When composer, vocalist, keyboardist and clarinetist Angel Bat Dawid released Requiem for Jazz (International Anthem, 2023), a slow, sinewy suite in 12 movements for a 15-piece orchestra, four-voice choir (featuring Damon Locks’s Black Monument Ensemble) and electronics, the Chicago-native and AACM mentee defined her free aesthetic and its central thesis with one word uttered throughout the top of her 2023 album: “Joy.”
As if summoning the gods of choral immensity that are Donald Byrd’s A New Perspective, Rahsaan Roland Kirk’s “Theme for the Eulipions” and the grand operatic elements of Terence Blanchard’s Champion, Dawid delights in the exaltation of Black life, love, art — and anger — at every turn of her Requiem. “Jazz is the musical expression of the triumph of the Negro sprit,” she sings without restraint before eventually intoning this: “I am the promise!”
Such promise actually started several years before Requiem, with 2019’s equally spirited and doubly free The Oracle. Distributed by the International Anthem label as a limited-edition cassette tape that Dawid composed, performed nearly by herself and recorded on her cellphone, The Oracle stands as a twin testament to innovation and tradition.
Now issued for the first time on vinyl in a special International Anthem IA11 edition, with percussionist Asher Gamedze’s new liner notes, Dawid’s The Oracle sounds even more ingenious and sincere than in its initial iteration — twice as alive and ferocious.
Like many of music’s masters, Dawid questions and even despises the word “jazz.” She pulls no punches in the following interview, conducted via email and edited for length and clarity.
You’ve commented on your name as bringing a message to the Black community and anyone who will listen. That’s touching as my real name is a derivation of “angel,” and I have a deep feeling toward guardian angels. What in 2025 is that message? How much of what you do and who you are stems from having a very calling to relay that message?
My name, Angel, does mean messenger. The famous phrase “Don’t shoot the messenger” is always attached to my message. The messages I receive come from an ancient source — the Canaanite Hebrew deity God (Elohim אֱלֹהִים) of the ancient nation of Israel, whose memorial name is Yahweh (YHWH יהוה).
These messages are rooted in a collection of ancient wisdom writings, mythologies, plays, songs and apocalyptic literature from those inhabitants of the ancient Near East, which have been modified, translated, often misinterpreted, leading to wars and also giving healing and guidance to people all over the world for centuries.
We refer to this canon as “The Bible” — one of the oldest translations of these texts was found in Ethiopia and contains more books than the modern Western King James Version. Therefore, the Bible is not a European book, yet it’s often interpreted through a Eurocentric lens that is steeped in white supremacist and harmful usages.
My messages always stem from this source, as I come from seven generations of Black pastors, teachers and theologians who centered the Bible as a source of inspiration, faith and connection — tools that led us to success in an oppressive, Eurocentric world.
Nat Turner was deeply influenced by the Bible. […] The Bible was an important text to the composer and my personal hero, Sun Ra. John Szwed, Sun Ra’s biographer, noted that Sun Ra believed the Bible should be regarded as a “Code Word,” not simply as “God’s Word” or “Good Word.” Sun Ra thought the text contained hidden secrets that could be uncovered through alternative interpretations. […]
I’m currently an artist-in-residence at the Northwestern University Black Arts Consortium, where I am researching and creating music exploring the university’s special collection of Pat Patick’s Sun Ra materials [Ed.: Patrick was the longtime baritone saxophonist of Sun Ra’s Arkestra]. This collection includes 66 of Sun Ra’s [biblically inspired] sermons.
I approach the Bible for messages because it is a book for oppressed people. […] Currently, my focus is on the universal discomfort I feel about the state of the world. […] My message has never been about finding solutions or offering encouragement and healing. It’s about proclaiming and centering my Blackness at all costs, using the gifts YHWH has given me. It’s an urgent alarm, an emergency.
Can you cite any examples of how you’re sounding this alarm?
A few weeks ago in Detroit, I performed at Moondog Café with MOTHABOARD — a duo of myself and composer, multi-instrumentalist and electronic healing artist SophiYah E. We featured guest Onyx Ashanti, who creates pulsating electronic instruments and immersive soundscapes, along with the DJ, multi-instrumentalist and producer Julian “Tracibeats” DeAngelou.
During our soundscape adventure, SophiYah began chanting “Black Joy” and I delivered a message through the music, urging the white audience to proclaim Black Joy. Some did willingly, but I saw others with crossed arms, not participating. That infuriated me. I stopped the music and told them, “Y’all should be saying Black Joy with enthusiasm.” The room fell silent, and I continued to speak about the importance of the message.
It was crucial for me to express that I’m tired of white people coming to my shows and not engaging or respecting what I say. It makes me uncomfortable, and in the spirit of unity, if I’m uncomfortable, then y’all should be uncomfortable too. Let’s really be uncomfortable together in unity! All of this underscores that racism is a virus — just like COVID — embedded in the psyche and culture of white people. You carry it everywhere, and it’s exhausting to live in your world without addressing it. There’s nothing you can do to fully rid yourself of it.
Therefore, I might need to keep a metaphorical mask at the ready, like the Paul Laurence Dunbar poem that states, “We wear the mask.” I might also need six feet of separation from you to protect my Black spirit from your exhausting notions, education, insidious white peculiarities and a vaccination from your white supremist toxic systemic proclivities. We may need to quarantine ourselves from white folks in spiritual centers like the Black church, the Black mosque, the Black synagogue, the Black Buddha center, in Vodou practices and ancient African spiritual systems like the Ifé religion from Nigeria — spaces where we can retreat into a world where Blackness is centered, segregated from the virus of racism.
You can’t fully enter into these Black spiritual traditions and realms, just as I can’t fully immerse myself in Irish, Indian or Asian cultures. I am naturally drawn to spaces where there are less white people because you’re everywhere and in everything. It’s exhausting, uncomfortable and annoying.
So, the message for 2025 is: I will keep saying I don’t like your ways — see Langston Hughes, “The Ways of White Folks.” I hate living in your world. As the old African American spiritual “Go Down Moses” says, “Tell O’FAYraoh to Let My People Go!” And another message is that white people need a whoopin’ — a metaphorical chastisement, fire and brimstone, all of that. … This is a call to wake up, confront the uncomfortable truths and understand that the fight against this systemic virus is urgent.
I have interviewed many members of the AACM, past and present. What do you believe its membership, and its idea of Great Black Music, have given you and your music that might not have been there before your involvement?
Although I am not a member of the AACM, I deeply admire and have been greatly influenced by the legacy of this important 60-year-old institution. I have had the privilege of learning from many incredible mentors, both directly and indirectly, including Douglas Ewart, Ernest Dawkins and George Lewis, whose book A Power Stronger Than Itself changed my life.
I also had the opportunity to meet Muhal Richard Abrams (RIP), Don Moye, Henry Threadgill and Phil Cohran, and I’ve performed with legacy members such as Roscoe Mitchell and Renee Baker. I share supportive friendships with members of the new generation of AACM artists, including Dr. Adam Zanolini, Ben LaMar Gay, Fred Jackson Jr., JoVia Armstrong, Alexis Lombre, Corey Wilkes, Junius Paul and many others.
The AACM’s message of celebrating Great Black Music has inspired me to start my own project: the “Great Black Music Class,” which began during the pandemic. I initially taught it online to incarcerated youth and now I teach through Imagine Englewood If (IEi), the longest-serving nonprofit in Englewood, dedicated to creating safe and empowering spaces for youth in the Greater Englewood community.
This is a research-based teaching initiative focused on Black music, specifically designed for Black children. One of my biggest goals is to develop a school and pedagogy that addresses the unique and nuanced music educational needs of Black children. I focus on BIPOC kids because I believe white children will be fine without the teachings of Ms. Angel — y’all will be just fine without me! I define Great Black Music as music that comes from within — if you are Black and music flows through you, then it is bound to be great!
Before I move fully on to The Oracle, I’d like to discuss what jazz means to you, musically, spiritually, culturally and racially?
Jazz is a highly offensive word. Not only do I hate and disapprove of it, but many legacy “jazz” musicians also disliked the term and used alternative descriptions instead. Duke Ellington called it “Negro Folk Music,” Miles Davis referred to it as “Social Music” and Yusef Lateef described it as “Autophysiopsychic Music.” (I am also a part of the ensemble Autophysiopsychic Millennium, a convocation of Detroit- and Chicago-based musicians exploring Yusef Lateef’s works.) Charles Mingus, Nina Simone and Mary Lou Williams also opposed the word.
I wrote an essay for the International Jazz Composers’ Symposium titled “the tyrannical perpetual perversion of blk music,” which explores this issue in greater detail. This essay also functions as a lecture and performance workshop, which I have presented at the Montreal Jazz Festival (where some white patrons walked out), and at festivals in Brazil and various academic institutions.
What brought you to compose and perform a rigorous 12-movement Requiem for Jazz when you did, with moments such as “Jazz is merely the Negroes cry of Joy & Suffering”? And what have you heard from audiences about its impact on them and how they feel about you and about jazz itself?
In 2019, I was commissioned by the Hyde Park Jazz Festival in Chicago to compose a new work. I decided to create a piece inspired by director/musician Edward Bland’s film The Cry of Jazz. The film has always intrigued me because its central thesis is that “jazz is dead.”
This short docudrama, made in 1959, features an interracial cast discussing the racial issues surrounding jazz as an art form — specifically whether whites could play jazz and whether only Black musicians could do so.
Such conversations are difficult today, but back then, I can only imagine how challenging they were. Notably, Sun Ra composed a lot of the film’s soundtrack. While contemplating the idea of jazz being dead in 1959 (ironically one of jazz’s best years of releases), I asked myself: If jazz truly died in 1959, when was the funeral?
That question led me to the idea of writing a requiem — funeral music. I am also heavily influenced by Mozart — the 1984 film Amadeus was a pivotal work that inspired me as a child to want to become a composer. Mozart’s Requiem has always played a significant role in my musical journey.
For my composition, I merged the texts of the Roman Catholic Requiem Mass with words from The Cry of Jazz, creating a 12-movement work within a traditional classical framework. The piece features a large ensemble of singers, dancers and live video elements, a multimedia compositional experience. It premiered in September 2019 and I also recorded it.
Following its premiere, I took the 12 movements and sampled them to create 12 additional interludes, incorporating beatmaking, sampling and recording new tracks to expand the work.
How did you receive the words and messages of The Oracle, especially since it was your first album, and debuts are often the byproduct of a lifetime’s love, sound, images and history?
In the movie The Matrix, the character of the oracle always intrigued me. Amid all the chaos and craziness of The Matrix, she was always calm and composed in her kitchen, offering wisdom. And she was a Black woman. I knew I wanted to be like that — calm, wise and grounded.
The role of an oracle is different from that of a prophet. Someone must come to the oracle for insight, hindsight and foresight — she never actively seeks out people or gives answers outright. The oracle does not chase after you or stop you from doing what you want. But if you come to her, it’s because you want to hear something or see something in how she moves that might help you. That’s the message I want to embody in my work.
You recorded The Oracle on your phone and mixed it similarly. Was that because the music came to you so suddenly, you had to capture it like lightning bolts? Do you feel the phone captured what’s raw and soulful about your performances?
All of the above is why I chose to record on my phone. I don’t view recordings the same way many others do. For me, the word “record” is taken literally — it’s a timestamped archive of a sonic moment. Therefore, I believe The Oracle is perfect as it is, and would never consider remastering it.
I am open to other artists reinterpreting it; for example, International Anthem recently hosted a listening event inviting people to experience the album. They also asked me to invite an artist to perform a live reinterpretation in response to the album.
For this, I brought in my mentee and musical collaborator, multi-instrumentalist and DJ/producer 9magicforever1 — we also perform together as The 9th Gate Sonic Research Society (N.G.S.R.S.) and are scheduled for a tour in Canada in September 2025 and in California in January 2026.
For the reissue of The Oracle, I’ve added four new digital bonus tracks. One is a composition based on a “synthetic formation scale” that Eric Dolphy gave to Yusef Lateef in 1961. This track features clarinet and electronics, performed and mixed by myself, utilizing Dolphy’s synthetic formations from Yusef Lateef’s Repository of Scales and Melodic Patterns.
I also included a live recording from my phone, “SPACE 323 ATL (Doc. Calico’s Solar Return),” which was recorded at Space 323’s Quantum Jazz Space Jam in Atlanta, Georgia, in April 2025. It’s a birthday celebration for Atlanta-based multi-instrumentalist, composer and educator Doc. Calico.
South African composer and percussionist Asher Gamedze, the only other person featured on The Oracle, also contributed a new track, “Pickpocket.” I included a piece I recorded years ago with my father, Elder Dawid Ben Dawid, titled “Proverbs 30:4 מִ֤יעָלָה־שָׁמַ֨יִם”. The track features Vandy Harris of the AACM (rest in peace) on saxophone, Uncle Percy Metcalf on vocals and Eddie Wade (rest in peace) on guitar, along with other legendary Chicago session musicians.
What do you recall now about who you were as a budding artist then? What does your voice on The Oracle sound like to you now?
I’ve been recording myself since childhood. My father, who is a minister, often recorded his sermons, so tape recorders and cassette tapes were always around the house. This environment played a significant role in developing my skills as a clarinetist, pianist, recording engineer and musician. I would regularly record myself to listen back and evaluate where I wanted my sound and voice to evolve.
Having played and performed music since my youth — and learning from various art forms — I can confidently say I’ve logged my 10,000 hours. Music flows through me as naturally as walking, eating and drinking. It’s an integral part of who I am, and I find it effortless to play any instrument and compose, whether using traditional Western notation or experimental graphic scores. No challenge in music feels insurmountable to me. Music is simply an extension of myself — so fluid that I don’t make mistakes.
I see myself as a perpetual student of my craft, always eager to explore new ways of creating and developing sounds. As the legendary percussionist Mtume states on the rare record, Alkebu-Lan: Land of The Blacks, “The sounds that saturate your being and sensitize your soul are part of the ongoing process of national consciousness manifesting its message through one of our most powerful natural resources: ‘Black Music.’”
I interpret this as Black music being my unlimited resource — it never runs out. We can create more, again and again. If Black music is my limitless resource, it will always be sourced, supported and never depleted. Like a tree planted by rivers of water, bearing fruit in due season, as … King Dawid proclaims in Psalm 1:3.
Did percussionist Asher Gamedze’s fresh liner notes conjure any new thoughts or forgotten memories of the sessions?
Yes indeed. Asher’s liner notes were so captivating and brought back countless memories of our friendship and growth over the years. In 2018 I took a personal trip to South Africa. I didn’t know a soul there, so I reached out to my friend Tej Adeleye, a London-based journalist. At that time, a new wave of fresh jazz artists was emerging in London: Shabaka Hutchings, Nubya Garcia, Theon Cross and others — playing jazz in ways I’d never heard before.
Simultaneously, there was also a rising scene in South Africa, with bands like The Brothers Move On, and the South African jazz label Mushroom Hour releasing music from bands such as Spaza, Dumama + Kechu and many more incredible South African jazz groups. That year, there seemed to be a vibrant flux of jazz sounds — a triangle connecting Chicago, South Africa and London. We were all creating jazz that wasn’t just about sitting down, drinking wine and listening but about reviving and honoring its original spirit — moving, dancing, and feeling the music deeply.
I asked Tej if there was anyone I should connect with before my trip and she immediately introduced me to Asher, describing him as a brilliant musician and scholar based in Cape Town. I reached out to him and he kindly agreed to meet. We instantly bonded over shared musical interests — avant-garde free jazz, the AACM, the Art Ensemble of Chicago, similar influences. I had my clarinet and he invited me to his house for a jam session. I was thrilled. I pressed record on my phone and the rest is history. A few days after our session, I received a beautiful email from Asher — I still read it from time to time — expressing how meaningful that moment was, and I told him the same. At the time neither of us had any major albums out, but I knew I wanted him to be my drummer whenever I toured. I didn’t know how that would work, but somehow the universe aligned us to tour together.
Nearly a decade later, he’s got multiple releases and is also now signed to International Anthem and touring all over the world. I deliberately chose to include that session on the album to encourage people to play music together without shame — because you never know what might happen. Looking back at where we were musically then, it’s incredible to reflect on our journey and see how far we’ve come.
The Oracle was a complete game-changer for me, and I feel so blessed that a small collection of personal songs on my phone can inspire others to work with what they have and create music that resonates and carries a message. JT