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Gil Scott-Heron: 1949-2011

The world has lost a true original with this weekend's death of long-time musician, songwriter, poet and artist Gil Scott-Heron.

By Jeff Schwachter
Add Comment Add Comment | Comments: 7 | Posted May. 29, 2011

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Gil's final album..released in 2010.

ATLANTIC CITY — This writer was disturbed to the very soul upon receiving a text Saturday morning, May 28, from a close friend that one of the all-time great musicians, singers, songwriters and people had died, the Harlem, N.Y., based genius Gil Scott Heron.

His death was originally announced via his manager on Twitter and then confirmed by his latest record company, XL recordings, which released Scott-Heron's 2010 "comeback" album I'm New Here.

This writer was lucky enough to meet Gil several times over the past 20 years, and spoke to him on occasion on the phone from his New York home office.

Especially over the past few years, after the two of us hung out in a tiny dressing room following the final show of Scott-Heron's three-night residency at Washington D.C.'s Blues Alley club a few Junes ago.

(In a cramped space with a mirror and an ashtray full of smoked cigarettes, Scott-Heron wore a gray suit with a white button-down shirt. He smoked Marlboro reds, with his eyes closed. He was in pain, I could tell, and his girlfriend — who was the one who got me backstage in the first place — was rubbing his forehead. He was sweating. While he was finishing a plate of food the club had provided for him, she (Sylkie, as I quickly scribbled her name down in my notebook)) told me that she would send me a copy of Scott-Heron's Tin Angel show from the mid-to-late 1990s after Gil and I were talking about how great the show was. He remembered the place and the show and said that he taped all his shows. I watched him, still in disbelief that here I was, sitting and talking to the author of some of the greatest American songs. Talking about how my baby daughter loved "We Almost Lost Detroit," which he played that night at Blues Alley, and about his upcoming projects, which at the time were his then-uncompleted new album, I'm New Here, and a book project about his 1980 tour with Stevie Wonder. More on that later.)

This writer will never forget Gil, over the telephone from his New York office space, playing songs from his forthcoming release, shooting the breeze, and asking what I thought about them. (Click here for a riveting 2010 interview with Gil Scott Heron from AC Weekly)

The book he had been working on, following a 40-year career as a poet, singer-songwriter and author, he explained during the last time we spoke — about a year ago —  revolved around the 1980 tour Scott-Heron was on with Stevie Wonder. A tour during which John Lennon was murdered; the news was revealed to Wonder and Scott-Heron before the show started that night. Stevie, according to Gil, decided not to tell the crowd at the show's start— this was before the age of the Internet — so as not to cause a traumatic environment.

Instead, Gil Scott-Heron and his always outstanding band — The Amnesia Express — opened the show without a mention of Lennon's murder in New York City. Wonder's band then came on and followed suit. Then, right before the end of Wonder's set, the singer shared the horrifying news to the outdoor, big-arena crowd.

During one of his many and often very funny, authority-questioning, and freedom-inspiring stories during his latter-day live show sets — which had just started in recent years to become more frequent — Gil would tell the tale of The Last Holiday, the running title of this still-to-be-released book. (The book was originally going to be published in 2003, but was pushed back and eventually canceled. Over the course of the last two years, Scott-Heron said he was told by the publisher, the U.K.-based Cannongate Books, that he needed to edit more of the several hundred-page manuscript, and he was working on doing so at his New York apartment last year when we last spoke.)

The book, according to Scott-Heron, dealt with the truth. The truth about what really happened the night that Lennon was killed, the truth about Stevie Wonder and Gil Scott-Heron's campaign, during that 1980 tour, to help make Martin Luther King Jr.'s birthday a National Holiday in all 50 states of the U.S.A. When and if it's released by Cannongate, it sounds like it will stand well with his recorded output, strengthening the legacy of this magical, tortured, beautiful, thoughtful, addicted, depressed, hilarious, sick and genius songwriter.

As Gil told audiences at several shows in recent years, including a Passover show a few years back at the World Cafe in Philly, and at the Tin Angel in 2010, also in Philadelphia — a city where Gil had a strong bond and a large contingent of fans, friends, family and followers — on the night of Lennon's death, the media reported something to the effect of: STEVIE WONDER DOESN'T EVEN ACKNOWLEDGE LENNON'S DEATH AT CONCERT. This, even though Wonder deliberated for a long time on what to do and eventually did indeed tell the audience. The problem was, as Gil would say with his wide smile, pulling at his scraggly gray beard or tugging on his ever-present baseball cap,  was that the news reporter who wrote the story didn't stay until the end of the concert and wrote the untruthful story due to his incompetence and laziness as a newspaper writer.

Evidently, not wanting to cause any mass chaos or crying, Wonder waited to till the end of his set to tell the thousands gathered that Lennon had been shot. However, as Gil would point out in his oft-repeated story, the reporter at the Wonder/Scott-Heron show "didn't stay until the end," only sticking around for Gil's set (during which it was agreed beforehand that he wouldn't make any mention) and a part of Wonder's set.

The story, which will likely be a part of Holiday, goes along with Scott-Heron's other famous motto: "The Revolution Will Not Be Televised" — "You Can't Always Believe Everything You Read in the Paper."

As well as being a seeker of truth and civil rights for all mankind, Gil was an underground music legend in his own time and a hero among early rap artists. In America he may have been kept underground because of the political content of his lyrics and the too-close-for-comfort truth in his songs, especially pertaining to the poor as well African-Americans,  but in Europe he was a much bigger star.

After starting out as "street poet," combining his young poetry with sparse instrumentation at first, Scott-Heron would join forces with multi-instrumentalist and producer Brian Jackson for a number of years, albums and R&B hits, including "The Bottle" and "Angel Dust." The R&B fans whom embraced him as his Amnesia Express rolled around the world through "Snow in Nashville" and "Rain in Philly," as he sings in the biographical song "Hello Sunday, Hello Road!" from his still unreleased-on-CD 1977 album for Arista entitled Bridges, stuck with him through the mid-1970s and early '80s, up until he stopped recording and touring the States as much.

In 1994, he released one of his finest albums, the masterful Spirits.

Nearly two decades later, I'm New Here was released on the U.K.-based XL Recordings. His final release featured a spooky cover of Robert Johnson's "Me & The Devil Blues"; a stark, acoustic guitar-propelled version of XL labelmate Bill Callahan's title track ("Yeah, that’s Callahan," Scott-Heron told AC Weekly around the time of the record's release. "I like Bill Callahan. I think he’s got a real dry sense of humor. And I think where he’s coming from is real contemporary."); and a lot of raw emotion.

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COMMENTS

Comments 1 - 7 of 7
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1. Gil_Lover said... on May 29, 2011 at 10:51PM

“What a tragic loss.”

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2. Anonymous said... on May 30, 2011 at 08:40PM

“Jeff, thanks for the continuing commentary and historical information on our music greats. We will miss Gil, but his music will live on.”

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3. brotherman said... on May 30, 2011 at 09:52PM

“awesome. thanks for sharing the time you spent with one of the masters...and for reminding everyone to give him a listen now and again...

spirits...”

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4. Gino said... on May 31, 2011 at 04:11AM

“After a night of drinking and fun, I got on my laptop to see all the other pointless drunken Facebook posts. Quickly, my buzz was shattered when my eyes saw posts that said “R.I.P Gil Scott-Heron”and“Gil Scott-Heron died.”

For those of you who don’t know who he is, I urge you to check him out. For me, he was more than just an artist. He sang and spoke against injustice. Through his music he spread social and political awareness. He is my favorite poet, along with Pinero, and was my biggest inspiration. His poems, songs, and spoken words have hit me on so many levels that I cannot describe. If I could be a quarter as good a writer as he, I would be gratified.

Unlike the death of any other artist, this one is personal; it means much more to me. The news was such a shock that I felt I had to write a poem in dedication to him. It was my way of dealing with pain. The poem has a lot of references to his work that you may not know, so at the bottom are some links to his pieces. Hopefully his death was worthwhile, maybe with his passing you will be introduced to his music.

Gil Scott-Heron

Today I find out my inspiration died.

Died to never come back again.

I existed before the news

shot me in the chest;

Causing me to

bleed out my existence

leaving me drained,

empty, and vacant.

The pain in my soul is a stain.



My meaning is gone.

It was taken by the vulture.

The vulture of death

That finally took your

“warm heart to the cold”



My ears caught your words,

words, that vibrated through

my ears, passed the canal, drums,

membranes, and muscles;

Voyaging through my heart

to feed my soul.

Leaving nothing apart.



Your sound waves

Gave me life.

They made me incensed

Poignant,

Jovial,

And motivated.

Now it really is you and the Devil.



What Langston Hughes

Meant to you,

Is what you mean to me.

An inspirational value.



Poetry, soul, blues, jazz,

Political messages, spoken word

Had an orgy

and birthed your music.



Revolution will not be televised

was the 1st song I heard.

Not heard, felt.

Not felt, experienced.

No, both

Emotions were balanced.



After the revolution was televised

in my mind.

I scrambled to hear more.

I found my drug.

I needed a fix

worse than the addict on

17th St and Imperial Ave district.



But no needle marks on my arms

Nor, large pupils.

Marks were only shown

In my soul.

Had to escape from reality

Only place I could run

Was in the home of your words

Which were free from sirens.



I hid well,

First at Small Talk at 125 and Lenox

To withstanding

The frost at

Winter in America

to the place where

I felt New Here

And finally to Spirits

Where you told me to not give up

Learning to always reach my limits



Pieces of a Man

Was an album for me

But your death took away

Pieces of me.



NY was killing you

With its fast life;

Like,

conservatives,

bigots,

and military culture in SD kill me;

Spitting hatred towards Mexicans and Faggots.



You didn’t know where the night went

But I finally know now.

With your death,

The night came to reside in my heart.

That is where you will find it.

Suspended over the light

Restricting any escape

forming an abysmal twilight.



Many say you were the godfather of rap

And like you, I disagree.

You just happened to arouse

All wakes of life by

Planting a seed of inspiration

in the minds of many

emerging trees of creativity.

My tree was fully grown

Until your death,

severed,

hacked,

sliced, and

Amputated it.

Who will pay reparations for my soul?

Who will admit…

It?



You died at 62.

If the rings of Saturn

Were compressed into

A single body

It would be 62 miles across.

Maybe one day it will be visited by Whitey.



At least you aren’t running anymore

Never knew what you were running from

Until you left us,

Now I know what you were running from.



You left us,

but not entirely

not to heaven

because it doesn’t exist.

Nor to hell

Because it doesn’t exist.



At least you won’t need your coins

For Kharon

Nor will you meet Dante

In purgatory.

You are now soil,

copulating with Mother Nature

creating clean air,

water,

crops,

forests,

wildlife, and landscapes.

Your purpose is now far more important than just being an artist.

Report Violation

5. sandy warren said... on Jun 2, 2011 at 09:58AM

“Jeff, thank you for the beautiful, personal story about gil. This planet has lost a priceless voice against injustice. Let us never forget his messages. God bless his lovely soul.”

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6. turiya said... on Jun 2, 2011 at 05:18PM

“i feel you, jeff. thanks for sharing your personal time with one of the greats! he will be missed.”

Report Violation

7. Gina G. said... on Jun 6, 2011 at 12:03PM

“Thank you for writing this. R.I.P Gil!”

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