insult, but often as an advantage as well. He recognizes his invisibility as “a peculiar disposition of the eyes of those with whom I come in contact” (3). Others see him as they desire to, and he is not allowed to define himself within that gaze. W.E.B. DuBois calls this inability of blacks to see ourselves directly a double-consciousness wherein “one ever feels his two-ness – an American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings, two warring ideals in one dark body…” (2) – a constant awareness of the juxtaposition of how we view ourselves and how the world sees us.

I am recognizing a sense of displacement as well within my use of shadow and light in my choreographic work. Exploring displacement feeds into my growing conversation around “home” (external and internal) and jazz music as a response to a feeling of dislocation. I experience the music as a means of rooting – and a defining of place through a distinct language and self determined means of communicating a distinct existence and experience. In turn, I approach my choreography as the “movement in the music,” the physical embodiment of the sound and the social, cultural, historical and political implications embedded therein.

Slippin' Into Darkness _Photo-Mesiyah McGinnis
“Slippin’ Into Darkness,” JazzAntiqua Dance & Music Ensemble. Photo: Mesiyah McGinnis.

Interestingly enough, there was a time that I felt my strongest sense of home within myself while being physically outside of the United States. I lived, taught, choreographed and performed in Scandinavia –Stockholm, Sweden and Helsinki, Finland specifically –but also worked and traveled across Europe for seven years. I grew up in a household where jazz, in particular, and blues served as the musical backdrop to daily life, yet it was while I was away that I truly felt the tremendous respect afforded these music traditions around the world. Viewing home from a great distance, I reconnected to the sound and the stories that I had known as a child, and embraced the lineage, language and legacy of jazz.

During that time I found myself moving more freely in who I was and what I was doing artistically. These years were my most liberating and some of my most meaningful times of self-discovery. I journeyed during this period in a very gutsy, risk taking way. My self-censoring was at a minimum. The burden of double-consciousness was at least eased. I felt out of the shadows and fully revealed, most of all to myself. I was free to improvise. I began to shape my philosophical approach to teaching and choreographing jazz dance that was intrinsically tied to the music and a paralleling of the times.

SLIPPIN’ INTO DARKNESS (2016) – Excerpt from Pat Taylor on Vimeo.

The collage art of Romare Bearden was a major inspiration for my first choreographies when I returned to Los Angeles and founded JazzAntiqua in 1993. I have always loved Bearden’s work, and as I found myself drawn more deeply to it, I particularly connected with the colors, rhythm and layering within his collage pieces. My eye and imagination traveled through his art, guided by the ways in which he used space. I equated what I felt with the conversational nature of jazz improvisation and the storytelling of the blues. It connected with how I was newly envisioning my choreography as unearthing the stories within the music as I was hearing, seeing and feeling them.  Bearden listened to and was passionate about jazz throughout his life. At times he would express his artistic approach in musical sentiments,  “You put down one color and it calls for an answer. You have to look at it like a melody” (Schwartzman 196).

In his influential work on blues and jazz music, Blues People, The Negro Experience in White America and the Music That Developed From It, LeRoi Jones (Amiri Baraka) sees the beginning of blues as one beginning of American Negroes” (xii).   A beginning that originates in America’s Deep South, with roots in West African musical traditions, and a lineage of work songs, field hollers, ring shouts, sorrow songs and spirituals borne out of slavery. It’s a birth that political and social activist, educator and author Angela Y. Davis sees as “the legacy of emancipation” (qtd in Hay 443), drawing upon, I believe, the accepted notion of blues music becoming more formally known during the late 1800s in the decades following the Emancipation Proclamation. Maybe even more importantly, it is the experience of freedom arrived at through a continuing claiming of self by speaking one’s own truth via a distinct language of expression. In African American culture that uniquely arrived at self-defining and raised consciousness is often through music, dance and other art forms. It is where we most often feel a true sense of freedom.

I am drawn to the cyclical feel of the blues, the way that its repeated AAB, 12-bar theme creates an echo-like, call and response that harkens back to work songs and African roots.

My man don’t love me

Treats me oh so mean

My man he don’t love me

Treats me oh so mean

He’s the lowest man

That I’ve ever seen

– Billie Holiday, “Fine and Mellow”

 

There is the strong groove that the steady bass line provides, and this in itself creates a rooted feeling. The blue notes (or “worried” or “bent” notes) within the melody give a greater expressiveness and that slightly off-kilter, bittersweet blues sound and feeling. I find these characteristics, even more so over form/structure, to be what blues music is truly about – powerful, evocative storytelling at its simplest and most poignant. Often melancholic and harsh reality, at times playful, sexual and irreverent, equally love story and lament, the blues can also offer a glimmer of hope. It is a visceral and cathartic “let your hair down” form of communication – a discernible voice amidst the shadows.

Three O'Clock Blues _ Photo -Malcolm Ali
“Three O’Clock Blues,” JazzAntiqua Dance & Music Ensemble. Photo: Malcom Ali.

Ellison writes: “The blues is an impulse to keep the painful details and episodes of a brutal experience alive in one’s aching consciousness, to finger its jagged grain, and to transcend it, not by the consolation of philosophy but by squeezing from it a near-tragic, near comic lyricism. As a form, the blues is an autobiographical chronicle of personal catastrophe expressed lyrically” (Living With Music 103).

The blues is ‘The Great Hole of History’ in Suzan-Lori Parks’ The America Play; the flattened, single dimensioned silhouettes of Kara Walker’s large scale tableaux; the motifs of imprisonment and salvation in James Baldwin’s short story “Sonny’s Blues”; the “hymns to the secular regions of the soul” as choreographer Alvin Ailey describes his Blues Suite (Dunning 115); what Du Bois calls “a faith in the ultimate justice of things” (162).

In my interdisciplinary approach to exploring how jazz/blues aesthetics manifest across artistic disciplines, I am profoundly compelled by the work of visual artist Kerry James Marshall. I have greatly admired Marshall for many years, and seeing his work up close at the 2017 retrospective exhibit Mastry (Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles) was life changing. I felt absolutely engulfed in a singular and pure articulation and point of view. What strikes me so to my core is the sheer blackness of his work, literally and figuratively, and the way in which he honors his subjects. The depth and richness of the black skin of those who populate the moments that Marshall captures emit a level of intensity that creates a heightened awareness for me as I experience his work. The work is unforgiving and unashamedly black. Uncompromising in its presentation, the paintings are counter-narratives, stories that defy the invisibility of blacks in America.

Marshall draws “…upon the rich layering of language, music and art characteristic of black expression. Like a jazz composer superimposing multiple rhythms and harmonies…” (Mertes). In a 2016 New York Times interview, Marshall shares, “I was searching for something that seemed to me like an authentic black aesthetic, one that had an equivalency with postwar blues” (Kennedy). His emphatic intent to “make the invisible visible” (Roelstraete 48) is palpable. As have many others, he too references the influence of Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man on his work, speaking the blues with reverence, insight, and yes, joy.

The blues is form, tradition, personal expression and cultural reflection. As Empress of the Blues Bessie Smith is quoted as saying, “It’s a long old road, but I know I’m gonna find the end.”

“Ooh Child,” JazzAntiqua Dance Ensemble. Photo: Tim Aigler.

In my passion and vision for jazz expression through movement, the concluding words of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in the opening address at the 1964 Berlin Jazz Festival resound so deeply. These words I often incorporate into JazzAntiqua performances.

 

Jazz speaks for life.

The blues tell the stories of life’s difficulties.

And if you think for a moment, you will realize

that they take the hardest realities of life and

put them into music,

only to come out with some new hope or sense

of triumph.

This is triumphant music!

OOH CHILD (2013) from Pat Taylor on Vimeo.

Works Cited

Du Bois, W.E.B. The Souls of Black Folks, Dover Publications, 1994.

Dunning, Jessica. Alvin Ailey: A Life in Dance. Addison-Wesley Publishing Company, Inc, 1996.

Ellison, Ralph. “Richard Wright’s Blues.” Living with Music: Ralph Ellison’s Jazz Writings. Edited by Robert O’Meally, Modern Library, 2001, pp.101-119

Ellison, Ralph. Invisible Man. New York, New York: Vintage International, 1995. Print.

Hay, Fred J. “Reviewed Work: Blues Legacies and Black Feminism: Gertrude ‘Ma’ Rainey, Bessie Smith, and Billie Holiday by Angela Y. Davis.” Appalachian Journal, vol. 25, no. 4, 1998, pp. 442–45.

Jones, LeRoi. Blues People. W. Morrow, 1963.

Kennedy, Randy. “Kerry James Marshall, Boldly Repainting Art History.” New York Times, 9 Sept. 2016.

Mertes, Lorie. “Kerry James Marshall One True Thing Meditations on Black Aesthetics February 6 – April 25, 2004.” Miami Art Museum.

Roelstraete, Dieter. “Visible Man: Kerry James Marshall, Realist.” Kerry James Marshall: Mastry, Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago, 2016.

Schwartzman, Myron, Bearden, Romare. Romare Bearden, His Life & Art. H.N. Abrams, 1990.

Pat Taylor _ Photo-Joe Lambie
Choreographer Pat Taylor is the founding artistic director of Los Angeles-based JazzAntiqua Dance & Music Ensemble, established in 1993 to celebrate the jazz tradition as a vital thread in the cultural fabric of African American history and heritage and a defining element of the American experience. Her work has been presented at the Hollywood Bowl/Playboy Jazz Festival, Los Angeles County Museum of Art, Cerritos Center for the Performing Arts, Dance Mission Theatre (San Francisco), Southern Theatre (Minneapolis), Glashuset (Stockholm, Sweden), CIAEI Theatre (Brazil), among many other venues. Recognitions include a Brody Arts Fund Choreography Fellowship, and grant awards from the Center for Cultural Innovation, Los Angeles Contemporary Exhibitions and California Arts Council. Taylor’s community centered initiatives include: Roots & Rhythm Dance Jam Project, The Movement in the Music® – mini-jazz dance conferences, and the Community Salon – a quarterly gathering for intergenerational conversation and exchange of ideas. She holds an MFA in Interdisciplinary Arts (jazz aesthetics emphasis) from Goddard College. Photo: Joe Lambie