{"id":2485,"date":"2021-01-31T20:40:48","date_gmt":"2021-02-01T02:40:48","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/postgenre.org\/staging\/4567\/?p=2485"},"modified":"2021-06-21T20:32:25","modified_gmt":"2021-06-22T01:32:25","slug":"shepp-moran-let-my-people-go","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/postgenre.org\/staging\/4567\/shepp-moran-let-my-people-go\/","title":{"rendered":"Review: Archie Shepp & Jason Moran’s ‘Let My People Go’"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Albert Murray once noted that \u201cthe blues is not the creation of a crushed-spirited people [but rather] the product of a forward-looking, upward-striving people.\u201d Throughout his career, Archie Shepp has explored the connection between the blues and aspiration for a brighter future. He\u2019s done so significantly by branching the sonic qualities of the form to its subsequent historical descendants. In the mid-1960s, Shepp marked a clear trail from the form to the developing avant-garde. \u201cRufus (Swung His Face At Last to the Wind, Then His Neck Snapped)\u201d and \u201cCall My By My Rightful Name\u201d as much castigated lynchings and general degradation as they dreamt of a day without either. Attica Blues<\/em> (Impulse! 1972) drew the musical line further by including ideas from funk and poetry to address government-sponsored inhumanity. The rise of sampling brought associations to rapping and hip hop on Phat Jam in Milano <\/em>(Dawn of Freedom, 2009) and Ocean Bridges<\/em> (Redefinition Records, 2020)<\/a>. The legendary saxophonist\u2019s duet album with Jason Moran,  Let My People Go<\/em> (Archieball, 2021), fits comfortably within this backdrop. However, it also flips the approach taken by these earlier recordings.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Captured across two live performances from Paris\u2019 2017 Jazz \u00e0 la Villette festival and Mannheim, Germany\u2019s 2018 Enjoy Jazz Festival, Let My People Go<\/em> does not list a single original composition among its tracks. Given the freedom both Shepp and Moran retain in their improvisations, this distinction is primarily a formality. But one that is a significant focal point nonetheless. The origins of these songs are found in old spirituals and standards. While neither artist is a stranger to these tunes, the fact that they serve as the basis of an entire album by two who are continually looking for new methods of musical expression is telling. Instead of emphasizing the path that leads from the past to the present, it suggests looking first at the present then studying the past to seek a new way forward. With this focus in mind, Moran is an inspired choice as Shepp\u2019s partner; his projects like Fats Waller Dance Party<\/em> and his sideman work with elder statesmen of music like Charles Lloyd have to some extent explored these ideas as well. But the blues is the glue that holds together the entirety of the album\u2019s proceedings. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

With \u201cSometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child,\u201d Moran sets a contemplative landscape over which Shepp\u2019s iconically nasal sounding soprano provides a narration reflective of the song\u2019s lyrics, tearful but not entirely mired in despair. As time advances, the pianist gives glimmers of promise even with the occasional discord. His reference to \u201cLush Life,\u201d even as the song appears later on the album, is inspired as it suggests that even in \u201cthe finer life\u201d sought, struggles may remain. Moran\u2019s contemporary phrasing on the track beautifully complements Shepp\u2019s cries of ancestors\u2019 past. Interestingly, the piece hits its highest moment when the saxophonist places his horn aside. By singing like an old blues crooner, Shepp reflects on the loss, pain, and sacrifice he and so many others have seen and experienced during life even as he asserts there is perhaps hope for one who remains a \u201ctrue believer.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n

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