JAZZ musicians all used to tour by train, and if Wynton had his way — here’s a little secret, he hates flying — they still would. With Duke Ellington, Count Basie, and the late 20th century’s big Trane — John Coltrane, that is — as spiritual engineers and conductors, Wynton and the Lincoln Center Jazz Orchestra invite you to join their gang of rail riders on a journey that crisscrosses the landscape of America transported by its greatest art form, jazz.
|Union Pacific Big Boy||5:52||Play|
The train, ripping through the tracks, it stops at the station, with a tilt to the right. It says “pssshhht” when it stops, like an old pressing machine in a factory. A few seconds later, a voice says “All Aboard!” I get on. It leaves. You can hear the “clink-clink, clink-clink” at a steady beat. At first, the movement of the train is soft and slow, then it gets faster. Now you can hear the “chug, chug, chug, chug” of the engine working.
A tunnel is ahead and soon the Big Train travels in complete darkness. For the first time the train moves at a smooth pace. Now the Big Train isn’t fast or slow, it is silent and for a second, I feel that I am alone.
The Train is out of the tunnel, “clink-clink, clink-clink, clink-clink, clink-clink.” The Train is slowing down. It stops at the next station. I get out. The doors close. The Train leaves, “chug, chug, chug, chug, chug, chug, chug, chug, woo-ooh-woo,” and the whole process starts all over again. I will always remember “clink-clink, clink-clink.” The Big Train.
– Wynton Marsalis II
Always somewhere in the morning. Always some place else when it’s noon. Or just below noon or in the afternoon. Always anywhere at night. Big train. How big? Very big. Not tall. Deep. Very deep. The story goes in as many directions as the country goes. Tracks and tracks and tracks. You could step out of the Atlantic Ocean and get on the big train. You could step off the Pacific Coast and take a ride on the big train. Coming up from the south to Chicago, the big train put the river boat in its place. The big train couldn’t sink. But the train rocked. The big train rolled along. The red caps on the big train could carry drinks and not spill a drop as the cars shivered their way up the tracks. Once upon a time the rich people rode the big train and got on carrying all kinds of suitcases. Once upon a time the big train was the blues train and it carried people with trout sandwiches all the way out of New Orleans up to the revolutionary North. School teachers finished at college took the big train to where they would do battle with ignorance and bad manners or privilege and contempt. The rails for the big train were built in the steel mills. If the big train was a cargo train it could be like some kind of circus with each boxcar full of another act. Oh, the big train. Lord, have mercy. The big train. Track upon track upon track.
Somebody said he saw the big train in the sky and its color was blue.
Just up there above his head, just traveling on rails made of clouds, the big train.
An old woman remembered the big train having a golden rhythm;
that rhythm went with the tangerine sparks
that came off in smoke stack lightning
as the big train passed on through the night.
Big train, big train.
A little boy, while he was playing in the backyard,
heard the big train and its sounds lifted him up
like his mother did to nurse him when he was a baby.
Some girl somewhere walking home from school and wondering
if she could ever would be beautiful, felt the power of the big train
and heard it move and began to dream of herself as a woman.
She got a hint of maturity right then. Oh, that was like a revelation.
Coming from the Big train.
On, those nights crossing America, big train moving, oh those nights,
so many lovers, so many newlyweds, so many who had been together
for years, so many children, then so many alone and thinking about who
they were in the place they left and who they would be in the place they were going to be as soon as the big train got them there.
So many wheels against the metal rails,
so many wheels against the metal rails,
so many rails made out of clouds, so many cars made out of blue sky
and coupled by air, so many hooting and whamming speed
against the distance, so much leisure as the big train seems to stand still
while the landscape moves along on its very own mission.
Big train, oh big train, oh big train.
Deliver me here, deliver me there.
Yes, the big train can deliver you as a stranger; the big train, oh
that big train, yes, seem like somebody said it, the big train
can get you known clean and clear for just so much as arriving.
That station can be a marker in history.
Whose bags are those? Did the porter say it was….
Where the red caps? Seem there is still a question.
Still one question when you let yourself open up and ask:
Somebody tell me, where, oh where, oh where
does the big smooth rough and tumble rumbling big train go?
Lincoln Center Jazz Orchestra (jazz orchestra), Rodney Whitaker (bass), Herlin Riley (drums), Victor Goines (tenor and soprano saxophone), Walter Blanding Jr. (tenor and soprano saxophone), Wessell Anderson (alto saxophone), Wycliffe Gordon (trombone), Ronald Westray (trombone), Joe Temperley (clarinet) Walter Blanding Jr. (clarinet), Joe Temperley (baritone sax), Victor Goines (baritone sax), Victor Goines (clarinet), Farid Barron (piano)