The word diva, so overused, fit like a white silk glove with the name Cassandra Wilson, who passed away this past Tuesday according to The New York Times. At the time of this obituary’s closing, the causes of her death at the age of 70 were not yet known. Capricious and unpredictable, the singer, winner of two Grammys, was one of the most acclaimed voices of North American jazz in the last half-century, thanks to the versatility of her voice and her ease in blending styles.
Born in Jackson, Mississippi, Wilson combined guitar and piano during her musical training in the South during childhood, but if anything served her for her future career, it was being part of the M-Base collective, a group that in the 1980s worked on new ways of thinking about improvisation based on funk. After her time in New Orleans and New York, the performer became known in the mid-1980s with albums in which, buried in the trend of electronic productions, she could neither stand out nor find a place in a circuit where, moreover, female singers were relegated to a secondary role by jazz critics in favor of instrumental bands and soloists.
Everything changed in the 1990s. Wilson signed with the Blue Note label, the legendary home of Miles Davis, John Coltrane, and Herbie Hancock, and developed a body of work in which she gave free rein to her particular way of combining styles. Her deep and affected voice broke the chains of saccharine sweetness and resonated deeply in minimalist instrumental filigrees. Sometimes, it gave off a blues lament, other times a twilight spiritual, and at others it delved into folk with her wounded-spirited African American voice. Two albums elevated her as a reference in vocal jazz: Blue Light ‘til Dawn (1993) and New Moon Daughter (1996). In them, her singing held a sadness similar to that of Billie Holiday or Odetta.
In fact, since then, she claimed the tradition of the Delta, the cradle of the blues and the land to which she belonged. With composure and elegance, she recorded in 2002 what many fans considered a beloved album: Belly of the Sun, where she brought to her terrain of raw melancholy classics by Bob Dylan, The Band, Jimmy Webb, or Glen Campbell. And also, since then, she approached all kinds of standards from other genres with her particular stamp. She would sing, unhurriedly and gravely, songs by The Beatles, Neil Young, U2, The Monkees, or Louis Armstrong.
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Entering the 21st century, she had already established herself as one of the most important voices in international jazz, becoming a regular at major North American and European festivals. Many promoters complained about her absences and delays, as did journalists who could not tame an indomitable being. However, the new faces, emerging in the last two decades and rejuvenating the great female jazz circuit, overshadowed part of her later work. With the enormous success of Norah Jones in 2002, which set a trend of relaunching voices with a pop air, and the appearance of more iconoclastic and modern talents like Esperanza Spalding or Cécile McLorin Salvant, the singer lost the impact she once had with each new release. Nevertheless, she published interesting works such as Thunderbird and Loverly.
With her dreadlocks and golden skin and her captivating smile, Cassandra Wilson represented the quintessential jazz diva. She had star whims, goddess aesthetics, and dramatic gestures, but above all, she had found a voice, a true voice, rough and full of soul, halfway between jazz and blues. As she sang in ‘Run the Voodoo Down,’ a composition that opened the self-produced album Traveling Miles, in tribute to Miles Davis: “I’m not your city girl / but when it comes to making music / I do voodoo.”
