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BluesArtStudio-10/2005
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Text and Photos by Larry Benicewicz
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 Marva Wright was born Marva Williams March 20, 1948 in New Orleans. And gospel music dominated her early life. Her father was a minister and her mother, Mattie Gilbert, was an accomplished piano player and singer and a close friend and confidant of that legend in the spiritual realm, Mahalia Jackson. “My mom, just like Mahalia, was also a beautician and she’d often go up to Chicago to visit her. They were old schoolmates,” she said. Mattie was not only the lead voice in the famous quartet, the Jackson Gospel Singers, but also the accompanist on radio shows and recording sessions. Her young child, Marva, would tag along to all such functions, all the while receiving a thorough indoctrination in this sacred brand of music.Through her mother, Marva was also able to witness her share of engagements by other gospel greats, soon to become superstars in the secular world, like Aretha Franklin, who often traveled in tandem with her father, preacher C.L. Franklin (who recorded for Chess), and Sam Cooke, then with the storied Soul Stirrers. “Over at Booker T. Washington Senior High School auditorium, these touring gospel caravans would regularly appear with my mom’s group also on the bill. There were some unforgettable performances, which had quite an effect on me,” she added. At nine, Marva, too, became a member of a gospel ensemble, the Saint John Baptist Youth Choir, although she did not sing solos until junior high, at which point she joined the Geraldine Wright Christian Four Gospel Singers, with whom she remained until she was twenty. Along with these pursuits, she was also doing duets with her mother. “I had no problem with stage fright when I finally went public with the blues because I was already performing live in church with my mother. We even made a recording together, a single, ‘When I Wake Up in Glory,’ which I wish I could find,” she said. The 45 rpm was pressed on a small independent label whose producer, someone whom she cannot recall, has long since been dead. Marva in fact continued in this traditional music well into her thirties with yet another notable spiritual aggregate, Samuel Berfect and the Dimensions of Faith.  At about the age of 40, Marva contemplated the idea of singing the blues. This was about a decade after she began working as a school secretary for McMain High in New Orleans, a prestigious magnet school that can now boast of distinguished alumnus, trumpeter Nicholas Payton, himself, the son of celebrated Crescent City bassist, Walter Payton. Sitting in with bands around town, like that of Walter “Wolfman” Washington, she soon was recognized for her raw blues aptitude. “The owner of the Absinthe Bar on Bourbon St., Joe Sinatra, by the way, Frank’s first cousin, wanted me to take Bryan’s [Bryan Lee Kumbalek, a blind blues guitar wizard] one evening off, but I still had to pass the audition. Soon, though, I was attracting such a crowd that he offered me two nights,” she confided.As her dates multiplied, her principal, Cliff St. Germain, became very supportive of her new-found career and generously granted her a year’s leave of absence in which to establish herself, a period of which she took full advantage. “I was really anxious about giving up my day job with its steady income. But I have to give him all the credit. Because if I had failed, I would have been welcomed back. He gave me the courage, which I will never forget,” said Marva. I first met Marva Wright at Christmas in 1987 singing her heart out at the aforementioned, historic, 1820s-era Absinthe Bar, which about a decade ago, the city fathers, in their infinite wisdom, allowed to be completely gutted (along with the original fixtures) and thereafter replaced by a Plexi-glassed, neon-lit, monument to bad taste, the Daiquiri Hut. But before its demise, as far as blues was concerned, it was a shrine and pilgrims from all over the world would leave behind notes written on the currency of their respective countries of origin. Then, the ever affable barmaid would attach them to the walls and ceiling, eventually papering nearly the whole interior.  Then, as now, on Bourbon St. the competition for gigs of any sort was fierce, even if each evening’s work was a daunting, mind numbing, marathon session like that of the other more tourist friendly (dollar shooters, happy hour, specials, etc.) blues bar, the Funky Pirate, ordinarily hosted by the hefty Big Al Carson. Situated a few blocks south on this lurid and tawdry nocturnal pedestrian promenade, the Absinthe Bar countered with no less a brutal endurance test, which entailed a minimum of four separate, 45-minute sets a night. But when the smoke cleared at three in the morning, the usual weary and bleary-eyed survivors emerged, including guitarists Bryan Lee, Robert James, harp man J Monque’D, and, last but not least, Marva Wright. Talk about paying some dues. It must have been one of her first appearances there, perhaps even her debut, because I have to say that my initial impression of her performance was not positive. She certainly didn’t lack in enthusiasm for her task and with her full figure and fringed, flapper-like dress, she looked every inch the archetypal blues belter. On that night I saw a woman on the verge of middle age, but whose overall presentation bordered on the amateurish. Surely, I thought to myself, that someone of this maturity should be further along, as far as poise and polish. Yet, she appeared a bit awkward and tentative onstage. She seemed at a loss at what to do during the pregnant pauses in her act. In short, her gestures and mannerisms were more like those of a dilettante than of a professional chanteuse.  Nonetheless, even then, her redeeming quality was her powerful instrument of a voice, with which she sang seemingly effortlessly, although, it, too, needed refinement. In baseball parlance, she was not yet a pitcher, but a thrower. Likewise, she wasn’t yet a singer, so much as a shouter. And I wondered if she were ever going to progress to the next plateau.On successive visits to the Big Easy, I discovered that more and more marquees bore the name of Marva Wright and her band, Blues with a Feeling (after the Little Walter classic), including the venerable uptown clubs like Tipitina’s, Maple Leaf, and Muddy Waters. Finally, a few years later, I spotted an advertisement in the entertainment section of the weekly Gambit, which announced her appearance at the Hilton. Curious that she had landed such a respected gig, I sauntered over to the posh lounge of this hotel for the well-heeled to see if my original appraisal of her talent needed any upgrading. And to say the least, she had undergone quite a remarkable transformation from the artless, unpracticed performances at the Absinthe Bar. Perhaps it was the degree of sophistication of her act that was most astounding. From her deft working of the audience, often exchanging playful banter, to her self composure and confidence, she had truly arrived. And I knew from that point onward that she would become a figure to be reckoned with. At that time, when Mardi Gras records producer Warren Hildebrand (who had just released Marva’s newest disk, Marvalous) suggested that I write her up, he didn’t have to prod. Having just seen the new and improved Marva Wright, I was eager to jump at the chance to spread the good word. When I confronted the always approachable Marva about the old days at the Absinthe, she had to confess that she felt that the whole experience was almost an embarrassment. “Lord, I only knew five songs and would have to repeat them set after set. Fortunately, the clientele never was the wiser because they’d move on after each show,” said Marva, who counts KoKo Taylor as a major inspiration for her baptism in the blues. It all made sense to me when she revealed her extensive gospel background. Having sung in the church for many years with unbridled passion, she had to make the transition to a more deliberate blues delivery. It simply took a few years to get things under control.  By the early 90s, the overseas booking agents were already hot on her trail, as good female blues or jazz figures are an all too precious commodity. Even when I interviewed her ten years ago, she was constantly being interrupted by promoters from Brazil from whom she accepted an invitation (now annual) at the Bourbon St. Music Club in Sao Paulo, and from France with whom she agreed to perform a two-week stint in the classy Lionel Hampton Room of the ritzy Hotel Meridien Etoile in Paris. “I just love working those fine hotels. Between sets, I just go upstairs and either relax or freshen up. It’s more like being on vacation,” she asserted. Suffice it to say that she has traversed the whole continent of Europe, venturing as far north as Stockholm and Amsterdam, where she has twice dazzled the throngs at the North Sea Jazz Festival, as far south as Italy at the Umbria Festival, and as far east as Russia. Besides Paris, regular stops in France include the Antibes and the Nancy Jazz Pulsation jamborees and in nearby Switzerland, the Ascona Festival.And on the home front, it didn’t take long for the newly reconstituted Marva to win over an altogether different audience. “I had performed before at JazzFest in a gospel role, but as early as 1987, I made my first appearance as a blues singer with the blessing of organizer, Quint Davis. I’ve only missed one of them since then when I was overseas and I’m still sorry that I did. I guess you could call me a fixture,” said Marva, who was joined onstage during the 2003 installment by none other than reporter Ed Bradley of television’s 60 Minutes program. And Marva also enjoyed all the exposure, finally gaining access to a national fan base, when she was spotlighted on a CBS music special on January 27, 1990 prior to Super Bowl XXIV held in New Orleans’ Louisiana Superdome. Coinciding with her “coming out” were her first studio experiments. The first project was a vanity affair, a single of her interpretation of “St. James Infirmary,” which didn’t create much of a stir, unlike her second attempt at recording. In the late 80s, she taped a live song at Tipitina’s, the Ruth Brown standard, “Mama, He Treats Your Daughter Mean,” which was released on a compilation. This cameo, in turn, led to a whole undertaking, Heartbreakin’ Woman, released on the Tipitina’s label (1402) which garnered an award - album of the year - from the Louisiana Critics’ Association. This album is still in print (since 1998) now on the aforementioned Mardi Gras label. Next in 1993, was issued Born With the Blues on the independent French Sky Ranch label. It has since been re-issued on the PointBlank/Virgin trademark. In 1994, came the CD, Marva Wright, on the Blues House label which was brought into fruition by Swiss producer, Hans Enried, also the impresario of the Ascona festival. Recorded in Monroe, LA, with the support (as both musician and engineer) of zydeco ace, Lynn August, then of Black Top records, it was intended for sale to promote the aforementioned concert in the Alps in which August also participated. Also in the same year, targeted for her local fans, was released yet another perennial seller, the Marva Wright Christmas Album, on the independent New Orleans logo. With the addition of several new selections, it too, has been re-released on Mardi Gras records as My Christmas Song. In 1995, Australian producer, Peter Noble, corralled heralded Crescent City arranger, Wardell Quezergue, and this collaboration resulted in the highly acclaimed CD, I Still Haven’t Found What I Am Looking For, on the “down under” AIM label. Peter also later provided his expertise in Marva’s Let Them Talk on AIM in 2000 and also Bluesiana Mama on AIM (1999), which he leased from a Swiss entrepreneur.  Also in 1995 came what is now regarded as her breakthrough album, Marvalous, on Mardi Gras, an endeavor which was universally applauded by all the reviewers. In this tour de force, Marva displays her versatility with a variety of musical styles, including the gut bucket blues of Howlin’ Wolf’s “Built for Comfort” and “Wang Dang Doodle,” the tender and delicate love ballads like Irma Thomas’ “It’s Raining” and Sam Cooke’s signature “You Send Me,” the New Orleans funk of Jean Knight’s “Mr. Big Stuff,” and the soulful introspection of Mitty Collier’s “I Had A Talk With My Man.” And Warren Hildebrand must have had a lot of trust in his protégée to not only call upon the services of producer Senator Jones, the head of Hep’ Me records (Johnny Adams, Walter Washington, Barbara George, etc.) in New Orleans and then talent scout for Tommy Couch’s Malaco and John Vincent’s Ace (both in Jackson, MS) but also the renowned arranger/engineer/trumpeter, Willie Mitchell, who previously had put his personal stamp on the Memphis-based Hi records’ efforts of national chartmakers Al Green, Ann Peebles, Otis Clay, and Syl Johnson. If nothing else, Marvalous, amply demonstrates just how far Marva had come in just a short period of time. Marva’s most recent offering is a “best of” Mardi Gras collection, Blues Queen of New Orleans (2004). And although the bulk of her Mardi Gras catalogue is currently in print, no one knows exactly when the label will be up and running again, distributing her material, since hurricane Katrina evidently exacted its toll on the uptown facilities. Just on the verge of national stardom in her native New Orleans, Marva is well aware that she might have to start almost at square one, re-establishing herself in the Mid-Atlantic. But this resilient woman is resolved to not only take a stand here but also to succeed. Although in the past she has taken pride in her self sufficiency, at this moment she wouldn’t refuse the kindness of strangers who could help her to achieve this goal. “At least, I have enough clothes now, in fact, too many. But I wouldn’t mind people lending me a hand with booking gigs [she’s her own agent] or just pitching in and getting me on my feet. I’ll take it from there,” she said. And when she does, you can count on her to return the favor many times over to those likewise in need. That’s just the way Marva Wright is. Larry Benicewicz, B.B.S. |
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PS: If anyone can help Marva in any way, be it contacting other area musicians,
connecting her to the right government agencies for hurricane relief, or simply donating to her cause, she can be reached at 410-420-9132. |
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The human face of the suffering meted out by hurricane Katrina hit especially close to home on Friday night, September 23, when the displaced and now destitute blues diva of the Crescent City, Marva Wright, sang at her own benefit at Baltimore’s 8 X 10 club, ably backed up (and without the aid of a rehearsal) by the jazz oriented Greg Hatza Organization. “I had to even borrow the clothes on my back for that evening,” said Marva, who once possessed a wide selection of elegant, custom-tailored gowns for such occasions. “All those are lost now, under water, like my home in east New Orleans. And my longtime seamstress is somewhere in the Astrodome (in Houston),” she added.
But Marva nonetheless acknowledges that she has something to be thankful for. Although she was forced to abandon her house in an “exclusive neighborhood” and forgo nearly all of her possessions, for which she has no insurance, she, at least, did manage to escape the storm’s wrath with much of her extended family intact. “Unlike a lot of people, we got out on Sunday [the levees were breached on Monday]. There were eight of us in one SUV and three more in another car,” she said. Her spouse had three children who lived in Maryland - Upper Marlboro, Owings Mills, and Joppatowne. These destinations were their only options. “My son, James Kelly, Jr., is a policeman and he stayed behind. In fact, he rescued his twin sister, Jeanne, and her husband, Earl, the following Tuesday from an attic. He’s still there. I can only imagine what he’s been through, but he won’t tell me a word about it. And as for my grandson; he got caught up in that awful Superdome situation and eventually was transported to the Astrodome,” she added.