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The Music of Kahil El’Zabar, Jazz’s Elder Statesman &

I owe an awful lot to Louis. He’s one of a special handful of my childhood heroes whom I met and liked even more. He was doggedly invested in the idea of art as a form of resistance, and he played accordingly. There was an intention and directness behind his drumming that was uncanny, and it forced the burdens of the real world to retreat into chasms of sound. He seemed to master things like pain and injustice with the power of his sound. And he made it seem like so much fun that from the moment I met him, I wanted to be just like him. Music saved me from a desk job, and Louis saved me from only wanting to be around music. His lived experience as a rebel against Apartheid, manifesting his art as this noble struggle against bullies and tyrants, resonated with me completely. At times such as now, it’s so easy to feel directionless and impotent. Louis’s music taught me that you can never lose the battle so long as you continue to fight, and constantly. Louis also helped me to resolve some internal contradictions with my own identity. As a Filipino American, I have often struggled with the fact that I am spiritually Filipino and yet American in temperament and mind. Louis had a visceral commitment to abstraction that was paradoxically couched in his love for South African tradition. Everything was The Song. As soon as I understood this, it became easier for me to be myself and yet wholeheartedly the son of my ancestors. I only met Louis on a handful of occasions. The brilliant and indispensable Alexander Hawkins reconnected us. In 2018, I journeyed to London to record an album called “Apura!” (released in 2020 on Astral Spirits). This record may have been Louis’s last chronological recording, although a wonderful record with Bay Area powerhouse Patrick Wolff - recorded only a few days before “Apura!” - came out in 2024. You have to understand, Louis was/is my hero. My favorite musician. So when the opportunity for this session came up, I practiced for 3, 4, 5, etc. hours a day for over a month. I practiced solo. I practiced along with recordings. I set up sessions with friends and gigged constantly. I think I could play like 60% of all Blue Notes songs cold. I practiced so much that I credit this session with helping to me to develop a clear sonic identity, which I don’t think I truly obtained at until the lockdown era. When I arrived at the session, the first thing I heard was Louis’s cymbals. They have a shimmering, eerily distinctive sound. When I sat down at my booth, I realized that Louis wasn’t using sizzle cymbals. He had taken a few pence and just laid them, unsecured, on his rig. They were like this for the full two days that we recorded, and I watched them fall countless times.  As we played, it slowly dawned on me that the practice I had done had not actually prepared me for the session. True and natural free improvisation requires a degree of flexibility and intuition that you can’t arrive at with woodshedding alone. Louis was all improvisation. He even improvised his cymbals. Every day, I strive somehow to be the way that Louis was. To play naturally, like a heartbeat. Louis helped to restore me to the person I actually am, whose ancestors farmed and fished, fighting colonialists and fascists in the sugar cane fields.  I may not have known Louis very well, but I do know that he’d be proud of anyone continuing the struggle that he once led - especially other musicians. Louis, Dudu, Mongezi, Mbizo, Chris, Nik, and their kin are reunited now, and they will continue to teach us so long as there are people willing to learn. 

Spinning now after I picked up the re-release of Prince - Come on vinyl today because I was wanting to hear it and couldn't find my CD. 

Yes, good call on that one.