Happy birthday to my grandfather, William Grant Still. He was born on this date 122 years ago, in 1895. The first in our family born completely free of slavery.
His mother wanted him to be a doctor, but music was in his blood. Not the jazz and blues that everyone expected a black man to write, but overtures, concertos, operas, and symphonies.
He started out writing pop music. He did the first arrangement of the St. Louis blues for WC Handy. But it was the concert hall where he stepped into his own. He was the first African-American to conduct a major symphony, the first to have his symphony performed by a major orchestra, the first to have his opera produced by a major company. He’s called the Dean of African-American composers. He was also the first to use a banjo in a symphony.
But you know, history isn’t kind to the trailblazers and the pioneers. He was either writing music that was too black or not black enough. He was called horrible names by important people. He couldn’t get commissions. He died quite poor in Los Angeles.
I still feel those things personally, because he was so important to me. To me, he was always just the best grandfather a kid could ask for. He was the guy that taught me to play inchworm on the piano and read me all the Uncle Remus stories, with corrected grammar. He is a big part of the reason that I am the person that I am.
So happy birthday, Grandfather. Thank you for opening the doors, thank you for hot afternoons in your music room playing “Inchworm” on the piano, thank you for letting me share your LazyBoy while we watched “Bonanza”, thank you for making me think that your biggest accomplishment was being a great grandparent.
Here’s to you, William Grant Still. Your music is beautiful and so is your memory.
