For 25 years, the multi-talented Marcus Shelby — bass player, bandleader, teacher, composer, and arranger — has forged art from jazz and history, often in multilayered suites that invoke the compositions of his hero, Duke Ellington, and take inspiration from African-American people and stories: Harriet Tubman, Martin Luther King, Jr., Negro Leagues baseball and the Port Chicago naval disaster and protest during World War II. He recently began a project based on San Francisco’s homeless.
Like all San Franciscans, the 54-year-old Shelby has been forced to drastically change his life during the coronavirus pandemic, and like all artists who depend on performances, his livelihood is in limbo.
I caught up with him and asked about the impact of the pandemic on his life, career, and the San Francisco arts scene. This Q&A has been edited and condensed from two conversations.
Lily O’Brien: How has your life changed as a result of the pandemic?
Marcus Shelby: When it first happened I thought, “Three weeks, and we’ll be back.” Then about a week ago, I thought, “Okay, this is going to be probably three or four months of shutdown.”
I’ve been doing music professionally for 30 years nonstop, and I don’t think I’ve ever shut down. The only vacation I take every year is to see the Giants’ spring training. So I’m really appreciative, in a way. I’m going to take advantage and relax and read. I’ve been reorganizing and catching up on old baseball games. Because at some point, everyone’s going to have to jump back on the treadmill.
Sounds like you are not too worried personally.
I’m worried, but I’m also practical. I have some things in place and a very strong family network. I have two kids, so a large part of my activities are occupied by home-schooling — monitoring homework like a full-time tutor, and just passing the time with them. They are 10 and 17 and they live nearby.
How are you going to get through this financially?
I’ll be creative like everybody else. Right now, I have a lot of financial needs, including children, so I’ve had to diversify my income stream, and live performances may only be one-third. I also teach, and a lot of that can go online, and I am very lucky and thankful that I have a number of commissions.
Is one of those commissions the homeless project?
I have begun the research stage of the work, which I’m doing with Joanna Haigood, the great choreographer. We find out if we get a big grant in June. I like to spend a year to a year-and-a-half reading and meeting people who can address an issue from scholarship or from real-life experience. The next phase will be conferences and meetings, then trying to create music that pushes a lot of these issues to the surface through songs, and with Joanna through movement.
What about emergency grants? Do you know about the SF Arts & Artists Relief Fund?
I can’t apply for it because I’m a city arts commissioner. I am not eligible for any money that comes from the city, and it should be that way, even in this unprecedented time. I’ll be creative like everybody else.
A lot of people need to write about this. When you’re a creator, you need inspiration, and this is life and death — this is unprecedented. But I need time for reflection.
I think everyone’s pretty much in the same boat, whether you’re an independent artist or you work for a company. The only difference is, independent artist incomes have been completely cut off. You see this outburst online — live performances and people tipping through apps. I don’t know how well musicians are doing, but they’re being creative, they’re promoting, they’re finding the best ways to record, and they’re doing what they would do if it was a live performance.
We are all kind of holding hands and being hopeful that once this is over, organizations, institutions, local governments, and funders will help us put our lives and our employment back together, however that may look in the new world.
What other positive things have you seen?
I think everybody is using this moment in a different way. When everybody feels collective uncertainty about life and death, it brings out a humanitarian spirit. I see more people in my neighborhood working out, jogging, and walking dogs, and there’s a nod, and a smile, and it’s genuine. And there’s that instant of, “I don’t care who you are or who you voted for — in this moment, you’re my friend.”
Are you planning to do any projects virtually?
I’ve been teaching at Stanford, and we moved our live classes online. They just asked me to do ensemble classes [where everyone plays music together], but I don’t know if this technology allows for it to be synced, so it might have to be just lectures.
At the Community Music Center I have a teenage big band program with 20 kids, and I’ve been giving them weekly work online. Initially, I gave them videos to watch and to respond to, more of an intellectual journey with the music we’re playing, giving them a little bit more knowledge about Duke Ellington, or any of the masters that we might be studying. I know every kid in the class and where they are, so I’ve been able to tailor these individual curriculums.
Do you think performance venues will survive?
SFJAZZ just cancelled their spring season, but they have money from other sources, so they’re going to be fine. But I don’t know how a lot of the smaller live clubs are going to start back up without government support.
You have written many pieces about history. Do you think you’ll eventually compose a piece about this?
I don’t see myself needing to write about it. But I think a lot of people are — I have a friend who has already recorded an album about it — and I don’t blame them. When you’re a creator, you need inspiration, and this is life and death — this is unprecedented. But for me, I need time for reflection.
