For nearly fifty years, Francisco Mora-Catlett has marched to the beat of his drum. Born in Washington, D.C., and raised in Mexico, his father is the Mexican painter Francisco Mora. His mother is the renowned African American sculptress Elizabeth Catlett. He began his career as a studio musician for the Capitol Records Mexican Division with Abraham Laboriel. He moved to Boston in 1970 to study music and percussion with Alan Dawson at the Berklee College of Music. Also, he earned a scholarship to study with the legendary Nigerian drummer and activist Babatunde Olatunji. Francisco returned to Mexico in 1973 and crossed paths with the prolific composer, pianist, and bandleader Sun Ra and traveled the spaceways as a member of the Arkestra until 1980. During his tenure with Sun Ra, Francisco moved to Detroit and formed his bands.
In 1987 Francisco recorded Mora! his first recording as a leader. Also, he was awarded a grant from the National Endowment of the Arts to study with the legendary drummer, composer, and bandleader Max Roach with whom he recorded several projects with “M’Boom.” He returned to Detroit in 1992 and accepted a position as a visiting professor at Michigan State University, teaching percussion that derives from the African presence in the Americas. In 1996 he played drums and percussion on Bug in the Bassbin with Detroit techno producer Carl Craig’s groundbreaking jazz/electronica fusion project, Innerzone Orchestra. Three years after Francisco recorded his acclaimed second album, World Trade Music, and his first OUTER ZONE in 2000. Since relocating to New York in 2002, Francisco and his wife, the Cuban dancer and choreographer Danys Pérez Prades “La Mora,” founded the Oyu Oro Afro-Cuban Dance Company. They recorded with the Freedom Jazz Trio, Outerzone, and Afro Horn MX, one of the most noteworthy recordings of 2012. Rare Metal marks another step in the evolution of AfroHorn. Francisco Mora-Catlett is the recipient of several awards from The Detroit Council of the Arts, The Michigan Council of the Arts, and The National Endowment for the Arts. In a career that spans nearly 50 years, Francisco Mora-Catlett creates music according to an elusive tradition that defies definition and nourishes the spirit.
IN CONVERSATION
Tomás Peña: Congratulations on the release of RARE METAL the follow-up to AFRO HORN MX, one of the most noteworthy “best-kept secrets” of 2012.
Francisco Mora Catlett: Thank you.
TP: You were introduced to writings of the African American writer and poet Henry Dumas and the short story, Will the Circle Be Unbroken, during your tenure with Sun Ra. Of Dumas’s writings, why did this story have such a significant impact on you?
FMC: In between the lines of the story, Henry Dumas is appealing to the human nature of expectation through myth. The Afro-Horn is a cleansing or healing tool for misconceptions or ideas of what things are vs. what they should be. To understand this, we have to meet Henry Dumas and what he was writing about. What I find fascinating is Dumas utilizes all of these elements that derive from the African presence on the continent and demonstrates how they interrelate with the social makeup as it evolves. This is what happens with the Afro-Horn. It’s a spiritual tool that delivers. Also, it has the potential to unite people and “clear out” unfounded notions and misconceptions. The other thing I like about Dumas’s writing is it is elusive and defies categorization, which is intrinsic to music’s nature.
TP: Your music is a fusion of African mysticism, Cuban folklore, Latin American surrealism, and avant-garde jazz, with mystical and spiritual insights inspired by Henry Dumas.
FMC: It’s music, and it stands by itself! This is something that Duke Ellington and Max Roach talked about when they were confronted with the idea of jazz. They proposed that this music is as valid as any other music. It doesn’t have to be put into a category. Music is about freedom; that’s what it proposes; that’s why it’s so popular and why people love it. And it’s not freedom that comes without discipline. This is something that Sun Ra taught me very well. You have to be disciplined to obtain the tools to express freedom. The Afro-Horn reveals these things and heals this pre-perception of what things should be or have to be. The music stems from tradition, hard work, investigation, and life experience.
TP: No doubt, you could write a book about your experiences as a member of Sun Ra’s Arkestra. When you look back on that period in your life, what stands out?
FMC: The fact that I was fortunate. I am not fond of luck or pre-destiny, but I believe there are no coincidences. Before I met Sun Ra, I carried around the album The Heliocentric Worlds of Sun Ra, proclaiming, “This is the music of the future, the avant-garde of now!” At the time, I was a student at the University of Mexico. Everybody thought I was crazy!
TP: How did you and Sun Ra meet?
FMC: Looking back on the experience, I was very fortunate. I went to school for years, trying to learn the language” of jazz. Growing up in Mexico, I was not exposed to African American music, though Afro-Cuban music was very present in the form of Celia Cruz, Pérez Prado, etc. After Berklee, I returned to Mexico to create an avant-garde jazz movement, but it didn’t happen. At the time, I struggled to make a living performing commercial music. Then I saw a poster that read, “Sun Ra at the Palacio de Bellas Artes,” I couldn’t believe it! I went running over there, and after the concert, I went backstage to talk to the fellas (fellow musicians), and I overheard Sun Ra say that he needed to send for a drummer because Lex Humphries was leaving. So I said, “Sun Ra, I am right here. I play drums, man!” He told me to come back to the theater the next day so that he could hear what I did. The next day, I went to the theater and set up my drum set, and Sun Ra said, “Play.” “Play what?” I asked, and he replied, “Just play!” So I played my conceptual thing, my “free” bag, and Sun Ra looked at me interested, then he went away and came back. It went on for about 30 to 45 minutes. I was working up a sweat. Finally, he approached me and said, “You got the gig!” I played with the Arkestra in Mexico City for about three months. Then Sun Ra told me that he was returning to the U.S. and asked if I would like to work with the Arkestra. I had difficulties with my VISA, so Sun Ra accompanied me to the American Embassy. Picture this: As we approached the Embassy gates, two marines lowered their weapons and yelled, “Halt!” Sun Ra waved his hand like a Jedi Master and said, “I have business in this embassy.” They immediately lowered their weapons and said, “Go right in.” Now we are in the American Embassy; no one gets into the embassy just like that! We get directed to an office and sit in front of a man who asks, “Can I help you?” Sun Ra replied, “Very few people on this planet can play my music.” Then he pointed to me and said, “He is one of them! I want to take him to the United States with me, and I want you to give him a VISA for three years,” he handed the man my passport. The guy looked at me, looked at Sun Ra, and disappeared for about 20 minutes. When he returned, he said, “Everything is fine,” and handed my passport to Sun Ra. As we left the Embassy, Sun Ra turned to me, gave me my passport, and said, “The power of the word is stronger than the power of the sword! Let’s go!” That’s how I re-entered the United States. I wouldn’t be talking to you now if it weren’t for Sun Ra.
TP: With Sun Ra, the truth was occasionally more bizarre than any fictional story.
FMC: The band traveled from Mexico City to Chicago by bus, which the big groups always did. I quickly realized it was the best school of African-American music that anyone could ask for. For a young musician like me, there was no place else that I would rather be.
While I was working for Capitol Records in Mexico, I received Max Roach’s album Percussion Bittersweet from someone. Listening to Max’s music had a profound impact on me. I realized that if I was going to play this instrument for the rest of my life, I wanted to be like him. Max embodied all the qualities of a progressive, creative artist, a composer, a bandleader, and a highly skilled musician.
TP: How did you meet Max?
FMC: My mother, Elizabeth Catlett, had an exhibition in New York at the Studio Museum in Harlem in 1971. Max showed up with (singer/songwriter/poet) Oscar Brown Jr., and I conversed with him. I asked for his advice on how to become a good drummer. He was always very gracious and generous with me and said, “Practice all day long and play all night long,” it took me a while to get to that. When Max visited Detroit in the early ’80s, I approached him about studying with him and about applying for a grant with the National Endowment of the Arts, and he was very supportive of the idea. Before I knew it, I was in Max’s living room, and he told me, “We aren’t going to be playing any paradiddles” (drum exercises); we will learn the business. Over time, I became an understudy for the percussion ensemble M’Boom, which featured Joe Chambers, Freddy Waits, Omar Clay, Roy Brooks, Warren Smith, Ray Mantilla, Fred King, and Eli Fountain. As an understudy, I had to learn everyone’s parts and find things to contribute to an already exceptional percussion improvisational repertoire, which made me study hard. Also, Max was the person who took me to Cuba for the first time. When I went there, I realized many things about Cuban Music I couldn’t perceive in the United States. Cuba is another world, another universe! Max allowed me to get into the fundamental aspects of Afro-Cuban traditions.
TP: You also studied under the legendary Nigerian drummer, Babatunde Olatunji. Who can forget Drums of Passion?
FMC: Drums of Passion is the first LP I ever had! I met “Tunji” in Boston at the Center for African American Artists (the Elma Louis Center) 1971. I received a scholarship to study with him. It was Olatunji who introduced me to the African culture, the Orishas, and the legacy of our spiritual ancestors. I studied African drumming with Olatunji on Tuesdays and African-American drumming with Alan Dawson at Berklee on Wednesdays. It doesn’t get much better than that.
TP: You chose to debut Rare Metal at the Detroit Jazz Festival, which must have felt like a homecoming since you lived and taught there. How was the ensemble received?
FMC: We had an amazing reception from an enthusiastic audience. Our performance was outstanding, and we received standing ovations from a full house. The cherry on top was when saxophonist John “J.D.” Allen joined us on stage. We left a smokescreen behind, and it was a moment I wanted to create for Detroit.”
TP: It’s no secret that Detroit has seen better days.
FMC: It’s a double-edged sword. The city is broke. On the other hand, it is also experiencing a renaissance and a reformation. Detroit has given so much to the world; the people are resilient, honest, and sincere. You can’t come to Detroit with gimmicks because they will read you from a mile away. You have to be real.
TP: Rare Metal starts with the invocation “Moyuba Afro Horn”. What is the significance of opening a recording or live performance with an invocation?
FMC: The invocation is part of the philosophy of the album and the surrealistic ideas of Henry Dumas. Moyuba Afro Horn praises the ancestors and expresses how grateful we are to be able to offer this music. Also, we are announcing that something is about to happen and expressing our gratitude to the audience and the forces of the universe.
TP: Afra Jum appears on Mora! your first recording as a leader.
FMC: I composed Afra Jum in the 1980s. It’s Afra Jam, so we get back to the idea of elusiveness and of that, which cannot be seen. It’s an arranged juju-jam session with all participants.
TP: Barasuayo Mamakenya speaks about the owner of the roads, opening the way to the stars, the constellations, and the vibratory principles of nature.
FMC: It’s a praise song for the deity Eleguá in the Yoruba liturgy. From a broader perspective, Eleguá represents a vital force that makes things happen. It also alludes to the ability to communicate, as we are now. I have seen and heard trumpeter/percussionist Jerry González perform this tune numerous times in a jazz context. I told Jerry I recorded the song, and he said he had to get the album.
(Author’s Note: The tune, appears on Jerry Gonzalez and the Fort Apache Band’s Crossroads as “Eleguá”)
TP: 5X Max (Five Times Max) is a tribute to your mentor, colleague, and friend Max Roach.
FMC: Max was an artist who was ahead of his time. He was experimenting with mixed meters as far back as the 1950s. For example, the album Percussion Bittersweet features Carlos Patato Valdéz and Eugenio Totico Arango (aka Patato y Totico) accompanying him in 7/4 time, which was unheard of then. In honor of Max, I play the tune in 5/4 time, thus 5X Max.
TP: Salina Ago/Salino Ago Reprise.
FMC: The song comes from the Haitian settlements in eastern Cuba. A crucial subject that helps a broader understanding of the diverse cultural elements that were in New Orleans and propitiated the creation of Jazz Music is “The Migration of Settlers from Saint-Domingue (Haiti) that settled in Eastern Cuba and moved to New Orleans in the year 1810”. After the revolution in Saint-Domingue (The Haitian Revolution), many French Créole colonists fled with their slaves and free people of color, some of whom also had and transported enslaved people with them to the Eastern part of Cuba; the Spanish crown was delighted to have them there because Cuba’s capital had been moved to Havana. The land was left rural and underdeveloped. In 1810, Napoleon invaded Spain; France and Spain became enemies, so all these settlers had to move en masse to New Orleans and doubled the city’s population.
TP: Olodo, Blue People and Blue People Epilogue.
FMC: The tune, Olodo, is a poem by Román Diaz. He and I were talking about the “Tuareg People” from the Sahara, also known as the “Blue People,” and their incredible survival instincts and ability to navigate the stars and life, and Román came up with this poem. The title was supposed to be Azul, but Román changed it to Olodo.
TP: Henry Dumas writes about the Bluepeople (his spelling) in the short story, The Metagenesis of Sun Ra (to Sun Ra and his Arkestra). Could you tell me about the song Make Ifa, featuring the poetry of Jayne Cortez?
FMC: Jayne Cortez liked the band, and she came to many of our performances. She was also a friend of Henry Dumas. Did you know that, besides being a great poet, she had a performance band called “The Firespitters?” I proudly have a bunch of her albums! When we were assembling the album, Román and I chose a poem by an African-American poet. I went into Jayne Cortez’s arsenal of poetry and found Make Ifa. Sandra Harper’s vocals provide just the right voice, and bassist Rashaan Carter nails the Ifa chant. At the same time, Alex Harding (a former “Firespitter”) reminds us of Jayne Cortez’s power. The tune is a tribute to Jayne, whom we all miss.
TP: Ye Ye Olude.
FMC: This is a song for the Orisha Oshun. Oshun is the cosmic force representing love and everything that life is worth living. She owns the rivers, the sweet waters, honey, music, gold, and everything good in life. We chose not to use the batá drums for this work to avoid the obvious. Instead, we incorporate a rhythm of Dahomeyan origin called Iyesa. The tune is a joyous dance that came together naturally. I am thrilled with how this tune turned out; nothing is contrived about it. (Check out Sam’s soprano solo while Aruán expands the harmonic and rhythmic sonority, taking it to the outside; I love Rashaan Carter’s bass solo. It swings while Román keeps it together… I’m smiling all the way)
