Rhonda

So I recently interviewed Rhoda Scott for an Oral History project.  After numerous responseless email attempts I decided to call her.  I figured that nobody answers their phones and that I could quickly call her and leave a message.  She picked up on the first ring. 

Caught off guard I introduced myself and told her about the Oral History project. 

“So would you be interested in the project Rhonda?” I said. 

“It’s Rhoda.” she replied, rightfully.

“Oh sorry of course…” I said hoping she wouldn’t hang up on me, “Would you be interested in the project Rhoda”? 

“I would be willing.” she said. 

So obviously we were up to a good start.  I managed to schedule a zoom meeting feeling very intimidated.  What had I gotten myself into?  I didn’t know anything about jazz.  To mitigate my ignorance I spent hours googling her and realized what a big f-in deal she was. 

On the day of the interview I called her beforehand to prep.  I let her know that the zoom meeting would cut off after 40 minutes but that we could continue with a new link. 

“Or maybe we can keep it under 40 minutes.” she replied.   

Yes of course.

Just stick to the questions, I said to myself before the call, and don’t, I repeat, don’t call her Rhonda. It’s Rhoda. Rho-da. Rho-da. Rho-da.

I repeated her name in my head as I connected until the screen pulled up and there she was, sitting in what appears to be her kitchen, waiting expectantly.  

She was lovely.  This amazing woman that came to France on the SS France in ‘68. A woman that, as a jazz icon, questions what is jazz, and in her 70s got a masters in jazz history to find out. 

"The final outcome is that jazz is like different families. Because you have a lot of different styles of jazz, but you have to accept the families of jazz because you cannot say, this is not jazz. This is not jazz because improvisation is considered the main point of jazz.".  

After having spoken with her I think Rhoda is jazz itself.  Undefineable, improvising along the way, resulting in something beautiful that unfolds.  

Oh yes and if you’re wondering I did accidently call her Rhonda, but just once, towards the end. 

Damn it.