#Lester St. Louis | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

charliedawn · 2 years ago

Text

The Recruiting part 1 :

WARNING : VIOLENCE. MENTION OF ABUSE. MOMMY ISSUES. AND NOT FOR SENSITIVE SOULS. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.

Growing up with the Hannibal Brothers had never been easy. It had mainly been a life of running and trying not to get killed in the process. You had had to survive the best you could for years, and even though the rest of the family had adhered to the cannibalism way of life…You had decided to follow Peter on that one.

It had of course been a struggle to leave the family and find your own path…but you had eventually managed. Both Hannibal Sr. and Hannibal Jr. had turned their back on you at the end—but your brothers had always supported you.

Being a Hannibal wasn’t easy. But, it had its perks.

For example, you had managed to get a job at St Louis. But, it had other advantages. First of all, the pay was unbelievably high, since everyone knew that the Hannibal family were all highly trained killers. You also had access to an impressive selection of weapons. And being a Hannibal meant that whenever one of you would get in trouble, the others would immediately drop everything and run to save them.

So, it may have not been a walk in the park, but you were thankful for your family. But then again, you also had duties. For example, your job wasn't nursing. It wasn't even in the medical field.

No. You were a tracker.

Your job was to hunt down patients or potential elements of interest and bring them back to St Louis. So far, you had managed to trap low-key criminals, but they had sent you another—more difficult—case.

The Sinclair Brothers.

50 years of tracking, and none had succeeded in retrieving them. But, they were alive. The many boxes full of different parts of the old trackers were regularly sent to the hospital to taunt you. And the hospital had finally called upon you to try to finish the job. So, you had had no choice but jump in the first car and drive off to the middle of nowhere. You had of course texted your brothers before going—in case they'd worry.

You were now on the road and turned right on the A25 to get towards Ambrose. You kept driving until you were close enough to the spot where the past agents had disappeared. However, you didn't count on the big rusty nails to puncture your tire and send you straight into the bushes.

After a few minutes, you gained back consciousness and groaned loudly at the pain you felt all over your body. You looked around and spotted a truck that had stopped a few feet away from you. You blinked twice before trying to reach for your gun that you hid underneath your blazer at the last second.

A man knocked at your window a few seconds later and you took a deep breath before slowly looking up—only to find none other than Lester Sinclair himself standing there. You knew he was more of a side character to the whole story of the Sinclair twins—but it didn't mean you would underestimate him. You slowly lowered your front window and he quickly introduced himself.

"Well, hey there. The name's Lester. Nice to meet y...", he stopped dead in his introduction as he took a better look at you. The man seemed taken aback upon seeing you—his eyes traveling along your body before licking his lips rather lewdly.

"Ya' a girl ?", he finally asked and you blinked twice at the rather odd statement. He seemed genuinely surprised by your gender. As if the fact that you had two X chromosomes was an utter shock to him.

"...Yes ?", you answered hesitantly and Lester smiled widely before looking you up and down once more—as if he couldn't believe it. It had been years since the last girl he had succeeded in trapping. They were like white rabbits. Precious and rare.

"...So pretty. Like a princess.", he complimented you out of nowhere and you let out a small awkward chuckle. You weren't shabby, but truly unworthy of such a praise. Besides, the way he was looking at you gave you the creeps. His smile was crooked, and even though you didn't think he would do anything so soon—you wouldn’t put it past any of the Sinclair brothers. The twins were the true murderers, but he was the hound.

"Hum...Thanks ?", you answered after a while and tried to hide your feelings the best you could. His face was so close to yours—you could feel his hot breath hit your damp skin. The weather was extremely warm for a Saturday afternoon, and having Lester Sinclair so close to you didn't help in anything. He mistook your light shivering for fear of being stranded here and chuckled before opening your door.

"Ain't nothin' te worry 'bout. I know a good mechanic in town. He'll fix ya car right up. You'll be back on the road fast. Trust me."

For some reason, you didn't really believe him. But, you had a job to do. You smiled and nodded before getting out of the car. But, you stood up too fast and almost fell forward. However, Lester caught you and grinned as you practically clamped your fingers around his forearms.

"Wah, lady. Don't worry. I'll help ya keep yerself on yer toes." His smile broadened and he came impossibly close to you. You were surprised and instinctively palmed the gun at your belt. His eyes followed the movement and his smile faltered for a second.

"Ah. That explains it." He seemed a lot less amiable all of a sudden and his smile faltered a bit as his grip tightened. "Ya must be here to look for yer buddies, right ?"

"...Buddies ?", you asked—unsure of what he meant by that. He almost dropped you and you could see he was annoyed.

"Yeh. Soldiers. Big guys who came to gettus to sum hospital outta town ?" He clicked his tongue in annoyance and you frowned at his accusation.

"Hum...I'm not here to bring you anywhere. Just...taking a look around and ask you why you keep sending us their heads in a box ?" Lester's grip on you tightened as he almost dragged you to his truck.

"...'Cause ya ain't takin' us three away from home." He then threw you unceremoniously in the back of his truck and you gulped.

Well, that turned out to be a dumb decision.

But, headquarters had been adamant on their decision to be sending you alone. And now...you were trapped. You sighed and hit the back of your head against the headrest…It was going to be a long day.

Once you were in town, Lester parked the truck in a garage and humphed unhappily as he saw that it was empty. Bo must have gone for a smoke again. He shook his head disapprovingly. He had told him not to do that again…

"Stay here.", he instructed you before slamming the door shut and locking the truck behind him. He left and you gritted your teeth before trying to get yourself out the car by the window. You squeezed your head through and sighed when you realized...you were never going to get your whole body through. Unfortunately, you also realized that you couldn't get your head back in. You let out a loud frustrated groan while trying to wiggle yourself back in...until you heard a voice next to you.

"Well, hello there, ~stranger. Needa hand ?", the stranger that you couldn't see asked. You huffed a humorless laugh before replying sarcastically.

"Ya think ?!" That made the stranger laugh in return before he appeared at the corner of your eye—a large smile plastered on his face.

"That any way to ask someone fer help ?", he teased while wiping his dirty hands in a rag. You looked him up and down—as much as you could in your current situation—before asking.

"Are you Beauregard Sinclair ?"

His right eye twitched at the name...it had been a while since anyone had called him by his full name. He finally faced you fully and bent down to be at eye level with you. He tilted his head to the side and you could now smell the heavy scent of cigarette—as well as the faint sweet fragrance of bubblegum chewing gum.

"Cleve' one, aintcha ?", he mocked and you repressed the urge to roll your eyes. You both stayed silent, until Bo took a deep breath. He stood up straight and tutted playfully. "Too bad ya got stuck. Could have convinced me ya really were."

You closed your eyes and breathed deeply through your nose to calm yourself. He was playing games with you.

"Are you really going to let me stay like this ?" He pretended to think about it before shrugging.

"Depends. Are ya gonna tell me why a' here ?", he retorted and you groaned again before replying.

"I already told your brother. I'm here to find out why you've been declining our offer. The hospital would provide everything for you. You'd live like kings. Pampered. You'd be offered a brand new life surrounded by people who understand your problems..."

You realized your poor choice of words too late as the slight amusement in Bo's eyes turned into coldness. It made you shiver as he slowly leaned closer and made sure you hear his next words carefully.

"Who understand our problems, huh ? And pray tell, whata kinda problems are those exactly ?", he emphasized the word problem—as if to pinpoint the exact moment you had signed your death warrant. Your eyes widened and you opened your mouth to answer—but no sound came out. You weren't a damn doctor ! How were you supposed to tell him that he was a psycho murderer without making it sound the way it did ?!

"Listen...I didn't mean to sound judgmental or aggressive...I was just sent to convince you and...", you started.

"Yeh ? Well, yar doin' a terrible job at it.", he cut you off and your jaw twitched. That little...You took another deep inhale before trying to rephrase.

"Listen. I'm sorry. I just..."

"Yeh ? Ya' sorry ? Good fer ya'.", he cut you off again and this time, you glared daggers at him and didn't shy away from his gaze. Enough was enough. He would hear you.

"Listen here—!", you started and Bo immediately pulled out a switch knife from his breast pocket and pressed the sharp edge to your throat.

"I'm listenin'.", he said with a sh*t-eating grin and you closed your eyes. This was going nowhere. He didn't want to listen, and you had had more than enough...to die here. Your head stuck between the top of some truck door and the window. You stayed silent and even though, your eyes spoke mountains once they opened. If looks could kill ? Bo would be long gone. He could feel your anger and Bo's grin widened.

"Ya a tough one, aintcha sunshine ?"

Most girls he had his knife against their throat usually cried or begged...Oh. He had fun with some of them, telling them he would let them go if they showed him how sorry they were. But, he usually got bored easily. He smiled at the memory of their gruesome deaths and his smile sent shivers down your spine.

"Good. Am gonna have lots of fun with ya fer sure."

You didn't reply to his obvious provocation and Bo whistled appreciatively.

"And she a fast learner too !"

He then retrieved the knife from your throat and replaced it with his hand. He laughed as he saw the way you desperately gasped for air. There was something truly hypnotic about the way a human being would always fight for life. It was instinct. But, Bo never had that instinct.

His mother had once tried to drown him, and he'd have let her. He knew he was born wrong. But, he wouldn't let anyone tell him about his problems—especially not people from some hospital. He had had his fair share of doctors and so-called professionals telling him about what was wrong with him. None of them ever tried to help—or could find a goddamn solution. So, he wouldn't let another one of those useless fuckers tell him about HIS problems. They had no right.

He leaned forward to whisper in your ear.

"I ain't goin' to yer fuckin' hospital. And we ain't ever leavin' Ambrose, got that—ya stupid b*tch ?"

Left with no choice, you complied and nodded. Bo finally released you and left you there—your head still trapped and now spinning. Your last thoughts before blacking out going to your brothers. They must be worried sick. You had promised to call them as soon as you had arrived—and they knew you were of the ponctual type. You closed your eyes and sent them a silent apology.

Looks like you might not be coming back home this time...

A few hours later :

You opened your eyes to find that you had switched location. You were now tied down to a chair with tape on your mouth. You tried to wiggle yourself out—but failed. You could hear voices coming from downstairs. You were far from the door but, you could still make out the voices.

"Bo. She ain't all that bad. Maybe, we can keep this one ? She seems nice enough."

Lester. He seemed to be defending you. He was probably the less violent of all the Sinclairs. He had a very distinctively gentleness to his voice that was lacking in his brother's who replied.

"Yeh. Nice like a goddamn dog about to bite the hand that feeds. Don't be an idiot, Lessy. She's a fuckin' pest—like the rest ev 'em."

You should have known Bo would be difficult to dissuade. He had already held a knife to your throat, you knew the man was just begging for an excuse to get rid of you. To think your salvation came from one of the Sinclair brothers—the one who had brought here in the first place—was laughable. However, you had no choice but hope that Lester was as great at convincing than he was at luring people into Ambrose.

"Come on. Jus' be nice.", he tried again and Bo humphed grumpily in response.

"Ya really too soft, Lessy..."

You then heard a door slam shut and footsteps coming your way. You quickly scooted back and tried to leave as much space as possible between you and the door—just in case it was Bo who had decided to finish the job. Thankfully, it was Lester who came in and looked surprised as he saw you awake. He chuckled awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand while the other was holding a plate.

"Ya awake.", he stated.

He then approached you—but stopped when he saw your eyes widen in fear. He stayed a few seconds frozen in place before attempting a reassuring smile.

"Sorry ya 'ed to hear all 'at. Ma brothe' can be one stubborn mule sumtimes..."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at that. That. He was. Stubborn prick. Lester seemed to find your obvious agreement humorous and he smiled before crouching in front of you.

"But, don' worry. Vince seems te think it's a good idea to keep ya too." He raised his hands to gesture to the tape tightly secured over your mouth. "Am gonna feed ya now. Promise ya won't bite me ?"

You frowned. What was their deal ? Did they think of you as some kind of feral pet ? You shook your head and he smiled weakly before removing the tape of your mouth. He then brought a spoonful of what looked like scrambled eggs to your lips.

"Come on. Open wide.", he instructed and—left with little alternative—you indulged. He seemed happy when you opened your mouth and accepted the food. You chewed slowly and your eyes didn't leave Lester's who shied away first.

"Sorry 'bout kidnapping ya and stuff...Jus' couldn't leave ya when I saw that yer one of those people."

Aww...The kidnapper apologizing for kidnapping you. Wow. Not like he had do it so many times before. But, you'd play along for now.

"It's okay. I understand.", you replied with a weak smile and Lester beamed at you before taking another spoonful and bringing it to you mouth. Soon, you fell into a rhythm and even though you both fell silent—he didn't seem to mind. He kept staring at you and it didn't bother you as much as you thought it would.

"Ya know...I meant it." You frowned in confusion and were about to ask what he was talking about when he scratched his throat and clarified.

"When I said ya pretty."

You stayed inexpressive at first until the corners of your mouth twitched upwards. You attempted a smile that you knew wouldn't be real convincing for anyone else—but it seemed to be enough for Lester who smiled back. But then, he seemed to remember where he was and apologized once more before putting the tape back on your face.

"Not too tight ?", he was courteous enough to ask and even though you knew better than to complain—your eyes said it all. Lester gave you a sympathetic smile. "Yeh. I know it ain't real comfortable. But, don' worry. You'll be allowed out of the room once we sure we can trust ya."

'And when would that be ?' You wanted to ask, but Lester was out of the room in a flash. You were left alone with your thoughts and looked up at the ceiling—counting three spiderwebs. Three spiders. Three brothers.

One fly.

Time lapse :

Lester kept coming to feed you every day after that. Bo didn't seem to want to get involved and the last brother had still not made his appearance. But, it was fine. You were fine with your one-on-one conversations with the youngest Sinclair. Besides, he usually talked about his brothers.

"Vince burned his hand with the wax again. I swear he's doin' it on purpose to annoy Bo.", Lester told you and you both laughed a little. He had been sharing daily stories of him and his brothers. There wasn't any useful information per say, but having another voice was helping keeping you sane. Lester kept feeding you spoon-by-spoon. At this point, you were certain he was doing it more for his personal enjoyment than anything. He then seemed to realize something as he asked next.

"Dya have any siblings ?"

You bit back a laugh at the memory of your brothers. It had been weeks already and you were sure they were now trying to track you down...but you weren't going to say that. Instead, you nodded.

"Three. Morgan is the oldest. A true gentleman. A doctor. Kevin is the second. A little mischievous. But, he can be really funny at times. And Peter...Peter is nice. He is a good little brother. Very skittish sometimes, but also very kind." You smiled and tried not to cry at the memory of your brothers. Lester seemed to notice your sadness as he suddenly seemed very uncomfortable.

"...Ya mus' miss 'em very much." You nodded in confirmation and Lester looked away guiltily before kicking invisible dust off the floor. He removed his hat and ran his fingers through his dirty blond hair.

"Ain't they goin' to come lookin' fer ya ?" You considered lying, but knew it wouldn't make a difference. The Sinclairs would never leave Ambrose willingly. They had made that pretty clear.

"Yes. Knowing my family, they'd be here any day now."

Lester stayed silent for a moment and you tilted your head to observe his expression very closely. He seemed to be thinking hard about something. He suddenly got up and opened his mouth—but reconsidered. He then walked out and you frowned as you heard yelling a few minutes later.

Then, another door slamming and the sound of an engine. The truck left.

You sighed and looked up at the ceiling. You were wondering when your family would come pick you up ?

The next morning :

"Getup, woman. Ya gonna cook for us."

That was your good morning from Bo. You didn't even realize that you were without restrains until Bo nudged your ankle with his foot.

"Hurry up."

You glared up at him, but still got up and walked towards the door. Bo had his shotgun in hand and you knew he wouldn't be afraid to use it.

"What do you want me to do ?", you asked as you arrived in what seemed to be the kitchen.

"Breakfast. Ya women know how to do 'at, right ?", Bo crudely replied before sitting down next to Vincent.

"That is some sexist bullsh*t.", you shot back and it earned you a nasty glare from Bo.

"Yeh ? Too bad."

'Sexist pig.' You thought before looking inside the cupboards. You could probably make some toasts ? You decided to try and smiled as you found a toaster hidden behind a pickle jar. You then proceeded to put some jam on the toasts. Bo picked one up and brought it to his mouth before smirking.

"Not half bad. Looks like you’ll be useful after all !" He then quickly ate his whole plate before standing up and giving a look to Vincent. It meant 'don't leave her out of your sight' and Vincent nodded in agreement. Vincent then took a bite too and finished his plate as well—but in silence.

He kept staring at you all day after that while you walked around. He wouldn't let you out of the house—but that was to be expected. Otherwise, he seemed easy to please and liked it when you did chores. He seemed to be happy when you decided to clean their clothes and his eyes even narrowed as you took the time to give a little attention to the many artistic endeavors displayed on the shelves. He was eager to point to each of his favorites and seemed excited when you gave each one a compliment.

You then waited until Lester or Bo came home before preparing dinner—helped by Vincent of course.

You hence became the official housewife. That was your life now. Lester was rarely seen, but when he came back he usually cooked. It made you realize that maybe the reason you had been made the only cook of the house was because none of the twins knew how to cook. And with your new job came advantages. You could now sleep on a bed (with the door locked of course) and no more restrains for now. At first, you thought weird that Lester didn’t come by as often as he used to—but you assumed he was trying to find victims. Because, that was their way of doing things. Lester would go and fetch. Bo would welcome and kill. And Vincent would turn them into wax dolls for their horror museum. You shivered at the sole thought of that horrible place. You had seen glimpses of it in the files. It wasn’t pretty.

One night, as you were sleeping—you felt two arms wrap around you from behind. You were too scared to move and didn’t—even when you felt the man nuzzle the back of your ear. He took a big breath and then moaned out.

"Mama…"

You closed your eyes shut and held back the tears as the man started holding you closer. You had seen photographs of the Sinclair's mother. You had read their backstories. They all had mommy and daddy issues. It was hard to really identify the voice. But, it oddly sounded like a distorted version of Bo’s. But, it wasn’t him. You were sure of it. The man was never careful about his gestures—whereas the hands travelling your body were soft and gentle. It wasn’t exactly unpleasant…Just awkward. And whoever that was, it wasn’t Lester. So, it only left you with one option.

"…Vincent ?"

He squeezed your hip in reply—as if to confirm. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes once more. There was no use fighting it. Vincent had always been his mother’s favorite and it was only normal he would find you to ressemble the only female figure he ever had in his life. What you found odd however was how he tightened his grip on you and seemed to be a little too…eager.

"Need you..."

Your eyes snapped open as he whimpered those words next to your ear and started grinding against your thigh. Well—shit. That was certainly unexpected. You thought back on a file you had found on some rumour that had never been confirmed about ‘Mama Sinclair’ and how she would often invite younger men into her bed. Had she…?

You felt sick just thinking about it and suddenly turned around to face Vincent who seemed stunned at being caught. You stared each other in the eyes and suddenly, you reached forward for his mask. He seemed to recoil at first—but finally allowed you to. When you removed it, you let out a soft gasp at the tear-filled eyes of Vincent Sinclair. His surgical scar was covering half of his face and made him look like a monster—but his eyes were the ones of a child.

"M'sorry, mama...", he whimpered pathetically and you felt a lump in your throat.

Fuck.

You didn’t know how to react and Vincent mistook your lack of reaction for horror. He humphed unhappily and tried to grab his mask—but you refused. Vincent was obviously upset and if you could gain another Sinclair’s sympathy…you would. You slowly hugged the man and tried to soothe him by petting his head gently.

"It's okay, Vincent...Ssh...You're alright."

It seemed to work as he tightened his hold on you and slowly drifted off to sleep. You also slowly closed your eyes—unaware of the other pair of eyes watching you in the dark.

Bo stared at the both of you for a while before he tsskd—feeling a pang of jealousy in his chest. It was the same when they were little. Vincent would always get all the love and affection. It upset him to see things being the same years later. And, worst part is ? You were taking advantage of it to make his brothers turn against him.

"...Fuckin' b*tch.", he spat hatefully before turning around to leave.

He'd make you regret ever making a fool out of him. He rummaged through the different things Lester had collected over the years from the various people they had killed and—sure enough—he found your bag. He didn't hesitate before looking inside it for anything interesting and frowned as he found a little box with written in neat cursive letter:

To my dearest sister,

From : Your favorite brother.

He opened the box and his eyes widened at the content. He carefully retrieved the emerald bracelet and raised it so he may look at it better in the moonlight. It was really pretty...the type of things mama would have killed for. The diamonds were sparkling and Bo smiled at it. Mama liked pretty things like that.

He closed it around his wrist and was uncharacteristically gentle as he stroked the smooth stones. He admired it, but his smile faded quickly as he realized that the pretty thing was contrasting with his marred skin. His ugly scars. It made him frustrated and even mad. His mama had never ever given him anything but pain, and the only things she ever owned never were as precious as this. He considered giving it back to you in pieces—but reconsidered. He held the jewelry closer to his chest and imagined it was a gift from you. If Vince could cuddle with you and Lester could have your little private meetings—it was only fair he'd have something from you too...right ?

It would be...unfair.

He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

It would be unfair if he was the only unwanted one this time around as well, right ?

The next morning :

Bo came into the kitchen and you tried to smile—but it felt very fake. And Bo wasn't fooled. He sat down—sprawled proudly like the bastard he was...waiting for the breakfast you dreamt of dumping on his head. Instead, you placed the plate of pancakes in front of him and—even though he hadn't complained once since you had taken the role of home cook—he seemed disgusted this time around. He stared at the plate for several seconds before asking.

"What the hell is that ?!", he asked rudely and glared at you.

"Pancakes.", you replied shortly and Bo's face flushed as you dared openly provoke him. He threw the plate to the floor and it shattered into pieces. You flinched and the noise alarmed Vincent who came in and looked surprised at the shattered plate. He almost mourned the delicious pancakes.

"DO THEM AGAIN !", Bo yelled—a vein threatening to burst on the side of his forehead.

You sighed and were about to comply—not wishing to fight Bo anymore. But then, you eyes caught the bracelet around his wrist and your eyes widened in shock. You then looked up slowly at Bo and your jaw twitched as you told him with chilling calmness.

"Give. It. Back." You spelled each word carefully—on the brink of rage. You had never tried to hurt any of the Sinclairs before, but you would for that bracelet. It was a gift. The last gift from your brother. The twins seemed surprised by your sudden change in demeanor, but Bo huffed a mocking laugh.

"And what if I don't, heh ? Whatcha gonna do 'bout it ?"

They were taken by surprise when you slowly lowered yourself to the ground to pick up one of the pieces of the broken plate and raised it towards them.

"GIVE IT BACK !"

Suddenly, Bo could feel that he had crossed a line. But, it didn't make a difference. He was still stronger than you, and you both knew it. He stood up and grabbed your arm—forcing you to drop the sharp object. He then dragged you to your old room and ignored all of your pleas as your skin bruised from all the pulling. You desperately tried to get him to let go, but he gritted his teeth and tightened his hold on you.

"Ya can't behave ? Fine. Guess we' back to the 'tied up' gig."

Vincent tried to stop him, but Bo shrugged him off and dragged you back to the attic. He then locked the both of you inside while you could hear Vince whine and pound on the door. But, Bo put his threat into execution and tied you up once more. You tried to fight back and in a moment of madness, you dared kick him in the chin. The both of you were shocked by what had just happened and Bo's jaw twitched. At that moment, every survival instinct in your body screamed at you to do something, before Bo decided you weren't as useful as he thought...

"I'm sorry. I...", you tried to apologize—but Bo didn't leave you a chance to finish. He slapped you.

You were shocked at first at the sensation. As far as you had lived in the house, Bo had never raised a hand on you. There was a significant change in his behavior pattern and you were suspicious it had something to do with what had happened last night.

"That what I get fer listenin' to Lessy's fuckin' advice on leavin' ye b*tch a chance.", he spat spitefully before finishing tying you up—his eyes devoid of any mercy or sympathy.

You had gained the two other Sinclairs over, and you thought it would be enough. But, you had forgotten the biggest threat of them all. Beauregard Sinclair was more than a killer—he liked seeing people suffer. It was an addiction. But, he didn't like to suffer. And you should have known that getting closer to his other two brothers and forgetting about him would be a mistake. It would hurt him.

"Why do you keep me then ? If I'm such a b*tch. Just kill me already.", you finally challenged him—you cheek warming up and your eyes burning. You knew it was risky to ask, but you really wanted to understand. Bo seemed the less inclined to keep you, but he had never dared to go against his two brothers until now. Was he afraid they might turn the backs on him ? If so, you might use it to your advantage. Bo sighed before looking at the floor intensely—as if deep in thought.

"Let me ask ya sumthin', sunshine. Have ya seen any woman around here ?"

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. Well...Since most of the inhabitants were wax people...No. Not really.

"Hum...No ?", you replied after a while and Bo huffed a cruel laugh as he stared down at you. The way he was looking at you made you wish you had thought twice before opening your mouth.

"Exactly. We alone. We men. And we ain't seen a woman in more than 15 years...Ya followin' ma logic' ?"

Realization hit you like a freight train and it was like a bucket of cold ice being thrown at your face. The only reason you were still alive was because you were one of the only women who had stepped foot on Sinclair territory. Lester saw you as some pretty thing, Vincent as the reincarnation of whatever twisted relationship he had with his dead mother and Bo...You didn't want to know what he saw you as. You leaned your head back to scream at the top of your lungs.

"...HELP ! HELP !"

Bo chuckled at your miserable attempt to get help and caught your face with his hand, trapping you within his personal space.

"And she' loud. That' good. We like loud in this family. But, not too much. So, keep yer mouth shut if ya wanna liv', yeh ?", he threatened and you nodded vividly. You just wanted to live. You hadn't done half of the things you wanted to do.

"You're making a huge mistake. They'll come for me, Bo.", you tried to sound threatening—but it came out weak. He didn't know who you were talking about. And truth was ? He probably didn't even care.

"Lettem come. They'll have one hell of a surprise.", he confirmed your hypothesis on his 'no fuck given' mindset. He then slammed the door shut after him and you looked up at the ceiling with tears in your eyes. Your cheek stung from where you had been struck and you felt terrible—but you were still alive. You would take a win where you could.

You stayed in the darkness for hours until the door opened and someone entered. It wasn’t Bo or Vincent, this shadow wasn’t menacing or tall. The presence was almost soothing as you knew it to be friendly.

"…Lester ?", you called out and the shadow stopped dead in its tracks. Suddenly, you were blinded by the blaring light and blinked several times before looking up at Lester. At the sight of your black eye, Lester seemed to pity you and slowly started to stroke the bruised side of your face.

"Oh no...What happened ? Did Bo do this ?", asked—even though he already knew the answer. His lips tightened into a thin line and he wordlessly got out of the room and returned with a wet rag. You hissed when he applied the cold material to the bruise and he apologised in a low muttering. You stayed silent until a tear rolled down your cheek.

"I'm going to die here...", you told him after a while and Lester stopped his ministrations to shake his head.

"Hey hey...Ssh...Ya ain't dyin'. Not on my watch." You knew he was trying to reassure you—but you were tired. You also knew you would come to regret it later, but you snapped.

"HOW THE FUCK WOULD YOU KNOW, HUH ?! YOU LEFT ME HERE ! YOU LEFT ME WITH HIM ! IT'S YOUR FAULT !" He flinched as you started yelling at him—but didn't stop taking care of the swelling. He knew he deserved your painful words. He had left you. But, it was too late now. What was done was done.

"Shoulda been there but, I wasn' 'caus Bo's right. Am too soft." He seemed so vulnerable as he confessed it—it rendered you speechless. Lester was now staring at his hands on his lap and seemed on the brink of tears too as he confessed. "That night when ya told me 'bout yer brothes'...I wanted to release ya. Bo told me I was bein' an idiot...maybe he right. Maybe, am jus' an idiot."

You wanted to be mad at him. Tell him that he was right. Hurt him like they hurt you...but, Lester seemed so pathetic. You realized you couldn't.

He made you think of Peter.

"You're not...an idiot. He is. You kidnapped me, remember ?", you tried to smile—but it hurt your cheeks by how fake it was. You weren't happy, but something about Lester made you pity him. Lester seemed surprised as you tried to comfort him and offered you a crooked smile of his own.

The pitiful sight he was offering made you heart skip a beat for some reason.

And then, you kissed him.

You were taken by a sudden urge of madness that made you lean forward and kiss the man. There was no real goal or reason. There wasn't any hidden intent. You just...wanted to feel less alone.

"W...What did ya do that fer ?", he asked when you pulled away—dumbfounded.

You shrugged in response.

Between Bo and Vincent, you really didn't have a chance at convincing them of letting you go...but, Lester...Lester was different. He had tried to help you, and you would get allies wherever you could get them.

Until your brothers arrived that was.

Lester stayed frozen for a few seconds before it seemed to dawn on him what had just happened. His ears and cheeks suddenly flushed red and he grinned from ear to ear. He didn't really know why you had done it, but he was happy to have had his first kiss with an actual woman. He had arrived to a point where he thought he would have to use one of Vincent's pieces of art as practice...He giggled to himself before looking up at the sky. Even his ma had told him that he would never find a woman. Well, he did find one.

He then looked around and frowned as he realized you were back in the attic. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair before looking back up at you. He then pondered if he should move you ? Bo had locked you up, but he felt bad leaving you up there for the night.

He then took a decision and decided to untie you. He was afraid you might try to escape—but you were strangely docile. You knew you were surrounded by a forest that ran far beyond what you could see. And the Sinclairs knew the forest better than anyone. It would only be a matter of time before any of them caught up with you.

Lester lead you to the bedroom you had been staying in on Bo's good days. And then, something clicked as you saw something you had failed to noticed before...the sweet smell. Your bedroom smelt like old cheap perfume and something else—something rotten. And there were multiple pictures of Bo and Vincent in the room—but none of Lester.

You knew who that room belonged to now.

"It was your mother's.", you voiced your conclusion out loud and Lester stopped dead in his tracks before nodding slowly.

"Yeh. It was."

There was a certain bitterness in the way he had said that. Bo and Vincent seemed to worship their parents...but, you handy heard Lester talk about them once. There was also no recording whatsoever of their relationship.

It was like...he had never existed for them.

You opened your mouth to ask—but one look from him and you knew better than to go through with it. He lead you to the bed and—much like Vincent—started cuddling you. But, you knew he didn't see anyone else but you at that moment. It wasn't like Vincent who saw you as his 'mama' or Bo who seemed to hate your guts just for reminding him of her...He held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

It made you unconsciously smile and you finally closed your eyes. You both fell asleep in each other's arms.

In the morning :

Bo joined Vincent in the kitchen and almost spit out his coffee at the sight of three men in the street. He frowned and remembered your earlier discussion.

You said they would come.

"Well, I'd be damned ! The b*tch was right. Those idiots came.", Bo said with a mixture of surprise and amusement as he spied the men from the window. From where he was standing, those three kids would barely qualify as a threat. They looked like church boys on their way to Sunday mass. He chuckled and shook his head slowly before grabbing his shotgun.

"Ready to defend our home, Vince ? We goin' to have some fun.", he grinned widely before running upstairs. Time to greet their guests with the proper welcome they were due…

"LESSY ! GET YER BUTT OVER HERE !" You heard Bo’s lovely voice calling Lester from downstairs and he almost fell off the bed. When Bo barged in and spotted the two of you together—he saw red.

"REALLY, LESSY ?! REALLY ?!" He took Lester by the ear and dragged him out of the bedroom. He then told Vince to stay and watch over you—which he agreed to. You walked to the window and smiled as you saw the three familiar figures.

They were so screwed now.

Outside :

"So...That is the infamous Ambrose ? Not going to lie. It is far less impressive than I thought. I am disappointed.", Morgan stated while looking disdainfully at the little houses all glued together by dust and dirt.

"We're not here for tourism, Mo'. Besides, there are plenty of spider webs and you know how much I don't like spiders...", Peter replied while dusting his shoulders for the third time since they had entered the town.

"AND I'VE BEEN ATTACKED BY AT LEAST 50 MOSQUITOES SINCE WE ENTERED THIS DAMN FOREST !", Kevin complained loudly behind them before slapping dead the mosquito that had had the misfortune of landing on his arm.

Morgan rolled his eyes in response and deplored his brothers' lack of appreciation for Mother Nature.

"You savages should learn to appreciate your surroundings. Besides, remember why we're here. Y/N was spotted around those parts."

Suddenly, Bo got out of the house and all the Hannibal Brothers' eyes were suddenly on him.

"Heya strangers ! Welcome to Ambrose !", he welcomed them with a huge grin—but shadow of his cap his his eyes from view. Morgan frowned suspiciously.

"Hello there. We were wondering if you wouldn’t have seen our sister around here recently ? Tall/Short/Average height. Blond/Brunette/Dark-haired. Curly/Wavy/Straight hair. E/C.", he asked and Bo pretended to think about it for a moment before shaking his head.

"Nop’. Sorry. Ain’t ringin’ any bells. Besides, we ain't gettin' many visitors around those parts.", he replied—but Morgan wasn't convinced. Kevin snorted rather rudely beside him before snickering.

"Yeah...Really surprising."

Peter smiled and Morgan glared at the both of them before returning his attention on the man.

"I see. Thank you for your help."

Bo tilted his head in acknowledgement and nodded shortly.

"No prob'. Hope ya do find her." He raised his hand to bide them farewell—unexpecting it when a knife was suddenly throw at him and pierced his hand.

"SON OF A BITCH !", he shouted loudly before taking cover behind his truck. Bo took a deep breath before slowly looking in the review mirror. It was the oldest one that had thrown the knife, and by the look on his face ? The kid was damn not regretting it. He shook his head before pulling the knife out and bandaging the wound with his handkerchief. He then sighed heavily before letting his curiosity get the best of him.

"What gave me away ?", he asked and Morgan took a moment before finally replying.

"…The bracelet you are wearing. I gave it to her." Bo chuckled to himself as he looked at the bracelet around his wrist. Perceptive kid...

"Ya know ya ain’t leavin’ this town alive, right ?", he told them and was answered by Kevin's snicker and the sound of a gun being loaded.

"…We’ll see about that.", Morgan simply replied as he got out another knife from underneath his lapel coat. Kevin smirked as he knew what was about to go down and took out his bow and arrows. Peter had his gun pointed towards Bo's truck and at that moment, they all unconsciously smiled.

It seemed Ambrose wouldn't be as disappointing after all.

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jpbjazz · 2 months ago

Text

LÉGENDES DU JAZZ

HAMIET BLUIETT, LE PLUS MODERNE DES SAXOPHONISTES BARYTON

“Most people who play the baritone don’t approach it like the awesome instrument that it is. They approach it as if it is something docile, like a servant-type instrument. I don’t approach it that way. I approach it as if it was a lead voice, and not necessarily here to uphold the altos, tenors and sopranos.”

- Hamiet Bluiett

Né le 6 septembre 1940 au nord de East St. Louis à Brooklyn, dans les Illinois, Hamiet Ashford Bluiett Jr. était le fils d’Hamiet Bluiett Sr. et de Deborah Dixon. Aussi connu sous le surnom de Lovejoy, le quartier de East St. Louis était majoritairement peuplé d’Afro-Américains. Fondé pour servir de refuge aux anciens esclaves affranchis dans les années 1830, le village était devenu plus tard la première ville américaine majoritairement peuplée de gens de couleur.

Bluiett avait d’abord appris à jouer du piano à l’âge de quatre ans avec sa tante qui était directrice de chorale. Il était passé à la clarinette cinq ans plus tard en étudiant avec George Hudson, un populaire chef d’orchestre de la région. Même s’il avait aussi joué de la trompette, Bluiett avait surtout été attiré par le saxophone baryton.

Après avoir amorcé sa carrière en jouant de la clarinette dans les danses dans son quartier d’origine de Brooklyn, Bluiett s’était joint à un groupe de la Marine en 1961. Par la suite, Bluiett avait fréquenté la Southern Illinois University à Carbondale, où il avait étudié la clarinette et la flûte. Il avait finalement abandonné ses études pour aller s’installer à St. Louis, au Missouri, au milieu des années 1960.

Bluiett était au milieu de la vingtaine lorsqu’il avait entendu le saxophoniste baryton de l’orchestre de Duke Ellington, Harry Carney, jouer pour la première fois. Dans le cadre de ce concert qui se déroulait à Boston, au Massachusetts, Carney était devenu la principale influence du jeune Bluiett. Grâce à Carney, Bluiett avait rapidement réalisé qu’un saxophoniste baryton pouvait non seulement se produire comme accompagnateur et soutien rythmique, mais également comme soliste à part entière. Expliquant comment il était tombé en amour avec le saxophone barytone, Bluiett avait déclaré plus tard: "I saw one when I was ten, and even though I didn't hear it that day, I knew I wanted to play it. Someone had to explain to me what it was. When I finally got my hands o n one at 19, that was it."

DÉBUTS DE CARRIÈRE

Après avoir quitté la Marine en 1966, Bluiett s’était installé à St. Louis, au Missouri. À la fin de la décennie, Bluiett avait participé à la fondation du Black Artists' Group (BAG), un collectif impliqué dans diverses activités artistiques à l’intention de la communauté afro-américaine comme le théâtre, les arts visuels, la danse, la poésie, le cinéma et la musique. Établi dans un édifice situé dans la basse-ville de St. Louis, le collectif présentait des concerts et d’autres événements artistiques.

Parmi les autres membres-fondateurs du groupe, on remarquait les saxophonistes Oliver Lake et Julius Hemphill, le batteur Charles "Bobo" Shaw et le trompettiste Lester Bowie. Hemphill avait aussi dirigé le big band du BAG de 1968 à 1969. Décrivant Bluiett comme un professeur et mentor naturel, Lake avait précisé: “His personality and his thoughts and his wit were so strong. As was his creativity. He wanted to take the music forward, and we were there trying to do the same thing.”

À la fin de 1969, Hemphill s’était installé à New York où il s’était joint au quintet de Charles Mingus et au big band de Sam Rivers. Au cours de cette période, Bluiett avait également travaillé avec une grande diversité de groupes, dont ceux des percussionnistes Tito Puente et Babatunde Olatunji, et du trompettiste Howard McGhee. Il avait aussi collaboré avec le Thad Jones-Mel Lewis Orchestra.

En 1972, Bluiett avait de nouveau fait équipe avec Mingus et avait fait une tournée en Europe avec son groupe. Collaborateur plutôt irrégulier de Mingus, Bluiett quittait souvent le groupe avant de réintégrer la formation un peu plus tard. En 1974, Bluiett avait de nouveau regagné le giron du groupe de Mingus aux côtés du saxophoniste ténor George Adams et du pianiste Don Pullen, qui deviendrait plus tard un de ses plus fidèles collaborateurs. Il avait aussi joué avec le groupe de Mingus à Carnegie Hall. Bluiett avait continué de travailler avec Mingus jusqu’en 1975, lorsqu’il avait commencé à enregistrer sous son propre nom.

Le premier album de Bluiett comme leader, Endangered Species, avait été publié par les disques India en juin 1976. L’album avait été enregistré avec un groupe composé d’Olu Dara à la trompette, de Junie Booth à la contrebasse et de Philip Wilson à la batterie. En 1978, Bluiett avait enregistré Birthright, un magnifique album live dans lequel il avait joué en solo durant quarante minutes et qui comprenait un hommage à son idole Harry Carney.

En 1976, la même année où il publiait son premier album solo, Bluiett avait co-fondé le World Saxophone Quartet avec d’autres membres du Black Artists Group comme Oliver Lake et Julius Hemphill. Le saxophoniste ténor (et clarinettiste basse) David Murray faisait également partie de la formation. Surnommé à l’origine le Real New York Saxophone Quartet, le groupe avait amorcé ses activités en présentant une série de cliniques et de performances à la Southern University de la Nouvelle-Orléans, avant de se produire au Tin Palace de New York. Menacé d’une poursuite judiciaire par le New York Saxophone Quartet, le groupe avait éventuellement changé de nom pour devenir le World Saxophone Quartet (WSQ).

Le groupe avait enregistré son premier album (d’ailleurs largement improvisé) sous le titre de Point of No Return en 1977. Jouant une musique diversifiée allant du Dixieland au bebop, en passant par le funk, le free jazz et la World Music, le groupe avait remporté un énorme succès (il est aujourd’hui considéré comme une des formations de free jazz les plus populaires de l’histoire) et avait reçu de nombreux éloges de la critique. Qualifiant le groupe de ‘’the most commercially (and, arguably, the most creatively) successful" de tous les ensembles de saxophones formés dans les années 1970, Chris Kelsey écrivait dans le All Music Guide: ‘’At their creative peak, the group melded jazz-based, harmonically adventurous improvisation with sophisticated composition." Commentant un concert du groupe en 1979, Robert Palmer avait déclaré dans le New York Times: “The four men have made a startling conceptual breakthrough. Without ignoring the advances made by musicians like Anthony Braxton and the early Art Ensemble of Chicago, they have gone back to swinging and to the tradition of the big‐band saxophone section.” Palmer avait ajouté: “Some of the music looks to the more archaic end of the tradition, to the hocket‐style organization of wind ensembles in African tribal music, and in doing so it sounds brand new.”

Reconnaissant la contribution de Bluiett dans la création du son d’ensemble du groupe, Kelsey avait précisé: "The WSQ's early free-blowing style eventually transformed into a sophisticated and largely composed melange of bebop, Dixieland, funk, free, and various world musics, its characteristic style anchored and largely defined b y Bluiett's enormous sound." Très conscient de l’importance de la mélodie, Bluiett avait toujours insisté pour que le groupe se concentre principalement sur les balades et l’improvisation. Il expliquait: “I think melody is very important. When we went into the loft situation, I told the guys: ‘Man, we need to play some ballads. You all playing outside, you running people away. I don’t want to run people away.’ ”

Parallèlement à sa collaboration avec le World Saxophone Quartet, Bluiett avait également publié d’autres albums comme leader comme Im/Possible To Keep (août 1977), un enregistrement en concert qui comprenait une version de quarante minutes de la pièce ‘’Oasis - The Well’’ (en trio avec le contrebassiste Fred Hopkins et le percusionniste Don Moye) et une version de trente-sept minutes de la pièce Nali Kola/On A Cloud en quartet avec le pianiste Don Pullen. En novembre 1977, Bluiett avait enchaîné avec Resolution, un album enregistré en quintet avec Pullen, Hopkins et les percussionnistes Don Moye et Billy Hart. À peine un mois plus tard, Bluiett avait récidivé avec Orchestra Duo and Septet, qui mettait à profit différentes combinaisons de musiciens comprenant le violoncelliste Abdul Wadud, le trompettiste Oldu Dara, le pianiste Don Pullen, le joueur de balafon Andy Bey, le flûtiste Ladji Camara, le contrebassiste Reggie Workman, le joueur de oud (un instrument à corde d’origine iranienne) Ahmed Abdul-Malik et le batteur Thabo Michael Carvin.

Avec le temps, les albums de Bluiett publiés en dehors de sa collaboration avec le World Saxophone Quartet étaient devenus de plus en plus accessibles. En faisaient foi des parutions comme Dangerously Suite (avril 1981), qui était une sorte de bilan de la musique populaire afro-américaine, et Ebu (février 1984), enregistré avec John Hicks au piano, Hopkins à la contrebasse et Marvin Smith à la batterie. L’album live Bearer of the Holy Flame (juillet 1983) documentait la collaboration de Bluiett avec un quintet composé de Hicks au piano et de deux percussionnistes. En juillet 1987, Bluiett avait aussi collaboré avec le trompettiste sud-africain Hugh Masekela dans le cadre de l’album Nali Kola qui mettait en vedette un saxophoniste soprano, un guitariste et trois percussionnistes africains

Littéralement passionné par son instrument, Bluiett avait également dirigé plusieurs groupes composés de plusieurs autres saxophonistes baryton. Également clarinettiste, Bluiett avait formé en 1984 le groupe Clarinet Family, un ensemble de huit clarinettistes utilisant des clarinettes de différents formats allant de la clarinette soprano E-flat à la clarinette contrebasse. Le groupe était composé de Don Byron, Buddy Collette, John Purcell, Kidd Jordan, J. D. Parran, Dwight Andrews, Gene Ghee et Bluiett à la clarinette et aux saxophones, de Fred Hopkins à la contrebasse et de Ronnie Burrage à la batterie. Le groupe a enregistré un album en concert intitulé Live in Berlin with the Clarinet Family, en 1984.

DERNIÈRES ANNÉES

Le World Saxophone Quartet avait continué de jouer et d’enregistrer dans les années 1990. Lorsque Julius Hemphill avait quitté le groupe pour former son propre quartet au début de la même décennie, c’est Arthur Blythe qui l’avait remplacé. En 1996, le groupe avait enregistré un premier album pour l’étiquette canadienne Justin Time. Intitulé "Four Now’’, l’album avait marqué un tournant dans l’évolution du groupe, non seulement parce que c’était le premier auquel participait le saxophoniste John Purcell, mais parce qu’il avait été enregistré avec des percussionnistes africains. Comme compositeur, Bluiett avait également continué d’écrire de nombreuses oeuvres du groupe, dont Feed The People on Metamorphosis (avril 1990) et Blues for a Warrior Spirit on Takin' It 2 the Next Level (juin 1996).

Lorsque le World Saxophone Quartet avait commencé à ralentir dans les années 1990 après la fin de son contrat avec les disques Elektra, Bluiett s’était lancé dans de nouvelles expérimentations comme chef d’orchestre. En collaboration avec la compagnie de disques Mapleshade, Bluiett avait fondé le groupe Explorations, une formation combinant à la fois des nouveaux talents et des vétérans dans un style hétéroclite fusionnant le jazz traditionnel et l’avant-garde. Après avoir publié un album en quintet sous le titre If You Have To Ask You Don't Need To Know en février 1991, Bluiett avait publié deux mois plus tard un nouvel album solo intitulé Walkin' & Talkin', qui avait été suivi en octobre 1992 d’un album en quartet intitulé Sankofa Rear Garde.

Depuis les années 1990, Bluiett avait dirigé un quartet appelé la Bluiett Baritone Nation, composé presque exclusivement de saxophonistes baryton, avec un batteur comme seul soutien rythmique. Mais le projet n’avait pas toujours été bien accueilli par la critique. Comme le soulignait John Corbett du magazine Down Beat, "Here's a sax quartet consisting all of one species, and while the baritone is capable of playing several different roles with its wide range, the results get rather wearisome in the end." Le groupe avait publié un seul album, Liberation for the Baritone Saxophone Nation’’ en 1998, une captation d’un concert présenté au Festival international de jazz de Montréal la même année. Outre Bluiett, l’album mettait à contribution les saxophonistes baryton James Carter, Alex Harding et Patience Higgins, ainsi que le batteur Ronnie Burrage. Commentant la performance du groupe, le critique Ed Enright écrivait: "In Montreal, the Hamiet Bluiett Baritone Saxophone Group was a seismic experience... And they blew--oh, how they blew--with hurricane force." Décrivant le concept du groupe après sa performance, Bluiett avait précisé:

‘’This is my concept, and it’s all about the baritone, really. The music has to change for us to really fit. I’m tired of trying to fit in with trumpet music, tenor music, alto music, soprano music. I'm tired of trying to fit in with trumpet music, tenor music, alto music, soprano music. It takes too much energy to play that way; I have to shut the h orn down. Later! We've got to play what this horn will sound like. So, what I’m doing is redesigning the music to fit the horn {...}. It’s like being in the water. The baritone is not a catfish [or any of those] small fish. It’s more like a dolphin or a whale. And it needs to travel in a whole lot of water. We can’t work in no swimming pools.The other horns will get a chance to join us. They’ve just got to change where they’re coming from and genuflect to us—instead of us to them.”

En mars 1995, Bluiett avait publié un album en sextet intitulé New Warrior, Old Warrior. Comme son titre l’indiquait, l’album mettait à contribution des musiciens issus de cinq décennies différentes. Le critique K. Leander Williams avait écrit au sujet de l’album: "The album puts together musicians from ages 20 to 70, and though this makes for satisfying listening in several places, when it doesn't w ork it's because the age ranges also translate into equally broad--and sometimes irreconcilable--stylistic ones.’’ Tout en continuant de transcender les limites de son instrument, Bluiett avait également exprimé le désir d’une plus grande reconnaissance. Il expliquait: "[A]ll the music these days is written for something else. And I'm tired of being subservient to it. I refuse to do it anymore. I refuse to take the disrespect anymore." En juin 1996, Bluiett avait publié Barbecue Band, un album de blues.

Après être retourné dans sa ville natale de Brooklyn, dans les Illinois, pour se rapprocher de sa famille, enseigner et diriger des groupes de jeunes en 2002, Bluiett s’était de nouveau installé à New York dix ans plus tard. Décrivant son travail de professeur, Bluiett avait commenté: “My role is to get them straight to the core of what music is about. Knowing how to play the blues has to be there. And learning how to improvise—to move beyond the notes on the page—is essential, too.”

À la fin de sa carrière, Bluiett avait participé à différentes performances, notamment dans le cadre du New Haven Jazz Festival le 22 août 2009. Au cours de cette période, Bluiett s’était également produit avec des étudiants de la Neighborhood Music School de New Haven, au Connecticut. Le groupe était connu sous le nom de Hamiet Bluiett and the Improvisational Youth Orchestra.

Hamiet Bluiett est mort au St. Louis University Hospital ade St. Louis, au Missouri, le 4 octobre 2018 des suites d’une longue maladie. Il était âgé de soixante-dix-huit ans. Selon sa petite-fille Anaya, la santé de Bluiett s’était grandement détériorée au cours des années précédant sa mort à la suite d’une série d’attaques. Il avait même dû cesser de jouer complètement du saxophone en 2016. Même si le World Saxophone Quartet avait connu de nombreux changements de personnel au cours des années, il avait mis fin à ses activités après que Bluiett soit tombé malade. Les funérailles de Bluiett ont eu le lieu le 12 octobre au Lovejoy Temple Church of God, de Brooklyn, dans les Illinois. Il a été inhumé au Barracks National Cemetery de St. Louis, au Missouri.

Bluiett laissait dans le deuil ses fils, Pierre Butler et Dennis Bland, ses filles Ayana Bluiett et Bridgett Vasquaz, sa soeur Karen Ratliff, ainsi que huit petits-enfants. Bluiett s’est marié à deux reprises. Après la mort de sa première épouse, Bluiett s’était remarié, mais cette union s’était terminée sur un divorce.

Saluant la contribution de Bluiett dans la modernisation du son du saxophone baryton, Garaud MacTaggart écrivait dans le magazine MusicHound Jazz: "Hamiet Bluiett is the most significant baritone sax specialist since Gerry Mulligan and Pepper Adams. His ability to provide a stabilizing rhythm (as he frequently does in the World Saxophone Quartet) or to just flat-out wail in free-form abandon has been appare nt since his involvement with St. Louis' legendary Black Artists Group in the mid-1960s."

Tout en continuant de se concentrer sur le saxophone baryton, Bluiett avait continué de jouer de la clarinette et de la flûte. Avec son groupe Clarinet Family, il avait même contribué à faire sortir de l’ombre des instruments moins bien connus comme les clarinettes contrebasse et contre-alto ainsi que la flûte basse.

Refusant de confiner son instrument à un rôle essentiellement rythmique, Bluiett avait toujours considéré le baryton comme un instrument soliste à part entière. Il expliquait: “Most people who play the baritone don’t approach it like the awesome instrument that it is. They approach it as if it is something docile, like a servant-type instrument. I don’t approach it that way. I approach it as if it was a lead voice, and not necessarily here to uphold the altos, tenors and sopranos.”

Refusant de se laisser dominer par les ordinateurs et les nouvelles technologies, Bluiett avait toujours été un ardent partisan d’un son pur et naturel. Il poursuivait: "I'm dealing with being more healthful, more soulful, more human. Not letting the computer and trick-nology and special effects overcome me. I'm downsizing to maximize the creative part. Working on being more spiritual, so that the music has power... power where the note is still going after I stop playing. The note is still going inside of the people when they walk out of the place." Doté d’une technique impeccable, Bluiett affichait une maîtrise remarquable de son instrument dans tous les registres. Le jeu de Bluiett, qui atteignait un total de cinq octaves, lui permettait de jouer dans des registres qu’on croyait jusqu’alors hors de portée du saxophone baryton.

À l’instar de son collaborateur de longue date, le saxophoniste ténor David Murray, Bluiett était un adepte de la respiration circulaire, ce qui lui permettait de prolonger son phrasé sur de très longues périodes sans avoir à reprendre son souffle. Reconnu pour son jeu agressif et énergique, Bluiett incorporait également beaucoup de bebop et de blues dans le cadre de ses performances. Très estimé par ses pairs, Bluiett avait remporté le sondage des critiques du magazine Down Beat comme meilleur saxophoniste baryton à huit reprises, et ce, sur quatre années consécutives de 1990 à 1993 et de 1996 à 1999. Décrivant la virtuosité et la polyvalence de Bluiett, le critique Ron Wynn écrivait dans le magazine Jazz Times en 2001: ‘’There haven’t been many more aggressive, demonstrative baritone saxophonists in recent jazz history than Hamiet Bluiett. He dominates in the bottom register, playing with a fury and command that becomes even more evident when he moves into the upper register, then returns with ease to the baritone’s lowest reaches.’’

Décrivant Bluiett comme un des saxophonistes les plus dominants de son époque, le critique Stanley Crouch avait déclaré: "He had worked on playing the saxophone until he had an enormous tone that did not just sound loud. And the way that Bluiett described Harry Carney's playing — he basically was telling you how he wanted to play: 'I want to be able to play that very subtle, pretty sound, way at the top of the horn, if necessary. I want to play a foghorn-like low note. And if they want a note to sound like a chain beat on a floor, I can do that, too.'"

Tout aussi à l’aise dans les standards du jazz que dans le blues, Hamiet Bluiett a enregistré près de cinquante albums au cours de sa carrière, que ce soit en solo, en duo, dans le cadre de petites formations ou en big band. Bluiett a collaboré avec de grands noms du jazz et de la musique populaire, dont Babatunde Olatunji, Abdullah Ibrahim, le World Saxophone Quartet, Stevie Wonder, Marvin Gaye, James Carter, Bobby Watson, Don Braden, Anthony Braxton, Larry Willis, Charles Mingus, Randy Weston, Gil Evans, Lester Bowie, Don Cherry, Eddie Jefferson et Arthur Blythe. Même s’il croyait que les musiciens devaient faire un effort pour se rapprocher du public, Bluiett était aussi d’avis que le public devait faire ses propres efforts pour comprendre la musique qu’on lui proposait. Il précisait: "Get all the other stuff out of your mind, all of the hang-ups, and just listen. If you like it, cool. If you don't like it, good too. If you hate it, great. If you love it, even better. Now if you leave the concert and don't have no feeling, then something is wrong. That's when we made a mistake."

#jazz

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