The New Yorker Radio Hour - Cécile McLorin Salvant Finds “the Gems That Haven’t Been Sung and Sung”

Episode Date: May 31, 2024

When the jazz singer Cécile McLorin Salvant was profiled in The New Yorker, Wynton Marsalis described her as the kind of talent who comes along only “once in a generation or two.” Salvant’s work is rooted in jazz—in the tradition of Ella Fitzgerald and Sarah Vaughan and Abbey Lincoln—and she has won three Grammy Awards for Best Jazz Vocal Album. But her interests and her repertoire reach across eras and continents. She studied Baroque music and jazz at conservatory, and performs songs in French, Occitan, and Haitian Kreyòl.  “I think I have the spirit of a kind of a radio D.J. slash curator,” she tells David Remnick. “It’s almost like making a mixtape for someone and only putting deep cuts.” And even when singing the standards, she aims “to find the gems that haven’t been sung and sung and sung over and over again.” During a summer tour, she visited the studio at WNYC to perform “Don’t Rain on My Parade,” made famous by Barbra Streisand; “Can She Excuse My Wrongs,” by John Dowland, the English composer of the Elizabethan era; and “Moon Song,” an original from Salvant’s album “Ghost Song.” New Yorker Radio Hour listeners, we want to hear from you.  We have a few questions about the show and how you listen to it. The survey takes about twenty minutes, and your feedback will help us make our podcast better.  Take the survey here.

This is The New Yorker Radio Hour, a co-production of WNYC Studios and The New Yorker. Welcome to The New Yorker Radio Hour. I'm David Remnick. For every music lover, I think there are two basic forms of pleasure. The huge satisfaction of something you love done just perfectly, and then the thrill of hearing something altogether shockingly new. When an artist does both things at once, your head comes open a little bit, which is what happened when I first heard Cecil McLaurin Salvan. She's a lounging on the sands of my hourglass,

feeling my mind slip off a cliff. Lost my mind can. She's a jazz singer for sure, someone on the level of Sarah Vaughn or Ella Fitzgerald, but her repertoire and her approach to performing are totally her own. A standard from the American songbook might be followed by a tune from hundreds of years ago and across an ocean,

as we'll hear shortly, and no two shows are ever alike. I once went to see her expecting things like how high the moon and how deep is the ocean, but the first thing out of her was a century-old murder ballot, some half an hour long.

Witten-Marcellus has called her the kind of talent who comes along only once in a generation or two. Cecil McLaurin-Salvon has has been touring the country, and in-between shows, came to talk, and to sing in our studio at WNYC. and fake it, sir. I guess I didn't make it. But whether I'm a rose

of sheer perfection, the freckle on the nose of life's complexion, the cinder or the shiny apple of its eye. I've got to fly once, I've got to try once, only can die once. Right, sir. Oh, life is juicy, juicy, and you see,

I've got to take my bite, sir. Get ready for me, love, Cause I'm a comer. I've simply gotta march. My heart's a drummer. Don't bring around the cloud to rain on my parade. And what, unshot, one gun. Hey, Mr. Faw.

He. I guess a teddy for me love, because I'm a comer. I've simply got a march, my heart's a drummer. Nobody, no, nobody is. Oh, man. I don't know what I did there. Wow.

I am so excited to have you here today, and I have gone to see you at any number of places around New York and not enough, because every time I go, I leave so happy and so surprised by what you decide to sting on a given night. What goes into those decisions? It's very nice to hear you say that you're surprised because that's my first priority, I think, I just love to be surprised in life in general by people, by the musicians I play with, by myself.

That's huge for me when I'm looking for songs or listening to songs. And even just when as a fan of art and artists. Well, this song is so associated with one singer in particular, maybe Barbara Stry Sand. And you take it on head on. And on another night, I'll go see you and you're singing. I don't know how many verses. That was we were just discussing this before we came in. It must have been 40-verse-long blues song that no one had probably heard.

Yeah, I did. I think it was like a half an hour long. It was a half-an-hour-long blues called Murder Ballad that Jelly Roll Morton did for Library of Congress years ago. Let me tell you, one of the things that I've said. This woman who murders her. her boyfriend's lover and then goes to prison and there's a lot of profanity

and I had always wanted to sing it so for like I sat on it for 10 years thinking where could I ever possibly do it and who would I do it with and then I had a Valentine's Day concert at Jazz at Lincoln Center and I thought wouldn't that be for date night wouldn't that just be great? A date night with a little murder involved Yeah.

Well, let's start from the beginning. You grew up, where? I grew up in Miami, Florida. And what were you listening to at home? And who was filling the home with music? I was listening to whatever my mom was listening to, and she loves everything. So Zaria Evora from Cape Verdi,

we were listening to Yus Sundur, from Senegal. We were listening to Los Tres Paraguayos, which is like Paraguayan folk music. We were listening to French music. We were listening to some jazz, mostly Saravan, a little bit of Nancy Wilson, Gladys Knight, Aritha Franklin. We were listening to folk music, some bluegrass. I could go on and on, actually. A lot of Brazilian music.

And that's all due to your mother. She has a huge, wide ear, and she traveled a lot in her childhood. And I think she brought back those travels in some way or that traveling sort of feeling. Where did you grow up? She grew up in Tunisia. She lived throughout Africa. She lived in Senegal. She lived in Cuba.

She lived in Dominican Republic. She lived in Honduras, in Haiti. And what was the thing? The Lingo Franca at home? English, French, or both? Franka. It was Franka. It was French. It was French at home. Yeah. From what I understand, in fact, from a profile in the New Yorker some years ago, there was a time when you were a kid you thought you were going to study law. Not so much when I was a kid. It was more after high school. I really didn't know what to do. And there was this political science prep school in this small town in France. My cousin was going. They had a law option, like first year law. beautiful place in Esau Provence. In Ex-en-Provence. And so I said, oh, why not? What a good deal.

It was a great deal. My cousin was there. I, you know, I like, I've always liked school. So off you go as a teenager to the south of France to study law, politics, history, and then something happened. I always studied music alongside my other school activities. Did you play an instrument? piano. And you were playing classical, jazz, everything. I guess I was playing classical, but I was not really playing much. I was not practicing. I had to be bribed every week with donuts

to go to class, to go to piano class. I just didn't like it. But I did it for 15 years. And singing? Singing, I, it's funny. I think singing for me is so social. I don't. sing when I'm alone or I sing very rarely when I'm alone. Not in the shower, not so much. Walking down the street. It's not, no, no, no. It's very social. It's very communicative.

It's about being with other people and telling them a story or telling them a secret. So while you're studying in France, at a certain point you start performing as a singer with a jazz quintet. How did that happen? How did you have the skills and the nerves? to do that all of a sudden? I, it was really my teacher at the music school. Jean-François Bonnell, I had sung for him a Saravon song. He was adamant that I joined the jazz class.

I was probably the only native English speaker there, so maybe it gave me a little bit of an edge with singing these standards. And he was just like, I got us a gig. We're doing a show. within like two months of me starting in his class. And it was in a small jazz club. It was a tiny jazz club in Ex-en-Provence with like five people in the audience. But it was horrifying.

Tell me about the first night. What'd you sing? I sang, it's only a paper moon. I sang, It's only a paper moon. Sailing over a cardboard sea. But it wouldn't be made. I sang Body and Soul. I sang Lover Man.

I sang, you're just too marvelous for words. In my best and most intense Ella Fitzgerald impression mixed with some Saravon. Too marvelous, too marvelous for words like... So I get the feeling that you're... At a certain point early on, you're kind of like a magpot. of different styles and voices that your teacher is giving you stacks of CDs to listen to. And one week it's Sarah Vaughan week, and one week it's Ella Fitzgerald or Billy Holiday or whomever. This is all coming in as kind of information.

And none of them wins out. You don't become an imitator of any one of them, do you think? I think as I go through the phase with whoever it is, I am trying to sing as best I can. can like them. I think that's what was happening. But I was failing. You can never really sing like someone. So the failing is becoming yourself. The failing is becoming yourself. Yeah. And it's interesting, like the singers that he had me listened to, yes, there were those big ones, the famous ones. But what was more interesting was all of the music by people that are completely unknown or not celebrated enough. People like Lil Hart and Armstrong.

If you're doing a Lil Hart and Armstrong imitation, no one's going to really know because they don't know who she is, unfortunately. Now, my sources tell me that the song you're going to do next is pretty radically different. It's called Can She Excuse My Wrong? Oh, I would love to talk about this. I want to know everything about it. It was written by an English musician who was born in the 16th century John Dowlin. Tell me about the song.

The lyric is attributed to this man. named Robert Devereaux. The music is John Downland. Robert Devereaux, Earl of Essex, who was Queen Elizabeth's Elizabeth I first favorite, or one of her favorites. And it's an interesting lyric because he talks about his desire, and the desire can be read two ways as a desire for her or a desire for power. And what happened to the Earl of Essex is that he was found out. in a plot against her and was then killed, I mean, like, executed by the queen for plotting against her. And the song basically is, it's just everything is there. Now, how did you learn about this song, flipping around on Spotify?

Car radio? What? I was taking loot lessons years ago. I thought that I would maybe learn a little bit of loot. just for fun. And this is like a very, this is a classic, this is a standard classic. This is don't rain on my parade.

In the 16th century. In the 16th century. That's what they were playing at the vanguard in the 16th century. Exactly. Gotcha. Okay. He says,

better a thousand times to die than for to live thus still tormented. Dear, but remember it was I who for thy sake did die contented. And he does die. It's crazy. Well, let's give it a go. Okay.

Let's see if I remember. Can she excuse my wrongs with virtues cloak? Shall I call her good when she proves unkind? Are those clear fires which vanish into smoke? Must I praise the leaves when no fruit does do for bodies stand? Thou mayst be abused if thy sight be dim Cold love is like two words written Or two bubbles which on the water swim

Be thus abuse it still Seeing that she will right thee never If thou canst not overcome her will Thy love will be thus fruitless ever Will thou be thus abused still Knowing that she will write Remember it was I Who forth thy sake did thy contend

Was I so base That I might not aspire Unto those high joys Which she holds from me As they are high So high is my desire If she this deny What can granted be

If she will yield to that which reason is Reasons will That love should be just Dear men's to die Then for to live the still towing that she will sake did die content I screwed up some lyrics We're good Okay, this is what happens after each song

The recriminations begin You screwed something up In the studio always It was, it's funny enough I'm speaking with the extraordinary singer Cecile McLaurent-Salvant, a three-time Grammy winner for Best Jazz Vocal album, and Sullivan Fortner accompanies her on piano. Our conversation continues in just a moment.

This is the New Yorker Radio Hour. This is the New Yorker Radio Hour. I'm David Remnick, and I've been speaking today with the singer Cecil McClurent-Salon. She's emerged as one of the great jazz artists of her generation. She was 21 when she entered the Thelonious Monk Jazz Competition. and that competition was about discovering the next generation of jazz masters. Winning is like getting the Heisman trophy for jazz musicians. And she was a complete unknown.

I didn't think I would win. I had just lost a competition in France. In a small town in France, I mean, no knock to them. But I really didn't think I would make it past the semifinals. I was even shocked that they kept. my audition tape in the first place. I went there completely astounded by all of the musicians. Herbie Hancock was like in the elevator with me. It was scary and crazy. Everybody could scat. Everybody was going to universities in the U.S. I was, I felt like a little country girl,

country bumpkin. So I wasn't expecting anything. And both my parents came with me. My mom kept saying, because she's the one who signed me up for that competition. She kept saying, I'm so sorry. This is crazy. What were you going to sing? I sang, so there were two rounds. For the first round, I sang Bernie's tune. I sang Monk's Mood. And I sang a Bessie Smith song, or one that she sings, called Take It Right Back. Take it right back to the place where you got it. Mama don't want a bit of it left, yeah. And it was a great experience because it was the first time anyone ever laughed at what I was singing.

And I thought, oh my gosh, understanding. How much do you sound like yourself now? How much did you come into your talent and sense of originality? I think it's very raw, but there is something there that is like I can see where I went after. It was all there. The choice of like odd repertoire, the like intensely looking at the audience while I'm singing. But I was trembling and scared. And even for that time, I wasn't fully singing.

I mean, I was, you could hear the nerves. I mean, I can hear the nerves. I interviewed in this room, in this studio at WNYC, years ago, Riannon Giddens. And she, to me, she does a lot of things, but she does two things at once in the sense that she's a great performer. But there's an element of her that she's also a scholar. She's a musicologist. She is an evangelist for all kinds of music. In her case, who wants to very much make the big point

that country music is not purely white hillbilly music, but a confluence of black American music meets white hillbilly music and all kinds of interesting things come out of it. It seems to me with different music, you're doing a similar thing that Rianan and Giddens does is that you're introducing all kinds of things to the stage. You're not just, of course, you do standards and Broadway show tunes and things that we associate in her minds with what Saravon did or Ella Fitzgerald.

But so many other things are on your mind to give us. It's funny you mention her. Riannon Giddens is somebody who I have to thank so much for a lot. I first heard about her through Carolina Chocolate Drops. Her first band. Her first band. I learned about the banjo and what that instrument is and how it's a product of the African diaspora. I did not know.

And it felt affirming in a way as somebody who had always loved that music but thought, oh, this is just some white music that I like. Much like the grunge is what. white music that I like, and then realizing through her in large part that, no, this is not this is not just white music. This is actually music that originated with black folks and with a mixture. So she's huge to me. I actually sing one of her songs in my shows.

Which one is that? It's called Build a House. Oh, yeah. I love that song. But do you feel that you have that in mind, too, that it ain't just by chance, that there's a, that there's a project that you're building over time of introducing certain kinds of music to your audiences, whether it's in French or it's in English? I think I have the spirit of like a kind of a radio DJ slash curator. Like I want, I'm, it's almost. like making a mix tape for someone and only putting deep cuts. That's sort of how I feel a lot of times. If someone is to ask, oh, can you do a Cole Porter tribute? I'll be like, okay, sure,

I'll do a Cold Porter tribute. But I want to find the gems that haven't been sung and sung and sung over and over again and that we might love and fall in love with. And yet we began our conversation or you're being here with Don't Rain on My parade. Yeah. Huge, huge hit. Why do you want to do something that's so familiar and so associated with one singer? You know, a lot of the decisions are very intuitive, but that song for me is not about the fact that it's associated with Barbara Streisand. It's just such an optimistic kind of... Make them happy. Yeah.

And also, she's just like so strong in that lyric. It's not enough that you sing across the centuries and so beautiful. You also write extraordinary songs. Oh, thank you. Tell me about the beginning of songwriting and how you went about it and what you were after. I first started writing songs. Well, I think as a kid I wrote one song

in my own invented language with my cousin. Can you sing it? And how much amuda, shamuda, shamuda radi, Shamuda, yeah, poli kalikala, purukututu, too. And how old were you? Who knows? Did you have a sense of what lyrics meant? Maybe at the time we knew what it meant.

Now I don't know what it means. Lost to the midst of time. Lost, yes. And I heard Abby Lincoln. I heard an album of hers called Holy Earth. And it made me want to write. Oh, the holy earth's mural, seen from way up high.

The very first song I wrote, or that I remember writing, is a song called Woman Child. That was the title track of my second album. And then, yeah, ever since then I've been writing. And you're writing them with the piano, with not the lute? Not the lute, not yet.

I'm writing with the piano. I have a feeling that that's come. No, no, no, no, no. With the piano and with the window. I like to look out a window. How do you spend your days? Long walk, a lot of writing in the morning. And then eventually get to the piano at some point.

And then embroidery, a lot of embroidery. It's a lot of alone time. Yes. And how does that inform the music? Wow. That's a great question. It is very introspective music And it is music about solitude

A lot of it About solitude, about yearning About desire And I think all of those feelings Are clearly coming from the fact that it's so much alone time Which I need I think I may be pressing my luck But I'm hoping you'll sing Moon song

Which is on the album Ghost Song from I think two years years ago, three years ago. Tell me about the song before we hear it. It's a song I wrote about wanting to want and loving that feeling of desire and that feeling of before the big thing happens and almost not wanting the big thing to happen, just wanting to be in that prelude of it because that's where all the excitement is, being far away from the object of affection and looking at them longingly. So different than a 16th century,

Lutebe song. Maybe exactly the same as a 16th century. Maybe it's exactly, can she excuse my wrongs. Yeah, they had desire in the 16th century. Okay. If you should love me, don't ever tell, show it.

That's how I'll know it. It's better. to show me at all. Let me pine, let me ur, let me crawl, let me write, and long to belong to you, write you a song from a distance. Let me love you like a... Let me love you like a... Let me love you I want to thank you so much for being here. Thank you. Thanks for having me. Thanks for having both of us. Cecile McLaurin Salvant, join me in the studio playing live at WNYC, along with pianist Sullivan Fortner. She's playing this month in Phoenix, Burlington, Cleveland, and Moore before heading to Europe.

I'm David Remnick. Thanks for listening to the show today. And thanks again, too, to all of you who have been writing in about our election coverage, sharing ideas and observations and questions. This is The New Yorker Radio Hour. See you next time. The New Yorker Radio Hour is a co-production of WNYC Studios and The New Yorker. Our theme music was composed and performed by Merrill Garbus of Tune Yards, with additional music by Louis Mitchell. This episode was produced by Max Balton, Adam Howard,

Kalalia, David Krasnow, Jeffrey Masters, Louis Mitchell, Jared Paul, and Alicia Zuckerman. With guidance from Emily Boutin and assistance from Michael May, David Gable, Alex Barish, Victor Gwan, and Alejandra Deccett. The New Yorker Radio Hour is supported in part by the Cherina Endowment Fund.