Helga Davis: You wake up in the morning and then what happens? Oh, put your headphones on, Peter. Oh, yeah, come on put your arms around me.

Peter: [laughs] I wanna hug you and hug you, and hug you some more right through all these microphone cables.

Helga Davis: Go ahead. I know I'm in the right time in the right space. Do you feel that?

[music]

Helga Davis: I'm Helga Davis. I'm not even sure how to begin to talk about my next guest, Henry Threadgill. I became aware of him first through another composer, someone who was a friend and mentor, Lawrence "Butch" Morris. I would always see them talking together in the street in the East Village. And I knew that Henry was one of his best friends.

Let me back up for one second and talk about Butch Morris. Butch Morris was really the first person who gave me a chance. I didn't think I was supposed to be a singer or a performer. I didn't know what I was going to do. But Butch heard me. And, you know, it's-it's that thing where somebody looks at you and they can see you and all of the things that seem to be contradictions to other people make absolute sense to them. And he wrote some music for me. He wrote some music for me and gave me some tools that also brought out the composer in me.

Butch died a couple of years ago. I really miss him so much. And I think I've never given myself a chance to miss him. And there's something about this conversation with Henry that opens that door a little bit because they were such great friends. And this conversation helps to create a space for me to feel that loss, to mourn that loss, but to also celebrate my way of being here, of being in the world, of being a singer, of being a performer.

And then Butch died. And there was something in me that emotionally moved closer to Henry, not just as a composer, but as also a link to my musical heritage, if you will, and a nod toward the future. Even though he hasn't written any music for Voice for a long time, I still feel part of his lineage. I feel myself to be part of his musical conversation with the world. And so I was really, really happy today to sit down and talk with him.

[music]

Helga Davis: So this morning on the train-

Henry Threadgill: Uh-huh.

Helga Davis: -I'm listening, right? [vocal percussion ] And I was listening to this figure over and over and over and over and over again for how many- how many times do you do it?

Henry Threadgill: I don't know.

Helga Davis: I just started to think about this thing of repetition. And the thing that people don't get-

Henry Threadgill: Mm-hmm.

Helga Davis: -about something that repeats in that way is you have to fucking play it every time.

Henry Threadgill: Right.

Helga Davis: So it's not a thing that is- that is automatic. It doesn't stay alive, it doesn't stay interesting-

Henry Threadgill: Mm-hmm.

Helga Davis: -it doesn't stay necessary or vital to, um, to a listener if you're not playing it-

Henry Threadgill: Right.

Helga Davis: -every time.

Henry Threadgill: Right. So we're talking about Old Locks now, or [unintelligible 00:04:30]?

Helga Davis: We're talking about your gem. We're talking about this.

Henry Threadgill: Th-- yeah, that's the ge--

Helga Davis: Cero epic.

Henry Threadgill: Right. Ce-ce-ce-ceroepic.

Helga Davis: Ceroepic.

Henry Threadgill: Right. Ceroepic.

Helga Davis: Excuse me.

Henry Threadgill: That's the percussion-

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: -one-

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: -like the percussion.

Helga Davis: You're saying, first, you don't even know how many times it-

Henry Threadgill: No.

Helga Davis: -repeats.

Henry Threadgill: No, I don't.

Helga Davis: And so when you were recording it-

Henry Threadgill: Mm-hmm.

Helga Davis: -what's on the manuscript? What's on the paper?

Henry Threadgill: Well, the recorded version is-is different than the live version.

Helga Davis: Okay.

Henry Threadgill: You know, like, um, like the ballet version of Firebird, the Stravinsky, as opposed to the concert version.

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: Well, my music is raised that way, too. The recording is more like the ballet version. The concert version is far more flexible. It does a lot of things that you can't do on the recording. You don't have enough time. Listening time is different when you have people in front of you live. So that's why how many times something can occur on a record is different from how many times it can occur in the presence of people because the people is-is the other factor that changes the art--

Helga Davis: They're the fourth Beatle-

Henry Threadgill: Yeah- yeah, they--

Helga Davis: -or the fifth Beatle.

Henry Threadgill: That's what changes the audio experience.

Helga Davis: Huh.

Henry Threadgill: See, there is no audience so the recorded version, in a way, is-- doesn't have as much patience.

Helga Davis: Huh. Really.

Henry Threadgill: That's correct. See, because you're really non-engaged. I'm not engaged and the public is not engaged. We're looking in on it. We're not in it.

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: So what you might do live might be 10 times repetition. Well, now that's gonna have to change because of the constraints, not just the constraints of the physical disc itself, but the constraints of the- of the fact that there's no live audience there that's determining that. Because we have-- You have got to remember, we live in a time our-our attention span has dramatically shrunk.

Helga Davis: And you feel the effect of that-

Henry Threadgill: Of course.

Helga Davis: -as a composer?

Henry Threadgill: Oh, of course. You have to be aware of these things. You put things up in front of people that can't-- that have no-- their attention span is five minutes and now you co-- and you come with 10, 15 minutes, you can stretch them, but at a certain point the rubber band pops.

Helga Davis: And you don't feel any need or necessity to retrain people, to sit and to listen and to pay attention and to-to be with you and not have to check a phone or to--

Henry Threadgill: Oh, yeah, but I can't do anything. It's not-- I can't- I can't do that by imposing that on the audience. There's other things that have to happen to help bring that about.

Helga Davis: What do you think they are?

Henry Threadgill: It's not my place to train and retrain the audience. Do you know what I'm saying?

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: Any kind of author that's putting anything in front of people visually and audio-wise, if you're not aware of what the tolerance level is and what the ability is to perceive and recognize things, you put too many images up in front of a person, our ability to grasp it is-- there is a place where we no longer understand what we're looking at or what we're hearing. Too much stimuli. If you're not aware of that, then you're not-- you're gonna-- whatever you're making is gonna be a failure.

That in-in tandem with the, uh, tolerance level that we're experiencing right now, short-short period of being able to stand being alone, to listen to music, to read a book, it's all been sh-- become so small. And we have to recognize that bec-- good or bad is human behavior, and def-- and it defines humans that you're making, uh, art for. So my position is like best pay attention to the subject matter.

Helga Davis: And the subject matter--

Henry Threadgill: Is the public. No sense of me designing something for you to put on the run-in, and you're only going to walk in it. You know, no sense to give you no running suit when you're just gonna be walking in it, you know. It might be better for you, like you said, to-- or for us to retrain the public, but I can't do that.

Helga Davis: Or maybe you don't even wanna do that. Like you don't feel that that's part of your work.

Henry Threadgill: Yeah. No, I don't wanna do that because it has-- There are some factors that have nothing to do with art and music that has brought it about in the first place.

Helga Davis: Which you think are?

Henry Threadgill: Oh. Um, mostly, uh, technology. All the technology that we're using. So everything is about now, now, now, me, me, me. I want self-gratification right now. I'm becoming less, less social, less, less social. I don't know how to talk to people. I don't know how to make friends. And it's okay until it starts to bother me and I start to get depressed and I need medication. Otherwise, the more I'm cut off, the better. Your patience has changed. Your tolerance level has changed. You've been takin-- you've taken part too in this isolationism that has brought about your ability to sit and inquire or long or to tolerate this pattern over and over and over, or-or any such thing that equals that.

Helga Davis: But Henry, you don't think that music can be the thing that bridges or that changes all of that, that brings us back into a more social situation. Do you think music plays a role in or should, or you hope it will, or you don't care like in-in getting-- in putting the people back together?

Henry Threadgill: Of course, it plays a part in it, but I'm just saying is-is-is not an obligation.

Helga Davis: Okay.

Henry Threadgill: The intent is totally different, you know? The purpose and intent is, you know, uh, let human services or social services or psychological services deal with these kinds of issues.

Helga Davis: Yeah.

Henry Threadgill: You know?

Helga Davis: Okay, I hear you. You have quite a unique trajectory. So you're from Chicago-

Henry Threadgill: Mm-hmm.

Helga Davis: -and then after Chicago, where did you go? Did you go to--

Henry Threadgill: I came to New York.

Helga Davis: You came to New York?

Henry Threadgill: Yeah.

Helga Davis: And then when did you go to Vietnam?

Henry Threadgill: When I was still in Chicago.

Helga Davis: Okay.

Henry Threadgill: Right. After-after I had started about two, three years of college, of Junior College, third year of college, or something like that.

Helga Davis: I think it's-it's such an audacious thing-

Henry Threadgill: Mm-hmm.

Helga Davis: -for an African American man-

Henry Threadgill: Mm-hmm.

Helga Davis: -in 1950 something-

Henry Threadgill: Mm-hmm.

Helga Davis: -to be a composer.

Henry Threadgill: Mm-hmm. What-- you know, I started out teaching myself to play the piano when I was about three, basically, because of Boogie Woogie. You know when I heard that music on the radio, I couldn't help it, I had to learn how to play it. And though my hands were too small, I still learn how to play enough of it. But the next discovery was that I wanted to know how. Know how to play it. I did wanna know how to play it but how do you make this? Ho-how did someone come up with something like this? That was always-- So I always wanted to be a composer from the very beginning because I always was dealing with how did this come about? At the earliest stages of when I started to take any lessons or anything that always stayed with me. You know, how do they do it? How do you write a Moby Dick?

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: How do you do that? How do you-- how you come up with something like that? How do you write a Lush Life?

Helga Davis: So can you talk a little bit about how you've answered how.

Henry Threadgill: Well, this has taken- this has taken all of my life.

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: Remember, it is only you and your imagination. That's what you have. You have to give license to your imagination for most of your life, which is like kind of a wild thing to do and irresponsible if some people [unintelligible 00:13:21].

[laughter]

Henry Threadgill: Well, that's what you have to do. It's the same kind of behavior, meta-behaviors practiced by scientists and great research people. Because is only through wasting time and daydreaming and giving vent to the most wildest and absurd thoughts that you ever tap into this.

Helga Davis: What were those things for you? So you're three years old-

Henry Threadgill: Oh, everything, well, I--

Helga Davis: -and you know that you want-- you-you wanna know the how of the thing. So who's in your family? What's around you?

Henry Threadgill: No, there's nothing around me. I learned that on my own. I taught myself how to play the piano on my own. Every day when a radio came on to play-- when that means it came on, I went to the piano to try to emulate it. But I was just learning how to play what I was hearing.

Helga Davis: Okay.

Henry Threadgill: And at the same time, the other thing is in the back of my mind about how.

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: So I'm riding two horses here, you know, and I haven't begun to-- by the time I graduated from high school I read my first piece.

Helga Davis: Oh, wow.

Henry Threadgill: And by the time I get to junior college, I've written-- start to write a lot more music and I've written out for orchestra.

Helga Davis: So you-- that first piece was for what instrumentation?

Henry Threadgill: No particular, it was a piece called Own it.

[chuckles]

Helga Davis: As in Coleman?

Henry Threadgill: Yes, right.

Helga Davis: Uh-uh.

Henry Threadgill: That's what it was. I knew that one way to understand thing was to analyze.

Helga Davis: So who were you- who were you analyzing?

Henry Threadgill: Everything. It did-- everything.

Helga Davis: Tell me.

Henry Threadgill: Everything. All of the classics. All of it.

Helga Davis: Tell me.

Henry Threadgill: From back on.

Helga Davis: Okay.

Henry Threadgill: Everything that I came in touch with, till I understood everything was to know about it. So that explain ev--

Helga Davis: And what were you looking for?

Henry Threadgill: I just-- I wasn't looking for anything. I just wanted to know, how-how did you build this house? When I saw a house, I want to see how it was built. And everything had to explain to me how everything worked. What was architecture? How did the-the architectural, uh, mathematics work out? You know? That's what I needed to know. But what I found out, is still did not give me-- it still-- it gave me an ability to understand that, but it did not give far my imagination to do. It didn't give me really what I thought it would give me.

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: I can understand what they did, but that doesn't-- I'm not trying to do what they did.

Helga Davis: Right.

Henry Threadgill: So what is that-- what do I gain? I learned some things about what people did. So I saw some things that was successful that you could do. So they were principles, basically.

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: The principles backpass any styles and traditions. Principles bypass all these things. So I learned that, uh, which I've been able to keep and use as a basis to critique myself when I'm doing things. Um, but the-- to finally move all the way to the position of the teacher, is through a long journey of having the information and goals to teach yourself.

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: And to lead yourself. To lead yourself where you haven't been before.

Helga Davis: Can you talk to me a little bit about being a musician in Vietnam, and how, if at all, that experience is inside your composition?

Henry Threadgill: Everything that, uh, that we experience when you acting to-- in-in a creative capacity as artists do is everything that you've picked up. This, uh,-- informing you, your decisions of views and feelings, et cetera, are a result of all of these things in this big mix in a bowl. You can't separate them.

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: You know? [crosstalk]--

Helga Davis: We try. [laughs]

Henry Threadgill: You put them in a bowl and you start stirring it up together-

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: -you know. Really, no active experience as a composer in Vietnam. I played in the van in the 4th Infantry band. There's two nouns. There are band, and what's the other? Infantry.

Helga Davis: Yeah.

Henry Threadgill: You're both.

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: 4th Infantry, 4th Infantry band.

Helga Davis: Band. Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: Both. So you have-- now you have two occupations. Your primary occupation is bound to your secondary, which we call a MO. And mine was shotgun. To wear a shotgun, like used to see on Westerns when it gets at Stagecoach one guy driving, the other guy sitting there, he's a shotgun.

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: Well, did that on trucks, on convoys. So, but to play music, having played music in the United States, you play music in the social world is acting generally civilized- generally civilized, not under the threat of being killed and blown up while you're playing music. That's an entire different type of, uh, total environment now, to be trying to play any kind of music. The silliest music you can think of, I don't-- it doesn't even matter what the music is, to think that you got to be concentrating on this harmonica, or this thumb piano and looking left and right in the sky to see what's going to happen around you, that's a whole different experience with music. [chuckles] You know?

Helga Davis: Yeah. Is it a kind of divided self also?

Henry Threadgill: Oh, oh, yeah.

Helga Davis: Yeah.

Henry Threadgill: Of course. It's always a divided self because-because self-preservation has to come first. So that means that all of the days that has been turned on in you, all the alert systems, and all the training has to be on full alert at all the time, 24 hours. You don't really sleep good because you have to stay on- you have to stay on immediate alert. You-you cannot afford to like-

Helga Davis: Well, your life and the lives around you depend on that.

Henry Threadgill: Yeah. Yeah. You know, something go off, you can't get up, you can't wake up, well-

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: -you might not wake up.

Helga Davis: Right. Right. When you came back, were your people still here? Were your contemporaries still in the States or had they gone to-

Henry Threadgill: Of course. The musicians?

Helga Davis: -to Paris?

Henry Threadgill: Uh, no. Uh, some of them had-- some had- some had left for Paris. Uh-

Helga Davis: You didn't make that move?

Henry Threadgill: No. When I-- no. Uh, I got back in '69, I came back to Chicago. I came through St. Louis. Uh, when I left them, I wasn't even-- I-I had-- I played with the experimental band, which was the four-run-runner to the ACM. I played in there briefly with [unintelligible 00:20:55] when he first came up with that. Then I left them and I went into Sanctified Music. I traveled with Sanctified people playing gospel music.

Helga Davis: Really?

Henry Threadgill: Yeah. With Horace Sheppard. Horace Sheppard out of Philadelphia. The Great Horace Sheppard. You could look- you could look him up.

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: He was-- he's-- he was considered child wonder. He was preaching when he was a child all over America. He had a big troop like Billy Graham. Was a Black troupe. It was-- we-we were, I don't think Billy Graham would've wanted to have been in the same space with what we had, the talent. The talent was unbelievable. The talent was unbe-- it was off the- it was off the-- Look, It was off the radar what we had. I'm telling you. [chuckles]

Helga Davis: I'm just-- I'm try-- what were you-- were you playing piano or saxophone?

Henry Threadgill: No, saxophone. No, saxophone. Alan Turner was on piano. The Simpson family out of Philadelphia. Some of the greatest musicians. Mention his name Simpson in Philadelphia and see don't they know Evelyn and every one of them? The choirs, the singers, it was a whole entourage and our job was to prepare the people for Horace Sheppard to come up.

Helga Davis: What was that, Henry?

Henry Threadgill: That was incredible because it was sanctified. So it was-- that mean it was completely wild. It was wide open.

Helga Davis: Do you feel in-in a certain way that you still do that though? That-that-

Henry Threadgill: Oh, I learned everything. I learned so much from that. Believe me, I never stopped practicing what I learned from that.

Helga Davis: But I mean that it's still in you as a composer. The-the connection to spirit to-

Henry Threadgill: Of course, of course, definitely. You know, the life force in me, people have names, different names for the life force in them, but it's energy. The only thing the science seemed to be to tell us about energy is we can't destroy it. You can change it. You can change, but you cannot destroy it. So wherever you house it, it is only being housed until it has to change. The confusion happens in people's mind with the housing and what's being stored in the house.

Helga Davis: Say more about that.

Henry Threadgill: That's all I can really say about it. What's in the house-- There's a house and what's in the house.

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm. And the confusion happens with what's-what's in the house? Is that what you're saying? What's being stored in the house?

Henry Threadgill: What's in the house and what is the house? And what is the house about? And what could happen is to think that the house is connected to what's in the house. The mouse is in the house.

[laughter]

Henry Threadgill: It's a coincidence the mouse is just in the house. Do you understand? It's just a coincidence. He could be in the barn.

[laughter]

Helga Davis: How come you came to New York?

Henry Threadgill: Because New York was the cultural market. Why did the farmers come to the 14th Street?? It's the market. Chicago was-- had done everything it was to do. The ceiling was right on top of my head. There was no room above my head. I came here in '69 when I got out of the service, I came up and did a reconnaissance of New York. I came up, I was here for the entire summer. I stayed in Spanish Harlem. I played around, I played at slugs, a number of places, but I was assessing New York to see what was happening and should I come now. And my decision was no. I said, I'm not coming here and be no side man. No. That's what you didn't know. But like-like I looked at that, I said, well, that's not-- that wasn't my thing in Chicago.

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: I said, you know-- I said, no. I said, when I come back here, I have to come back here whole and delivering what I do completely, not compromising, not trying to get with somebody else. I have to come with what I have to give. That's it. That's when I'll be back. So I went back and worked on that and put air together. And then we came in '75.

Helga Davis: You've made very few, if any, concessions that I can tell, um, around the music in terms of how big it is, how many people you have in an ensemble at one time. Can you talk about how you were able to-to stay true to your idea of what your music was, your composition and keeping a band together, keeping an ensemble together, not compromising, and being able to still support yourselves?

Henry Threadgill: Well, you know, it's pretty simple. On one plane, I could only do something that I've set up and prescribed myself to do. There's no way for me to change the parameters- the parameters, and the dynamics of something. I designed this for you to be able to dance in it. You can jump up, you can squat, you can roll over, but you can't jump out the window in it. If you jump out the window, you go kill yourself in it.

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: You're not gonna be fly this. Now I got another outfit you could jump out the window with, but not in this one. So I'm constrained by what I've designed for myself. So there is no discussion. People can hammer at me, say, "Oh, look, you need to cut this down." I can't change it. You know? Get somebody else is all I can tell you, might as well get somebody else. I can't do it. This is the way it's made up. All of the things, the groups I've developed, I've had them for long period.

Helga Davis: Yes.

Henry Threadgill: But, uh, leading groups, that's a-a whole occupation initiative.

Helga Davis: Which is separate from being a composer and separate from being--

Henry Threadgill: Yes, it's nothing being a musician. It's-- it has to do with leadership and how to go further with people past what they are comfortable with or they-- you know, a lot of times we say people are comfortable and uncomfortable. Where you comfortable with something and you operate at that level and it's verified. Everybody think that you're at the height of proficiency or whatever. That's fine. Then you have this other level, the so-called level of uncomfort that you give, uh, uh, a meaning to it that is totally untrue.

You say- you say, oh, this is where the-- I'm uncomfortable at this point, just I start sticking you with this penis. I say, "How do you- Helga, can you feel that?" I'm just touching yours? Say, "Yeah," then I start going and say, "Oh, I feel that a little bit more." And I say, "Let me know when it hurt." You said, "It's starting to hurt."

[laughter]

Henry Threadgill: You see? Now-now I say, "Okay, I go a little more," say, "Yes it's hurting." Then I say, "Yeah, but it can hurt a lot more. Okay."

[laughter]

Henry Threadgill: You see? How-- it can hurt a lot more. You see? That's the thing. See, when you reverse that in-in terms of like our capacities, uh, that becomes a challenge. Why is it a challenge? Because a-artist is operating on this acceptable level that they're so good at this level? Everybody knows they're good, and I'm not questioning that. What I'm questioning is there's another territory that if we design the right programs, we can go into that territory that you haven't been into. That's the only way you can make a move. You can get by perfectly, well, at a level of excellency and everybody says, "Oh, that's excellent." I-- that's fine, but there's someplace else that if you go into the time-wasting dreaming world with me, if we get the right kind of dynamics to deal with, there's another place to go.

Helga Davis: Henry, let's talk a little bit about Butch.

Henry Threadgill: Yeah.

Helga Davis: Um, I miss him very much. I know a lot of people miss Butch very much.

Henry Threadgill: Mm-hmm.

Helga Davis: But you know, you-- my birthday's on the 8th-

Henry Threadgill: Mm-hmm.

Helga Davis: -and Butch's birthday's on the 10th and you're on the 15th.

Henry Threadgill: Right.

Helga Davis: And it was always nice to walk-- to be walking around-

Henry Threadgill: Right.

Helga Davis: -around that time-

Henry Threadgill: Exactly.

Helga Davis: -and run into you-

Henry Threadgill: Uh-huh.

Helga Davis: -and just yell, "Happy birthday, Henry." But talk-talk to me about your-your friendship with him.

Henry Threadgill: You know, sometimes you meet people and it's almost you-you have this natural kind of blend. It's a chemistry. Well, we kind of had that from the beginning. Um, his-his first-- his wife and my-my and, um, my daughter's mother were great friends in Chicago and we didn't even know each other. They knew each other. And our kids grew up right together. Alexandre and Pyeng grew up together. Butch and I met after-

Helga Davis: Wow.

Henry Threadgill: -and we both had been in play coup.

Helga Davis: Wow.

Henry Threadgill: But we didn't know each other in play coup in north-- in-in, uh--

Helga Davis: In Vietnam.

Henry Threadgill: Right. Cause he was a medic. And we met in New York and we just like as people, nothing to do with music, nothing to do with anything. Just two spirits, two people that like-- that just kinda hit it off. Then when we moved from there to the music and then we found out that we had had these other previous experiences, you know, that we didn't know anything of, the shared experiences. So it just kept broadening.

And Butch was interested in things, you know. Um, he wasn't a stylist in terms of his thinking. I'm not a stylist either, you know. Always looking and seeking and trying to understand the things that he even thought he understood. And once he got on this whole business about conduction, he was completely absorbed. Cause, you know, Butch was like writing very good music, you know, and a lot of people was doing Butch's stuff. He could write some very nice pieces of music, you know, that he could always get somebody that wanted to play his music too. You know, that was the thing about it. I didn't get too many people recording my music, you know?

Helga Davis: No.

Henry Threadgill: No. Mm-mm. It didn't matter to me anyway.

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: You know, it's-it's been nice if people played it, but like, you know, times have changed in terms of that, anyway, you know. What musicians practice in terms of the repertoire, the general body of musicians. The general body musicians had a concept about people like me and Butch anyway, that we were, uh, that we were some-- that we were like-- this-this word free has been very damaging. I never played anything free. I never part of anything free. The A scene we were definitely not involved in, what they called free music. We were not involved in that. And that's how we were classified. We were definitely not a part of that at all.

Helga Davis: And I remember too, even when I worked with Butch, that one of the things he would always say to us is that you are a composer. When you open your mouth when you-- you must think compositionally. You can take risks, but it's not chance.

Henry Threadgill: Right. It's not chance. Right.

Helga Davis: None of it is chance.

Henry Threadgill: Right.

Helga Davis: You can take a risk.

Henry Threadgill: Right.

Helga Davis: But--

Henry Threadgill: But it's not chance.

Helga Davis: At all.

Henry Threadgill: Right. When you just improvise, you're not necessarily going. You don't have to constantly be in the rear. You have to be in the rear because compositionally you more like a-a literary writer when they creates a character where you have to create a backstory. His actions is based on the fact that you've developed a backstory on it. You know, who his parents were and his grandparents were, and who beat him up as a child and why he didn't like eating grits and why his shoes were never fitting him right. But that's not in the story, but it is in the backstory. So it is the basis for his behavior. So it's a basis for you playing certain things, you writing certain things as a composer. There's a backstory, but with improvising you don't.

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: You-you-you remain in the moment so much. It's for-- it is moment to moment. That's what it is. Contemp-- is-is spontaneous, extemporaneous, improvisation.

Helga Davis: Mm.

Henry Threadgill: And it's enough for the mind to be in that moment. [laughs]

Helga Davis: Yes. And so you were saying that you feel that you and he both were very damaged by this word free?

Henry Threadgill: Yeah.

Helga Davis: Or is damaging?

Henry Threadgill: Yeah. Yo-- well, yeah. Uh, damaged in the sense that it put people off and kept people at a distance. That people made assumptions. You know, when I say that-- I tell everybody that you a hot dog [unintelligible 00:34:43], come on now. You know, I'm not going over there and having anything to do with Helga, I thought she was a hamburger.

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: So I can't deal with no hot dog. She got mustard and relish all over herself. No, I'm not going to see her, you know?

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: You know?

Helga Davis: Yeah, I do.

Henry Threadgill: And come- and come to find out, well, Helga's not a hot dog. She's actually caviar. She's not even a hamburger.

[laughter]

Henry Threadgill: You understand what I'm saying?

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: So this is a worldwide perception, and it has to do with people say, don't call him to write that. Don't call him to play so and so.

Helga Davis: And you and Butch had this kind of comradery once you met each other.

Henry Threadgill: Yeah.

Helga Davis: And you knew each other. And tell me what you feel his-his absence, um, is.

Henry Threadgill: Well, his absence is purely personal. It's-it is that you know you don't have this person that is selfish to you. I don't have this friend around that like I could talk to about certain things, but certainly what he did is not absent.

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: The advances he made, what he was showing people and demonstrating is still here, you know. And people will-- are practicing it and have learned from it, and they're going on with it in their own ways. So it's just a personal thing. I-- it's-- now I don't have anybody in the neighborhood I can call up and talk to about this.

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: See.

Helga Davis: What about that, Henry, that you're-you're contemporaries are leaving this plane? That--

Henry Threadgill: Then I have to just have to replace them on it.

[laughter]

Helga Davis: Yes. And-and I-I asked that question too, like, who-who are the heirs of this music that you're making right now?

Henry Threadgill: For as I'm concerned, all these- all of these musicians that I'm playing with right now, the people that's in Double Up and the people that's in Zooid and the musicians that's going to be in the-the-the new ensemble that I'm premiering next year. I'm premiering a new-- large ensemble next year called 14 or 15 Kestra: AGG. It's all the musicians that I play with put together. That's Double Up, plus Zooid, plus Zooid with brass and these musicians, Roman Filiú, Curtis Macdonald, David Virelles, Jason [unintelligible 00:37:18], Elliott Kavee, Christopher Hoffman, Jose Davila, Liberty Ellman.

These are the greatest musicians of this time far as I'm concerned. Somebody put out a book, I Walk with Giants. Well, I'm walking with giants right now and I know it. See, I don't have to wait for one day simple or everybody wait for so much time, so you-- oh, you, they-they would-- no, they're giants now. It's better to be walking with the giants right now and know it than to be talking about them. And it'd be a historical reference to them. People have to begin to understand who these people are. There's a little confusion right now because you still have some of the old masters that's still lingering, not lingering, but just still around, and the refusal to turn loose the past.

We know how great Roy Haynes was or you know what I'm saying? Uh, Barry Harris. They were great. And you can't see who the new great people are because of that. 'Cause you can't compare these people. Remember, you can never compare artists to any other artists. Art exists in time only. It exists only in the time that you live. It's the most significant moment is that when you are housed in the house that you live in at the time that you live in this particular world. That is the time your greatest significance. That is when you are informed. That is when art is informed by its time. It comes out of a social context.

So therefore you can't compare artists of this time with some other time. You'll never be as great as Charlie Parker. Only way you could do that, you had to turn the clock back and live at the time of Charlie Parker. That's the only way you can be great as Charlie Parker. Only way you can be greater than Horowitz is to go and live at the time of Horowitz because you are informed by all of the information, innuendos, et cetera, of that time. The significant aspects of life that contribute to you being the artist that you are. Once that moment has passed, that moment has definitely passed. And we are into another period.

So you cannot equate people of now with another time. The confusion comes with a lot of musicians that become stylized and start doing the music of another period. And so they're constantly in compare-- being compared to the musician and they'll never match up. They'll never be as great as them. Forget it. You're not going to outdo Coleman Hawkins or if it's-- forget it, you're wasting your time. You're not going to do it. You'll have to do exactly what they did. You'll have to do something new and fresh. [laughs]

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: That's what they did.

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm. I would be remiss if I did not ask you the obvious question or to talk about--

Henry Threadgill: Oh, there are these question. [laughs]

Helga Davis: No, there's one, there's one in the room. And it is about winning this prize, about winning the Pulitzer. What does it change for you, if anything?

Henry Threadgill: Okay. It changes in the minds of a lot of people who I am and the value of what I am and the value of what I do.

Helga Davis: How do you feel about that?

Henry Threadgill: I think that's fine. It's a plus, it's not a minus. To be recognized that what you're doing on any level is always a wonderful thing, because the practition of art is not always, uh, rewarding, you know. You just have to stay regardless. And anytime there's confirmation and app-- uh, approval of-of what you're doing, it always is a welcome. Because I'm telling you, you spend a lot of days out in the cold. [chuckles] You know, sometimes I'd say, "There's room at the end, thank you." [chuckles] I can come in and have a cup of tea, believe me.

Helga Davis: Mm-hmm.

Henry Threadgill: But at a certain point, you know, you should never get depressed or feel down about what's happening. Will you take up this thing to deliver art to the people, if that's what you're doing? I deliver art to the people, so I can't take it too personal because I know what I'm trynna-- What-what is-- it's not for me. See, if it was for me, I could have more disappointment, see? So people that are doing things and it's more about them, they get more disappointment.

I'm not getting no disappointment 'cause it's not about me. I'm getting something for you. I can be disappointed I can't get it to you, but it's certainly not personally about satisfaction on my part. If you can keep that kind of viewpoint, clearing your mind, so what is it that I do, then you can protect yourself emotionally, psychologically. Don't be thin-skinned about this. This is go-- It's going to be some-- one of my favorite gospel song say, "I've had some good days and I've had some bad days and I've got some mountains to climb."

Helga Davis: Is there anything else that you do want to say? You know, I don't want to miss anything, but maybe this will just be the first of several times that we get to sit down and talk to one another.

Henry Threadgill: I like that. Several times. That means I have to come back.

Helga Davis: Come on back.

Henry Threadgill: See, uh, that means I have to come back. So that means I have to be here. You see what I'm saying?

Helga Davis: Yeah.

Henry Threadgill: So that means I-I-I can't leave here.

Helga Davis: And me, I do have to be here, too. Right?

Henry Threadgill: That means that I can't leave here. So therefore now you're acting almost in a godly capacity. I-I have to-- I have to stay on earth. I have to keep living because you want me to come back here. So therefore I cannot change.

Helga Davis: I do. I do want you to come back.

Henry Threadgill: [laughs] You understand, right?

Helga Davis: I do. I do. And I hear that responsibility.

Henry Threadgill: So I-I-I-I cannot change [unintelligible 00:43:15]. Thank you very much. If you'll have me back because that means I-I shall continue to live in this house.

Helga Davis: Come on. Put your arms around me1.

Henry Threadgill: [Chuckles] Helga, I enjoyed that interview. Wow.

Helga Davis: So, so, so, so, so beautiful.

[music]

Helga Davis: I've been waiting a long time to have this conversation with Henry Threadgill. I'm so happy for all of the great things that are happening with him, that continue to happen with him, with his music. And I'm really glad too, to connect to this part of my musical legacy. To remember my friend Butch Morris through him and with him. And so now I'm wondering how we can connect that with you. You can always reach out to me at helga@wqxr.org or follow me on Facebook because I want to know whether or not something in today's conversation resonated with you. Is there something in your creativity that has been sparked that you'd like to share?

[music]

Female Speaker: This episode of Helga was produced by Julia Alsop, Curtis Macdonald, and executive producer Alex Ambrose with original music by Alex Overington. Special thanks to Cindy Kim, Lorraine Maddox, Michael [unintelligible 00:44:45], Jacqueline Cincotta, and John Chow.

 

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