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A Lady At The Piano - Baz Spotlight, Nina Simone


Ah, Nina. If anyone deserves a Baz Spotlight it’s Juilliard-level classical pianist Eunice Waymon, turned Nina Simone, High Priestess of Soul. On a recent trip to one of our fave BazPlaces, the Young Vic, we saw posters for a new original production of ‘Nina: A Story About Me and Nina Simone’ by Josette Bushell-Mingo, and we can not think better material for a one woman show. As that, in effect was what she was: a one-woman powerhouse. All of this and more inspired us to dust off our Spotlight Skills to give one of our fave female heroines the Baz treatment. In our Baz manifesto, we’re keen for any performance of ours to directly relate to our audiences: to make them think, and feel. Nina would achieve this through her art, her playing, her voice, every pore in her body, given over to the live experience: and that’s what makes her one of our favourite artists.

We love Nina not only for her amazing, nearly miraculous skill and talent, but also the mantel she inherited to be a leading voice in the civil rights and feminist movement. The daughter of a preacher, Nina, then Eunice, learnt about commanding and guiding a crowd, watching her mother give services, drawing out the shared experience - and played the church organ at six or seven to a flabbergasted crowd. She was hailed as having god-given talent. She graduated to giving recitals and even auditioned for the prestigious Curtis Institute - but whilst being told she possessed great skill, was denied entry. Considering that this was America in the early fifties, it’s not hard to guess why this happened to Nina.

She still took lessons from a classical pianist, but the woman we know of now was a woman of Jazz and Blues. Her performances were hailed as legendary, and stories of certain gigs go down in music lore. Though often filled with joy, a love of music and the sacred shared experience from her young church days, there were times she would be difficult, and confrontational with management and even audiences. There may have been a reason for this however, as Nina suffered from a bipolar disorder and struggled with depression and addiction throughout her life. She also suffered domestic abuse at the hands of her manager and husband - a connection thankfully that ended but left her damaged. The tragedy of her personal life adds to her legend, however, as she is heralded as a survivor of abuse and mental health with her natural cool, talent and passion - truly paving the way both as a sufferer, a creative, a survivor and an inspiration.

Though she was the High Priestess of Soul, Nina takes a lot of inspiration from the stage - we here at Baz HQ think she would have made an excellent actress. Many of her most known tracks are taken from musicals: ‘Ain’t got no/I Got Life’ is from Hair, ‘I Loves You Porgy’ from Porgy and Bess - she loved the theatre tradition, and there was a definite performance element to her shows that made it not the usual torrid 12-track, pale rundown of the latest album. To this end, ‘Pirate Jenny’ from Brecht’s ‘The Threepenny Opera’ was a decidedly and deliberately malevolent affair, full of deliberate pauses, staring down the audience and Nina singing with aggressive violence. Top 40 performance this was not, and you hear a pin drop in the live recording. Ever the activist, using the original lyrics, Nina makes a salient point in ‘Pirate Jenny’, the theme of which would dictate her body of work:

But I’m counting your heads

As I’m making the beds

Cos nobody’s sleeping here tonight

Ain’t nobody sleeping here

It’s a performance Brecht would be proud of: odd, whispered lyrics, discordant stabbing rhythms with the context quite clear. It was more than the recital of a song: it was a character, a monologue intended to get a reaction from the audience, earning her reputation as a true performer. Sickened by the injustice of racism, the segregation, and the murder of the time in which she lived, it’s no surprise Nina wrote her first civil rights themed song as as a showtune, introducing it in Carnegie Hall in 1964:

“The name of this song is Mississippi Goddamn. And I mean every word of it. It’s a showtune but the show hasn’t been written for it yet.”

Famous Interviews where she spoke out, criticising desegregation and the ‘Go Slow’ peaceful movement  and even Dr. King himself followed, and she grew frustrated by not being able to be out on the streets, in the conflict. Songs, and albums like ‘Baltimore’ - became civil rights anthems and this continued as a rich vein through her career. Her frustration with not being at the forefront of the movement, her repeated calls to arms, showed a kind of lack in belief of her own ability or with a perceived lack of impact are shown by history to be quite incorrect: she provided the soundtrack of the civil rights movement, and was intrinsic in keeping it relevant and alive: chanted at marches, performed at political gatherings, printed on placards. It’s both a testament to her bravery but a sad reflection on modern society that her tunes are still relevant today.

She also celebrated her womanhood, and particularly her pride at being a black woman, with songs like ‘To Be Young, Gifted and Black’ to also boldly singing about a woman’s sensuality, something that in that era was not decent or the done thing: how it’s okay to be sensual and express desire: ‘I Want A Little Sugar In My Bowl’ is a great example, and you can hear her having great flirty fun with audiences performing it live. She also however, highlighted the plight of being a black woman, perfectly in her tune ‘Four Women’ where she describes no matter the background, the personality, the flavour, even the hairstyle, black women are fetishised and disrespected, not only by their race, but also their gender. Her entire back catalogue of work is a legacy of influential proportions: no other artist tackled and wrestled into submission so many themes, issues and conflict whilst retaining her own unique style and instantly recognisable rich, impassioned voice. She is instantly relatable, true to her word and an emotional performer, something you can really get a sense of even from old archives and videos. Especially seen here by a formerly upbeat Jazz standard 'Tomorrow Is My Turn' here performed almost as a dirge, a reflection of Nina's emotion at the time, coming out through her music:

However, as well as this, we love her passion, and her wit - her playfulness, often playing without a net, starting a song on an off beat, not signalling her band, stopping performances to shout or compliment the audience: to us she understood art, and it’s ability to empower, to point fingers, make change, expose, heal and generally do what great art is supposed to: make you feel. We’re supremely jealous of anyone who got to see her live, and can imagine sitting in your seat, engrossed and yet nervous: unsure if you’re about to be stared down, shouted at, called up onstage, or earn yourself a wink. Delightfully talented and unpredictable, going from the angry, bitter ‘Backlash Blues’ to the quiet, loving ‘My Baby Just Cares For Me’ your hackles are raised, and then lowered, soothed. It’s no surprise Eunice has stuck around,as  you get the distinct feeling she has more to say. All-round performer, a goddess at the piano, we cheers Nina Simone, paving the way for female artists in all forms.

Here’s Nina in one of her first performances on the Ed Sullivan Show in 1960 - her classical training comes out in the bridge as she improvises on a Bach-like theme, showing the depth of her skill, and the cool, often playful way she would charm audiences with it, watch as she Puts a Spell On You:

With Peace and  Love,

Baz x




Spotlight 2: Rebel, Rebel

The Thin White Duke. Ziggy Stardust. The Goblin King. Davy Jones. He had a knack for personas, did Bowie. Something that Baz shares a common ground with. Yes, welcome to another Spotlight – and it’s another doozy in Bowie (do nothing by halves, us lot) So just bear with us as we attempt to explain his influence and importance in some way no-one else has managed to. We might be here a while.

It’s fair to start with the idea that if you have nothing you have nothing to lose – in a time when it was scandalous to even have long hair as dictated by the war-torn generation that came before it, soldiers’ children were finding new avenues to express themselves, and luckily for them, Ziggy was waiting in the wings. It’s hard for us Baz-istas to comprehend what a massive splash he made in ’73 – someone (“She’s Not Sure if You’re a Boy or a Girl”) appearing on Top of The Pops one evening in a cat suit, full stage make-up and orange hair. Put you off your tea. But intrinsically to his appeal, and especially to Baz, he totally did not break the rules of how to dress, behave, even make music, it’s like he had no clue what they even were. He had nothing, so he had nothing to lose. Zeitgeist, meet Ziggy.

Though it eventually became clear what gender Bowie was, (petition to start one simply called ‘Bowie’) there was, even then, a hovering doubt. Rumours of outrageous behaviour and fluid sexuality maintain to this day that all add to the image that became so important to us as a society and to him as a cultural keystone – image, and performance. Larger than life, fully in character, (though he denies even that description voraciously, amazing, but throw us a bone, Davy) like Richard Burbage taking on Hamlet, Othello and Richard II - a ton of amazing characters under his belt, and utterly loyal to them, until the time came to move on.

Baz's idea of gender is long held in the 'doesn't matter' column and that's why Bowie's importance to Baz is simple: he was a true performer with no time for labels or societal pressures. In our 2013 production of Prophesy, we switched up our casts as we wished: Helen of Troy could be played by a tall man in his early thirties, Paris, the noble prince, set on capturing Helen’s heart? A young woman in her late twenties- why not? As long as bold choices are told with authenticity – something Bowie did naturally - he was an artist in the truest sense of the word, and Baz is inspired. And it's not just us - far from being covered by artists ranging across the board and genre (how can we forget Astronaut Chris Hadfield's, seminal, gravity-less cover) he's inspired art, fashion, and with The Michael Clark Company, stunning dance. It seems as if the artistic community will carry on his legacy and rightly so.

We can maintain his legacy, but  he self-curated his death - he honours his legacy much as he did his different personas – effortlessly. It’s sad that his impending death was the force that brought out an international bestseller at the V&A of his costumes, a new album, and most recently and surprisingly of all – a musical, Lazarus opening in New York late last year: (  but with the ever-present possibility of new treats being revealed in months to come, it’s almost as if you could brush over the ‘death’ part. As ever, he keeps us guessing, this impossible dude who simply made good music, dressed well and changed the game – bonus points for being the only musician-turned-actor to survive making a movie (sorry Cher, J-Lo and Madonna) and retain his musical credit. Most importantly, though, he never conformed. Baz has something in common with that too.

If we may: Lorde’s stunning performance with Bowie’s band at the Brit Awards earlier this year recaptured a bit of the presence with a bit of herself thrown in - in deference to a true tribute, this is how it’s done. The future is looking bright. Seriously, we can't stop watching it.

You like dancing and you look divine,

Baz x



Spotlight1: Winehouse

BAZ Blogger: Jess Bailey

Good, crisp, winter morning to you all! Or evening glancers, three am browsers: we here at Baz don’t judge (but seriously, go to bed) – see, you don’t just come here for the features, we’re health advice, too. Now. Enough of the silliness, more...busi-ness. We want to unveil, along with our new blog, a brand new shiny feature: our ‘Spotlight’ on our influences and inspirations. That’s right, we want to share with you, through these monthly posts, just what we are about: what we jam to, what we can’t put down, and we gush over,some early evening gesticulating wildly with a glass of red wine/coffee in hand. So, away we go!

Right. We want to talk Amy Winehouse. And she’s hard to talk about for obvious reasons, and also for the opposing natural inclinations to celebrate and regret in the same breath. There is no doubt at all, the she was one of a kind, and yet spoke to us all, with her unflinching honesty, her talent, her passion and how deliciously crude she could be too. If we were A-level students right now we’d be chomping at the bit to study her lyrics in Eng Lit lessons on a dreary Wednesday. But the thing she most represents to Baz is her take on being a woman with talent in the public eye, opting not to be a pop princess, letting the, at times, ugliness show along with the easy simplicity of her elegant phrasing and universal truth to her lyrics. Thing is, as a society we tend to fetishize talent, especially tragic talent and especially tragic female talent with the lead very much given by modern media, to be lauded posthumously whilst derided in their lifetime. This is reflected, maybe even perpetrated in theatre as pure dramatic irony – star cross’d lovers and all of that –while films, biographies, column inches wail and wring their hands, trying to figure out how it all went wrong, when the spotlight should be on them. Baz believes in challenging audiences. This is intrinsic to our aesthetic, and Amy did too. Confidently, with her chin out, and her mistakes as clear to see as the ink on her arm or the thick eyeliner over her eye. Like a true dramatic heroine, a Cassandra or a Carmen, she embodied femininity truly, with all it’s faults and cliches, refusing to bow to them. Baz’s ideal to portray the female experience then, has its roots. Her lyrics, and influences, as wide ranging as old-school hip hop to indie classics, always returned to the sounds of 50/60s swing and Motown, something old out of something new making, her, in turn, and out of time and timeless influence for us all. We miss her very much, and we appreciate genius when we hear it, something we here at Baz intend to do.