What Horses Have Taught Me

I have been thinking lately about this fervent love of horses I have always carried in my soul. I don’t know where it came from. I only know that it has been there for as long as I can remember. From the first time I saw a horse, something in me recognized something in them. As a boy, I devoured The Black Stallion. That opened another door for me, the Arabian horse. I became fascinated with the breed and began reading everything I could find. Judith Forbis’s masterful books became especially important to me, and I still return to them after all these years.

I’ve owned horses. I’ve ridden them. I’ve trained them. I’ve simply stood in a field and watched them move across the land. And I have never stopped learning from them. Horses teach you patience. They teach you collaboration. They teach you devotion. Most of all, they teach you that force is not the same thing as strength. That is why I was saddened to hear of the recent death of Monty Roberts, the legendary horseman known as “the Man Who Listens to Horses.” His approach rejected pain and punishment in favor of communication and trust. His methods eventually caught the attention of Queen Elizabeth II, beginning an extraordinary friendship between a California cowboy and the Queen of England. I understand why she was fascinated. There is something almost sacred about earning the trust of a horse.

That love found its way into my music, too. When I created Cross That River, there was no question that my main character, Blue, would have a special relationship with horses. Some people have told me over the years that horses are a niche interest and that most people aren’t particularly interested in hearing about them. I have found exactly the opposite. When we brought Cross That River to the Faison Firehouse Theater in Harlem, New York Times reporter Sarah Maslin Nir came to talk with me. Her wonderful story, “The Last of New York’s Black Cowboys,” wasn’t simply about a musical. It was about Black cowboys, forgotten American history, horses—and why this world meant so much to me.

New York Times feature

She told a story from my childhood that I have never forgotten. In fifth grade, I stood in front of my class and talked about spending my summer riding horses on my grandfather’s 600-acre ranch in Pennsylvania. My classmates laughed. My teacher sent me to the principal for lying. A Black boy couldn’t be a cowboy, they told me. Except I was. And my grandfather’s ranch was very real.

My grandfather was a hard man. His life had made him that way. He grew up in McDonald, Pennsylvania, the son of a white mother and a Black father. He worked in the mines under a system in which a Black miner had to work in tandem with a white partner while earning only a fraction of what that white man made. He saved every cent he could. Eventually he bought 600 acres and began farming and ranching. He raised mink and became a millionaire. Then he taught himself about oil wells by going to the library. When he wanted to buy his first well, he had to get a white man to negotiate the purchase because he wasn’t permitted to buy it himself. Grandad paid for it, but another man’s face had to make the deal.

There were horses on that farm that I loved, horses I rode every day. Then Grandad would call and tell me to bring one in, and I knew what was coming. I had to participate in slaughtering and cutting up an animal I loved so its meat could feed the mink. There were times I hated him for it. There were other lessons. One winter day he left me out at an oil well with a truck that wouldn’t run. What I didn’t know was that Grandad had removed a part from it. He told me I couldn’t come home until I figured out what was wrong. I spent the whole day out there, freezing my ass off. But I figured it out. I got that truck running and drove home just before sunset. Those experiences made me strong. But they also taught me what kind of strength I wanted—and what kind I didn’t.

Eventually music took over my soul, and I left the farm behind. For more than fifty years, I have lived a very different life. Stages instead of oil fields. Jazz clubs instead of mink sheds. Airplanes instead of tractors. And now, all these decades later, I am building a country home on my father’s land. Full circle. Maybe that is why horses are on my mind so much.

I believe everyone needs something they love that has nothing to do with how they earn their living. I’ve watched people achieve everything they thought they wanted—money, recognition, success—and still discover an emptiness waiting for them. Success isn’t enough. A passion can save your life. For me, music is how I make my living, but animals have always helped me make my life. I remember being in Colorado when a shipment of wild mustangs arrived at a friend’s ranch. She was rehabilitating them, giving them sanctuary and protecting them. Watching those animals arrive—wild, suspicious, magnificent—was something I will never forget. Perhaps that’s another thing horses have taught me: we don’t have to dominate everything we love. Sometimes our job is simply to make room for it.

And somehow, that brings me back to music. Because I’m supposed to be telling you about my new recording, Swingin’ Love Songs, which comes out August 28. The funny thing is that this “new” record is more than twenty years old. When I listened to it again after all that time, I couldn’t believe it. It hadn’t aged. It sounded fresh. Alive. Like it had simply been waiting.

The story began in Miami with my friend Eddie Montilla. When I moved there, Eddie had a band called Game that played at Monty Trainers in Coconut Grove. I was looking for work, sat in with the band, and got the gig. We played there for more than five years, and one of the great pleasures of that period was singing with the wonderful vocalist LaGaylia Frazier, who has become a star in Sweden. Eddie and I eventually went into business together and had a recording studio. Miami being Miami in those days, the studio had been financed by a friend named Dave Smith, who was also in the marijuana business. One night I got a call: empty the studio. Immediately. Dave and his people had been busted bringing marijuana in by boat. Years later, it is strange to think about how much the world has changed. Marijuana is legal in many places now. Dave spent years in prison for it. One thing I will always remember about him is that he never betrayed the people who worked for him.

Eddie went on to become one of the most in-demand programmers in the business, working with artists including Busta Rhymes, Lil Wayne, Gloria Estefan, Shakira and many others. Then one day he called me. He had some songs written by an older gentleman named Ike Joseph. Eddie thought they were perfect for me. They wanted to fly me to Miami and record them. So I went. I became friends with Ike, but when I really listened to what we had recorded, I knew something wasn’t right. The music had been programmed, and to my jazz ear it needed human beings breathing inside it. So I brought the project back to New York. I called some of my favorite musicians, and we recorded all nine songs again. Real players. Real interaction. Real swing.

We mixed it. We mastered it. And then Ike died suddenly. Without him, the rights became complicated, and eventually the recording was put away for more than twenty years. Until this year. When we found those tapes again and listened, Pat and I looked at each other in amazement. They still sounded wonderful. Pat—my wife, manager, partner and chief detective—spent months trying to find Ike’s family. Finally, she located his niece. She gave us her blessing to release the music. And so on August 28, Swingin’ Love Songs will finally make its way into the world.

Maybe that’s why this record and these thoughts about horses belong together after all. Some things stay with you—a song, a horse, a piece of land, a lesson somebody taught you when you were a boy, even a painful one. You may leave them behind for years, but sometimes life circles around and puts them directly in your path again. And when it does, perhaps the best thing you can do is listen.

I’d love to hear from you: Is there an animal, a place, or a passion outside your work that has stayed with you throughout your life? Tell me about it. I never get tired of those stories.

—Allan

Swingin’ Love Songs
Coming August 28

TOUR SCHEDULE:

Sept. 5 -Sonoma Jazz Society, Sonoma, CA (Private concert)

SWINGIN’ LOVE SONGS makes its California debut:

Sept. 10 - KCSM Live in Studio 91 - Jazz Radio live performance, San Mateo, CA

Sept. 11 - Piedmont Piano, Oakland, CA

Oct.17 - Queens Theatre, The Poetry of Jazz