Move on Up—Curtis Mayfield
#365Songs: June 3
You know an artist has reached a certain level of genius and impact when people start talking about who the “next (insert name here)” will be.
In modern times, Bob Dylan is perhaps the most obvious example of this phenomenon. And it is indeed a phenomenon, though some may think of it as more of a curse. Being branded “the new Dylan” has near ruined many a fine songwriter. Bruce Springsteen, Loudon Wainwright III, and John Prine all had to contend with the imposition of the mantle. Paul Simon desperately wanted it, but hated the fact that he wanted it, and so often vehemently disclaimed his interest in it. But it haunted him all the same. Donovan was nearly done in by it, and if you’ve seen Dylan’s delivery-for-spite of “It’s Alright Ma” in D.A. Pennebaker’s documentary Don’t Look Back, you know it’s a miracle he survived. Springsteen survived it by essentially abandoning the style that earned him the dub in the first place—only to start trying to reclaim it with albums like Nebraska and The Ghost of Tom Joad.
What’s really baffling to me is that we didn’t really see this phenomenon with Duke Ellington. There was never any talk of the “new” or the “next” Ellington.
Why?
Is it because he was just so great, so innovative, so influential, that the idea of a “next” was just too much to conceive?
I suspect that’s the conventional assumption.
But I think it has more to do with not looking in the right place.
If you keep your aperture narrowly trained on jazz, it’s entirely possible you won’t find your “new” Ellington there.
But open that aperture, and you can’t miss Curtis Mayfield. He is, for my money, the rightful heir—if there is one—to the Ellington mantle.
Like Ellington, he parlayed a hardscrabble childhood into a visionary narrative that never once failed to honor and capture the past even as he was inventing the future in real time.
Like Ellington, he was largely self-taught, developing a holistic compositional sensibility that was rooted in emotion and communication rather than outright instrumental prowess.
Like Ellington, he would grow into social and political consciousness, building on and leveraging a legacy of comparatively mainstream success to create a far more subversive and revolutionary body of work.
Like Ellington, he had a cinematic vision and an impressionistic touch, creating ambitious sound tapestries from a wide array of instruments and instrumentalists.
Like Ellington, he knew rhythm was the beat of the story. For Ellington, it didn’t have a thing if it didn’t swing. For Mayfield, it was reaching that higher goal with a little bit of soul.
That reference, for the record, is to the song “Keep on Pushing,” one of many classics from the group with which Mayfield made his bones: The Impressions.
Between The Impressions and the Curtis Mayfield that most folks know—the Mayfield of Superfly—there was his solo debut, simply called Curtis. And on that album is a song called “Move on Up.” Which, in its original version, is nearly nine minutes of near-perfect progressive soul.
Duke Ellington met a moment in history with incomparable genius, and on that strength, he not only met the moment, but he defined it. So much so that he would transcend it. And he would do this time and time again.
The same can be said of Curtis Mayfield. Like Ellington, he’ll forever be associated with a certain era of both music and culture, but also like Ellington, the boundaries of his influence are far wider.
Was Curtis Mayfield “The New Ellington?” In one sense, I say yes. I don’t think anyone else fits the bill. But in another sense, no. Because there will never be another Ellington anymore than there will ever be another Dylan.
And there will certainly never be another Curtis Mayfield. Thank god we have the first one.
By the way, in case you didn’t know, today is June 3. The date Curtis Mayfield was born.
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