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Gender Equity in Jazz.

       Terri Lyn Carrington, jazz drummer,  recently announced her new role as Artistic Director of the Berklee Institute of Jazz and Gender Justice at Berklee College of Music.

       She says that “the Berklee Institute of Jazz and Gender Justice will focus on gender equity in the jazz field and the role that jazz can play in the larger struggle for gender justice.”

     Ms. Carrington’s desire to find solutions to gender inequity in jazz and society is marvelous! I hope that she finds success because I, too, am invested in women’s equality. Three sisters, three nieces, eight female cousins, five aunts, a mother and our own dear Chef Ginger have all sensitized me to the issue. Their happiness, their success, their welfare are as important to me as my own! 

       Encouraging–-or demanding, even–-gender equity in jazz is a complex thing. Can justice, other than criminal, be meted out equitably? Who is the judge? Is she impartial? How does she go about deciding in each instance what is right? Take an example from racial equity in jazz: since the African-American population is 12.7 percent, should we limit black musicians to only 12.7 percent of gigs? (Non-sense, of course.) Or should we make up for other social grievances—of which there are many—and toss them extra gigs? Should we instead judge each musician on her own merit? 

       Should women have 50.8 percent of gigs, in accordance with their percentage of the USA population, although they constitute a smaller percentage of jazz musicians? It’s not easy to figure out. These questions are too difficult for me to answer. But then, my degree was in philosophy and playwriting, not social justice. I imagine that Ms. Carrington has thought it all through, though. 

       For my part, I will continue to do what I do, which is to treat each person who plays at my place with love and caring and honor regardless of gender. This is what Scott Goulding and I have done for years. Daniela Schachter, Rebecca Cline, April Hall, Donna Byrne and Eula Lawrence all have monthly residencies in our jazz club! Yoko Miwa, a Japanese woman, enjoys a weekly residency here. And our friend Sheila Jordan plays here twice a year. Seventy-five percent of jazz bands playing here are led by women! 

       At The Mad Monkfish, we encourage all band leaders to choose their own players. Theoretically, all of these women could choose other women as sidemen. It is their choice. 

       A desire for gender equity is engendered by the understanding that sex doesn’t guarantee or preclude musical genius. Those in authority, like club owners, venue and festival managers should disregard gender as a criterion for booking musicians. Establishing an institution dedicated to the furtherance of gender equity in jazz is commendable, but the locus of real power to make lasting change in this area resides with those who do the hiring and firing, those who hold the purse-strings. If more individual men and women in authority do the right thing, then step-by-step, gig by gig, equity in jazz will become a reality.  

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On Why We Changed Our Name from Thelonious Monkfish to The Mad Monkfish.

“Why would you do that?” a restaurant guest asked, “Thelonious Monkfish was such a cool name!”

“Yeah, it was a cool name,�� I said. “Please don’t believe the rumor floating around that the Monk Estate’s fancy lawyer threatened to sue us––like some contemporary re-enactment of the David & Goliath story––it’s completely untrue! Before I even chose the name Thelonious Monkfish, I was careful about not stepping on the Estate’s legal toes. I checked with the musical genius himself via séance, and he was tickled that we’d name our sushi joint after him. “I’ve always loved sushi.” he admitted, “But Pannonica kept giving the raw fish to the cats!”

I will tell you the real reason we changed our name:       

I was practicing scales on our Yamaha C6X in the Jazz Baroness Room one night, when suddenly a strange sensation came over me! I felt the pressure of a hat band on my head and a cigarette in my mouth. I watched helplessly as my body got up and danced a jig.

      Yoko Miwa––she was there, if you don’t believe me, ask her––said, “Hey, why are you dancing like Monk? Sit down and finish your scales!

      “Yoko Moko Choko!” I said, and without warning, my knees gave out and I landed in a heap on the stage floor. I looked at Yoko and said, “Be a good bird and remember everything I say.”

      “Why are you acting so weird, Jamme?” Yoko asked.

      “Jamme isn’t here now. I am Melodious Thunk! Tell him that the spirit of Thelonious Monkfish, your logo, grows weary of living up to my reputation. After all, he is but a crazy, little fish! He does back flips through the ether! He looks at me and asks, “Was dat a good ‘un? Was dat a good ‘un?” Mad as a March hare!” The ghost of the High Priest of Bebop laughed and moved his arms as if to conduct a band.

      “Tell Jamme to give the poor sea creature his own name. One that expresses his essence!”

      “But Jamme loves you, sir!” Yoko exclaimed. “He named the little monkfish ‘Thelonious’ because he wanted to honor you.”

      “Yes, I love him, too. I felt his love here in the afterlife, but it’s time now to do what’s right. The little guy needs his own identity!”

      Suddenly, there was a great flash of light above the stage, and the Musical Genius, still crumpled on the floor, said, “Oops, I gotta go! The Lord of Hosts beckons!” He winked. “He wants me to play my new composition! On the harp, no less! It’s been almost forty years and still I haven’t mastered that instrument!”

      My body fell unconscious, and a while later, I awoke to Yoko pacing in front of me.

      “What happened?” I asked. She told me. 

This, kids, is the unadorned truth of why we changed our name.