Wynton Marsalis
From the Plantation to the Penitentiary

Wynton Marsalis has been haunted, since his beginnings in the '80s with the "Young Lions" movement, by the curse of the top student. Public praise, multiple recognitions and awards for his technique and style as an excellent jazz trumpeter, but little affection for him among insiders, perhaps also because of his impeccable and irreproachable nature (even in life, he avoided the classic excesses that shortened the lives of so many, too many, great jazz musicians). Recently, especially from certain critics, he has often received a lukewarm reception mixed with a barely concealed antipathy, with very severe reviews ready to highlight alleged coldness, excessive mainstream and neo-conservative formalism, accusations that have become a kind of cliché when talking about his music.

Let's be clear. It's not entirely unfounded. In some albums, excessive self-satisfaction and a painstaking, sometimes exaggerated, formal perfection have indeed somewhat harmed. But we are still talking about an outlier, an exemplary artist, also for his civic engagement and the commendable work of educating about jazz, particularly among the weaker segments of the American youth, not just those of color. So much acrimony is, therefore, unjustified and ungenerous for me. Seeing then one of his latest works (2006), in my opinion among the best things he has achieved, treated poorly if not ignored in our parts (just take a look on the web to realize it), disappointed me, also because I fear that some of the judgments on "From The Plantation To The Penitentiary," an extremely significant title, are the result of a certain prejudice. In fact, the one indicated as the champion of neo-conservation in jazz, in the seven tracks of the album makes several contaminations, blending the sound of his sparkling trumpet, a result of pure talent as much as hard study and application, with swing, with Caribbean rhythms, with the canonical soul-ballad; ultimately, we are definitely not in experimental territory, but it is an album that is not at all "mummified," as some would have you believe, nor devolved into sterile "exercises in style," as is read somewhere. On the contrary, liveliness, fascinatability, communicativeness characterize the album from a musical perspective, particularly in the tracks where the magnificent voice of Jennifer Sanon is present. To these positive elements, one must also add the lyrics, almost all "committed," where important social themes are addressed, with acute and shareable considerations. Particularly in the title track, superbly interpreted by Jennifer, Wynton expresses harshly and directly what he thinks about the current situation of some African Americans in the USA: "from the plantation to the penitentiary" is the long and hardly virtuous path that he has seen too many of his people take, due certainly to ancient political and social responsibilities, but also due to the complacency of young generations, he also targets the rappers, fake fighters, actually cogs in a system that keeps most blacks in a very unglamorous limbo, made more bearable by the vain hope of being able to "turn things around" like the "brother" playing basketball or the 50cc of the moment ("From the Plantation to the Penitentiary / From the yassuh boss to the ghetto minstrelsy / In the heart of freedom ... in chains / In the heart of freedom ... insane... From the work long days / To the dope and drinking craze / From the stock in slaves / To the booming prison trade"). With "Find Me," instead, we are in the desolate lands of sentimental sufferings, musically a modern habanera, a Cuban dance similar to tango, with Jennifer's supple and sensual voice rendering, as best as possible, the many tones of a struggling heart and the Marsalis quintet supporting at its best: a little over nine minutes that seem too short. "Doin' (Y)our Thing" is a real apotheosis with the quintet, the pianist Dan Nimmer and the bassist Carlos Enriquez deserve a mention: more minimalist atmospheres in the first part, then transitioning to more swinging sounds that merge with vaudeville, oh yes, native New Orleans, and cumbia. There is also the canonical ballad, "Love and Broken Hearts," a sort of time machine that takes you back to those smoky and infamous venues where jazz laid down at least one of its pillars. An attractive mix of fast and slow, there's even a sprinkle of Charleston and Cha-Cha, reinforces the ironic philippic of "Supercapitalism" against rampant consumerism. The last track, "Where Y'All At?," urban jazz+style spoken word +old motown, is the one where more explicitly and, from my point of view, righteously Wynton accuses the young black generations, trying to shake them from their apathy, self-harm, and lack of ideals, pointing out the lifestyle model of rappers as false and counterproductive.

"From The Plantation To The Penitentiary" is a more than valid argument for those like myself who have always considered Wynton Marsalis a first-magnitude star in the jazz firmament and also an opportunity to (re)discover, besides the skilled musician, a man endowed with clear and courageous ideas, who does not care to be liked by the "brothers" who have sold their soul.