Goodbye Gil
Gil Scott-Heron passed away yesterday at the age of 62. It is regrettable that it takes a sad event to get me back into writing for my web site. But as I sit here Saturday morning listening to Winter In America, there are thoughts in my head that are itching to get out.
That’s not surprising considering what Gil Scott-Heron meant to my musical maturation. He definitely was a musician whose lyrics filled my heads with thoughts.
Throughout my life I rarely paid close attention to lyrics. And the more I got into house music, the easier it got to dismiss lyrics as the garnish to a good beat. Even when listening to non-dance music, lyrics were not important to me, only the melody of the vocal.
Gil Scott-Heron’s music changed that.
The first time I heard Gil’s “B-Movie” was in 2003. It was that awful part of the Bush era where it still was “frowned upon” to publicly criticize the war on terror. And so here I am in my car, listening to a new Underworld mix CD I just bought and track one started with Gil’s voice flatly stating…
Well the first thing I want to say is, “Mandate my ass!”
And then for the next 12 minutes (yes, the full 12 minute version opened that mix CD), I listened to every lyrical skewering that Gil dished out against Ronald Reagan and the America that had seemingly lost its mind putting those crooks in power. It took 5 replays of “B-Movie” before I remembered there were other songs on the CD.
From that point on, lyrics mattered, especially Gil’s lyrics. “B-Movie” said so many things that stood the test of time. Even if Gil wasn’t singing specifically about Bush, Cheney and Rumsfeld’s antics, it felt like he was still talking about what was going on now.
Over the years, I’ve realized that is because “B-Movie” honestly and directly addressed the events that were influencing Gil at that particular moment. There was no filter or censor of Gil’s thoughts. It was so truly honest that even if people don’t know all of the names and events he mentions, the message bursts forward to listeners decades later.
This might have been the first time I heard a protest song and actually heard the protest speak to me loudly and clearly.
I bought several Gil records to listen to over and over again. But because my early DJing career was strictly house music, I never thought of playing any Gil records once I started playing in the clubs.
That changed at my first downtempo residency. I definitely did not own enough true downtempo records to cover four hours every week, so I thought I’d bring my copy of Reflections to fill up some time playing “B-Movie” every week. Then for the heck of it, I brought The Revolution Will Not Be Televised hoping to maybe throw “Whitey On the Moon” over the top of some other beat. It was not a well thought out plan.
A few things happened from playing those records. First, my “Whitey On The Moon” experiment taught me that some of the best music shouldn’t be blended by DJs. Whether it’s because the drums are “too loose” or because it packs a better punch just playing it by itself, certain songs truly work best in a DJ set played start to finish untouched. “Whitey On The Moon” is one of those songs, in my opinion.
Second, I learned that if you play a Gil record in public, you better be ready for people to listen to what he’s saying. There was a kind of hilariously awkward moment the first time I noticed that other people in the bar were actually listening to the lyrics of “Whitey.” There was something in Gil’s voice that commanded and rewarded attention. Therefore, for a DJ playing a night of mostly background music, “Whitey On The Moon” was noticeably different.
And to be honest, while I do not agree with the lyrics in every song Gil has written, I do agree with the idea behind “Whitey on The Moon.” I was actually happy and proud to be playing it.
That experience immediately made me realize that lyrically strong songs need to be used carefully in DJ sets, but they need to be used. I felt like I had done a tiny bit of good to get people thinking about what the song said every time I played it.
Perhaps that will be the upside of Gil’s passing. More people will hear and start thinking about his still very relevant words.
DJs tend to overindulge when a DJ favorite artist passes. Club DJs load up their setlists with that artist’s music. Blogs release mixes made up entirely of that artist’s works. Obscure b-sides, demos and live recordings emerge. Remixes, remakes and compilations flow. People will hear Gil’s words for the first time, hopefully forcing them to embrace the sad fact that few of the problems Gil sang about in the 70s and 80s have gotten any better generations later.
Now how much of the above noted excitement will materialize because of Gil’s passing is unknown. Obviously, it won’t be the month-long orgy that every club DJ had playing every single Michael Jackson song they owned after his death. And there may not be as much blog attention as after James Brown’s death, but I think it could come close. Especially because Gil came back in 2010 with a new album with Jamie XX.
Which brings me to my final thought — I regret that I never got to see Gil live, especially since he just toured. Going to shows is just one of those things you get lazy about as you grow older, but the music lover in me is kicking the responsible side of me right now.
Maybe I’ll go out and get that new album today which somehow I haven’t even heard yet. But first, one more listen to H20 Gate Blues. Rest in Peace, Gil.
One Response to “Goodbye Gil”
Well said Mertz. Well said.