ReCOVery: A Conversation With Gabi Cavassa
Writing by George Wilde / Editing by Sam Ferguson / Photos by Camille Lenain and Katie Sikora
Gabi Cavassa is a vocalist and composer from Escondido, California. She currently lives and works in New Orleans, Louisiana and is recognized as one of the finest up-and-coming jazz musicians in the city. This conversation took place April 14, 2020.
George Wilde: I just got off the phone with Ashlin Parker just a few minutes ago.
Gabi Cavassa: Oh cool.
He said you were explicitly requested by his Tulane students to be a guest. Thought I’d pass that on.
But, uh, but I can’t, right? It’s closed.
They’re closed, but they still have class. They have Zoom class online.
Oh, really?
Yeah they’re still holding classes. And he said everybody showed up today!
OK, I should text him. I’ll text him. He was trying to get me in there before this all happened.
I guess somebody came across you and said, “Oh, yeah we need that.”
That’s funny.
So what you been up to?
I have double ear infections. So that’s my newest exciting thing.
Damn.
No, it’s OK. Ear infections are like the bane of my life so far. I get them a lot.
That must be challenging as a vocalist.
Yes. I wish I had something that didn’t affect my voice.
Did that predate your vocal career?
Yeah. Like I had it as a baby.
Damn. How did you come to it, by the way? How did you end up singing?
I started really young. I just loved it. There’s a lot of music in my house, I think. My parents are not musicians. And I, like, really latched on to any music that I heard that they played. And I was — you know — any CD that they had, it didn’t really matter what it was, I would be obsessed with it. Playing it constantly. I just loved it. And I still feel the same way.
Any records that really stand out from your childhood that you still go back to or that still stick in your head?
Actually, I loved Christmas because my parents would listen to more music at Christmas. There was some of the more, you know, the traditional “jazz.” Vince Guaraldi. And there was a Nancy Wilson song on there: “The Things We Did Last Summer.” And there was, you know, some jazz Christmas stuff. And I was obsessed with that CD. And so I just thought that I loved Christmas music. But then, like, but then come to find out, like ten years later, “Oh, I like jazz!” It’s a whole genre! It’s not just Christmas music.
That’s funny because sometimes people will listen to jazz, they’ll go to a jazz show, and they’ll be like, “Oh, that’s so nice; it sounds like Christmas music!”
Yeah, yeah! I thought the same…
What is it, though, about it? Is it just that maybe the classics are “jazz”? Or maybe it’s just that half-diminished, like, minor four thing. Like that little chord change…
Also the rhythms. Its being swung.
Interesting.
Yeah I don’t know. I think that was maybe the first time in popular music that Christmas music had been redone. You know? Christmas music is church music. And then OK, we’re recording music now; OK, 20s and 30s and then by 40s and 50s there’s like hit pop jazz Christmas, you know?
That’s an interesting line of inquiry…It’s funny, your gig at Marilou, Bar Marilou, was the last one I saw before lockdown.
That was my last gig!
We snuck that one in. I was there with my friend. We were just like, “Oh my gosh, I’m so glad that we made it happen.” It was a good gig.
Me too, I’m glad. That was weird. I mean I had no idea that was coming. No one did. But yeah, that was my last gig.
Right, we didn’t know. So what did you have going on in springtime?
I had a lot! I was releasing my album…
Oof.
I’m kind of making a transition from being a local person to trying to tour more and be able to do higher profile gigs. That’s my goal. So I’m releasing this album and I was going out to a jazz festival in New Jersey and playing in New York. And it’s all cancelled.
So the album is also postponed?
Yeah the album is also postponed. I’m still going to release some singles right now.
How was recording the album? How do you feel about what it is? What’s it called?
It’s self-titled. And I recorded it in August, last August. At this point it’s old, you know!
For you.
Yeah, for me. It was really scary. And I’m, you know, it was a new process for me, and I wanted to do it big. My whole thing was like, “OK, I’m going to put as much money as I have into this.” I mean, I’m going to be smart. But I’m going to try to get the best people like mixing-wise. I got QMillion to mix it when I had other, maybe cheaper options. I just wanted to go big. So it was interesting. There’s certain things I would do again, certain things I wouldn’t. Overall I’m proud that it sounds real. That was my goal.
You wanted it to sound like a real record? Like when people turn on, like, “jazz radio”?
Oh, actually, no. I wanted to sound like a real person.
Like a real person…tell me more.
I’ll tell you the full story, which is the reason I made a record. I mean, I’ve always wanted to but I was in the Sarah Vaughn Competition the year earlier.
What’s the Sarah Vaughn Competition?
It is a big — I would say it is the second-most prominent jazz vocal competition in the world, first being the Thelonious Monk one, but that only happens every so often. It’s this bizarre situation where five people from the world are chosen and they perform in a competition for some jazz royalty and, like, a thousand people in New Jersey, at the New Jersey Performing Arts Center.
So you get accolades and a performance?
There’s a show. You fly to New Jersey and there’s a show. You perform three songs.
Were you a finalist?
I was a finalist.
And who’s in the band that you perform with?
It’s the same band for everyone, house band. And it’s not like big guys or anything. I didn’t know any of them but they were very nice. And [with a] house band, everyone has the same conditions. Everyone does three songs, and if you win, you basically get a record deal. And you basically get to be somebody now, if you win. So I think that’s kind of what it’s for. It’s for the jazz world to scout out people.
Mhmm.
I did it in 2018, but I did not win. But there was a guy who was there and scouted me out — there were a couple people — but this one guy in particular…I started working with him, and he wanted to do a record. My debut jazz record, and he really, like, sold me this dream. And we started working on it, and it just wasn’t real. It just was, like, super sterile. I didn’t feel free. He wanted to have these famous people that I didn’t know. I was nervous that I wouldn’t play well with them because I wasn’t comfortable. I was nervous that he didn’t want my original songs to be on the album. I was nervous about his song choices. He just had much more control than I did in the process. It made me uncomfortable. So in the end I was like, “Ahh, this is not right, this is not right.” I’m not going to spend all this money.
Oh, and you were going to finance it?
Yeah, and it wasn’t a record deal. It was a producer from a label who wanted to a do an independent [record]. If that makes sense…
So was it standards?
Yeah. Actually it was standards and a couple like, “Sunday Kind of Love” type R&B classics.
Got it.
So after that experience, then I was like, “You know what? I’m just going to do it how I want to do it even if I fail.” And even if this doesn’t have as good of a chance. My goals with it were, first and foremost, to express myself and to make something that I love. Secondly, to obtain management. Or a booking agent, you know? And thirdly to just get my music out there, something that I can stand behind so I can get hired to do festivals and stuff like that.
Your music, your original music.
Yeah.
So you ended up making that record.
I ended up making that record.
So that’s not that long after you had the experience where you decided not to go with this producer.
Yeah, so that happened at the beginning of 2019. The Sarah Vaughn Competition was in November 2018. 2019, I’m working on this album with the guy maybe into February. And then I was like, “Eh, no. I’m going to go my own way.” And then I went my own way. And my goal was for it to be vulnerable and just honest. Just, even if it was a little off or some of the songs were weird or fragmented. It was an experiment. I just wanted to see what happened if I did it my way.
How did you do it your own way?
Well it was my own band, my own songs. And a lot of the songs — they’re not — some of them are conventional songs. Like A-A-B-A. But some of them are just kind of more like interludes.
What did you end up doing to make the record?
Oh, I did it at The Parlor [Recording Studio]. And I got Jamison Ross to co-produce with me. And he also drummed so the band is Jamison, Ryan Hanseler on piano/Rhodes and Lex Warshawsky on the bass. And that was the band I had been working with for a couple of years.
Powerhouse.
Yeah. I love these guys, and I’m comfortable with them. They know me. And a lot of the arranging process was really collaborative. So we worked on a lot of the stuff together. We just recorded it in three days total, but two days with the band. And we recorded to tape, which was cool. A little bit less control in terms of overdubbing.
Cool! So you like what you have?
Yeah, I do. After all this I think I like it.
Wow, that’s great to hear. That’s great to hear.
Sometimes…you know, it’s a very interesting process emotionally.
Making your music into something that exists outside of you.
[Laughs] Yeah. Don’t you think?
Uh. Yeah. One thing people bring up is that when you make a recording, especially when you release it, it’s not yours anymore. The song’s not yours anymore.
It belongs to whoever listens.
It belongs to whoever listens.
Mm.
And, personally, I’ve had feelings of grief, loss with that experience.
Really?
But, also, overshadowed by joy and pride. Or just, you know, not pride in like a detrimental way, but just feeling like a keen sense of “Ah, at least this exists outside my head now!”
Yeah!
And I can stop telling people it exists and they can go look at it themselves.
Well, it’s vulnerable. That’s what it is. And that’s why all those feelings are there. Like, you showed yourself to the world. And now that’s up for grabs. And it’s not “you” anymore. It came from you, but it’s someone else’s. So I can feel pain if, for example, I got a bad review.
Singers, vocalists, I think…I wonder if you agree they perhaps trade in vulnerability. Or it’s no stranger to them.
Yeah, I agree. I think anyone — I think any musician can be vulnerable. But I think singing is very easily relatable. Because you’re singing words which everyone can understand no matter who you are. I think anyone can be really vulnerable, though.
I imagine so.
Like if I had the skills to do what I do singing on other instruments, I feel like it would be vulnerable, too. But I don’t know; I guess I don’t know.
Mm. But you also made vulnerability one of the goals of this project.
Yeah. It’s like my — I think it’s my goal in life, actually. But it’s my goal musically, definitely.
Tell me more.
That’s just what I like. That’s why I liked music. The first singer that I, well, I said that Nancy Wilson song, the Christmas song. But Billie Holiday was maybe my first love, vocally. She just made me feel, like…I knew…she knew how I felt. Because she felt the same way. She’s just being honest, you know. There’s just so much emotion in what she was saying and so much honesty, and she wasn’t putting on any fronts. There just seemed to be no mask, whether it’s a mask of perfection or… style. Like, I mean, she has her own style. But the way it comes across is that that’s how it came out of her soul. It’s not some thing she fabricated. It made me feel like I was hearing her real feelings. Even if she was singing a nice happy song. The impact that she had on me, ideally that’s the impact I want to have on others. And so I don’t think I can make other people feel anything unless I’m feeling something myself.
Mm.
And if I do that, I have to be vulnerable whether it’s my song or someone else’s.
And that relates to [your]— you said, “goal in life.”
In life, it’s important because, I just want to make sure that I live my life really well. And to me that means that I experience as much joy as I can. And I think that also means experiencing as much pain. I don’t think you can experience either if you’re not vulnerable. You could be the opposite. Which is, like, numb. I think it’s my goal to just put myself out there, and that’s a phrase people use a lot. It doesn’t mean to be weak. I used to think that it was being weak.
Putting yourself out there is being weak?
No, letting yourself — OK, if what you’re putting out there is tender, for example, that’s showing your weakness. If you’re singing a song about how upset you are, and lonely, or sad, I thought that was a display of weakness. But it’s really not; it’s a display of vulnerability. So putting yourself in a place where people could hurt you or could judge you doesn’t mean you’re going to be hurt necessarily. Does that make sense?
Yeah.
As who I really am. Whether it’s just like in a relationship person-to-person, like being honest with people that you love. I want to have the deepest connection I can have with my people and my world. And love them as much as I can. So, I want to be as honest as I can and I think that means as vulnerable as I can.
Mhmm.
Doesn’t always work. But that’s the goal. There’s so much out there in terms of right and wrong and belief systems and standards to measure yourself by. There’s so much information. And that has just never made me feel good or powerful. But what has made me feel really good and powerful is knowing myself, going deeper into myself, and knowing I really was honest. Or I really tried to do something to the best of my abilities, or I really tried to — I guess the biggest thing is honesty because it’s really easy to lie. And I don’t mean tell a lie. But it’s so easy to lie about who you are, like in a conversation, like we’re having. Like maybe I already did lie, I don’t know. Like, it’s so easy to just wear a mask. It’s super easy to do that as a performer. You know? “I’m GABI now!” And we act a certain way. Not that you shouldn’t perform; that’s great. But, if I don’t do it like me, if it doesn’t feel good, and right inside of me at the deepest level, it’s just not going to work. And I’m not going to keep doing it. And I’m going to give up. That’s the other thing — I don’t want to give up. And I know I’m going to give up if I do it like a lie. And that goes for life and music. Like, that’s why I don’t like singing at weddings.
Because it’s lying?
I’ve sang at weddings that I really liked. But I used to be way more involved in, like, bands that had a certain, you know, repertoire. It’s like a whole act.
“Ce-le-brate, good times, come on! Duh-nuh-nuh-nuh Alright all the aunts and uncles out on the dance floor! Give it up for the — ”
It makes you feel so sad after.
Why is that?
Because I was encouraging other people to be happy and get on the dance floor without feeling any joy or urge to dance. I think it would work fine if I was genuinely feeling that. But I wasn’t.
I hear you.
I’m glad that you do because it’s kind of a little bit complicated to talk about. I guess as I evolve maybe I’ll have more of a concise way of saying it.
It sounds quite concise. Or maybe just because I’m simpatico to the idea.
Yeah.
There’s quite an industry built on facades, and a lot of people seem to feel like success is achieved by reaching something in particular. Some attitude, some place, physically or more cosmically. But just reaching some goal. An achievement of some kind that’s external to their being.
Right.
That’s a pretty popular view.
Yeah, and it’s external to their being because they’re viewing it as better than their being.
Hmm.
Not only separate but better. And I just think that’s so backwards. I totally fall victim to, like, a lot of these standards of measuring myself against another singer. Someone who’s really successful. And being like, “I’m not this, and I’m not this, and I’m not this, and I’m not this.” It’s just not helpful.
Thinking of all the things you’re not?
Yeah. And of course you’re not. An external idea of what you should be and then you’re going to try to fit in that? That is so hard. Some people can do it. I don’t know if they feel whole or not, but some people are better than others at applying themselves to existing standards and structures for growth. I’m really bad at that.
Although it seems like you also question whether or not it’s a good idea to be good at it.
Right. Totally. So, [if it’s] something I’m already bad at, I’m like, “Who needs it!” (Laughs)
So maybe you’re just taking the path of least resistance in this whole effort to be yourself.
Maybe I am! Why does it feel so hard then? (Laughs)
Why does it feel so hard then? That’s a good question.
I don’t know? School, for example, was very hard for me.
Music school? Or just all school?
All school. Not because I’m not a genius. Just because the structure of it was so difficult for me to get in line with. It was like, you know, a square…what’s that, square hole, and I’m a round peg. And I’m trying so hard to fit in and it’s so hard. And when I’m done trying, I feel shitty. At least in my new way where I’m not trying to fit into the hole. I’m trying to build my own hole, to fit my own existing…I’m trying to build a round hole by myself. And that may be tiring and really hard, but at least at the end of that day trying that, I feel good.
Hmm. Right, so you’re a round peg trying to make a round hole.
Yeah! I’m a round peg trying to make a round hole.
Nobody ever asks the peg to make the hole. Nobody ever brings that up!
(Laughs) Yeah! And the whole time I’ve been looking for my hole: “Knock, knock, knock, is there a round hole here? Is there a round hole here?” No. At every fucking step of the way I’m like, “Oh! OK! I have to make another hole.” At every level. Maybe I’ve found some. And I go through the hole at every level. And then…I don’t know if “hole” is the right metaphor here.
Right, we may be stretching the “hole”.
But at every juncture I’ve figured out that I have to do it myself. And I just didn’t think that was going to be true when I started out on this journey, but it has been so far.
You didn’t think that it was going to be true that you had to make your own way? Or that you would deny the existing path?
Both. But mainly I definitely thought that at some point someone was going to lay out the red carpet for me.
And you would get a record deal and management and a booking agent and all that.
Yep.
By virtue of being a great singer.
Yep.
And no one did it.
No one did it. I really thought that. Partially I think it’s my upbringing because there were no musicians where I come from.
Where do you come from?
Escondido, California. It’s a suburban town outside of San Diego.
OK.
And, yeah, no one did music. There’s not much music there at all. And so I was very interested in it from a very young age and everyone was like, “You are so special.” And I was like, “Thank you!” [Laughs] As I got older, yeah, I just realized all these other things that exist for kids and young adults to help them have success that I just didn’t know about or wasn’t aware of. Not that that’s laying out a red carpet either. I think there’s so very few of us who get anywhere doing anything but our own hard work.
When did you leave Escondido?
I left when I was eighteen to go to San Francisco, which is where I went to college.
Music?
Mhmm. I went to San Francisco State University, and I studied Jazz Studies.
Ah.
And, I love San Francisco. The scene there is really different than New Orleans. Obviously. But it’s very old white man bebop. Hardcore.
Hardcore old white guy bebop.
Hardcore. Old man. White. Bebop.
They’re playing a lot of notes.
A lot.
Do they play the blues? Not really…?
They play the blues. But its jazz blues.
The jazz blues!
Bird heads only. They’re, like, very, very serious.
It’s a major seven chord.
Mhmm. And I love those guys! A lot. And they taught me a lot, a lot. And so I became involved in that circle of people which is super not versatile, [which is] maybe a better way to say it. Those are the only guys in it.
Right, and they do that.
And they don’t do anything else. A lot of them — it’s different — a lot of them are not making their living as musicians. They have day jobs. They work for Google. Whatever. But they are doing that only because it’s their passion. Which I like.
So how did you end up here?
I [came] here on a vacation. A friend of mine took me on her spring break vacation. I did not even want to go. I got here. I was here for, like, one hour and I was like ,“Oh my….oh my gosh!” I didn’t know! Just the amount. The sheer amount of music, just blew me away. And I was like, I owe it to myself to do this. I’m twenty-five now. I moved here when I was, like, twenty-two.
Wow. That’s striking, Gabi. I saw you perform for the first time probably two, three years ago. And I was struck by…you have poise.
Oh thanks!
You have poise and grace in your performance, your style, not just in your demeanor but also in your vocal style, which maybe speaks beyond your age. Although I think we all know as musicians that your age is basically irrelevant.
Yeah.
Because we’ve all been around those twelve-year-old kids who are just playing circles around everybody, and I’m like, “I’m done with this.”
I follow them on Instagram.
I had to stop. Because I couldn’t handle it. These guys are like cheat codes! There are so many virtuosos in the world. I mean, where do you stop?
(Laughs) Yeah. I would argue even, I mean, I love virtuosity. I guess what I’m arguing for is what makes music great is the human-ness of it. That’s why we like punk rock and stuff. It’s not perfect. That was the point.
We don’t admire the craft, so to speak.
But we love it! And we love, you know, something more…punk rock guitar versus classical guitar. Like Spanish guitar. I mean, it evokes maybe different feelings and we admire different things about it. But I think they’re both just feelings. I don’t know, maybe that’s a stretch. I think a lot of people like a lot of different music for the same reason. I think we just like how…I don’t know. What do you think it is? The feelings? The human-ness? Just the sounds?
People like music for a lot of different reasons.
Really, are you sure it’s not all the same reason?
I don’t know. If you’re asking me my personal opinion…I think music serves many functions for many people. Like, there’s music at a wedding, right? You’re not showing the most deep feeling about yourself. You’re singing some covers that everybody knows. What it’s doing for people is different in different places. People love going out on Bourbon Street and getting hammered and listening to the CCR covers and stuff. And it’s still music. It’s still a musical experience. Music is still the operative factor even drunk on Bourbon listening to, like, “Born on the Bayou.”
Mhmm.
And I think that probably is different from the way an eight-year-old girl hears Nancy Wilson. But maybe not? Maybe it’s not. Music can be functional. But when it’s not functional, it’s an experience of spirit and joy. Or just — an experience of the spirit. Joy, or pain, or grief, or raw power, or tender, gentle — maybe it’s suffering. Then maybe people like the music for the same reason. Because it’s of the spirit. It’s of your spirit. You connect to it because you can feel — we can feel our humanity in it. We can feel our myths.
Yeah.
We can feel our being in ways that we don’t feel when we, like, measure ourselves. “Oh, I’m five-foot-eleven and 185 pounds,” you know? That’s different from when you measure up, like, “I’m an empath.” Or, “I’m sad.” That might be how I put it. And I also tend toward music that is less functional and more of the spirit. Because there is music that’s quite functional. That is serving a purpose. Like, this is music for these drugs.
Right.
What’s wrong with that? Is it going to show you your spirit? Maybe not.
Well, I think the music reminds us of life. And there are so many moments of life. So if you’ve never done that drug that music was made for, and you hear that music, you’re like, “Uh, I don’t get this.” This doesn’t function for me as it’s supposed to. But all those songs on Bourbon Street. Those lame songs. Or lame bands. Or. That’s mean. OK. Whatever. All that music on Bourbon Street — all those songs that they’re covering were great songs that served a function! And so it reminds us of that when we’re at a wedding or something. Reminding a human. Whether it’s like dancing-crazy human, or whether it’s peaceful-sweet human. You know? Anything. We are many things.
