Sathima Bea Benjamin

Song Without End

Artist Interview by: Maxwell Chandler

April 2008 - Sathima Bea Benjamin's amazing life reads like the plot of a movie. She takes time out of her busy schedule to recollect her life's journey, from her childhood in pre-apartheid South Africa, singing during movie house intermissions to self-imposed exile to Europe where she and pianist/composer husband, Dollar Brand (Abdullah Ibrahim), are discovered by Duke Ellington. Despite witnessing and being part of not just her country's history, but her chosen art's as well, this singer remains to the casual listener an, as yet, undiscovered treasure.

Jazz Review: You started at an early age, singing in church and during intermissions at movies. Had you professional ambitions at this stage or did that come later?

Sathima Bea Benjamin: I had no ambitions at all. I just knew that when I sang, I forgot everything else that was going on in my life. I’m not going to go into that but I did have a very traumatic childhood. I mean…my parents were divorced, I really had a wicked stepmother and then finally my grandmother adopted my sister and I; There were two of us, my sister Joan, she’s a year and half younger than me. Then I went to live with, I will always call her Ma Benjamin, because she raised me. She was like 68 at that time, when we went to live with her. I am kind of glad that she raised me because that’s why I am old fashioned.

That’s where I heard, she had one of those old wind-up gramophones and she had these old records, these old thick vinyl records. I used to put them on and turn them up and that’s where I heard these old songs like “Sweet Mystery of Life” and “Love’s Old Sweet Song” and that’s why I sing them. They’re actually like 100-year old songs. I decided that I can’t sing them like the way they were, a light operetta style, but these songs were playing in my mind. I have to redo them, but I have to do something else with them. So I decided I will swing “Sweet Mystery of Life.”  I don’t think Victor Herbert would mind.

Jazz Review: What were you initially listening to which influenced you?

Sathima Bea Benjamin: It was mostly…at that time when I was nine or ten-years old.  It was the Union of South Africa. It was not what it is today. So there was a lot of, being the union part of the British Commonwealth, like India, I would turn to the BBC and I would hear Nat King Cole. I would hear Ella Fitzgerald a lot. I didn’t hear Sarah Vaughn that much and I practically never heard Billie Holliday. I could mention Perry Como, Vera Lynn, (English singer), Gracie Fields.

I heard a lot of music on the radio and what I used to do, as a kid because my grandmother, her being sixty eight, she was teaching me how to cook and it wasn’t that far away from the radio. So I used to leave a couple of sheets of paper and a pencil, and I would just run away when I heard something coming on the radio, and I would start writing down words. And, if I didn’t get it all, I would leave a space. I knew well…this is gonna happen again and then I will make up this space.

It was a lot of Nat King Cole. I always tell people that he was my role model for diction. You can hear every word that he sings, so I learned that from Nat King Cole.  As I said, I heard Ella quite a bit, sometimes Sarah Vaughn, never Billie Holliday…a lot of popular singers of the time…Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra.

I was not aware of where this was going to lead me. I just loved singing, and did a lot of singing in secret. My grandmother was very strict and I think she would not have approved of any of us going on the stage to sing. I didn’t know that I wanted to be a singer out there in the world. I had no idea. It was completely intuitive. The whole process was intuitive. Not knowing where all this was going to lead me, much later on when I was eighteen/nineteen/twenty-years old, I started meeting the locals; we will call them jazz musicians because they were.

It being the Union of South Africa; really it’s so hard to explain because even though it wasn’t the apartheid South Africa, it was in a sense because I grew up you know…the English had put things in place already. I grew up in a colored neighborhood. I am a colored person.  Anybody that’s of mixed ancestry was categorized as a colored person. It is no longer so in South Africa; Nelson Mandela says everyone is just a South African. This took many, many years to come to this point. It was kind of like you knew your place and you just operated in that area.

But what happened with me was that when I was like 17 or 18, and musicians got to hear that “there’s a young lady who just sings fantastic”…I didn’t know anything really. Really about jazz, all I knew is what I was picking up from the radio. We didn’t have television. 

I was hanging out with jazz musicians and we would go to somebody’s place after hours, after we did these sorts of night club jobs. These jobs were in the so called “White Areas,” but they had colored musicians to play. It wasn’t a sit down thing at all. They were dancing and dining, the white folk. We would sit up on the stage. But some of these wonderful musicians, like Henry February, we kind of used it like a platform for ourselves to advance ourselves musically. The audience didn’t know that, they were totally away from us. All they wanted to [do] was dance and dine, and we had to provide that, and we did that. We were allowed to go into the white areas to work, but we had to get right out of there when we were done. You hear that story about you had to go to the kitchen to eat something? Well, we had to go to the kitchen…pretty much like what was happening in the South here.

My whole connection is like, when I found out what was going on in the South, I felt this kinship. I was also, “Oh my goodness there are colored people somewhere else in the world!” It may sound strange for you to hear me talking about this, but it is really important to me.

Jazz Review: It was a drastically different time; you didn’t have the multimedia that allowed you to really glimpse what else was going on in the world.

Sathima Bea Benjamin: No, because South Africa didn’t allow that. I think they only allowed television pretty recently maybe 10-15 years ago. They said television would make us colored people see what was going on in the rest of the world, and they didn’t want us to know that. That was before freedom came.

You have to remember all these things I went through, many of the different stages in the development of that country. In a sense, that was why we had to leave. Because at a certain point, I think it was after the Sharpeville Massacre (in 1960), when that happened, then three was a crowd and that’s when my husband and I said we had to go.

Because that happened, that meant we could not perform in the white nightclubs any more. They actually imported Portuguese and Italian musicians to perform. Everything stopped. So there were no venues anymore. I met Abdullah Ibrahim (formerly known as “Dollar Brand”) in the meantime.

Jazz Review: In 1960, after South Africa’s Sharpeville Massacre, you and Ibrahim went into exile in Europe.  You were initially in Switzerland. What dictated the choice of where you went?

Sathima Bea Benjamin: We happened to know a friend who lived in Zurich, Switzerland who said, “You know, if you ever have to get out of there, come over here and I will try to help you.” That’s how we ended up in Zurich. That was not as easy as we thought. We ended up playing in all kinds of funny clubs and things, and then I met Duke Ellington in 1963. He was in Zurich playing a concert and the guy at this club where the trio: Abdullah Ibrahim, Makhay Ntshoko (the drummer from Cape Town) and Johnny Getze (the bassist from Cape Town); the club was called Club Africana…very strange, funny things. The club paid for and allowed the drummer and bassist to join Abdullah, so there was the trio and then there was me. You know what, I sang, but it didn’t really matter whether or not I sang at that club or not. The club owner just tolerated it. I would force that I have to sing because that way I stay in touch with myself and see how I am growing.

Jazz Review: In 1963, while Duke Ellington was playing Zurich, you caught his eye and managed to meet him. You were able to persuade him to see Abdullah Ibrahim who was by now your husband, perform with his trio at Club Africana. Duke Ellington insisted on also hearing you sing.  So impressed was he by what he had heard, he flew you both to Paris to record separate albums. This all must have seemed as if it was something out of a story book. Do you recall how you felt?

Sathima Bea Benjamin: Duke Ellington came into town so I said, OK, I am going to try to go to this concert because I wanted to tell him about how much we in South Africa love him, and to see if he would come back to the club before they closed (everything closed at ten minutes to twelve in Zurich).

I got myself to the Duke Ellington concert. I don’t quite remember how I got backstage and there were so many people standing outside Duke Ellington’s dressing room door. Every time the door would open, he would say “Let so and so in,” and at one point he caught my eye and said “Let her in.”  And then I was standing there and he said “So who are you?”  I said, “Sir, well, I am here. I am just trying to see if after the show, if you could come with me to this club and listen to my boyfriend” (we weren’t married yet). I had heard that Duke Ellington could record people for Reprise Records, Frank Sinatra’s label. He was their A&R man at that time and he could record six projects. So I thought this would be a great project.

After the show, he came out and said “Oh my goodness, you are still here?”  And I said, “Sir, but you said you would come with me.” And he said, “Do you mind if I bring my barber?” because he didn’t know me from anywhere, where was I taking this man. Somebody else came along with him [and] we got into a cab, and we got to this club. As we got to the club, the owner was turning the key in the door. It was like ten minutes before midnight. But then he saw me get out of the cab with Duke Ellington and he, of course, he put the key back in.

We went in and Abdullah didn’t know what to think. I introduced them and the owner reopened the club. I explained that I wanted just a few minutes for him to hear Abdullah.  And while listening to Abdullah he asked “How old are you?” I was twenty-three and I said so. He said “What do you do? You cannot be a manager, you are too young, ‘just a little girl.’” And I said, “Well sir, sometimes I sing.”  And he said “Oh, ok, so go up there.” I don’t know what I sang; it was not a Duke Ellington song. Maybe it was “I’m Glad There is You,” or something. He said “My goodness, listen. I have to leave tomorrow because I am doing a European tour. If you two guys will be at the Baur Au Lac Hotel (which was the grandest hotel in Zurich) at 10:30 in the morning, we will talk.” I’m telling you it was February, it was freezing cold, it was snowing …Abdullah and me, and we did not sleep that night. We could not wait for 10:30 the next morning.

We went to that hotel, and Duke Ellington had us sit down in his room. He said “Look, I will be in Paris in 4-days time at the Barcaly studios. When you leave my room now, I am going to put you in touch with my accountant. He will give you some money to take a train and I will see you at the Barclay studios in Paris in four days time.” And that was how it happened!

When we got to Paris and got to the Barcaly studios, he also put us up in…I have never lived in a hotel of that nature. I mean, you just walk into the room and they came running with the champagne glasses. I had never been treated so royally in my life. We were not used to this. We were really poor. We were struggling with the music, we were struggling financially. It was really a rough time. So this was all mind-boggling, extremely mind-boggling.

So we got ourselves to the studio and then Duke walked in with a very beautiful lady whom he called the Countess, and she really looked like a countess. She didn’t stay, but he introduced her to us, and he also had Billy Strayhorn with him. He said to Billy Strayhorn “Billy, this is Bea, and Bea this is Billy. Now I want you to go over to this piano. I know you can do wonderful things together.” Well, I had never met Billy and he had never met me, but I know why they called him Sweet B…because he was the sweetest person. He had his highball and he had his cigar. We went over to the piano and he said, “What are we going to do?” Stupid me, of course not thinking, to talk about an Ellington song or something, I said, “Well, I think I’d like to sing “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square.” He said, “What’s that? I don’t know that, but sing it for me.” So I started singing, and he said “My goodness this is a beautiful song.” Duke came running into the studio and said “Who wrote that song? Did you write it?” I said, “No sir! I don’t write songs.” 

It has the most gorgeous verse. I had gotten all these things together, with Abdullah while we were living in Zurich. Thank goodness for that because Abdullah is not a person who will just, like work with you (even in those days). You had to have everything; a beginning and an ending, and if there was an introduction, it had to be perfect. He’s a perfectionist. He taught me a lot. We had rehearsed in Zurich so I had a song book basically with Abdullah, which was absolutely gorgeous, to this day.

Jazz Review: Your album A Morning in Paris was produced by Duke Ellington and featured both he and Billy Strayhorn on several tracks. Did Duke have any advice or directions in regards to your singing?

Sathima Bea Benjamin: When we got into that studio he said, ok so I am in the studio because I am the producer, so he went into the booth. I said, “I want to sing ‘A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square,’ but you know it is probably one of the most difficult songs in the world. It has a gorgeous verse. Nobody really sings that. Me coming from South Africa, being on the British music thing, that is why I was doing it.  Abdullah had charted all these things so when Strayhorn was struggling, Ellington said “Dollar Brand you know this song? Then you go show Billy the changes.” And he did. Billy Strayhorn then insisted on playing it.

Jazz Review: On your album, Svend Asmussen can be heard playing pizzicato violin, a unique choice of instrumentation. How had that come about and how involved with the non-singing aspects of the album had you been?

Sathima Bea Benjamin: So while we were doing this "Nightingale in Berkeley Square" he said, “Now you are going to work with a trio.” And then I did “Spring Will Be a Little Late This Year,” and other things, “Darn That Dream.”  All these other things that had arrangements that were written by Abdullah, I knew they were proper and I knew they were beautiful. So I wasn’t scared about that.

And while we were there, into that the door opened and in walked, he just happened to walk in, Svend Asmussen. And Ellington said “Oh, hey, you are just what we need.” He didn’t know what he was walking into either. I had never met him in my life. I think Duke was going to be doing some recording with him in Milano in a couple of weeks, for the Reprise thing. They had something going on. But he just happened to walk in there and Ellington said “You know what you are? Just the guy we need. I want you to play with her, but listen, and this is important…please do not play the melody.  She is the melody.” So is that not beautiful? Ellington said, “You can play anything else, but you don’t play the melody.”  So that’s why he played all the pizzicato, which I found sometimes like really annoying me. But what could I do? I wasn’t in control of this. I wasn’t going to tell him.

When that was finished, Duke said “Now you are going to work with the trio.” And Abdullah sat down, and Abdullah started to do “I’ve Got It Bad” with me. Ellington came running out of the studio and he said “Wait a minute. That is my song. Get off of the piano stool!”  I am in this little booth…it was like one big room, but they had glass partitions set up so we could all see each other. I thought “Oh my God, here is Ellington sitting down at the piano.” Then he said “So what key do you do this in?” If you talk to any of the musicians I work with to this day they will tell you “We love working with Sathima, but she works in the most difficult keys.” So I am never singing in key C or F or G. This is not because I don’t want to. We have tried that, but it doesn’t suit where my voice lies, I am singing on the black notes. Someone joked that I am a musical racist. It is not intentional; it’s just where my voice lies. Maybe this goes back to my ancestry, but I am never singing in key F or C or G. That would be much easier for the musicians. I make it very difficult for them because it is always E flat, D flat, A flat, B flat, maybe not so hard, but D flat is extremely hard.

So then Ellington sat down and we were going to do “I’ve Got It Bad” and he asked,   “So what key do you do this in?” and I said, “D flat.” He said, “Oh” and he took a moment. If you will listen to that CD, you will hear how tentatively for the first two chords he’s trying to find the place, because nobody had ever done “I’ve Got It Bad” in D flat. It is very difficult.

It is a very difficult key, one of the most difficult. It is just a semitone down to key C, but it just doesn’t sound right. My voice doesn’t go there. To this day, everything I sing will be in a flat K or a sharp key but not C, F or G.  It unnerves the musicians and it makes them work harder. I always apologize.  I have sometimes been in tears because some might say, “But Sathima, D flat is just one semitone down. Let’s do it in C.” and I say “O.K., let’s try it.”  Then we try it and it sounds pretty awful, and they have to agree that it does. So in the end, I make the musicians work pretty hard, but it’s good for them too.

I remember one time Buster Williams saying “Oh my goodness” because we moved the semitone up. He said, well, I can’t say the real word he said before that but he said “That is so beautiful and it does make a difference.” And it is just where my voice lies on the black notes, be it a sharp or a flat.

Jazz Review: While Abdullah Ibrahim’s album was released a year later as Duke Ellington Presents the Dollar Brand Trio…

Sathima Bea Benjamin: Frank Sinatra, the Reprise people they decided ‘Yeah, okay, we’ll put this out’  It was a great thing because it opened doors for Abdullah, Dollar Brand that would have remained closed to this day because it said “Duke Ellington Presents.”

Jazz Review: Unfortunately, then your album disappeared for thirty years. When this initially happened, had you been given any explanation?

Sathima Bea Benjamin: Because Frank Sinatra said “Ah, look this Sathima”….him being a singer….look, I don’t know. I have no idea, but they just said that he’s not interested in that. That it’s not commercial.

Jazz Review: When this initially happened had you been given any explanation?

Sathima Bea Benjamin: It just never came out. At that time Duke Ellington’s sister was still alive and I used to go and ask her. She would say, “I really don’t know. We have to talk to Duke.” Then we would bump into Duke in Europe and he would say “You know what, I really don’t know, but when they tell you that it’s not commercial enough; can I just say something to you so that you’ll feel good?…that means you are really doing something. You are really doing something that they are not prepared to let out of the bag.”  So it just languished like that until much later when I did get Enja records to put it out.

Jazz Review: Although your album had not been released, Duke Ellington remained firmly in your corner; did this help open any doors for you?

Sathima Bea Benjamin: I didn’t have the money on my own so I went to Enja because I was desperate to get this out.  And then I took it away from Enja because one time when I talked to him, I was asking for some copies, [and] the head of Enja said to me, “Well, I did it because Duke Ellington and Strayhorn’s on there. I don’t really like your singing.” So I said, “You send my stuff right back.”  You know, people have a right to like what they like, but when he told me that, I took it back and said, “You don’t have the rights to that any more. Give it back to me and when I have the funds, somehow I am gonna put this out again.” And that’s what I did. 

He (the head of Enja Records) is a very nice guy and he was, at that time, putting out all of Abdullah’s stuff. He’s a really nice guy [and] I really love him. I believe that people have a right to say and like whatever they like, or don’t like. He was just being honest with me.

Now I have an agent who still hasn’t been able to get me a single gig. I have actually been in the car with him when he was calling someone in Toronto and they said “Who is Sathima?” I thought, “Welcome to the club,” you know?  There are jazz clubs all over the world. I don’t see why, if I have a trio like Steven Scott and Buster Williams (who will go anywhere with me). The one thing that makes me feel very good is that I know I am so respected and loved amongst the finest jazz musicians in the world. And that is a great plus for me. That makes me feel better about myself.

I got something from the Boston Globe the other day that said “She’s the most respected and revered singer in the jazz world today.” I am going to call that person and thank them for saying that one line.  I put it up on the wall in my kitchen. My son asked me why I did that and I said, “Because it took me 50 years to get there.”  For someone to write one line, it makes me feel very good. That’s a nice thing to say. It’s a lot of hard work and perseverance against great art and adversities.

It’s not that Abdullah meant to be overwhelming, but he is who he is. To my mind, after Duke Ellington, I don’t care about Keith Jarrett et al. I don’t care about anyone. I just think that Adullah Ibrahim is the greatest on the planet and we aren’t even together anymore. This is about the music. I think he is one of the greatest composers in the whole world today. At least he works and from his work, the roof gets put over my head.

Did you know that my daughter is Jean Grey? We did a little thing together at the Sweetwater Club. We will be doing more things, but all of this takes funding. It’s always about “where do we get the money for this?” We need to do something together, period, put out a CD.

I am just amazed at how really young people (in their twenties) just adore what I am doing. I have talked with some of them and they say “It is because you are singing about love. And it is so real when you sing it.” I guess I am just one of those old stalwarts, you know. This is what I do. I can‘t pretend to other stuff. I don’t know if anyone really listens. Jazz musicians are in. Jazz singers, except for the young ones who are out there….I don’t have a terrific voice; I don’t have a great range. What I do have is an emotive power.  

These young singers have gorgeous voices, but I can’t detect or feel a spirit or some soul in it, and that’s so sad. My strong point is that I am very emotive. My range is very limited, but I know how to work with that limitation, as long as I have musicians who understand that.  My husband says “You never make any money because you always have to have Buster Williams and Steven Scott.” And I say, “Yeah, well, if you come from the best…” He says, “Well, Abbey Lincoln, she works with the kids.” I say, “Maybe she plays piano and maybe she knows what to tell the kids to play.” I do not know what to tell them, but I am able in rehearsal to say “Can you play some other chords with that note, because that one doesn’t sound right?” There are many chords for one note and the musicians have to work very hard with me. I will say “Nah, that’s not it, play me something else.” Until I hear it and then I say “That’s it.”

With all my recordings, I have always used someone like Buster Williams who knows how to …he just knows how to dance with me. The way you turn a corner, it’s like ballroom dancing. I did a lot of ballroom dancing when I was young. I think that’s got a lot to do with my sense of timing. And you know how people say, “People from Cape Town are laid back?” I think that comes into play here too, because sometimes when I am working with the musicians, it is one-two-three-four, you know, how you count out.  To me it’s never about counting because I didn’t start working that way. I tell them “Nah, if you want to count, you count.” And then Buster Williams says, “She’s right. Just leave her alone because when to come in. Somewhere between one and two, I am sliding in there.  If you listen to what I do musically you will find that to be true. It sounds so corny to me, but it’s ok for the guys; they have to do that. So these are just little things that happen in rehearsal. I am laid back. It’s about being completely relaxed and natural.

It’s a story being told with the lyrics and the sound. It’s a story you are telling. Everything has to make sense. I don’t suddenly just sing a song. I will figure out what’s the story is and how you tell it, the most effective [way]. That impacts on where I am going to put the accents, which word is more important in the line. I wouldn’t say I intensely work at it, but I do think about it.

Every song is a story. I think what a blessing it is. It’s a very sacred gift from God. I believe in God.  How else do you get your talent?  Do you think it just gets thrown down from somewhere? I am not religious in a dogmatic sense, but I do believe. “How on earth did you get this gift? It was given to you by Angels?” I believe in angels. They work things out. When a song has to be written by somebody to come onto the planet, the angels decide “I think she’s ready for that song,” because it’s inspirational. I don’t really know how to write songs down. It can come at any time. I call it "meditating in motion." I think about songs when I am walking the streets here amidst all kinds of people. I do not retire to some place and say, "Ok, I am gonna write a song." It’s not about that. It is very divine and very inspirational.

I think that the angels decide when and who should get what songs.  For instance, I have words to a song here called “Color Me Blue.” It’s the shortest song I have ever written. And for years now, I think it could be two and a half years or so, no melody has come. Steven Scott said to me ,“Maybe when we meet in rehearsal, I will try to help you.” I said, “No Steven, it doesn’t work that way.  When it comes to me, I will call to meet with you, and then you have to write it down. You have to make a chart so that Buster Williams can play it with me or whatever.  I don’t know anything. I cannot write charts.

My husband suggested once, “Why don’t you go to the new school and learn to write down music?” I was tempted to do that, then I changed my mind. I thought once I do that, I will no longer get inspiration.  I am just supposed to be the way I am. That’s why you will notice on the back of my CDs you will see “Sathima Bea Benjamin/Onaje Allan Gumbs” or “Sathima Bea Benjamin/Steven Scott.”

They actually didn’t write any of that music. What they did was they wrote it down. When I go to them, they’ll say, “Okay Sathima, we’ll write this down for you, but we want half the credit.” And I say, “You know what, you can have it.” It doesn’t matter to me. I wanted it written down so when I want to do it, I could hand the chart to somebody and they could play it. This is how it goes.

I think I made the right decision not to go and study.  It leaves my music more true to its code. I don’t know about all of these things. It scares me to death. I always need the musicians that my heart desires to work with me, and I am always blessed to have that. And, they all love to work with me.

If you were ever to come to a performance, you will see some people say ‘I heard Steven Scott here, there and there, but they don’t play the way they play when they play with you.’  I’ll go up there and know that I am supposed to be the singer standing out front. I don’t really like that idea although I do have to stand out front. But you know, this is a democratic unit and it’s about sharing! I will take this song out and then I’ll go sit down. Then Steven improvises, Buster improvises and then the drummer. That is gorgeous because by the time I go back on the stage to take it out again, I have grown just from listening to that. It’s democratic and it’s sharing. This is what the music is supposed to be about. Somebody said to me, “You give too much solos to the other guys.” I said, “Why you telling me what to do? If you don’t like, you can always go get your money back and go home. 

Jazz Review: Often you have used U.S musicians for your American recordings and Cape Town musicians when you are working there. Is this due to the practicality of bringing musicians from one country to another or artistic considerations?

Sathima Bea Benjamin: This is for financial reasons. At one point I was happy to put Steven together with the South African musicians, to have a blend of both countries. I thought this was so wonderful.

Abdullah was putting on some kind of a show and I said I wanted to bring Steven down there with me. There’s a gorgeous bass player there, Basil Moses. I did a recording, it was before Musical Echoes, with Henry February (who has since died); he was my teacher in the early years in the nightclubs. My husband called me from there one time and said “You know Henry February? He’s still playing in the clubs here.”  I said, “Oh please, Abdullah, could you send me money to get there? I need to go there and go in the studio and do some stuff with him.” And I did, but you know…it costs so much money to reissue anything and I won’t get any return for months. You send out all the CDs to the distributors, but it takes months before you start to get some money back. I don’t want to keep doing this. The joy, actually, when I think about it, is ‘you know what ….never mind Sathima, everything is Ekapa Records, everything belongs to me, belongs to Abdullah, belongs to my children. It’s a legacy. I have recorded nine times under my own label because no one has ever been interested, even to this day. I have to work very hard. I don’t know what their problem is. Why will they not touch me?

Jazz Review: 1976 saw you and Abdullah Ibrahim returning to South Africa. What was the impetus behind your return?

Sathima Bea Benjamin: I think it was just a longing to touch base with home; because I look at these as two homes. These two homes they dwell within me. They’re two beautiful homes. I consider myself extremely fortunate to be a part of Cape Town and to be a part of New York. I can’t think of two other more exciting places to be connected with.

Jazz Review: This year also saw you record and release your first album African Songbird. Your debut album was all originals. How was it received? Had there been any expectation of you doing any cover material?

Sathima Bea Benjamin: No. I think I was always forcing to do these things and no one was really interested. My husband was doing things for EMI or whatever, and then he would say, “Sathima wants to do something,” and they would tolerate me.

The thing is, when I came here I did an album called Dedication. I chose…and it was not at Rudy Van Gelder’s, a place called Blank Tapes, somewhere around this area where I live. You know I live at the Hotel Chelsea, so somewhere around there. I had Onaje. That was my first recording here in New York City. I had Buster Williams, Ben Riley and Billy Higgins, two drummers. My husband said, “You can’t do that!” and I said, “Well, I spoke to both of them and they love each other so they don’t mind.” My husband said, “What? You can’t have two drummers!” and I said, “Yes, you can if they love each other.” Ben Riley and Billy Higgins…oh my God, what a musician! You know he is on all the recordings I did. He just was, and will always be, my most favorite drummer in the whole world. He’s not with us anymore, but we loved each other as human beings. He was just a divine human being. So is Ben Riley.

The thing is that I have their respect.  I know that people like Ben Riley or Kenny Barron...do you think they are going to put their name to someone who…that’ll be there forever. So I know I am respected and thank God for that! I know the musicians in this country. I can ask [anyone] if they want to work with me if they’re free and they are not in Europe, whatever. They’re going to say, ‘Of course we’ll do it,’ but that means also for me that I should not get complacent.  I have to keep working at bettering myself with new ideas, coming up with new things. I think it is precious that I have musicians like Buster Williams, Kenny Barron, Onaje or Steven Scott. All these people are in my corner and I love to work with them. If you don’t have love, you see, it goes back to that one word. I wrote a poem many, many years ago. My husband always says, "That’s the shortest poem."

            I love to live   

            I live to love

            I love to sing

            And I sing of love.

That’s it! That explains me! You don’t have to go any further than that. I think it is this dedication and the truthfulness about my approach and my intent for the music that has led me from that little 9-year old girl listening to the radio, to where I am today. It has been a wondrous journey and I don’t know where it is going to take me in the end. It doesn’t matter, as long as I can express myself the way I want to, which is honestly and truthfully with the musicians that I choose. I am not really asking for anything else.

The other thing is this, they are telling me that there are now other singers coming out of South Africa, but they don’t have my background. I still think that from that whole continent, a big continent that stands on its own...you have Cape Town, which is on this little peninsula jutting over the end of Africa; at the tip where the two oceans (Indian and the Atlantic) meet. It is a magical place. It has a natural mysticism--magical and mystical.

Because it’s a seaport, can you imagine all the influences that rubbed off there musically? You had people going from like 500 years ago. They were passing through there, going to India to get spices or whatever.  I can’t imagine people going all that way to get spices, but that’s what they did--just all the nationalities that are there.

Mine is a little different because I am not your usual, you know, from the Dutch people or English stopping there and mixing with the Natives of that area. I am not from that. My ancestors come from the island of Saint Helena; it’s southern; between South America and South Africa. It’s a little dot of an island. Of course, the Benjamin's and my grandmother’s family immigrated to Cape Town in [the] late 1890s. My mother’s people immigrated there when they discovered diamonds in Kimberley, South Africa. My mother’s people came from the Philippines. Then my mother and my father met and made me.

What a mixture I am! I am a whole United Nations, and that is only what I know. I don’t know what it is with the Cape Town colored people, but they never wanted to go into their background. I have no idea why. I want to know this because I have children and they want to know.  I still haven’t gotten all the answers because a lot of my relatives have since died. I think I have two aunts that are left and they still ask me ‘Why do you want to know this?’ I don’t know what it is, maybe they were taught to be ashamed of themselves or they weren’t a nation that really mattered, because they were colored and mixed. I have no idea, but there are some discrepancies there that are hard to understand when it comes to someone like me who wants to know.

Now it’s a very "in" thing. Everyone wants to be colored. It took courage in those days and it still takes courage now. I do admire my ancestors because they had courage and they were ostracized. They’ve always been like “cover it up."  I want to open it up because that history is a good thing. This is why I can sound like I do. Imagine all those voices within me. They come from Africa; they come from India, from all over the place. I am the result, totally, of all of these sounds within me because of the racial mixing. This is what I think. I think I am very rich, so endowed. It’s hard for me to even explain to members of my own family even to this day.  ‘Hey come on. You’ve got to think like me! Forget this! You’re gorgeous. You’re beautiful.’ Yet, they still don’t think so because it is ingrained and has been for like [that for] five hundred years. How do you undo all of that?

Like Nelson [Mandela] is saying, you need to go beyond now, that South Africa is free. We went through so much shit, you know. I have just gone through so many different revolutions and the history of that country, racially and so on. We have at least come to the point with Nelson Mandela who says “From now on, we don’t want to hear that so and so is a ‘this’ or so and so is Bantu. We don’t want to know any of this anymore. We are all South Africans.” And that is gorgeous.

Jazz Review: Was leaving your country the initial catalyst for your first foray into organized political activism (A. N. C “African National Congress”)?

Sathima Bea Benjamin: I think that from the time I was about fifteen, I started rebelling, and I think jazz was music of rebellion for me; freedom and rebellion. I gravitated towards it. I had to leave my grandmother’s house because I was doing all kinds of things: singing jazz and I was a school teacher.

I lost my job as a school teacher because there was a big story in the newspaper that said, “The school teacher who is a jazz singer.” My principle called me into the office and said, “You have to choose, you can’t do this.” I said “Ok, so I choose. I am going to do jazz.” You know what that meant? I didn’t have a paycheck. I had to choose and I am actually glad. He [the principal] is long dead, but he doesn’t know what he did when he told me to choose. That made me say “Ok, this is it.” I sort of deep down inside knew that this is what I wanted to do, but that was pretty awful because I had no money. Then I had to move from my grandmother’s. I found out where my mother lived and my mother took me in. It was just like a constant…never having anything. But you know what, it was different from what I had known. It took all the safety measures away. I put myself on the line and I said “This is what I want to do.”

Jazz Review: At the age of 21, you toured with Arthur Klugman’s show for a South African tour. Had you the support of your family?

Sathima Bea Benjamin: Oh, no! I was already thrown out, and my sister Joan was also thrown out. The two of us, we were just finding places to live…sometimes with friends. They didn’t even have places such as hotels for colored people. I can’t even remember all of it, but when the Arthur Klugman thing came around, I thought, "Oh, ok, I can go on the road now.  I don’t have a job or anything. I’ll just get in this bus with these people.”

It didn’t work out very well, but it was all such a learning experience and people always loved my singing. That’s the point. I was accepted. I just was like a star.

Jazz Review: The apartheid government of South Africa revoked your citizenship because of your work with the A.N.C. Aside from then becoming U.S citizens, how did this affect you?

Sathima Bea Benjamin: When that happened, we first had Senegalese passports for a while because we had to have something. Then, you have to have lived here (in all) five years…so when that happened, and I could add it all up, I went down…I remember it was the 9th of October, I don’t know what year…it was 1980 something. I went down and I became an American Citizen.  I always tell my kids, “You wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t gone down that evening and talked to Duke Ellington.”

At a certain point when he came to Europe, he said, “You know what you guys, this hanging out in Europe…you know you can work here and that is fine…but I am going to find a way to bring you to New York City.”  I think it was 1965 that he got us here. He paid for air tickets and his sister Ruth helped find us an apartment. We were sort of in touch with him when he wasn’t on the road. Then he said “Ok Sathima, I am playing at Newport so you are going to sing with me and my band.” You know, this is what Ellington did. He just said things and if anyone else had said to you you’re gonna do this, you would say “What? Wait, I have to rehearse, I have to…” When Ellington said you could do it….you COULD do it!

Jazz Review: In 1965, Duke Ellington facilitated your playing the 1965 Newport Jazz Festival. Did you have any preconceived ideas at this time of how you may be received by an American audience?

Sathima Bea Benjamin: No, and I was so nervous. I was so terrified. Duke came in and he always gave you kisses on your cheeks (he never kissed you on the mouth). He said, “Look, don’t worry. I want you to stand behind that curtain on the stage and when I call your name, then you walk towards me and I will come towards you.” I said, “Sir, what am I going to sing?” He said, “Ah, don’t worry about that.”  So I didn’t know what I was going to sing. Then I did what he said. He called my name said (and I am so thrilled he said this) “This is my singer from Africa.”  That was how he introduced me.

Jazz Review: It was also around this time that Duke Ellington asked you to join his band. How great a temptation had that been?

Sathima Bea Benjamin: He did, but that was when we were in Zurich. The next morning when we met him he said “Would you like to come and sing with me in my band?” And Abdullah was sitting right opposite me. Then he looked [Ellington] and he said, “Oh, oh! Wait a minute! Forget I asked that” because he could see that we were in love with each other.  I wanted to say “Yes Sir. I would,” but then on the other hand, I was only twenty-three. I had just met Ellington. I trusted him with my whole life, but I didn’t know the band. I didn’t know these people. I was terrified. I didn’t really answer “yes.” I wanted to, but at the same time, he didn’t say to Abdullah ‘And you can come along too.’ He didn’t say that.

So when he realized that, he did say, “Forget I asked that question.” Then he said to Abdullah 'Is she your girlfriend? Do you have intentions for her? Do you realize I just asked her to come away with me; and I really mean that? If you intend to marry her you should really do this.’  And a few months later in London, Abdullah did. We just got married. He just came and said, “Give me your passport.” The next thing I know, he came back and he said, “Tomorrow morning we have to be here,” and we got married in London.  He took Duke’s advice seriously.

But you know, to this day…look we are not even together. It doesn’t matter. We are together, but we are not together.  I don’t even know why we are not together. We are not together because I am willful, I don’t listen, I just do my own thing…I don’t know. We just grew apart. I decided at a certain point, after I raised my children and actually helped to boost his career…I just got very assertive. I didn’t get aggressive. I said “You know what, now it is my time. It is time for me now.” I think this wasn’t on his agenda and he didn’t quite understand me when I became assertive. I began caring very much about what I wanted to do, and where I wanted to live.

I didn’t want to live in Cape Town right now. I love New York City. I have lived here 31 years, at the Hotel Chelsea. It is the most gorgeous place that an artist can live in.

Jazz Review: Based out of the Chelsea Hotel, famed as a haven for artists, do you interact with any of its other famous residents during your stay?

Sathima Bea Benjamin: No, just other than to say “Hi.” They kind of know what I do, but I don’t really know what all of them do. There are a lot of writers and people [who] come and go. There are few, like me, who have been here for 30 years. I can’t explain this place.

In the next year and a half, they are going to turn it into a real hotel. I’ve spoken with a lawyer who says I have nothing to worry about. They will have to buy me out because I have been here too long. Plus, I’m a senior so I will just hang in there and see what happens. I think it can only be good things happening. I want to live in New York City because it is the right place to be if you consider yourself a jazz musician. You’ve got to put yourself up against the best of the best.  It leaves you open to yourself, that you don’t get complacent and start thinking that you’re a somebody. It keeps you on your toes with your music and it keeps you working--it's just a vibe…all the creativity.

Jazz Review: Your Liberation Suite (1982) is a suite divided into three sections, which combines Cape Town rhythms with other musical components, and a message of peace. Did you find you had to work in a different way when writing an extended piece?

Sathima Bea Benjamin:  We were invited to Mozambique (Abdullah, the two kids and I) to celebrate the Mozambique liberation. While we were there, there were a lot of nationalities that live there and they were all integrated, they got their freedom. I sat at that table thought ‘Oh my God! Look at all these people.” I got the feeling that they also had all these different nationalities within them; and look how they are sitting around here and now they are liberated and free. That was the start of something burgeoning inside of me. On the way home on the plane, that song came to me: “Nations in Me, New Nations are Coming.” It came from that experience, and me just wishing that we in South Africa could go through the same thing.

Jazz Review: Do you have a preference for writing or performing a song as opposed to a longer suite?

Sathima Bea Benjamin: I don’t think I have anything else like the longer suite pieces, since that. But then I say that the “Children of Soweto” kind of goes with it because of the liberation ideas in it. That’s what made me put out that. It was called Memories and Dreams. But no, I don’t think about anything…it’s very intuitive and very instinctual. In my case, since I can’t write any music down, I really have to rely on the fact that I get presents from the angels. I am always open to receiving the presents. The shortest song I ever wrote is called “Color Me Blue;” it goes like this:

            Color me blue

            African violet blue

            The key to my sound

            I found

            And it rings

            It rings – so true

            So color me

            Color me blue.

I have been stuck with these words for two years now and I am not getting any melody, but I know it will come. Obviously, I don’t know if I am being made to learn patience because I can’t get it any other way. I can’t sit down at a piano and say “Oh I am going to write this.” I can’t do that. If I went to somebody else, I would have to credit them for writing it with me. I don’t feel like doing that anymor because actually, they’re not really writing it with me, they’re just writing it down, transcribing it. Then they want half of the credit.  I think that because this [Color Me Blue] is so short and so deep, it is so deep…it so expresses just like the song “Musical Echoes,” it explains who I am. 

Jazz Review: In your mind, do you make distinctions between your songs and music that contain a message and the ones that do not, a cover of a standard for instance?

Sathima Bea Benjamin: No, because I don’t think I have anymore political messages. I don’t think there is no more need for that. In the past, I did. I felt the need to incorporate that into my music because it was so much a part of my life, but I don’t think I have any political messages now.

Now I am enjoying researching very, very old songs that nobody is singing any more, trying to think how I can present this (to the young ones or the folks who come to hear me). How can I do it differently without offending the composer? There is a very old song called “Prisoner of Love.” I don’t even know who sang it; it must have been some vocal group from long, long ago. I don’t even know all the words, but I have a funny feeling that this song will suit me.  I have to go and look for the sheet music. There’s a place called the Colony on West 49th and if they don't have it, they will order it for me. 

Jazz Review: In recent years the umbrella termed “world music” has gained a wider visibility to the more casual music listeners. Has this helped your art reach a wider audience?

Sathima Bea Benjamin: I think in my case, since I am talking about that time, that time slot…it definitely was about world music.

Jazz Review: Is the world music label itself too confining or esoteric way to describe your art?

Sathima Bea Benjamin: No, I don’t have anything against it. I think that’s exactly what happened, that I was so directly exposed to world music. Just Cape Town being where it is: world music, world people; [it’s] just a wonderful cultural mix; a wonderful ethnic and cultural mix of people. You know what I do believe? I beleive in the powers that be, the power that is (Angels, God….whatever you want to call it). Somehow or other, if there is a role in the world that you have to play (and everyone does have a role), then you will be chosen for that. The Power says, "Give that to her because she will be honest, she will be truthful and she will do what has to be done.” That is very sacred and very divine. I am just very aware of the gift that I have. After all, people think it is just your vocal chords that make you sing, but its not.

When you come to realize this, you realize that it is a very lonely place you are in. In my case, it may not be not so lonely because I have Abdullah who is into the music. I have that togetherness with him. Even though we are not together, it was the music that brought us together. It was the music that led us to Zurich. It was the music that led us to Duke Ellington. It was Duke Ellington who said, “You guys don’t need to hang out here in Europe anymore; I am going to take you to New York.” It is the ongoing line of the music. Now my daughter does hip hop and my son plays guitar and keyboards. It’s a musical family.

Jazz Review: After a thirty-some year wait, if you could go back in time as you were then and give yourself any advice, what would it be?

Sathima Bea Benjamin: If I had to live my life over again, I would leave it just the way it is. I think it has been highly rewarding and a lot of lessons learned. All of it is really just a song; the song that is singing within me. This is a song without a beginning and an end. I don’t know where it is going to end. I don’t worry about that. I think all of us have to learn that lesson of being patient. Some people will go up on a hill to meditate and sit still. I can’t sit still. I meditate in motion.

My message here is to be true to yourself. I am going to quote my husband, Abdullah Ibrahim: “Jazz is the most advanced music on the planet.” He didn’t say unique, but he said advanced. It will challenge the person who says “I’m into jazz.” It will challenge that person to advance themselves, to change their thinking, be in the moment. You have to remember the past. You can never, must never, do away with the past (what would I be without my past history?). 

Jazz is a forward-looking music. It is an all-encompassing music. It gives you the freedom to do that. It’s just about what are you going to do with that. I am being as honest and as truthful [as I can]; it is my joy…my absolute joy in life. If I didn’t have this in my life, because there are so many trials and tribulations all the time, I don’t know how I would get through the day sometimes.

I can be in the kitchen cooking and can think of a song. I can do it at anytime, anywhere. I can be thinking about what to do with it, where to take it…always bearing in mind that if you are going to change anything, if its an old song, you talk to that composer and you talk to them in your mind. You say, “I hope you don’t mind what I am doing with this [song], but I am going to have the utmost respect.” Whatever song you sing, you have to show respect, if you change it.

Everything I do is about love. I would have it no other way. I have yet, ever, to make any money out of this music, but what I do get out of it is so precious, I have no words. It’s a giving thing. I am being given and I am giving away. Everything is a circle…the Earth is round, the moon is round, the sun is round. You start at one point and you go all around to the end point. Then maybe you breathe a sigh and you go on again. You just keep repeating that circle. All you need, honey, is courage to take the leap. Personally, I think doing jazz singing is like jumping off a cliff. You don’t even know where you are going to land. You just jump off the cliff. You really have to take that risk. Let’s call it a leap of faith.

Music is a gift. It is divine. I hope and I pray that I never misuse or abuse it in any way. It’s something that takes me out of myself everyday, just thinking about it…getting inspiration to write a new piece, to complete a piece or taking something from yesterday and making it new.

And who knows, because I am sure like Victor Herbert, there is another place that we go….Duke Ellington, my Mom, my Dad…they are all hanging out you know. Victor Herbert, when he hears me do “Sweet Mystery of Life” maybe he’s happy about it because his song is coming back after 106 years, even though I am swinging it. (I am not doing it as he wrote it – light operetta).

I am bringing the music back.  I bring old songs back.  Everything I do is heartfelt and done from there. That’s how I live. It’s a dangerous way to live because there are no assurances. I think it frustrates my husband because he’ll say “Why? It would be better…Why don’t you come back and live in Cape Town? Why do you have to be in New York?”  I don’t have an answer.

I cannot tell you why I haven’t moved yet. I know I want to live here, but I don’t want to die here. You know we are all going to die, but people will say “Oh why are you saying that?”  Why are Americans so afraid to talk about death? Like you’re not going to die? I am concerned with the fact that as a musician I have a legacy. That is why I am so careful about what I do and how I do it. That is what you ultimately leave behind.

The music has never let me down. I think I might have let it down sometimes, but the music has never let me down. What I get out of this is I get love back.

Jazz Review: Thank you for your time.

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