What Happened Hazel Scott? Meet the Brilliant Jazz Musician & Activist Who Disappeared into Obscurity When She Was Blacklisted During the McCarthy Era

Women in the enter­tain­ment busi­ness who have tak­en a stand against racism and state vio­lence and oppres­sion have often found their careers ruined as a result, their albums and per­for­mances boy­cotted, oppor­tu­ni­ties rescind­ed. This, accord­ing to Nina Simone, is what hap­pened to her after she began her fight for Civ­il Rights with the fero­cious “Mis­sis­sip­pi God­dam.” She con­tin­ued per­form­ing in Europe until the 1990s, but her cul­tur­al stock in her own coun­try declined after the 60s. She was large­ly unknown to younger gen­er­a­tions until Lau­ryn Hill and lat­er hip hop artists turned her music into a “secret weapon.”

Maybe the music of Hazel Scott will enjoy a sim­i­lar revival now that her name has been returned to pop­u­lar con­scious­ness by Ali­cia Keys, who paid trib­ute to Scott at last year’s Gram­mys. Once the biggest star in jazz, Scott’s career was destroyed by the House Un-Amer­i­can Activ­i­ties Com­mit­tee (HUAC) in the 1950s when a pub­li­ca­tion called Red Chan­nels accused her of Com­mu­nist sym­pa­thies. Black­list­ed, she moved to Paris and per­formed exclu­sive­ly in Europe until the mid-six­ties. As with many an artist who suf­fered this fate dur­ing the Cold War, Scott stood accused of anti-Amer­i­can­ism not for any actu­al sup­port of the Sovi­ets but because she chal­lenged racial seg­re­ga­tion and dis­crim­i­na­tion at home.

Born in Trinidad and raised by her moth­er in New York City, like Simone, Scott was a clas­si­cal­ly trained child prodi­gy (see her play jazz-infused Liszt for World War II sol­diers in the video below), whose ear­ly, some­times vio­lent, expe­ri­ences with racism left last­ing scars. She audi­tioned for Jul­liard at age 8. “When she fin­ished,” writes Loris­sa Rine­heart at Nar­ra­tive­ly, “the audi­tions direc­tor whis­pered, ‘I am in the pres­ence of a genius.” Jul­liard founder Frank Dam­rosch agreed, and she was admit­ted.

Scott’s moth­er Alma, her­self a jazz musi­cian, “befriend­ed some of the Harlem Renaissance’s bright­est stars,” and the young Scott grew up sur­round­ed by the lead­ing lights of jazz. When she got her big break at 19, tak­ing over a three-week engage­ment for Bil­lie Hol­i­day, she imme­di­ate­ly joined the ranks of Harlem’s finest.

As it turned out, not only was Scott a bril­liant pianist, she also had a hell of a voice: deep and sonorous, com­fort­ing yet provoca­tive — the sort of singing style that makes you want to embrace the sub­lime melan­choly that is love and life and whiskey on a midwinter’s night.

She was flown to Hol­ly­wood in the ear­ly 40s to appear in musi­cals, but refused to coun­te­nance the usu­al racist stereo­types in film. Rel­e­gat­ed to bit parts, she returned to New York. “I had antag­o­nized the head of Colum­bia Pic­tures,” she wrote in her jour­nal. “In short, com­mit­ted sui­cide.” But she con­tin­ued her activism, and her career con­tin­ued to thrive. Final­ly, “she came to break the col­or bar­ri­er on the small screen” becom­ing the first black woman to host her own show in 1950. “Three nights a week, Scott played her sig­na­ture mix of boo­gie-woo­gie, clas­sics, and jazz stan­dards to liv­ing rooms across Amer­i­ca. It was a land­mark moment.”

And it was not to last. That same year, Scott vol­un­tary appeared before HUAC to answer the sup­posed charges against her, remain­ing calm in the face of hours of ques­tion­ing and read­ing an elo­quent pre­pared state­ment. “It has nev­er been my prac­tice to choose the pop­u­lar course,” she said. “When oth­ers lie as nat­u­ral­ly as they breathe, I become frus­trat­ed and angry.” She con­clud­ed “with one request—and that is that your com­mit­tee pro­tect those Amer­i­cans who have hon­est­ly, whole­some­ly, and unselfish­ly tried to per­fect this coun­try and make the guar­an­tees in our Con­sti­tu­tion live. The actors, musi­cians, artists, com­posers, and all of the men and women of the arts are eager and anx­ious to help, to serve. Our coun­try needs us more today than ever before. We should not be writ­ten off by the vicious slan­ders of lit­tle and pet­ty men.”

Weeks lat­er, her show was can­celed “and con­cert book­ings became few and far between,” writes her biog­ra­ph­er Karen Chilton at Smith­son­ian. “The government’s sus­pi­cions were enough to cause irrepara­ble dam­age to her career,” and damn her to obscu­ri­ty when she deserves a place next to con­tem­po­rary greats like Hol­i­day, Ella Fitzger­ald, Duke Elling­ton, and oth­ers. “After a decade of liv­ing abroad, she would return to an Amer­i­can music scene that no longer val­ued what she had to offer.” Learn much more about Hazel Scott in the short doc­u­men­tary video, “What Ever Hap­pened to Hazel Scott,” at the top, and in Chilton’s book Hazel Scott: The Pio­neer­ing Jour­ney of a Jazz Pianist, from Café Soci­ety to Hol­ly­wood to HUAC.

via Nar­ra­tive­ly

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bertolt Brecht Tes­ti­fies Before the House Un-Amer­i­can Activ­i­ties Com­mit­tee (1947)

Ayn Rand Helped the FBI Iden­ti­fy It’s A Won­der­ful Life as Com­mu­nist Pro­pa­gan­da

Watch a New Nina Simone Ani­ma­tion Based on an Inter­view Nev­er Aired in the U.S. Before

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

The Documentary Miles Davis: Birth of the Cool Is Streaming Free for a Limited Time

PBS’ Amer­i­can Mas­ters series has released the new doc­u­men­tary, Miles Davis: Birth of the Cool, and it’s stream­ing free online for a lim­it­ed time. (Some geo-restric­tions may apply.) With full access to the Miles Davis Estate, “the film fea­tures nev­er-before-seen footage, includ­ing stu­dio out­takes from his record­ing ses­sions, rare pho­tos and new inter­views.” Watch the trail­er above. Stream the full doc­u­men­tary here.

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More

Miles Davis Icon­ic 1959 Album Kind of Blue Turns 60: Revis­it the Album That Changed Amer­i­can Music

1959: The Year That Changed Jazz

Kind of Blue: How Miles Davis Changed Jazz

Her­bie Han­cock Explains the Big Les­son He Learned From Miles Davis: Every Mis­take in Music, as in Life, Is an Oppor­tu­ni­ty

The Influ­ence of Miles Davis Revealed with Data Visu­al­iza­tion

Janis Joplin’s Last TV Performance & Interview: The Dick Cavett Show (1970)

The best celebri­ty inter­view­ers have the abil­i­ty to show us how the stars are not like us at all—not only because of the entourages, wardrobes, and bank accounts, but because of the tal­ent for which we revere them —and also how they’re kind of just like us after all: shar­ing the same inse­cu­ri­ties, fears, doubts, for­get­ful­ness, con­fu­sion, etc. They are, that is to say, real human beings.

Like no oth­er inter­view­er on net­work tele­vi­sion before or since, Dick Cavett could draw all of this out of his guests: both their cre­ativ­i­ty and vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty. What seemed like sil­ly chit chat was a dis­arm­ing cam­ou­flage for inci­sive ques­tions he let casu­al­ly slip through the ban­ter.

“Cavett’s prime-time show famous­ly fea­tured a who’s who of rock stars that both per­formed and sat for loose, freeform con­ver­sa­tions,” writes Jam­base, “which brought the ethos of the hip­pie gen­er­a­tion to the homes of mil­lions.” Amongst his many rock star guests, he devel­oped a spe­cial bond with Janis Joplin who sat down with him on August 3, 1970 for her appear­ance on his show and what would turn out to be her final tele­vised per­for­mance and inter­view.

Joplin belts out “My Baby” and “Half Moon,” which you can see in her full appear­ance above, with an intro­duc­tion by Cavett. Then after both songs, she walks over the couch to hang out with the host, who greets with her warm­ly with, “Very nice to see you, my lit­tle song­bird.” Cavett poked fun at his guests, but he did­n’t talk down or kiss up. Most every­one who sat down with him found his dry wit and can­dor refresh­ing.

Joplin, who admits she doesn’t like doing inter­views, “seems total­ly at ease dur­ing this con­ver­sa­tion,” Ulti­mate Clas­sic Rock points out, “a wide-rang­ing but infor­mal chat that touch­es on every­thing from her feel­ings regard­ing con­cert riots to whether or not she ever water­skis.” She is poised through­out and throws Cavett off-guard with her dead­pan humor.


They play off each oth­er in a charm­ing exchange that doesn’t go near­ly as deep as her final inter­view with the Vil­lage Voice’s Howard Smith four days before her death that Octo­ber, but which cap­tures Joplin’s thought­ful, easy­go­ing per­son­al­i­ty beau­ti­ful­ly. Cavett lat­er cred­it­ed Joplin for send­ing so many oth­er major rock stars his way after her first appear­ance on his show in 1968.

“She had done oth­er tele­vi­sion she didn’t like very much,” he remem­bered in 2016 on PBS’s Amer­i­can Mas­ters. “She told peo­ple, ‘it’s okay to do his show, he’s not a drea­ry fig­ure.’” Nei­ther, despite her trag­ic sto­ry, was Janis Joplin. “At once inse­cure yet full of con­vic­tion, opin­ion­at­ed yet con­cerned about offend­ing, fierce yet ten­der­heart­ed,” writes Maria Popo­va at Brain Pick­ings; she was, as mil­lions of Cavett’s view­ers were delight­ed to dis­cov­er, a “com­plex per­son brim­ming with the sort of inner con­tra­dic­tions that make us human.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Janis Joplin’s Break­through Per­for­mance at the Mon­terey Pop Fes­ti­val: “One of the Great Con­cert Per­for­mances of all Time” (1967)

Watch Janis Joplin’s Final Inter­view Reborn as an Ani­mat­ed Car­toon

George Har­ri­son in the Spot­light: The Dick Cavett Show (1971)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

The Peanuts Gang Performs Pink Floyd’s Classic Rock Opera in the Mashup “Charlie Brown vs. The Wall

YouTu­ber Gar­ren Lazar has hit upon a bril­liant idea—take clips from Charles M. Schulz’s uni­ver­sal­ly beloved Peanuts car­toons and cut them togeth­er with uni­ver­sal­ly beloved (more or less) pop­u­lar anthems like “Bohemi­an Rhap­sody,” “Don’t Stop Believ­ing,” “Free­bird,” and “Stayin’ Alive.”

The huge emo­tions of these songs suit the over­sized feel­ings of the comic’s char­ac­ters, who were, all of them, vari­a­tions of Schulz him­self. As Jeff Kin­ney writes in his intro­duc­tion to Chip Kidd’s book, Only What’s Nec­es­sary: Charles M. Schulz and the Art of Peanuts, the strip and its many ani­mat­ed spin-offs con­sti­tute “per­haps the most rich­ly lay­ered auto­bi­og­ra­phy of all time.”

It’s fit­ting then that one of Lazar’s ear­li­er Peanuts mashups involved anoth­er such rich­ly auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal work, Pink Floyd’s rock opera The Wall, an album full of per­son­al and col­lec­tive pain, deep fear, alien­ation, inse­cu­ri­ty, and obser­va­tions about just how oppres­sive child­hood can be. Just like… well, just like Peanuts.

Schulz’s work has always tran­scend­ed the expec­ta­tions of his form, becom­ing what might even be called com­ic strip opera. His fifty years of draw­ing and writ­ing Peanuts make it “the longest sto­ry ever told by one human being,” says cul­tur­al his­to­ri­an Robert Thomp­son.

The cre­ator him­self had great ambi­tions for his col­lec­tions of “lit­tle inci­dents,” as he called the strips. He hat­ed the name Peanuts, which was forced upon him by Unit­ed Fea­ture Syn­di­cate in the 50s. Schulz pre­ferred his orig­i­nal title Li’l Folks, which he said imbued the strip “with dig­ni­ty and sig­nif­i­cance. ‘Peanuts’ made it sound too insignif­i­cant.”

This was essen­tial human dra­ma, writ small, and it amount­ed to a whole lot more than “peanuts.” Claire Cat­ter­all, cura­tor of a Schulz exhib­it in Lon­don, insists she’s “not being iron­ic” in call­ing the strip “Great Art.” Schulz “intro­duced children—and adults alike—to some of the biggest philo­soph­i­cal ideas.” His “influ­ence on cul­ture and soci­ety is noth­ing short of seis­mic.”

Peanuts’ rich­ness emerges in grand themes that took shape over decades. Bruce Handy writes of the Peanuts’ char­ac­ters’ “nihilism,” call­ing Schulz’s world a “the­ater of cru­el­ty.” (Their unhap­pi­ness only seems to lift dur­ing musi­cal num­bers.)  Jonathan Mer­ritt describes the strip’s reli­gious mis­sion, Maria Popo­va writes of its brave Civ­il Rights stand and its cul­tur­al evo­lu­tion, and Cameron Laux com­piles a list of Peanuts philoso­phies, from Exis­ten­tial­ism to the impor­tance of friend­ship and self-reflec­tion.

Nor does Schulz escape com­par­isons to writ­ers of great literature—including sev­er­al whose names may have popped up as ref­er­ences in the strip, like­ly in the word bub­bles of the pre­co­cious­ly eru­dite Schroed­er or Linus. Kin­ney com­pares Peanuts to Shake­speare, Laux com­pares it to Sartre and Beck­ett, and Stu­art Jef­fries at The Guardian writes, “Cer­tain­ly, Ibsen and Strind­berg made a lot of sense to me as an adult because I was raised on Peanuts.”

If Schulz’s com­ic strip and car­toons can evoke these august lit­er­ary names, then why not the names Roger Waters and David Gilmour? If any­one has ever felt like just anoth­er brick in the wall, it’s Char­lie Brown. Mar­vel at Lazar’s edit­ing skills in “Char­lie Brown vs. The Wall.” The Peanuts gang, and Schulz, may have pre­ferred jazz, but one can see in their exis­ten­tial angst and fre­quent bouts of despair the same kind of dis­il­lu­sion­ment Roger Waters ham­mers home in his mas­ter­piece. Only, the for­mer “Li’l Folks” and their cre­ator had a much bet­ter sense of humor about it all.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Peanuts Rock: Watch the Peanuts Gang Play Clas­sic Rock Songs by Queen, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Jour­ney & More

The Vel­vet Under­ground as Peanuts Char­ac­ters: Snoopy Morphs Into Lou Reed, Char­lie Brown Into Andy Warhol

Umber­to Eco Explains the Poet­ic Pow­er of Charles Schulz’s Peanuts

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

The Opera Database: Find Scores, Libretti & Synopses for Thousands of Operas Free Online


It’s not espe­cial­ly hard to get inex­pen­sive tick­ets to the opera if you live in, say, New York. But it’s not so easy if you live hun­dreds of miles from a major opera house. Opera’s rar­i­ty, how­ev­er, does not make it a “more ele­vat­ed” form than, say, musi­cal the­ater, argues Antho­ny Tom­masi­ni in The New York Times. Musi­cals may have mar­ket share, and opera may bare­ly sus­tain itself from a dwin­dling pool of pri­vate donors, but the com­ic operas of Mozart once played broad­ly to mass audi­ences, “and there is no big­ger crowd pleas­er than Leoncavallo’s impas­sioned ‘Pagli­ac­ci.’”

The major for­mal dif­fer­ence between musi­cal the­ater and opera is that “in opera, music is the dri­ving force; in musi­cal the­ater, words come first. This explains why for cen­turies opera-goers have revered works writ­ten in lan­guages they do not speak,” even in a time before super­ti­tles. “As long as you basi­cal­ly know what is going on and what is more or less being said, you can be swept away by a great opera, not just by music, but by vis­cer­al dra­ma.” In order for that to hap­pen, you’ll need to see and hear much more than high­lights and great­est hits. And a lit­tle bit of con­text goes a long way.

If you don’t live in a major city or can’t get to the opera often, you can watch full-length per­for­mances online at projects like The Opera Plat­form, which not only includes filmed pop­u­lar operas like Verdi’s La Travi­a­ta, but also, as Col­in Mar­shall not­ed in an ear­li­er Open Cul­ture post, “pro­vides a host of sup­ple­men­tary mate­ri­als, includ­ing doc­u­men­tary and his­tor­i­cal mate­ri­als that put the month’s fea­tured opera in con­text.” If you’re ready to dig deep­er, how­ev­er, or are already a schol­ar of the form, or if you, your­self, hap­pen to be an opera singer, then you will absolute­ly want to vis­it the Opera Data­base.

The archival resource describes its pur­pose as three­fold:

  • To cre­ate a com­pre­hen­sive data­base of operas.
  • To cat­a­log arias and cre­ate PDFs from Pub­lic Domain sources, for the pur­pose of broad­en­ing the opera singer’s audi­tion reper­toire and seek­ing out rarely heard pieces.
  • To cre­ate a repos­i­to­ry for oper­at­ic infor­ma­tion, includ­ing libret­ti, scores, and syn­opses.

The drop­down menus on the homepage’s search field alone give you a sense of how expan­sive the data­base is—with dozens of lan­guages, from Ara­bic and Azer­bai­jani to Uzbek and Viet­namese, dozens of nation­al­i­ties, and thou­sands of entries from over four cen­turies. Most of these works will be unknown even to life­long opera lovers who have only lis­tened to the Euro­pean clas­sics. And sev­er­al famous mod­ern com­posers, like John Adams of Nixon in Chi­na fame, have shown how rel­e­vant the form still is for con­tem­po­rary con­cerns and cos­tumes.

All that said, only a por­tion of the entries have links to syn­opses and libret­ti. Search major titles like Nixon in Chi­na or Puccini’s La boheme and you’ll find pdf scores and libret­ti trans­lat­ed into sev­er­al lan­guages. Search any­thing more obscure than these block­busters and you’ll only turn up the most basic infor­ma­tion on the com­pos­er, nation­al­i­ty, and year of com­po­si­tion. Nonethe­less the Opera Data­base has some­thing for every­one, from the opera-curi­ous to the opera-adept, with a sep­a­rate aria data­base that allows users to search voice types from bass to sopra­no in twelve lan­guages.

Whether you’re look­ing to expand your knowl­edge beyond “kill the wab­bit” par­o­dies or expand your already advanced reper­toire of mate­r­i­al, you’ll find this online opera cat­a­logue offers a wealth of infor­ma­tion for bet­ter under­stand­ing an emo­tion­al­ly engag­ing, if endan­gered, cul­tur­al form.

via Nico­la Fred­do

Relat­ed Con­tent:

New Web Site, “The Opera Plat­form,” Lets You Watch La Travi­a­ta and Oth­er First-Class Operas Free Online

Stephen Fry Hosts “The Sci­ence of Opera,” a Dis­cus­sion of How Music Moves Us Phys­i­cal­ly to Tears

J.S. Bach’s Com­ic Opera, “The Cof­fee Can­ta­ta,” Sings the Prais­es of the Great Stim­u­lat­ing Drink (1735)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

How Nina Simone Became Hip Hop’s “Secret Weapon”: From Lauryn Hill to Jay Z and Kanye West

In 1996, the Fugees burst on the scene with “Ready or Not,” and most lis­ten­ers were not ready: for the omi­nous, eclec­tic, Caribbean-inflect­ed pro­duc­tion, the smooth, sexy men­ace of Lau­ryn Hill’s hook (“you can’t hide / Gonna find you and take it slow­ly”), or the inter­play of ref­er­ences in the break­out star’s rhymes. “Rap orgies with Por­gy and Bess / Cap­ture your boun­ty like Eliot Ness,” Hill raps, and then a few lines lat­er, “So while you’re imi­tat­ing Al Capone, I’ll be Nina Simone / And defe­cat­ing on your micro­phone.”

The tongue-in-cheek line intro­duced a gen­er­a­tion of fans to the icon­ic singer and vir­tu­oso pianist, who could and did play every­thing from blues, jazz, soul, cabaret, clas­si­cal, and Broad­way tunes like those from the Gersh­win clas­sic (hear Simone’s “I Loves You Por­gy,” here).

Hill has paid homage to Simone ever since. In 2015, she pro­mot­ed the trib­ute album, Nina Revist­ed—the sound­track to doc­u­men­tary What Hap­pened to Nina Simone?—at the Apol­lo. Report­ing on the event in The Verge, Kwame Opam like­ly spoke for thou­sands in admit­ting he’d “first heard Nina’s name in that clas­sic line on ‘Ready or Not.’”

Last year saw the release of The Mise­d­u­ca­tion of Eunice Way­mon, a title com­bin­ing Hill’s acclaimed solo album with Simone’s birth name. The record, pro­duced by Ameri­go Gaz­a­way, is a “mashup of songs by Fugees emcee and hip hop leg­end Lau­ryn Hill, and the jazz and soul icon Nina Simone.” What might have come off like a mar­ket­ing stunt trad­ing on both names instead “ele­vates them to new heights,” writes Zack Gin­grich-Gay­lord at KMUW, “putting them in con­ver­sa­tion with each oth­er and mak­ing it sound like the col­lab­o­ra­tion was always meant to be.”

Maybe one rea­son these imag­i­nary stu­dio ses­sions work so well has to do not only with Hill’s ven­er­a­tion of Simone, and the har­mo­nious meet­ing of their two voic­es and sen­si­bil­i­ties, but also with Simone’s promi­nence in so much recent hip hop. Among the dozens of soul artists whose grooves have giv­en loops and hooks to many a rap clas­sic, she now holds a spe­cial place, as the Poly­phon­ic video at the top shows in an explo­ration of four Simone songs that have left an indeli­ble mark on hip hop’s cur­rent sound.

The first of those songs, “Feel­ing Good,” appears on both the Hill/Simone mashup album and in a pow­er­ful cov­er by Hill on Nina Revis­it­ed. Simone’s soar­ing ver­sion of the song—originally from the British musi­cal The Roar of the Greasepaint—The Smell of the Crowd—“turned it into a musi­cal stan­dard” for the next sev­er­al decades. In the 2000s, it popped up in tracks from Wax Tai­lor, Lil Wayne, and Jay Z and Kanye West, “two artists who have made careers out of sam­pling the high priest­ess” of soul and whose names come up fre­quent­ly in this dis­cus­sion.

The sec­ond song iden­ti­fied as one of “hip hop’s secret weapons,” Simone’s inter­pre­ta­tion of the gospel “Sin­ner­man,” may be her “great­est accom­plish­ment” and appears in tracks by Tim­ba­land and Fly­ing Lotus and in the Tal­ib Kweli track “Get By,” pro­duced by a young Kanye West.

Simone’s appeal to hip hop artists goes beyond her incred­i­bly pow­er­ful voice and piano. She was a fierce civ­il rights activist who used her music as a form of protest. Her ver­sion of “Strange Fruit,” a song first turned into a civ­il rights anthem by Bil­lie Hol­i­day from a poem by Abel Meeropol, has inspired tracks by Cas­sidy, Com­mon, and, most famous­ly, West again on his 2013 “Blood on the Leaves.” West uses the song as a back­drop for a nar­ra­tive of his per­son­al prob­lems and rela­tion­ship woes, which doesn’t real­ly hon­or its his­to­ry, the Poly­phon­ic argu­ment in favor of his use notwith­stand­ing.

That’s not the case with reimag­in­ings of the last Simone song in this explain­er, her orig­i­nal com­po­si­tion “Four Women,” which imag­ines four dif­fer­ent women express­ing the pain racism has caused them. In 2000, Tal­ib Kweli and pro­duc­er Hi-Tek came togeth­er as Reflec­tion Eter­nal and record­ed their own ver­sion, men­tion­ing Simone’s South­ern inspi­ra­tions in the intro before telling con­tem­po­rary tales of four women in New York. “More than just a sam­ple,” the track “rein­ter­prets the mes­sage” of “Four Women” and applies Simone’s 1966 insights to the present, some­thing Jay Z also does on 2017’s “The Sto­ry of O.J.”

It is worth not­ing that all of the tracks the Poly­phon­ic video men­tions as exam­ples of Simone’s influ­ence on hip hop were released after Lau­ryn Hill and the Fugees brought Simone to the atten­tion of young rap­pers, DJs, pro­duc­ers, and fans just com­ing of age in the mid-nineties. Since then, Simone’s music has since left its mark all over the genre, and it’s easy to see why so many would be drawn to her intense, author­i­ta­tive musi­cian­ship and polit­i­cal urgency.

Simone may not have had the chance her­self to enter into con­ver­sa­tions with Lau­ryn Hill, Tal­ib Kweli, Com­mon, Kanye, or Jay Z, but through hip hop’s end­less­ly cre­ative abil­i­ty to make the musi­cal heroes of its past live again in song, it is as if she is still speak­ing, singing, and play­ing to the cur­rent gen­er­a­tion of black artists—and through them, to the future of hip hop.

Relat­ed Con­tent:  

Watch a New Nina Simone Ani­ma­tion Based on an Inter­view Nev­er Aired in the U.S. Before

The His­to­ry of Hip Hop Music Visu­al­ized on a Turntable Cir­cuit Dia­gram: Fea­tures 700 Artists, from DJ Kool Herc to Kanye West

Watch Nina Simone Sing the Black Pride Anthem, “To Be Young, Gift­ed and Black,” on Sesame Street (1972)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Peanuts Rock: Watch the Peanuts Gang Play Classic Rock Songs by Queen, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Journey & More

In a very crowd­ed field, Gar­ren Lazar’s com­i­cal take on Queen’s “Bohemi­an Rhap­sody” is a stand-out.

Com­i­cal in the lit­er­al sense. Lazar, aka Super G, struck a rich vein when he thought to mash the Rolling Stones’ “Sym­pa­thy for the Dev­il” with footage culled from Charles Schulz’s ani­mat­ed Peanuts spe­cials.

And over the last six years, he’s mined a lot of gold, using Final Cut Pro to pair famil­iar clips of a drum­ming Pig­pen, Snoopy slap­ping a dou­ble bass, and the icon­ic “Linus And Lucy” scene from A Char­lie Brown Christ­mas with rock and pop clas­sics.

Schulz, an ardent music lover, fre­quent­ly pic­tured his char­ac­ters singing, danc­ing, and play­ing instru­ments, so Lazar, who has an uncan­ny knack for match­ing ani­mat­ed mouths to record­ed lyrics, has plen­ty to choose from.

Char­lie Brown’s anx­i­eties fuel the intro­duc­tion to a 15 minute remix of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Free Bird,” until he gets hold of the Christ­mas special’s mega­phone…

The mega­phone serves Char­lie equal­ly well on “Stayin’ Alive,” the Bee Gees’ dis­co chart top­per, though depend­ing on your vin­tage, the vision of Snoopy in leg warm­ers and sweat­band may come as a shock. Those clips come cour­tesy of It’s Flash­bea­gle, Char­lie Brown, Schulz’s 1984 goofy spin on Flash­danceFoot­looseSat­ur­day Night Fever and oth­er dance-based pop cul­tur­al phe­nom­e­nons of the era. Although that special—Schulz’s 27th—features a roto­scoped Snoopy bust­ing moves orig­i­nat­ed by Flash­dance’s stunt dancer Marine Jahan, that old hol­i­day chest­nut still man­ages to steal the show.

And when­ev­er you need a lift, you can’t do bet­ter than to spend a few min­utes with Lazar’s heady reboot of Chicago’s quin­tes­sen­tial 1970s sin­gle, “Sat­ur­day In the Park,” where­in the nor­mal­ly reserved Schroed­er reveals a more exu­ber­ant side.

Begin your explo­rations of Gar­ren Lazar’s musi­cal Peanuts remix­es on his YouTube chan­nel, warm in the knowl­edge that he enter­tains requests in the com­ments.

via Ulti­mate Clas­sic Rock

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Vel­vet Under­ground as Peanuts Char­ac­ters: Snoopy Morphs Into Lou Reed, Char­lie Brown Into Andy Warhol

Umber­to Eco Explains the Poet­ic Pow­er of Charles Schulz’s Peanuts

The Joy of Expe­ri­enc­ing Queen’s Bohemi­an Rhap­sody for the Very First Time: Watch Three Reac­tion Videos

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join Ayun’s com­pa­ny The­ater of the Apes in New York City this March for her book-based vari­ety series, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain, and the world pre­miere of Greg Kotis’ new musi­cal, I AM NOBODY. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

How William S. Burroughs Influenced Rock and Roll, from the 1960s to Today

It can be dif­fi­cult to know what to do some­times with adding machine heir and Naked Lunch and Junky author William S. Bur­roughs. In the trick­le-down acad­emese of con­tem­po­rary jar­gon, he is a “prob­lem­at­ic” fig­ure who doesn’t fit neat­ly inside anyone’s ide­o­log­i­cal com­fort zone, what with his unre­pen­tant hero­in addic­tion, occult weird­ness, con­spir­a­cy mon­ger­ing, and exten­sive first­hand knowl­edge of crim­i­nal under­worlds.

There was no one bet­ter qual­i­fied to mid­wife the coun­ter­cul­ture.

NME’s Leonie Coop­er calls Bur­roughs “a dour punk in a sharp suit,” and lists some of the high­lights of his biog­ra­phy, includ­ing his famous acci­den­tal shoot­ing of his wife and moth­er of his only child—an event that did noth­ing to dimin­ish his love of guns. “He wrote bleak­ly com­ic tales which were sub­ject to obscen­i­ty tri­als in the States thanks to their dwelling on sodomy and drugs but which lat­er saw him elect­ed to the pres­ti­gious Amer­i­can Acad­e­my of Arts and Let­ters.”

The main­stream­ing of Bur­roughs hap­pened in part because of his appeal to musi­cians, from Paul McCart­ney, Mick Jag­ger, and David Bowie to Kurt Cobain, Tom Waits, Throb­bing Gris­tle, and Ministry’s Al Jour­gen­son. “Musi­cians flocked to him in a quest for authen­tic­i­ty.” Although the dead­pan Bur­roughs usu­al­ly appeared “mas­sive­ly unim­pressed” by their atten­tions, he was “hap­py to com­ply and asso­ciate him­self with artists both up and com­ing and estab­lished.”

David Bowie went fur­ther than seek­ing a pho­to op or one-off col­lab­o­ra­tion, adopt­ing Bur­roughs’ cut-up tech­nique as his pri­ma­ry method for writ­ing lyrics, a tech­nique also put into prac­tice at var­i­ous times by The Bea­t­les, Cobain, and Radiohead’s Thom Yorke. Oth­er artists, like Steely Dan and The Soft Machine, took their names from Bur­roughs’ work but shared lit­tle of his night­mar­ish sci-fi-cult-noir sen­si­bil­i­ty.

Bur­roughs “pre­ferred to asso­ciate him­self with an edgi­er kind of per­former,” col­lab­o­rat­ing with R.E.M., Waits, and Cobain and “hang­ing out at sem­i­nal rock club CBG­Bs” in the 70s and 80s. He became a friend and men­tor to artists like Pat­ti Smith, Lou Reed, and Thurston Moore. Although Iggy Pop is often referred to as the “god­fa­ther of punk,” that title might as well belong to William S. Bur­roughs.

Dur­ing the birth of rock and roll in the 50s, Bur­roughs was a most­ly unknown fringe fig­ure. By the late six­ties, his influ­ence became cen­tral to pop­u­lar music thanks to The Bea­t­les, Led Zep­pelin, and The Rolling Stones. But he would not be tamed or san­i­tized. An ear­ly gay hero who sided with out­siders and under­dogs against cor­po­rate machines, he was defi­ant to the end, leav­ing a lega­cy that con­tin­ues to inspire anti-estab­lish­ment artists, even if they’re unaware of their debt to him.

In the new book William S. Bur­roughs and the Cult of Rock ‘n’ Roll, by Casey Rae, you can learn much more about Bur­roughs’ major influ­ence on rock and roll in the 60s, 70s, 80s, “when it became a rite of pas­sage to hang out with the author or to exper­i­ment with his cut-up tech­niques,” as the book descrip­tion notes. His direct influ­ence con­tin­ued into the punk revival of the grunge era and has become “more sub­lim­i­nal” since his death in 1997, as Rae tells Jim DeRo­gatis and Greg Kot in the Sound Opin­ions inter­view above. (Scroll to the 14:50 minute mark.)

It’s hard to find con­tem­po­rary artists who aren’t influ­enced by the artists Bur­roughs influ­enced, and who—wittingly or not—haven’t inher­it­ed some of the Bur­rough­sisms that are every­where in the past fifty-plus years of rock and roll his­to­ry. Hear a playlist of Bur­roughs-adja­cent songs ref­er­enced in Rae’s book at the top of the post (open­ing with Duke Elling­ton’s “East St. Louis Too­dle Oo,” lat­er cov­ered by Steely Dan), and learn more about Bur­roughs’ musi­cal adven­tures at the links below.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How David Bowie, Kurt Cobain & Thom Yorke Write Songs With William Bur­roughs’ Cut-Up Tech­nique

William S. Bur­roughs Drops a Posthu­mous Album, Set­ting Read­ings of Naked Lunch to Music (NSFW)

Hear a Great Radio Doc­u­men­tary on William S. Bur­roughs Nar­rat­ed by Iggy Pop

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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