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pmovereem 's review for:
Rather than following Kirk’s life through strict chronology, Kruth, a musician himself and more importantly an avid fan, spins each segment of the book off thematic quotations, many from Rahsaan himself, and lets the man himself, family members, fellow musicians, and producers tell stories that get to the heart of the respective themes. The book is divided into roughly chronological chapters for coherency’s sake, but this never dictates the immediate direction of the narrative. Kruth’s aim is to reveal Kirk’s complex genius (what other kind is there?): blind man vs. visionary, deadly competitor vs. sympathetic advocate, lover of all musics vs. frighteningly discriminating cultural critic, fun-loving prankster vs. harsh taskmaster, multi-gimmicked showman vs. serious jazz innovator. It’s the last of those contradictions that the author examines most closely, and he succeeds in proving that Kirk deserves to be considered, with Coltrane, Mingus, and Coleman, as part of the last wave of jazz zeitgeist-busters.
Kruth writes with an unpretentious enthusiasm. He clearly believes he was lucky to be alive when a titan walked the earth, and his tone is one of wonder and amazement, as is that of the people in Kirk’s life who share their experiences. Not that there’s much hagiography at work; the subject could be an SOB, particularly when invited on stage to jam with other musicians, or when he chose to air his political views from the stage (often with good justification). He didn’t always make the most solid choices in musical direction or support personnel, particularly in the late Sixties, when, of course, his every whim was encouraged, and, amazingly, given his handicap, he seemed always ready to kick someone’s ass. But, as the reader soon realizes, Kirk did perform miracles. One was to take the idea of playing multiple instruments simultaneously (he was not the first, as Kruth takes pains to point out) and, through a serious interest in pure sound, make MUSIC out of it. Another was to navigate through a physical environment that was full of landmines for anyone who was not only black but blind as well as if he were king of all he surveyed, and to do the same with a critical environment in which cultural guardians like Leroi Jones accused him of minstrelsy. He survived a stint in Charles Mingus’ band, seemingly without serious wounds, despite being as bullheaded as its notoriously imperious leader. He managed to have one foot in the avant garde and the other in the mainstream without being ripped up the middle. He managed to integrate wildly disparate elements--showmanship and high art, politics and sheer entertainment, a fondness for both resuscitating tradition and destroying it, melody and noise--if not always into an aesthetically pleasing whole, at least into a distinctly individual musical vision. And, for his last act, when a stroke robbed him of the use of one arm, he taught himself to play multiple instruments with the other. No wonder Kruth chooses to (like Whitman) sing his subject’s feats rather than dryly present them.
As one might already be able to tell, the strength of Bright Moments is that it brilliantly dishes out what all readers of biographies at least secretly want: GREAT STORIES. You can literally open the book to any page and find one. They range from the musical (Kirk summoning birds with a Japanese instrument to which he’d just been introduced; Kirk playing fellow tenor man George Adams’ preceding solo back to him verbatim on the Carnegie Hall stage; his “collisions” with Frank Zappa and the Mothers, Jimi Hendrix, Captain Beefheart and other rockers) to the extramusical (Kirk's skyjacking arrest(!); his powwow with Ken Kesey and his Merry Pranksters; his failed Ed Sullivan Show insurrection). But they all hew to one purpose: celebrating a man who never thought of himself as disabled, and whose mission on the planet was to forward the development (and the cause) of “black classical music.”
The book has a few weaknesses. At times, one wishes for a clearer chronology. Also, ideas and even quotations and paragraphs are frequently repeated beyond their call. And Kruth's open enthusiasm sometimes enters the realm of goofiness (even then, the reader may find him quite charming). However, these are acceptable prices to pay in order to write a book that unfolds like a Rahsaan Roland Kirk performance. Bright Moments is a story told with love, spontaneity, and an attention to detail, qualities that will reward not just jazzbos but hardcore rock and rollers as well. If nothing else, Rah’s music is fun--and so is this book.
What follows is a strongly recommended disc/filmography for any readers who are ready to dive into Kirk’s works headfirst.
We Free Kings (Mercury): That rarity of rarities--a perfect album. Kirk composed all but two of the nine songs, and they’re killers. “Three for the Festival” is one the most exciting three-minute records in jazz, and it showcases not only his multi-sax attack but his gutsy (yes, gutsy) flute. “The Haunted Melody” is exactly what its title advertises. “We Free Kings” synthesizes his comfort with any kind of song with his fierce racial pride. As for the covers, he runs Charlie Parker’s micromusical maze “Blues for Alice” as if he built it himself.
I Talk With the Spirits (Limelight) He does. Perhaps the greatest album of flute-playing ever recorded. Oddly, it’s the sole instrument--albeit in three incarnations--that Kirk plays on the record; on Does Your House Have Lions? he’s listed on 27, and that may be an underestimation. Even if you hate the flute, you’ll be intrigued, because Kirk transforms it in ways I’m sure its inventor never imagined. Again, off-the-wall originals (“Serenade to a Cuckoo,” complete with clock, is--for better or worse--responsible for Jethro Tull) vie with unthinkable covers (not only Streisand’s “People,” but “Trees”!) in a feverish competition to blow your ear’s mind.
Rip, Rig and Panic/Now Please Don’t You Cry, Beautiful Edith (Mercury). A bountiful twofer, also composed mostly by the artist. This’ll stretch the listener’s ear more than Kings, ‘cause Kirk ventures into freedom and musique concrete, but he’s in the company of Elvin Jones (fresh out of ‘Trane’s classic quintet), Richard Davis (the bassist on Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks and Charles Mingus’ The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady), and Jaki Byard (like Kirk a walking encyclopedia of jazz styles and forms) on the former, where most of the fireworks lie. Searing ballads, driving workouts, jolting experiments, all tied together by Kirk’s brass balls and sense of humor.
Does Your House Have Lions? The Rahsaan Roland Kirk Anthology (Atlantic/Rhino): Two discs covering (for the most part) Kirk’s last decade. The 31 cuts compiled by Kirk producer and expert Joel Dorn show everything the man could do and be, and that was a lot. As such, it’s a neat companion piece to Kruth’s book. Features the aforementioned Dvorak/ ”Sentimental Journey” experiment (“Some say Dvorak was a black man,” Kirk jokingly explains in the intro, “I say I don’t give a damn!”), “I Say a Little Prayer,” a bewildering nose-flute expedition, a wild “Old Rugged Cross,” and a surprising pop foray into Bill Withers’ “Ain’t No Sunshine.”
Sound?? (Rhapsody Video) A 30-minute exploration of the title subject that is pure late-’60s. While John Cage drolly explains what the average yokel’s ear is missing (at one point while plummeting down a kiddie slide on a playground), Kirk happily demonstrates, with a blazing live version of “Three for the Festival,” a duet with a wolf at the London Zoo, and an audience participation number in which Rah distributes whistles and everyone joins in. A must!