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The Music and the Mantle of Glory Man .... by Paula Griffith
The MUSIC and the MANTLE of
By Paula Griffith
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(Hallelujah)
It was important to teach my vocal students how to understand the full significance of Leonard Cohen’s lyrics, so they could convey the intention of that iconic song by the Canadian singer-songwriter to an audience. To reach my highest level of expression as a singer, songwriter, and performer, learning from my mentors taught me to find and live by the hidden harmony within my heart.
One of my most cherished friends and mentors was John T. Davis; a high-profile musician in Toronto and the U.S. and a music legend to me. I have been feeling nostalgic this year with his passing. As a man respected for his spirituality he once said, “Without the church there would have been no music.” I say this as ‘Hallelujah’ again plays in my mind.
I believe our paths crossed by design. On the set of the ‘50-cent lifetime’ movie, we were both waiting for our call to join a scene as extras. We were in close quarters when bumped my elbow by accident and said in an unmistaken southern drawl, “Excuse me, sorry miss”. I recognized his Virginia accent from a wedding I recently sang at in the U.S., and asked if he was from there. He didn’t act surprised when he answered, “Yes I am,” but he caught me off guard when he added, “I think you’re a great singer.”
He appeared to be in his 60’s, while I was still in my 20’s. It was circa 2007; fifteen years in my rear view mirror. I was listening to r ‘n b, rock, and jazz, and was starting to transition out of gospel, even though Christian music was still a primary focus. I knew nothing about him, but it looked like he came straight from Preservation Hall, New Orleans. Somehow I knew I could completely trust him. I told people I knew in the industry and people I was working with that I had met John T. Davis. I got positive comments about his reputation, where they knew him from, and all the jazz luminaries he had on his resume. It confirmed my first impression of him.
Our first session was at his brownstone on King St. in downtown Toronto. It feels like yesterday looking up at those 12-foot cathedral ceilings, the red, green, and taupe walls adorned with African paintings and his prized possession: a signed autographed photo of him and James Brown. The moment I stepped into his smoke-tinged room with dusty windows, this living painting was further heightened by the haunting sounds of John T. on his Hammond B3 organ.
Our recognition as musical soul mates was instant and miraculous. At one point during the session he declared, “I’m going to teach you how to sing.” Even though I found this paradoxical at the time, I knew deep down I was the luckiest girl in the world to have found someone willing to teach me everything he knew about music.
He didn’t say jazz music, he just said music, but I wonder now if that is what he inferred. Or perhaps he saw me as a blank canvas with the opportunity to paint me into a portrait of a singer he knew I could be. When he said that I was a great singer the day we met, it was without hearing me sing. He wasn’t just saying it; it was like he already saw the potential of the singer I could be.
He taught me the secrets of how the great vocalists like Ella Fitzgerald, Sarah Vaughn, and Della Reese created masterful sounds inserting their own unique vocal colorings and infused spiritual messages into their performances to captivate their listeners. Jazz singers, more than any other genre, know to use their gift as another instrument. He introduced me to Toronto’s jazz scene so I could apply what I had learned.
The first few times I went there I didn’t sing. I listened to him talk and play the piano and sing. Sometimes all at the same time! One of the first things he taught me was that everything is all about subtlety. His signature song was ‘Glory Man.’ It was the first thing he wrote when he arrived in Toronto in 1970. It’s about a woman who is waiting for her man to come home from war. I heard later from a man who had played with John T that John was a draft dodger. The day he asked me to sing it he said that it needed to be sung by a female voice. It was weird; I sang it like I was already familiar with it. I interpreted it the same way he was hearing it in his head.
The first night he took me out it was to the ‘Boiler House’ at the Distillery entertainment district. It was one of the best nights of my life. It was a bit nerve-wracking for me to perform the songs he taught me, but I trusted his guidance. To my shock the crowd went crazy. As he accompanied me on the piano, he rocked side to side with a toothy grin yelling, “It’s you Paula!” He looked like a proud music papa.
Today I proclaim: “it was you John T....A true artist. You lived for the music and not for the glory of fame! You wanted to give your music to the people the way you were given the music. I got to witness a real artist and received your gifts firsthand. It was you who played for James Brown in the He taught me the secrets of how the great vocalists like Ella Fitzgerald, Sarah Vaughn, and Della Reese created masterful sounds inserting their own unique vocal colorings and infused spiritual messages into their performances to captivate their listeners. Jazz singers, more than any other genre, know to use their gift as another instrument.
‘Blues Brothers’ film; it was you who played in Mariah Carey’s story of her life in the film ‘Glitter;’ it was you who in the 1970s started the jazz scene in Canada at The Rex. It was you who wrote ‘Glory Man,’ your greatest song. A love song for the people, you said. I was honored when you chose me to sing it.
One day at rehearsal, his smile disappeared into his silver goatee, “Paula, I believe you will carry on my music.” I took that charge seriously.
What John T stood for was more than his musicianship or the music he performed or the inspired brilliance of his signature piece. It was how he approached his craft, how he spoke of his profession, and how he conducted himself in the public eye relating to both. That was his way of building his legacy, and I realize that is the way I want to build mine. All these years later I realize that I must record ‘Glory Man’ someday.
The truth lessons that I learned from John T. always found their way back into my music and I can now pass them along to my students to sing for a higher purpose.
Lately, it has been a difficult life lesson to share. I’m not sure if it’s the current digital landscape in social media or the pressure of creating a famous identity, but sadly, over the past few years I’ve seen an increase in anxious young singers striving to achieve their ideas of glory.
The passion for music and being able to communicate an inspirational message isn’t the motivating force any longer.
Still, the mystical meaning behind Leonard Cohen’s perspective on the biblical story of King David’s heartbreaking journey to glory was a revelation on how we can overcome challenges to achieve our true greatness. John T.’s wings continue to guide me in this endeavor as I look into the eyes of one of my most talented students who is on the verge of major stardom.
Azalyne, my 15-year-old Jazz/R&B student with whom I’ve worked since she was 8 will be the subject of my next story as she takes up the mantle of ‘Glory Man.’
There are some nights when I wonder how my ‘Glory Man’ is doing. Wherever John T. is, I am sure there is sunshine because he lived his life playing the secret chord that pleased the Lord.
Hallelujah.
