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The Wall Street Journal
Their Favorite Thing Is Coltrane's Music On Sunday Morning
The Jazz Saxophonist Is a Saint To These Hip Congregants,
Who Worship His Sound
by Wendy Wall
SAN FRANCISCO-Under a giant painting of jazz legend John Coltrane, the band is cooking: Sweat beads on the temples of a dreadlocked drummer, one of the singers closes her eyes as she croons and a soloist clad in black wails on a soprano saxophone.
It is a scene out of any number of jazz joints throughout this city. But this particular boite happens to be St. John's African Orthodox Church or, as it is known to a growing circle of parishioners and fans, the Church of St. John Coltrane.
In this combo, the instrumentalists wear white collars and the singers are Sisters of Compassion. the soloist sports the fuchsia skullcap of a bishop.
Folks here don't just revere the pioneering saxophonist, whom one critic dubbed the "jazz messiah." They have declared Mr. Coltrane a saint.
Heavenly Music
"We call him the "Divine Sound Baptist," says Bishop Franzo King, a former hairdresser who founded the church.
Pictures of the jazz musician and composer clutter the walls of the tine storefront church two blocks off Haight Street. Services often run nearly four hours and consist of a musical liturgy based on the saxophonist's "late period." There are three gospel readings-two from the new Testament and one from the church's patron saint.
To some, Mr. Coltrane seems an unlikely candidate for canonization. The influential jazzman-best known for his energetic solos and wild experimentation with rhythm and chords-was a heroin addict who used alcohol to dull the pain of rotting teeth. A compulsive overeater, he kept two sets of suits: fat and thin. He sometimes fell asleep during concerts and was fired from a band by Miles Davis.
But in 1957, Mr. Coltrane had what he described as "a spiritual awakening." He swore off booze and drugs, and in his final decade composed sprawling pieces infused with religious passion. His conversion wasn't limited to music. The liner notes from the 1964 "A Love Supreme" album, for example contain a prayer by Mr. Coltrane and a letter in which he acknowledges his debt to God. He called the recording "a humble offering to Him. An attempt to say, "THANK YOU GOD."
"That's his Sermon on the Mount," says Sister Mary Deborah, the church's president.
In 1967, the jazzman died of liver cancer. He was 40 years old.
Bishop King first heard Mr. Coltrane play in San Francisco in 1965. The bishop, now 48, calls that concert his "call to God." He bought a saxophone and in 1971 converted a room in his apartment into a chapel and founded the One mind temple Evolutionary Transitional Body of Christ-dedicated to the the man who had inspired his faith. ("Evolution" and "Transition" were taken from two albums he says.)
The next year, on September 23-Mr. Coltrane's birthday-the church moved to its present location. In 1982, it affiliated with a branch of the African Orthodox Church, a black church loosely tied to the Greek and Russian Orthodox religions. The church changed its name and Mr. King was made a bishop. That branch of the African Orthodox Church acknowledges Mr. Coltrane's sainthood.
That isn't as unorthodox as it sounds, says Harvey Cox, a Harvard University theologian. Both the Orthodox and Roman Catholic churches canonize contemporary saints, and
Mr. Coltrane clearly incorporated a spiritual vision into his later work. "In some ways, John Coltrane has as good a claim (to sainthood) as many others," Mr. Cox says, adding: "I should note that I also play sax."
In any case, St. John's success reflects a growing tendency for popular music to supplement-or even supplant-more traditional forms of worship, some experts say. Music and spirituality have always been linked, but only in the past few years have explicitly Christian artists like Amy Grant and Michael W. Smith hit the top of the charts. The Hare Krishnas have a rock band named "Shelter." And some Grateful Dead devotees known as "spinners" try to attain a quasi religious euphoria by imitating whirling dervishes.
"People are looking for a sense of transcendence and connectedness to each other, and music is a natural place for them to find those bonds," says Graeme Boone, a music historian at Harvard.
At St. John's one bright Sunday, it is a full house. While other churches may complain of empty pews, the multiracial crowd at St. John's spills out the door. A couple in tony jackets squeeze onto a bench with youths sporting pierced noses. A young congregant in a tattered T-shirt pulls out his saxophone. A tiny girl in a frilly dress toddles down the aisle, while an elderly woman taps her feet.
"I think Sunday morning at 11 is the most segregated hour in the nation," Bishop King says. Many churches talk "about the fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of man. But on Sunday morning, white folks want to worship with white folks, Chinese want to worship with Chineses and the Africans want to worship with the Africans." Part of the power of Mr. Coltrane's music, Bishop King believes, is its broad appeal.
Max Hummingfish. a young man with blond dreadlocks, gyrates wildly in the aisle as he bangs on a borrowed tambourine. Raised Congregationalist in Long Island, N.Y.,
Mr. Hummingfish now lives in a school bus in the Santa Cruz, Calif., mountains. For the last two years, he has been making the hour long drive to St. John's twice a month to enjoy the music. Kate Griffith, an aspiring jazz singer and lapsed Roman Catholic, visited the church once-and now sings in the choir. "There's just something so magical that goes on here," she says.
Most longtime church members are jazz enthusiasts, but they believe that only
Mr. Coltrane-because of his religious inspiration-merits the status of saint. For years, they wouldn't even speak the saxophonist's name in the same breath with that of other jazz greats like Charlie Parker and Thelonious Monk. Church members even see special significance in Mr. Coltrane's middle name, William, the final three letters of which echo God's words to Moses from the burning bush.
More than an hour into the service, Bishop King rises to deliver the sermon. A wiry man with a quick grin and a sly sense of humor, Bishop King appeals for a return to "old-time religion." He is greeted with "amens" and "hallelujahs."
As the sermon ends, the smell of spaghetti wafts into the sanctuary. Three times a week the church feeds those in need.
The church also promotes its patron saint's music. A church band packs local clubs and gives free music lessons to the poor. St. John's also is host to a radio show featuring Coltrane compositions.
The church's musicians break into an exuberant finale. If people aren't quite dancing in the aisles, they are certainly dancing in the pews. Surveying the crowd, Bishop King grins broadly, raises his saxophone to his lips and "prays."
And what would "St. John" have thought of all this? Pastor John Gensel of St. Peter's Evangelical Lutheran Church in Manhattan, who delivered a eulogy at Mr. Coltrane's funeral, says: "I think he'd have loved it." |
