HELLO GOODBYE
They met at college and bonded over quips. But musical expansion drove an unspoken wedge.
It was the right place and the right time for Brian Jackson and Gil Scott-Heron. But after 11 years, they parted with nary a word.
HELLO 1969
It was 1969 and I was a freshman at Lincoln University [in Oxford, PA]. It was a lot different to my expectations of what a historically black college would be like – I thought it was going to be a lot more Afrocentric. I also ended up spending a lot more time in the music rooms than I did studying.
Meeting Gil was a kind of happy coincidence. I was approached by this guy Victor Brown, who was putting a band together for the homecoming talent show. They were playing a new song that had been written by a guy at the school, and Victor said he’d get him.
Now, it’s not like I hadn’t seen afros before – this was the late ’60s – but when Gil arrived I literally thought, How is he gonna get through the door? But I was so impressed by the song – it was called Where Can A Man Find Peace? I thought, I’ve got a drawer full of songs that it would take me 45 years to write the lyrics to. Why don’t I throw a couple at this guy? And the first one became this song called A Toast To The People.
Gil was very introverted, kind of a reflective person, but somehow oddly confident and determined in his demeanour. He had already completed a book of poetry and he had almost finished another called The Vulture. And he was very funny – always had a quip, sometimes a bit quick for most people to notice. But not too quick for me, and I think that’s what cemented our friendship.
The talent-show band was the beginning of Black & Blues, which was Victor’s band really. Gil was mainly their pianist. But when he sang, his baritone came from a totally different place. He wasn’t singing gospel!
Gil got a deal with Bob Thiele [at Flying Dutchman] for his poetry album, Small Talk At 125th And Lenox, but persuaded Bob that the second album should be our songs. Suddenly, I’m 19 and recording with Ron Carter, Hubert Laws, Bernard Purdie – just saying the names 50 years later puts knots in my stomach. I told Ron Carter a few years ago, “Thank you for legitimising us” – that’s what they did. Out of that came Pieces Of A Man, and we were away.
GOODBYE 1980
The radio success of The Bottle [off Winter In America, 1974] brought us to the attention of Clive Davis, who signed us to Arista, but by 1980 we were coming to the end of that deal. Later I found that Gil had re-signed without me. There was never a conversation, no cross words, and I even went back and helped him finish the 1980 album. I was always seeking to expand musically but that wasn’t where Gil was comfortable, and I think he was afraid that he was losing control of what made the band work for him. Later, when I realised that, I was kind of ashamed.
I didn’t see him for another 15 years, but I’d hear reports. We were both living
“I found that Gil had re-signed without me.” BRIAN JACKSON
in Brooklyn and I’d hear, “Oh I saw Gil on the A train.” People were saying he was on heroin, but people will say all kinds of things. Then he called me up to do a gig with him in New York City, because [musical director] Kim Jordan wasn’t available.
We had to start without him – which
I was told was pretty common. Then there was a motion towards the entrance and there he was, and I was blown away because here was a man who was only three years older than me looking like my grandfather. Another four years went by and I heard from him again through his partner. She had told him to reach out to me. So I went down to the club, I sat in. And I worked with him until he was jailed [for possession of cocaine] in 2001. [Scott-Heron died in 2011.]
People talk about the tragedy that the guy who wrote The Bottle, Angel Dust, Home Is Where The Hatred Is ended up with such problems, but you know, our music was all from the inside. We weren’t standing around observing these things. We were in there. And just because you can see what’s happening to you, and write songs about it, doesn’t mean you can escape it. Call it being black in America.
As told to Danny Eccleston
Brian Jackson was playing Birmingham’s Mostly Jazz, Funk & Soul Festival.