Fresh Air - Arsenio Hall

Episode Date: April 6, 2026

Hall grew up in Cleveland dreaming of being the next Johnny Carson. He got close – closer than anyone expected – and then he walked away. Thirty years later, he's finally telling the full story in a new memoir. “I wanted to do this show that didn't exist when I was a kid and I knew the talent was out there,” he tells Tonya Mosley. I found Bruno Mars and put him on the show when he was two feet tall. I wanted those things that Johnny didn't do.” He talks about some of the iconic moments of 'The Arsenio Hall Show,' his decision to end it, and his friendships with Jay Leno and Richard Pryor.Jazz historian Kevin Whitehead marks the 100th birthday of the composer Randy Weston.To manage podcast ad preferences, review the links below:See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for sponsorship and to manage your podcast sponsorship preferences.NPR Privacy Policy

This is fresh air. I'm Tanya Mosley. That's how America was welcomed into the party that was known as the Arsenio Hall Show. His name stretched out the way his mother used to call him into the house when he was a kid growing up in Cleveland. During its run in the late 80s and early 90s, Time magazine called Arsenio, hip, brash, and the new generation. And some of the most important moments in American culture happened on Arsenio's couch. Magic Johnson chose the show as the first place to speak after announcing his HIV diagnosis. When Los Angeles burned after the Rodney King verdict, executives wanted the show to go dark, but Arsenio went on anyway. And one night, a charming governor from Arkansas running for president showed up with a saxophone.

That appearance would go on to be credited as a turning point in the 92 presidential election, strengthening Clinton's hold on young and black voters who helped carry Clinton to the White House. I was a teenager in Detroit, staying up past my bedtime to watch, and I was not alone. At its peak, the Arsenio Hall show was syndicated on nearly 200 stations, running second in the late-night ratings to Arsenio's idol,

Johnny Carson, an unthinkable feat at the time. And then just like that, poof, the show was gone. But here's what I never knew until I read. Arsinios' new memoir. The show wasn't canceled. Arsenio quit, walking away from a dream he'd been rehearsing since he was 12 years old. The reasons were distinctly American. White audiences thought the show was too black, and black audiences thought it wasn't black enough. And it wore him down in ways he's never told fully until now. His new memoir is simply called Arsenio. And Arsenio Hall, welcome to fresh air.

Thank you very much. Wow, what an intro. Oh, Arsenio, you know, you have talked about the decision to leave the show before, but this book, it really names things. I haven't seen you name before. You say this thing that was really poignant to me. You said you felt insatiably black and profoundly alone. Take me inside of that. To be 100% yourself and still that self be rejected. Yeah, you know, when I came up, I could watch a show like Johnny Carson or Merv Griffin and for weeks at a time, maybe never see a minority perform. And you know they're out there. So my dream was to one day grow up and show the other side of show business. Unfortunately, you can't get the kind of numbers doing my... show, like to be on a network. You know, you can't be on CBS ABC or replace the king when he leaves on NBC. Johnny Carson. Yes, yes. So I created this show in syndication, which did very well and often Paramount thought it was too black because they wanted to kind of dangle a carrot in front of me

and say, if you do the right show, you could be the guy to get Johnny's audits. when he leaves. But one of the reasons Johnny liked me is I didn't want Johnny's audience and I didn't want to do his show. When you launched, there were essentially three players. There was Johnny Carson who was the king and then Letterman who was tucked away after midnight. And then you were this scrappy syndicated show with no network. What was Paramount actually asking you to be that you weren't? I guess, you know, the example I like to give people was when Michael Bivens of New Edition first call me and told me he found this group and they're called boys to men.

And I said, what are they like? He says, they're like the temptations, but it's four of them. And I said, hey, I got the temptations coming on this week. Bring the guys by. If their album's not finished, they can just come on now and do something with the temptations. So now there are nine black men performing in the center of my stage. And I don't know how to describe it other than there's, you know, one black person in the mix makes it look too black. We've had research that points to that in our society. And I wanted to do a lot of buster rhymes. and I had hammer on a lot. I had everybody in the culture on.

And unfortunately, in America, you're never going to be number one if you have this insatiable desire to do Tony Braxton instead of Dolly Parton. And by the way, I tried to do both. I would put, I would, I tried to mix it up. I would put Dolly Parton on and then have something for the culture after it.

I wanted to do the show that didn't exist when I was a kid, and I knew the talent was out there. You know, I found Bruno Mars and put him on the show when he was two feet tall. I wanted those things that Johnny didn't do. And the things that you did, I mean, while you weren't number one, I mean, you were a close number two, and in many, you know, in many instances over those years,

you over-indexed on an audience under 35. And one of the things that you write about in the book is, as you were receiving these messages from Paramount, that you were too black that you needed to have different type of guests on, and you were competing against this growing late-night ecosystem, it eventually broke through on air. There's a moment on the show when activists from Queer Nation heckle you during your monologue,

and they yell, why don't you have any gay guests on your show? And at first, you answer politely. You say, like, I have a lot of gay guests. Maybe they just aren't out. Maybe you just don't know their orientation. But then they continue to push, and then you become more agitated, and then something in you just snaps.

And I want to play a clip from it. Let's listen. This is my show. My show, man. You think I haven't had somebody on the show because they're gay? What's wrong with you, man? I'm black. I'm the biggest minority you know about.

Friends I've had on the show because you don't know them or it ain't who you want on the show. You got a problem with it. If you want to book it, get yourself a show. God, it seems so long ago. I think you become more angry and you become stronger

when you realize you are right because a huge part of my staff was gay. Many of my guests were gay, but it was at a time when you didn't always know. So the gay people on my show couldn't even come to my defense. Ellen couldn't come and say, oh, wait a minute, you guys don't know.

You know. Because she hadn't come out yet. Right. Right. And Rosie was on the show a lot. And a lot of people that may be still in the closet, so I won't mention their names, but it wasn't my job to say, ladies and gentlemen, balladeer and homosexual, put your hands together. You know, it wasn't my job to introduce a singer that way.

And I think part of my anger was at that point, I'm being told by the black community that it ain't black enough. I'm being told by the Paramount executives that it ain't white enough. And now the gay community is going to attack me during the show. You're going to take money out of my wallet and food off my family's plate in the middle of my job here. When you don't know what you're talking about, you're going to blame me for something that is absolutely not true. And I think I was sick of being criticized by everyone because everyone wanted it to be something else. It's hard being the first black anything in late night. Do you remember the moment when you said to yourself, I know it was a slow coming to a decision,

but when that moment when you said, you know what, it's over. I don't have anything in front of me, but this part of the chapter of my life is over. You know, I remember always thinking out my life. And there were times when I went to my business manager and I said, I'm getting out of this, man. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of trying to do the right thing and trying to create something that I didn't have when I was a child and getting nothing but criticism from everybody. And he would tell me to stay in it, hold on, the same time to leave. Plus, you got a contract.

But I do remember this moment when I felt, okay, I'm nearing the end of a contract when I can leave about year five or six. And I think I realized I can't go any higher. I don't do the kind of show that can be at a network because I refuse to not let my show be a showcase for my culture first and for the world. world second, any business that you start, you look for a void in some area and you try to fill that void. That's the way to succeed in life. And I saw a void in a show that didn't put on enough women and enough minorities, you know. So I wanted to do that show. And I realized I couldn't go any higher. And I always said, when I end it, I want to go out on top. So I wrote this letter. And as the kids say, let me see the receipts. The good thing about writing this book

is me and my woman went in the garage and we ripped a garage apart looking for that one piece of paper, the resignation that I wrote to Paramount, and I put that in the book. For those who will read the book, you've got so many stories that really take us to what was happening behind the scenes. Did it take a lot of that kind of excavating? you literally going into your garage and pulling out stuff. Oh, yeah, I had to go through pictures and find pictures for the book. I had to talk to my mom more than I want to because, you know, my mom's in her 90s, but she has an incredible memory.

And I was able to go through a lot of things with my mom to explain in the book who I am, you know. You know, one of the most interesting stories in the book, there was a night when I'm at Jay Leno's house after we come from working at the comedy store. And we're standing in his yard and he's showing me stuff about his yard. He had a new house and a pool. And we see down the street there's smoke coming from a house. And Jay says, I think that's a fire. And he says to his wife, Mavis, call the fire department.

went down the street. It was a fire. An older couple was in the house sleep. We kicked in the door and pulled this couple out. And I had forgotten that story. The other part of that story was that you all busted in the house to save that couple. But then in that split second, you looked at Jay and said, but you should wake them up because I don't want them to see a black man in the middle of their room waking them up. Yeah, because I understand America. I understand society. If you're a white couple, I don't know who lives in this house.

And if you're a white couple and you look up and it's me, you might have a different reaction to Jay saying, hey, it's Jay Leno, wake up. You know, I think that was necessary. You and Jay, you formed a friendship really early on when you arrived in Hollywood. Just to set a little bit up, you, you know, you grew up in Cleveland. And your mom moved to Chicago. You lived with her for a moment and you were doing comedy. And then you decided, I'm going to take this step and go to L.A. And you guys became fast friends.

By the way, Jay Leno, who I met in Chicago at a club called the Comedy W-O-M-B, where comedians are born. That was the hook. I meet him. And he says, somebody told me you open for Nancy Wilson. and you're doing really good, you know, and he said, I'm going to watch you tonight. And he watches me, and he says, you should go to Hollywood because you'll never know if you have it unless you go out there. You don't want to be a big fish in a little pond. And he said, when you come there, call me.

He talked me in to come into Hollywood. So he was like a big brother figure to me because he was already famous. And Jay and I have been to hell and back. We've been big brother, little brother. We've been competitors dogging each other in the press and now we're back to being partners on the road

doing an act called Kings of Late Night. So, I mean, but the middle part we were Can and Abel without the death. Let's talk a little bit about the Arsenio Hall in its prime. The show had its own signature, the dog pound, the fist pump,

a theme song that you wrote yourself. But the couches, that was your executive producer Marla's idea, and she had to fight you to get rid of the desk, which is quintessential late-night host, you know, sitting behind a desk. Why did she need to convince you so much? Okay, Marla Kell Brown, my partner in crime, the executive producer, partner of the show, I saw Johnny with a desk all my life. I idolized Johnny. How are you going to take my desk away? and she had seen me do stand up

and she talked about how I moved and how free I was she wanted me to be able to get up to touch a guest to decide to sit next to a guest she felt and she was right the desk was this shield this desk was something I was hiding behind

this desk was protective and she wanted to take it away from me when I took over for Joan Rivers they let me host the Joan Rivers show and she quit and she had a desk. So at Fox, I'm sitting behind the Joan Rivers desk, and Marla said,

why don't you try it without the desk? I think you'll like it. I would love to see you without that desk, and we tried it. And I had to admit she's right. Yeah, yeah, I have to listen to Marla more often. Did that give a different feel? Could you see it in the way that your guests responded to you?

Absolutely. It worked. really well. When I watched it the first time, I knew it. To be able to lean into a guest and not have something between you. I remember doing an interview with Rosie Perez when the Spike Lee movie came out and Rosie starts the movie dancing to the public enemy song Fight the Power. I remember doing an interview with her. I held her hand during the interview because she was nervous. I remember an interview where Diana Ross kissed me. You can't kiss me with the desk in between us.

It created a different visual. When you got to Hollywood, Richard Pryor took you under his wing, and then multiple sclerosis took hold, and you became the one looking after him. You would go to his house a couple of times a week, loading his wheelchair into your range over and taking him places.

Tell me what those visits were like for you. And is there anything he said to you during those visits that you still carry? Wow. You know, it was at a time when I wasn't doing the talk show. So I had time. And I was available. And I found out that Richard was alone a lot watching television. And I would just stop by the house and watch TV with him. I only did with Richard what I would hope someone who loves and admires me would do if I was alone. Richard had been so special to me. You know, when I first opened for Chaka Khan at the Universal Amphitheater,

I told Richard at the Comedy Star one night, and instead of saying, that's great and keep it moving, Richard stopped, and he said, that's wonderful. I want to come see you. And I'm like, really? and I left him tickets and he came and he came early and he watched me and as Chaka was walking on he was walking to my dressing room

so he really, really came to see me. So the bottom line is that year my mission was to spend time with Richard a man who believed in me at a time when it was much easier for comics to be intimidated by

new young talent or to not give knowledge and share knowledge because the game can be very competitive even when it's the OGs and the young kids, you know, but Richard was different and I appreciated it and I tried to remember it. I wondered about that, like that benevolence because now you're of age. You're the guy that all the young comics look to now. Wow. You know, when When I get off the plane and walk to the front of LAX, my woman Natalie will be standing there. And I thank God every day that I have her because that's who I'll watch the Steve Harvey show with.

When I can no longer leave the house and stand up can't stand up. Can I ask why you're crying? You know, I just think it's a combination of thinking about Richard. And talking about Richard and thinking how lucky I am that I have someone I love and who loves me. Our guest today is actor, talk show host, and author Arsenio Hall. We'll be back after a short break. I'm Tanya Mosley, and this is Fresh Air. Hi, this is Molly C.V. Nesper, digital producer at Fresh Air.

And this is Terry Gross, host of the show. One of the things I do is write the weekly newsletter. And I'm a newsletter fan. I read it every Saturday after breakfast. The newsletter includes all the week's shows, staff recommendations, and Molly picks timely highlights from the archive. It's a fun read. It's also the only place where we tell you what's coming up next week, an exclusive. So subscribe at WHY.org slash fresh air and look for an email from Molly every Saturday morning.

You know, you mentioned about holding a guest's hand and something that kept coming up in the book. were guests who were nervous in ways that surprised me. You tell the story of Maya Angelou coming to your dressing room before the show she needed like two shots of Crown Royale just to walk out there. And Patty LaBelle, yeah, the night you introduced Prince, she was gripping your hand so hard.

Yeah, and she has these nails. I still have a mark in my hand from Patty LaBelle. I mean, that stuck out to me because it comes up so often in the book. These are people who had performed for thousands and had been performing for a long time at that point. What was it about your stage or you? First of all, I mean, one of the things that Paramount hated is my audience would be predominantly black and young. I don't know if that had anything to do with it, but it was a different kind of show.

Maya Angelou came to my room to talk to me, and she came down and she told me how nervous she was. And I offered her. I said, I got a bar and I opened this cabinet. And she says, oh, baby, I wouldn't mind having a little bit of that. And so we had a drink. And I think it was the time that we talked about hip hop and how it was poetry set to music. But it was poetry of different poets.

She was so articulate in being able to describe it. I hope that episode is on the Internet, because she was special. She was wonderful. You know, the thing about the nerves, I mean, maybe that's just something that happens and we just don't see it. But there's something about that that I think maybe there was an environment that you were providing that allowed these guests to show a more truer or fuller version of themselves. And I want to play another clip from an interview you did with Tupac in 1993. At the time, he was promoting his new album and the film Poetic Justice with Janet Jackson

and you ask him about promoting violence. Let's listen. When we were talking at the top of the show, first of all, you did a little rap, and it contained the word nine. Now, on the street, that's nine millimeter. Right. Oh.

You're going to get some letters. Yeah, yeah. And I'm wondering, are you concerned that possibly it'll affect box office or record sales because you're too close to the edge. You're too hard. It's like this. The masses, the hungry people, they outweigh the rich.

So as long as I appeal to the hungry and the poverty-stricken people, it's all good. I'm going to have a job for life. It's these rich people who worry about the fooling the poor people. Everybody knows crime out there. Everybody know what type situation we're in in the streets. All I'm doing is showing you and telling you. You know what I'm saying? Why get mad at the brother that bring you the news?

Get mad at the person that's making it happen. Feel me? It's like, you know? You know, there's a weird game that goes on because now, as a result of your art, you're becoming one of the rich. Yes. Not rich, but they're giving me checks more often. That's Tupac Shakur on the Arsenio Hall show in 1993. And, you know, this is kind of a serious moment.

You're asking him a real question, Arsenio. But throughout the interview, here's a—Tupac is smiling. that two of you are giggling through so much of it. And watching it, I kept coming back to something that I can only describe as black boy joy. It's something that we've been talking about lately, like over the last few years. And so then I started watching all of the YouTube videos, Will Smith, Prince, Sammy Davis Jr., Muhammad Ali, Michael Jackson, Eddie Murphy. It goes on and on. There was a giddiness, this looseness, a side of these men that we didn't see anywhere else. and what do you think it was about your stage that made black men in particular feel free?

Wow, there might be a different answer to that question for each artist. Like, Tupac and I, we had a lot of history. The first time I met Tupac, he was with Jada Pinkett. It was way, way back, and he was a dancer. The next time he came, he came as a rapper. the next time he came, he came as an actor. I remember him calling me and wanting to come and just talk once because he said that he was about to do poetic justice

and they wanted him to take an AIDS test. And he said, Arsenio, am I wrong? I shouldn't have to take an AIDS test unless I'm going to really have sex with Janet, being Janet Jackson. And it was funny because now when I look back, Now you may go on Instagram live or you may tweet something. Back then, we didn't have the internet. We didn't have the bluebird.

We had the blackbird. That was me. I was the place you come and talk and air out your grievances and say what's on your mind. I think people knew it was that place so you get that boy joy. You get that other side that you've never seen. Plus, you know, when a person goes on the Tonight Show, So that kind of freedom wasn't given to you. Maybe it's those guys knew we were kindred spirits.

I remember iced tea coming on when he had an album out called Cop Killer. And I really wanted him to explain it because when I used those two words together, it sounds horrible. and the 9mm conversation with Tupac. But these were poets from the inner city trying to give you a poem a little different than E.E. Cummings. And I remember Ice T. saying, you watch a Schwarzenegger movie,

but you don't think he's really the Terminator. You don't think he's really killing people, right? I am like that. This is art. I'm telling you about a problem that my people have in the inner city with cops. And that's one thing I loved about the show is the masses,

white America, let's say, in the safety of their home, could look in this box and hear people talk and hear thoughts that they didn't hear in their homes. And that's why I thought the show was important. You know, another thought that came to mind

is the big moment that we all know happened on the show. And that's when Magic Johnson, after he announced that he was HIV positive, came on your show. And you're right, today he might have gone to his social media account and spoke directly to us. But he called you. And then he chose your couch to speak from. And man, this was such a moving part of the book because you write that you sobbed on the phone with him. And this was 1991. So if we put our ourselves there. HIV was still considered a death sentence. I actually want to play a clip from that night, and then we'll talk about it on the other side. Let's listen. I know when I was little, I used to think, my dad was a preacher. I used to say, Dad, why does God let bad things happen to

people? And he used to try to explain things to me. Have you at any point said to yourself, why me? Well, I think you always say that when it first happened, but it only took me five. five or ten minutes to understand why. You know, through basketball, God put me here for that, and I've been able to hopefully ruin that myth of athletes' dumb jocks. And they've seen that I've taken

what I've accomplished on the court and turned it into great business interests. And so whatever happens to me, I mean, right now, I don't have to work a day in my life ever. Right. You see, and my wife would be well taken care of that. whole thing. So God said, okay, we did that. We educated the athletes in terms of telling

themselves, hey, you can be an athlete, but also have a brain and get into business. Now he's taking me and say, okay, let's educate the public on what's going on with this HIV virus. And so I'm not fearing it. I'm not down. I'm here. Say, hey, I got it, but I'm going to live on. and you don't have to run from me like, oh, here come magic. Uh-oh. You don't have to do all that. That was Arsenio Hall and Magic Johnson, November 1991. He went to his press conference, let the world know,

and then he came to your couch to speak to you about it. And at the end of that interview, Arsenio, you two embraced. And I remember watching that as a teenager and feeling something shift. Because at the time, people were afraid to be in the same room as someone who was HIV positive. And that hug said something. Did you know in that moment what you were doing? Well, for starters, Irvin, I call him Irv. Magic Johnson.

He was a friend. And he called me because I had been worried about him. And he called me that morning. And one of the things I remember most is, he was afraid of losing friends, losing the love of friends and family. I remember the sentence, I want people to still give me my hugs. Because magic is a warm and fuzzy guy. I hugged him to show him I love him and I care.

I had heard a comic do an age joke. And it was a very homophobic type joke about having AIDS people touch you. And we were so ignorant. We didn't even know the rules of how you get it. And there were basketball players who didn't want to play with magic. So I don't know. I think God gave me that hug or the inspiration to do that to show people we don't have to be afraid. Let's take a short break.

My guest is talk show host, actor and author, Arsenio Hall. This is Fresh Air. I want to talk a bit about just how purpose-driven you were as a young person from a very young age, even in the single digits. You host at your first talk show in your apartment building basement when you were 12. And your musical guest was a kid from down the street, singing along to a tomorrow. along to a Temptations record. Yeah, Junior Brown. Yeah.

And seven kids showed up as your audience. Absolutely. And I used a folding card table as my desk. So even then, I was determined to have a desk. And, you know, I had a little record player. So I was like, Junior's going to sing, get ready. And I'll put the needle on the record. And it started playing, do-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-and-jun-and-june, and then I interviewed him.

And I had seen a comedian open for Al Green when I was a kid. And all he had was a towel on a stool and a glass of water. And I was like, God, I think I could be a stand-up, because sometimes when I would talk during my magic act, I could get laughs. and one time my dad was preaching a wedding. My dad was a Baptist preacher, and I said something during the wedding and got a laugh from the audience,

but my dad was mad at me because we were there. He brought his son to do a wedding, and I'm trying to get laughs. The bride and the groom kissed, and it lasted a little longer than normal, and I, at five years old, screamed out, kiss her, don't kill her. And I got a laugh.

And it was like a dream. drug that I chase the rest of my life and I'm still chasing. I love the laugh. Your father, as you mentioned, was a preacher and he thought that show business was the devil's business. But you write about watching him preach. I mean, and if we know preachers, they're prowling the pulpit, they're whispering and shouting and women jumping up and down and dancing in the aisles. That's like a real sanctified type church. And you, so in many ways we're watching a performance. and your dad. Do you think he ever saw himself that way? He had to know, and he was part of my dream. My dad, when I was four years old, he took me

holding my hand into the pulpit, because you could get to the church pulpit from his office, or as they called it, the pastor's study. And he sat me behind him. So my POV was this church and this crowd. And I watched how he moved them with just his voice, with just the gospel, and his ability to entertain and preach. It was scary because now when I look back, that was the most important Sunday of my life when he let me do that.

And more importantly, eventually in coming to a memory, I got to be a preacher because he always wanted me to be a preacher. He wanted that to be the family business. And I think he would have enjoyed Reverend Brown in coming to America. You're right. That's all I wanted then and now. I wanted my dad to be proud of me.

Do you think that the Arsenio show was in some way for him? You know, I've never thought about that angle. I've never had anybody ask me that. But maybe you're right. my father was not a part of the secular world. Like I said, he didn't even want me to go to Hollywood because he thought that just Hollywood was a horrible place. And I get where he was coming from,

which is probably why I've tried to live my life in a way that would make him proud. And I've fallen off the wagon and tripped from time to time. But for the most part, I think he would be proud of me. And I think every parent just wanted to be. wants the child to be happy. And happy is often success. It's hard to be happy and content in this world we live in.

Thank you, Arsenio. It's been a pleasure. Thank you. Talk show host and author Arsenio Hall. His new memoir is called Arsenio. Coming up, jazz historian Kevin Whitehead marks the 100th birthday of the composer Randy Weston. This is fresh air. Today marks the 100th birthday of jazz pianist and composer Randy Weston, who had a 60-year recording career during which he lived in the U.S., Morocco, and France. He was influenced by Duke Ellington's regal bearing and cosmopolitan charm as much as Duke's style in the piano.

But Weston had his own style. Early on, he wrote the jazz standards, High Fly, and Little Niles. And later he composed in autobiography, African rhythms. Jazz historian Kevin Whitehead gives us this quick character sketch. Randy Weston's classic tune Little Niles from 1956, written for his young son. Weston came up in a Brooklyn neighborhood chock full of ambitious musicians. His West African father instilled in him a fierce sense of Pan-African pride. Getting to know, Folonius Monk opened Randy's ears to the piano's sonic possibilities and the need to develop an individual style.

Monk's timing left a mark, but Weston found his own ways to make the piano hammer's ring with his springy touch and dancing phrases. His high spirits are contagious. When Randy Weston was young, Brooklyn bars and clubs featured lots of blues bands, and looking back later, he was surprised how many blues he'd written. Early on, he'd accompanied jazz history lectures, prompting him to develop sturdy left-hand moves like the old masters. He'd plumb grand pianos extreme low notes, the sub-basement most players avoid.

At six and a half feet tall, Randy Weston had a long reach, better to swipe both ends of the keyboard. He was also fond of piano's chiming high notes for their brittle percussion or to lighten a mood or suggest a kid's perspective. 1963's Congolese children was orchestrated by trombonist monos Melbo Liston, who'd arrange Weston's large bands for five decades. Her own centennial was in January. At early 60s, Melba Liston arranged Randy Weston's LP's, Uh-huh, Africa, and High Life, music from the new African nations. Such music led to him touring

North and West Africa, sponsored by the U.S. State Department. He got such a warm reception in Morocco. He moved there in 1967. In Tangier, his African Rhythms Club was a regular tourist stop into the early 70s, and Weston often revisited the continent later. His trans-Saharan travels

inform his epic 1989 take on the Ellington Standard Caravan. Randy Weston later called it, the first song I learned to play about Africa. Randy Weston was appropriately lionized in later years, with multiple honors, a reliable touring group, and recordings with big bands and distinguished peers from jazz and beyond. Whatever he played, he made diverse Pan-African traditions

unlike facets of one big thing, all within easy reach like the high and low ends of his keyboard. After a globe-trotting life, Randy Weston died back home in Brooklyn in 2018 at 92. Jazz historian Kevin Whitehead. On tomorrow's show, comic Jeff Ross is known as the Roastmaster General. He's produced and hosted celebrity roasts and dealt out hilarious insults. In his new Netflix comedy special, he gets personal. We'll talk about working in his family's catering hall on weddings and bar mitzvahs,

his parents, their deaths, and his own health issues. I hope you can join us. To keep up with what's on the show and get highlights of our interviews, follow us on Instagram at NPR Fresh Air. And catch our interviews on video by subscribing to our YouTube channel at This is Fresh Air. Our executive producer is Sam Brigger. Our senior producer today is Teresa Madden. Our technical director and engineer is Audrey Bentham.

Our interviews and reviews are produced in edited by Phyllis Myers, Anne-Marie Baldinado, Lauren Crenzel, Monique Nazareth, Thea Chaliner, Susan Yacundi, Anna Bauman, and Nico Gonzalez Whistler. Our digital media producer is Molly C.V. Nesper. Roberta Shorak directs the show. With Terry Gross, I'm Tanya Mosley.