Giovanni Cortez

Prof. Virginia Dellenbaugh

Vocal Manipulation and Mediation
May 11th, 2015

Journal Entry #Bonus8

I saw Pharoah Sanders and I want to talk about the “voice”, in this sense the

vocality of the tenor saxophone, and how it is manipulated by certain visual cues more or

less completely separate (though perhaps not) from the characteristics that give the

“voice” it’s grain. Without wasting too much paper introducing a man who needs none,

Sanders is the “Rock from Little Rock” as Coltrane used to call him amongst other

things. Aside from Grammys and accolades, guy had multiple nicknames from Trane.

Ornette Coleman, the Lonely Woman himself, straight up said dude is “probably the best

tenor in the world”. The man, Coleman a tenor himself, on my wall is quoted saying there

is no better saxophone sound in the world than Sanders. The men who line the wall next

to him are Michael Jordan, Martin Luther King, and Jesus, hence his opinion matters.

Albert Ayler, the spirit somehow more unorthodox than Free Jazz itself, uttered the most

famous quote saying “Trane was the Father, Pharoah was the Son, I am the Holy Ghost”.

Forgot the former and latter part of that quote and smack in the middle is Sanders,

bearing with him his overblowing and completely disregard for human breath and the

conversation of saliva. Harmonic and multiphonic to the very core, he is the only living

man left from Coltrane’s mid-late sixties experimental bands and unarguably one of the

most principle figures in the development of free jazz. He sounded exactly like I thought

he would: violent and sage-like. But he looked like he just got back from the gym, a
mental image that created disparity between my brain with my ears and then my eyes,

one that I don’t think effected my experience, but maybe.

Pharoah Sanders visually is on his holy aesthetic 100% of the time, or at least the

internet makes it seem. Most (like 93%) of photos show him sporting a Kufi, cladded in

full African spirituality, dashiki to match something Elegua would wear and the energy

of his album covers. In live videos spanning back to the 70’s, with the exception of long-

time pianist and collaborator Willie Henderson, his stand in bassists, drummers and

percussionist, tend to take Sander’s fashion cues though you can assume they wouldn’t

have had they been supporting anyone else. As much as he puts on a show for your ears,

Sanders has worked his whole career to direct that same soundscape towards your eyes.

At any given show, he appears as he sounds: free, removed from the standard dress of

traditional Jazz and dissatisfied with convention. His body swings, tightly wound from

old age, yet unencumbered without a regular meter. At times, he abruptly stops moving,

stops playing and begins gazing off into a distance, not budging an inch as if to gather the

recollect on past pains, memories of suffering that no scream can nearly begin to warrant,

only vindicated by the savage overtone’d squeals of his tenor saxophone.

Experiencing hours and hours of footage online across live show streams, it is

easy to grasp Sander’s stage presence. It is memorable and seemingly equated. I saw him

in person. I paid 40 dollars and saw him in person, gaze and white wizard like facial hair

and all. Willie Henderson was right behind as always along with veteran New York

jazzists Juini Booth and Greg Bandy. Then there was Pharoah. He slowly approached the

stage and my eyes where I did not recognize him, the man who has spent more time on

my screen than a screensaver. Pharoah was dressed in all black: sweatpants, turtleneck,
and a white fedora. It was strange to say the least and I began thinking about all the ways

we associate the voice with a certain body and when that image is broken, a

disassociation happens and the feeling is uncanny (i.e. auto-tune, woman with a man’s

voice, castrato, etc.). The same had happened between Pharoah and I, but without the

voice and instead his image. It really was like seeing something out of it’s element, like a

bear walking on his hind legs, though this is a dream pet of mine. Regardless, it was a

stretch of comparison, but the only man I could think of was Hitler. Despite the dress,

Pharoah still had it. That saxophone still blows like Sun-Ra and Trane were right next to

him. I imagined Hitler and all his oral power, minus the Nazi attire. These men aren’t of

the same caliber of violence, but dress is/was crucial to the sounds they produced. I left

that show feeling the “Power of God”. The Creator has a Master Plan. Because he does.

Pharoah showed me so. All that Sanders power it still exists, but how would that changed

for me had he wore what I knew him to? Does the sound of his saxophone augment with

the image of the patterns behind him? Does that garm alter the space at all? I don’t think

it is an answerable question, but it is revealing as to how dynamic a shirt choice can be.