Dallas has always been a hotbed for the performing arts, and in the 1980s, no part of the city lived up to that billing more than the south side. Singing, dancing, producing, and beyond, if you were looking for entertainers, South Dallas was your first and, in most cases, only stop. During those days, talent oozed from every nook, cranny, crack, and crevice, and no event captured that truth more than The Roosevelt Cluster Concert.
Held annually on the campus of Roosevelt High School, the concert brought neighborhood students from elementary through high school together for a performance extravaganza. In the summer of 1984, Band Director Dean Hill, a man who would become an institution in DISD academic circles, led the contingent of youngsters from William Brown Elementary into this prestigious affair.
Hill was excited, and why wouldn’t he be? His students had rehearsed, drilled, and prepared, and just like a doting parent, he was looking forward to seeing them embrace what he hoped would be the first of many of life’s shining moments. Everything was going according to plan until the moment he got the word no director wants to hear on show day. His lead trumpeter, the one tapped to play a critical role in Brown Elementary’s most challenging number, was ill, and his absence meant the entire performance was in jeopardy.
He began scanning the room for answers, knowing the one he desperately sought lay at home, resting and recovering. Word of the missing trumpeter spread like wildfire to parents, teachers, students, and the band. As the clock ticked away, he felt a tug on his trousers. He looked down and saw a tiny boy, dwarfed by a trumpet, smiling broadly and beaming with confidence. “Mr. Hill,” the culprit said, “I can play that song.”
With no other solution in sight, Hill immediately found a chair for the child to stand on, figuring if he was brave enough to step forward, the child deserved to at least get his chance in the spotlight. The number began, and the entire ensemble was pitch-perfect, but when the trumpeter-turned-savior began playing his part, every mouth in attendance gasped. “None of us were ready for what we heard come out of that kid,” Hill commented.
And so began the legend of Roy Hargrove.
A Mother’s Intuition
That night, the world was introduced to the supreme talents of Roy Hargrove, something his mother noticed the moment he arrived. “Even as a toddler, whenever my son heard music, he’d come to life, especially when his grandmother was around. As a two-year-old, Roy would hop on that piano, get to hitting those keys, and those two would sing for hours. The sound of their voices filled the air, and I tell you, it was a joy to listen to,” said Jacklyn Hargrove, mother of the late trumpeter.
As time went on, others began noticing the same things, noticing there was something different about the way Roy played. His style was mature, well beyond his years, and it eventually landed him at Booker T. Washington Performing Arts High School, one of the leading performing arts institutions in the land. After high school, he received the ultimate stamp of approval: acceptance into Boston’s Berklee School of Music. While there, Roy rubbed shoulders with, swung, bebopped, and jammed with the best of the best. But even those hallowed halls couldn’t confine the prodigious talents of the young Dallasite, so he left to do what he loved best: play.
Word of his departure eventually got back to Dallas that her teenager had left Berklee and, instead of attending class, was touring Europe with Dizzy Gillespie, Sonny Rollins, Art Blakey, and jazz icons who were twice and, in some cases, three times his age. A staunch advocate of education, she was hopeful that he’d stay at Berklee, but his decision to leave didn’t surprise her. “I was disappointed, but not to the point of being concerned, because I knew Roy was off doing what made him happiest: playing his music.”
Aida
By this time, the young Hargrove was arguably the most celebrated fixture on the jazz scene, moving, shaking, and thrilling fans with his immense talents, hobnobbing with the in-crowd. That in-crowd included Slide Hampton, one of the slickest trombonists the world has ever seen. In Hargrove, Hampton found what he had been looking for: the next generation of jazz, the one who would carry the torch once he and the other vets were gone. In Hampton, Roy also found something he’d been looking for: love in the person of Aida Brandes-Hargrove, the daughter of one of Hampton’s closest family friends.
Success in music, or any other field for that matter, can be fleeting, but nothing compares to the quest to find that special someone—the special one made for you and only you. The one who can turn a cloudy sky blue, take the surliest of frowns, and with the softest of stares, turn it upside down, making this crazy world we live in make sense. For Roy, that was special someone, capable of doing those things and more, was Aida. “Roy could be calling me from the other side of the world and if the name Aida came up, I could feel him smiling through the phone. And when she was around, the smile never left his face. She got him, and I love how she allowed Roy Hargrove to be Roy Hargrove,” spoke his mother, fondly remembering the bond between her son and his wife.
They met in 2006 and Roy was immediately smitten by her beauty and striking likeness to Jennifer Lopez. “He jokingly referred to me as J. Lo that night, but once we began talking, we realized there might be something here,” Brandes-Hargrove mused. “Our hunch was right, and we began building a life together. Humble, kind, and sincere are the words she uses when describing her late husband. She also remembers how committed he was to his craft. “Toward the end of his time, there were days when it looked for all the world that Roy wouldn’t make it out of bed. But when he reached for his trumpet and began playing, he found a way. He always said he was in service of the music, and that’s why the higher power placed him here.” In her eyes, music became his medicine, healing him when all else seems to fail.
She fondly remembers how, even during his darkest moments, he never cheated the music, his fans, or himself. “Even as he was facing his last days, my husband remained a warrior for jazz, uncompromising and fearlessly doing the work he genuinely felt he was born to do. He’s no longer with us, but his music will last forever. As such, my focus is to ensure that when the conversation turns to Roy Hargrove, honor and dignity are present for a man who spent his life bringing joy to the lives of others.”
The Homies
Good friends are hard to come by; if you find one, hold onto them fast. Roy had several, including two he met early on in life, Keith Loftis and Sheldon Wright. Through them, he shared a love for everything from pretty girls to nice clothes and, of course, jazz. Their relationship with Roy afforded them a front-row seat to watch the evolution of one of, if not the most talented jazz artist of his time, and the impression it left on both was unmistakable.
To understand the depths of the skills Roy wielded, one needs to look no further than his ability to improvise. “Improvising in jazz is a skill every musician strives for, and it takes some a lifetime to master, while some never do. By age 11, Roy Hargrove was improvising with the best of them,” commented Wright. “Threatening is the word that comes to mind when I think of how he played, even to artists who were 40 or 50 years his senior, but not in a way that you felt like he was going to steal gigs, sales, or the spotlight. Roy was threatening in an awe-inspiring manner that made you realize you were truly in the company of greatness.”
In 1995, long after all three had left Booker T., Loftis began a stint in Hargrove’s band, playing gigs with him all over Europe and here in the States, including one of the true meccas of jazz, New York City. “Playing with Roy was akin to having an out-of-body experience. The energy and anticipation that filled any venue we entered was surreal and was unlike anything I have ever been a part of before or since,” said Loftis. “He never sold himself, the band, the fans, or the music short, and I will forever cherish the honor and privilege of being onstage with my boy, marveling at and playing alongside what I consider the most talented musician I’ve ever met.”
Today, the world is more connected than ever, but there was a time when all we had was the streets. There was no social media, texting, emailing, digital this or that: no word traveled on the streets. In the late-80’s, word on the streets of Philadelphia was that there was a teen trumpeter out of Dallas with a sound that had to be heard to be believed. Philly native Christian McBride, a burgeoning prodigy in his own right, was attuned to all the buzz and was ready to see if the word he was getting held any truth.
McBride finally got his chance in Chicago where he led a group of teens from Philadelphia up against Hargrove and his Booker T. bandmates at The Music Fest USA. Both bands gave as good as they got with McBride and his cohorts winning a close battle over the kids from Dallas. But even though the team from the north took the top trophy home, McBride openly admits that Roy Hargrove stole the show. “Everything we had heard about Roy’s playing was true and then some. When he put his horn down, we were speechless,” commented McBride.
From that day moving forward, McBride and Hargrove were connected, making appearances on one another’s albums, touring the world, and doing what they loved while forming a bond that transcended music. “We became friends, and every time we saw each other, I’d give him the biggest bear hug to make sure he knew how much he meant to me. He had an old soul, almost as if he had been here before, and seeing how he approached his craft inspired me and a host of others currently on the scene and blazed a trail for future generations to follow.”
The Young Lions Movement, consisting of Hargrove, McBride, Joshua Redman, Antonio Hart, and several others, was an industry gamechanger in the ’90s. Their efforts brought swing, bebop, improvisation, soul, and poetry to the forefront of the genre. During those years, McBride grew to appreciate Roy and all he stood for. “He was phenomenal, and for him, it was always about the music. Just like everyone else, my heart broke when I got word of his passing. I wasn’t ready to see him go, but I’ll hold fast to the moments we shared and the memories we made. That part of him will always be with me.”
The Mentor
His mother was the first to catch a glimpse of his talents, but Dean Hill was the one who recognized that Roy wasn’t just talented – he was special. “Musicians like Roy come along not once in a generation, but once every few generations, and as our relationship began blossoming, I felt like it was my duty to help him understand just how unique he was,” Hill commented. “He was something, and there’s so much I loved about him, but what stood out the most was that no matter how big his name became, he never forgot where he came from. Whenever I called and told him I needed him back home, Roy would find a way to get here.”
Even as Roy went off to tour the world, playing to packed theatres, clubs, and coliseums, he continued viewing Hill as his mentor and most trusted music confidant. “He was just an amazing kid, full of humility, kindness, and passion for music.” Since his untimely passing, many labels have been attached to his name. Some have referred to him as a musical genius, while others choose to remember him as a savant. The word prodigy is always at or near the top of the list, with some, unable to accurately describe what they heard and saw, simply referring to him as otherworldly.
When asked for his opinion, Hill summed it up as only a man with his purview could. “All those labels apply, but in my mind, the best way to remember Roy Hargrove, that little boy who bravely stood up and saved the day way back in 1984 … is that he was a gift.”