THE ART OF GIVING: REMEMBERING JOHN STEVENS & FRANKIE BEVERLY
CELEBRATING THE LIVES OF TWO MAVERICK MUSICIANS
John Stevens: lost in music.
JOHN STEVENS
On Wednesday night I took the overground up to Dalston Junction and entered Cafe Oto, the venue devoted to hosting non-mainstream jazz/folk/avant-rock/ electronica. This was a special event to mark the 30th anniversary of the passing of John Stevens, a drummer, painter and educator who, while rarely operating in the world of popular music, inspired many.
I never met John, possibly saw him perform once, but did attend his funeral. This is because his daughter Louise Stevens is a close friend and, through Lou, I’ve come to understand what a remarkable creative force her late father was.
When Lou first told me her dad was “John Stevens, drummer” I recognised his name due to his playing on John Martyn’s Live At Leeds, a forcefield of an album. Doing a little research I found that John played with John & Yoko on their experimental albums of the late-1960s and was a powerhouse in London’s free jazz and experimental music scenes: Spontaneous Music Ensemble, of which he was a member of from the 1960s up to his death, made challenging music that bucked convention. If marginal in appeal, SME were influential amongst their contemporaries in jazz and rock.
At a tribute to John shortly after his passing Asian Dub Foundation played – they were very fresh then and had formed at Community Music, an arts organisation John had set up to encourage youths to join in making music. Community Music is where I think I saw John perform in early 1994.
There’s a decent Wikipedia page on Stevens – it seems he played with many major figures on the London jazz scene, from Tubby Hayes through Julie Tippets to Dudu Pukwana and beyond. It doesn’t mention his sojourn in Donovan’s band (obviously, not jazz – neither were Martyn or Lennon, or the gifted double bassist Danny Thompson, who he often paired with) but this raised a loud laugh from the audience when mentioned (Donovan fired Stevens while on tour in Australia – “disobedience” it appears, which - on John’s part - is entirely understandable).
Being a crate digger I’ve managed to find several Stevens LPs and CDs over the years. I don’t listen to any of them often as they tend to be challenging. But I’m happy to own them as John was one of those individuals whose creative essence represents far more than any single recording, his approach to music being one of inclusivity (while attempting to break down conventional boundaries). In many ways he was shaped by the revolutionary ideas that fermented in the 1960s/70s and would challenge everything from the patriarchy and political thought to how movies and music could be made.
At Cafe Oto David Toop, a noted writer and experimental musician (who studied under Stevens in the late-1960s), opened proceedings by speaking on John. He observed how, while Stevens wanted to make ego-free music, he and the musicians he assembled often had huge egos. Which is understandable – you don’t engage in experimental music without a deep belief that there is worth in what you are doing. Toop also mentioned a “messianic complex” that could be attached to Stevens. This is often true of band leaders across all genres of music making. And he praised John’s paintings (abstract/gestural), linking them to his music - I’ve not previously seen his art so must ask Lou to show me them.
Next up drummer Mark Wastell – who organised the event – was joined by John Butcher (saxophones) and Phil Durrant (electric mandolin). The music they made led me to recall the late American rock critic Lester Bangs describing free jazz (which he liked) as “skrrrroonk”. The trio were dynamic and dissonant. That said, I appreciated that they played a short set. A discussion with John Butcher and Maggie Nichols, both of whom played with John, followed.
Butcher was droll in his recollections of their adventures, noting how, booked to play a festival in Santander (Spain), it was decided the Spontaneous Music Ensemble would perform without amplification – “have you ever felt the hatred coming off two thousand festival goers who cannot hear you?” Nichols was evangelical, seeing Stevens as a musical saint. He obviously made a powerful impression on people.
This was followed by a performance by Nicols (voice, taps), Dee Bynre (alto saxophone), Caius Williams (double bass) and Wastell (drums, percussion). The three musicians were all inspired players, improvising around one another, while Nichols made “sounds” - not singing, more experimenting with mouth and throat. Yes, its easy to ridicule experimental/free jazz musicians but the quartet were - to quote Val Wilmer - as serious as your life. Their performance took me out of my musical comfort zone (of melody, rhythm, song structure etc), which is a good thing - even if it’s not “my thing”.
By the time they finished playing I found Dalston Junction Station shut. I then had one long-ass journey back to SE15 and plenty of time to think on a musician who devoted himself to going against the grain while always encouraging others: John Stevens was not only a remarkably gifted drummer – many have testified to this – but someone who encouraged others to engage in creativity. 30 years after his sudden death from a heart attack aged only 54, Stevens deserves to be celebrated by both his contemporaries and the younger musicians who draw inspiration from him.
“Music is a chance for self development, it is another little life in which it is easier to develop the art of giving, an art which makes you more joyous the more you practice it. The thing that matters most in group music is the relationship between those taking part. The closer the relationship the greater the spiritual warmth it generates, and if the musicians manage to give wholly to each other and to the situation they’re in, then the sound of the music takes care of itself. Good and Bad become simply a question of how much the musicians are giving, that’s the music’s form.” - John Stevens
FRANKIE BEVERLY
The cover of 1981’s Live In New Orleans double LP. If you haven’t heard it I recommend a listen - smooooooooth soul and gentle funk best enjoyed with your other half.
The American singer and songwriter Frankie Beverly died on September 10 after a long illness. I doubt Beverly and Stevens would be considered to have much in common: leading Maze for the past half century, Beverly made lush, melodic soul-funk that was both conventional and popular (qualities no one would say of Stevens’ music). Yet the spirit of Beverly’s music was one of bringing people together, of celebrating love and community, of joy and inclusiveness. In this, I think, he and Stevens would have found common ground.
I first heard Maze when I purchased their 1981 Live In New Orleans double album. Truth be told, I found them a little too slick for me at the time – I was a teenager who liked my R&B “raw” – but, when I visited the US in 1990, I bought a Best Of Maze cassette, playing it regularly as I drove state to state, falling under the spell of Frankie’s warm voice and lushly melodic music. As singer and songwriter Beverly was a journeyman - no one would compare his talent to that of his mentor, Marvin Gaye - but he understood his limits, used his talent well and developed into a much loved figure in the African American community.
I always hoped to see Maze in concert – this would have had to be in the US as his audience there was far larger than Maze’s combined international audience – having heard how their concerts were celebrations of love and unity, Black families would attend all dressed in white, enjoying a joyous unity, Beverly conducting a secular gospel concert of sorts.
Enjoy this performance of Maze’s greatest anthem and feel the audience’s love!
As I never managed to achieve this wish I’ve asked my pal - and fellow writer - Noah Schaffer to share his memories of seeing Frankie fronting Maze.
“I got to see Maze twice. Once at the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival. I suspect Maze became a Jazzfest perennial after holding the same position at the Essence Festival, which is perhaps the highest-profile Black music festival in America. Bringing Maze to Jazzfest was a smart booking: not only did they draw a large following, but they helped diversity the heavily white Jazzfest audience.
“The other time was in 2012 at a hockey rink in South Florida along with the O’Jays, Emotions, and a funk revue that included Confunkshun and the Ohio Players. The only traces of the show I can find online are a box office report in Billboard that show the kind of draw Maze had in cities with large Black communities: over 7,000 tickets were sold, grossing the promoter $356,822 for the one night.
“While I vaguely remember Frankie’s sweet delivery in front of a capable band, especially on “Joy and Pain,” far more vivid was the scene: multiple generations of families, most of them clad in Maze’s trademark white, coming together to celebrate both the music and their own lives.”
Noah adds a link: one of the best accounts of this comes from a report on Beverly’s final Chicago appearance in which audience members discuss what his legacy means to them.
Thanks Noah! RIP Frankie.