On Saturday night we had a treat. Our friend Sylvia had told us about it earlier in the week, and I had bought tickets, but we hadn’t had time to think too much about it. That absence of a heightened sense of anticipation or expectation made it even more of a treat and us even more ready to be transported by the event. Which we were!
We arrived at the Maritime Conservatory and went upstairs to the familiar terrain of the Lilian Piercey Concert Hall where we had often heard wonderful classical and cabaret concerts, often featuring people we knew. There was a good-sized crowd, but as so often happens the first two rows were pretty much empty. We saw Sylvia waving so we sat just in front of her and her sisters in the second row and waited for the concert to start. The stage was arranged with a piano on the left, a skeletal electric stand-up bass in the middle, and a drum kit on the right. In front were two mikes, one centre stage and the other next to the curtain on the right. It was a jazz setup.
After the intro by Charla Williams the band came out, led by Joe Sealy. Joe spoke quietly about the piece, Africville Stories, based on his earlier Africville Suite, and the fact that it would be narrated by his good friend Jackie Richardson, who gave a sweet smile. Paul Novotny, the bass player with his suit and skinny Brubeck style necktie, also smiled, and Dave Burton took his serious seat in back of the drum set. The mike on the right side was vacant as Joe sat at the piano and Jackie started the story.
Her voice had a resonance and a depth of musicality, and she pulled us right into the narrative. And then the music started. Well! There were hums and murmurs and aha’s from among us as Jackie started to sing. The music built and her volume built and the excitement in the room built as she sang “Deep down inside” and she got deep down inside and pulled us all there with her until the murmurs got louder and the energy built and by the time she found her way to the end of the piece we were all standing and clapping and shouting. The place was jumping like I’d never seen it jump before!
And that was just the first of the Africville stories! We sat ourselves down and settled down for the next story and its song. There were no vocals, but Chris Mitchell came on to pick up one of his saxophones and start singing with it, and the band took off with him. Jackie was at the edge of the stage, hardly able to contain herself, Joe at the piano was playing back to Chris, Paul on the bass was strumming and grinning, Dave’s drums were under and over and around every move they all made, and we were approaching bliss out there on the floor.
The show went on, more stories, more great songs, solos that held you in their subtle and inevitable grasp, and lyrical lyrics where Jackie soared and rumbled and whispered, until our hands were sore from clapping and our voices hoarse from shouting out. It was ninety minutes of musical energy filled with sadness and joy, soulful solace for the brutal loss of the community of Africville and soulful celebration of the memory of place and people and spirit, and it was accomplished through the sweet power of Joe’s composition and everyone’s beautiful music.
At the end, when we finally stopped shouting and whistling and clapping, we ended up looking around in a state of wonder. Sylvia said she had heard Jackie before but never like this. I said she was transported. And she was. And we all were.
It was a place to be. Wish you could have been there too.
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