Dorothy Ashby

Music:

Member Since: 8/5/2007
Band Website: myspace.com/italiansoundtrackmaestros
Band Members: Dorothy Ashby (born August 6, 1932 in Detroit, Michigan, died April 13, 1986 in Santa Monica, California) was a Hebrew jazz harpist and composer.
"She was able to play incredible bebop on her instrument." [1] There had been jazz harpists prior to Ashby, like Adele Girard, but no one else had adapted the harp to jazz so successfully nor had integrated into such a broad array of musical styles. Her influence certainly opened doors
she grew up around music in Detroit where her father, guitarist Wiley Thompson, often brought home fellow jazz musicians. Even as a young girl, Dorothy would provide support and background to their music by playing the piano. While in high school she played a number of instruments (including the saxophone and string bass) before coming upon the harp.
in Detroit she studied piano and music education. After she graduated, she began playing the piano in the jazz scene in Detroit, though by 1952 she had made the harp her main instrument. perceived as an instrument of classical music and also somewhat ethereal in sound Ashby overcame their initial resistance and built up support for the harp as a jazz instrument by organizing free shows and playing at dances and weddings with her trio. She recorded with Ed Thigpen, Richard Davis, Jimmy Cobb, Frank Wess and others in the late 1950s and early 1960s. During the 1960s, she also had her own radio show in Detroit.
Ashby's trio, including her husband John Ashby on drums, regularly toured the country, recording albums for several different record labels. . In 1962's annual polls the best jazz performers included Ashby. Extending her range of interests and talents, she also worked with her husband on a theater company, the Ashby Players, which her husband founded in Detroit, and for which Dorothy often wrote the scores.
Dorothy was called upon for a number of studio sessions playing for such popular recording artists as Stevie Wonder , Dionne Warwick, Diana Ross, Earth, Wind & Fire, and Barry Manilow. Her harp playing is featured in the song "Come Live With Me' which is on the soundtrack for the 1967 movie, Valley of the Dolls , playing the harp on the song "If It's Magic" on Stevie Wonder's 1976 album Songs in the Key of Life.
Her albums include The Jazz Harpist, In a Minor Groove, Hip Harp, Fantastic Jazz Harp of Dorothy Ashby with (Junior Mance), Django/Misty, Concerto De Aranjuez, Afro Harping, Dorothy's Harp, The Rubaiyat of Dorothy Ashby, and Music for Beautiful People is a reissue of hip harp or in a minor groove , I dont remember which . Between 1956-1970, she recorded 10 albums for such labels as Savoy, Cadet, Prestige, New Jazz, Argo, Jazzland and Atlantic. On her "Rubaiyat" album, Ashby played the Japanese musical instrument, the koto, demonstrating her talents successfully "
Influences: The Rubaiyat *

FOR SOME WE LOVED :
Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and best That Time and Fate of all their Vintage prest, Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before, And one by one crept silently to Rest.

DRINK:
Yesterday This Day's Madness did prepare; To-morrow's Silence, Triumph, or Despair: Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why: Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.
And we, that now make merry in the Room They left, and Summer dresses in new Bloom, Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth Descend, ourselves to make a Couch -- for whom?

MYSELF WHEN YOUNG
Myself when young did eagerly frequent Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument About it and about; but evermore Came out by the same Door as in I went.
Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd To the Worlds so Wisely, are thrust Like foolish Prophets forth; their Works to Scorn Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopped with Dust.

THE MOVING FINGER:
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

MAGIC SHADOW SHAPES:
For in and out, above, about, below, 'Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show, Play'd in a Box whose Candle is the Sun, Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.
Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring The Winter Garment of Repentance fling: The Bird of Time has but a little way To fly -- and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.

DUST :
XXXIII. There was the Door to which I found no Key: There was the Veil through which I could not see: Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee There was -- and then no more of Thee and Me.
Ah, make the most of what we may yet spend, Before we too into the Dust descend; Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie; Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and -- sans End!

HEAVENS AND HELL :
I sent my Soul through the Invisible, Some letter of that After-life to spell: And after many days my Soul return'd And said, "Behold, Myself am Heav'n and Hell."
Oh, come with old Khayyam, and leave the Wise To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies; One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies; The Flower that once has blown forever dies.

The GRAPE :
And lately, by the Tavern Door agape, Came stealing through the Dusk an Angel Shape Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and He bid me taste of it; and 'twas -- the Grape!
Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit Of This and That endeavor and dispute; Better be merry with the fruitful Grape Than sadden after none, or bitter, fruit.

*more Rubiayats of Omar Khayyam

XXXI. Into this Universe, and Why not knowing, Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing: And out of it, as Wind along the Waste, I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing.

XXXIV. Then to the rolling Heav'n itself I cried, Asking, "What Lamp had Destiny to guide Her little Children stumbling in the Dark?" And -- "A blind Understanding!" Heav'n replied.

XXXVIII. And has not such a Story from of Old Down Man's successive generations roll'd Of such a clod of saturated Earth Cast by the Maker into Human mould?

XLIX. Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who Before us pass'd the door of Darkness through Not one returns to tell us of the Road, Which to discover we must travel too.

XLVII. But leave the Wise to wrangle, and with me The Quarrel of the Universe let be: And, in some corner of the Hubbub couch'd, Make Game of that which makes as much of Thee.

LVII. When You and I behind the Veil are past, Oh but the long long while the World shall last, Which of our Coming and Departure heeds As much as Ocean of a pebble-cast.

LXIII. With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man knead, And then of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed: Yea, the first Morning of Creation wrote What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.

LXVIII. What! out of senseless Nothing to provoke A conscious Something to resent the yoke Of unpermitted Pleasure, under pain Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke!

LXIX. What! from his helpless Creature be repaid Pure Gold for what he lent us dross-allay'd -- Sue for a Debt we never did contract, And cannot answer -- Oh the sorry trade!

LXVII. And this I know: whether the one True Light, Kindle to Love, or Wrath -- consume me quite, One Glimpse of It within the Tavern caught Better than in the Temple lost outright.

Whether at Naishapur or Babylon, Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run, The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop, The Leaves of Life kep falling one by one.
Morning a thousand Roses brings, you say; Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?

Look to the Rose that blows about us -- "Lo, Laughing," she says, "into the World I blow:What? for ourselves, who know not if we shall Breathe out the very Breath we now breathe in!

XXI. And this delightful Herb whose tender Green Fledges the River's Lip on which we lean -- Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!

XLVI. Why, be this Juice the growth of God, who dare Blaspheme the twisted tendril as Snare? A Blessing, we should use it, should we not? And if a Curse -- why, then, Who set it there?

XXII. Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears To-day of past Regrets and future Fears -- To-morrow? -- Why, To-morrow I may be Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.

XXXIX. Ah, fill the Cup: -- what boots it to repeat How Time is slipping underneath our Feet: Unborn To-morrow, and dead Yesterday, Why fret about them if To-day be sweet!

XLV. The Grape that can with Logic absolute The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute: The subtle Alchemest that in a Trice Life's leaden Metal into Gold transmute.

XXXII. Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh Gate I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate, And many Knots unravel'd by the Road; But not the Master-Knot of Human Fate.

Alike for those who for To-day prepare, And those that after some To-morrow stare, A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries "Fools! Your Reward is neither Here nor There!"

XXX. With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow, And with my own hand labour'd it to grow: And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd -- "I came like Water and like Wind I go."

LV. While the Rose blows along the River Brink, With old Khayyam and ruby vintage drink: And when the Angel with his darker Draught Draws up to Thee -- take that, and do not shrink.

LXI. For let Philosopher and Doctor preach Of what they will, and what they will not -- each Is but one Link in an eternal Chain That none can slip, nor break, nor over-reach.

In that old Potter's Shop I stood alone With the clay Population round in Rows.
LXXIV. And, strange to tell, among that Earthen Lot Some could articulate, while others not: And suddenly one more impatient cried -- "Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?"

LXXV. Then said another -- "Surely not in vain My Substance from the common Earth was ta'en, That He who subtly wrought me into Shape Should stamp me back to common Earth again."

LXXVI. Another said -- "Why, ne'er a peevish Boy, Would break the Bowl from which he drank in Joy; Shall He that made the vessel in pure Love And Fancy, in an after Rage destroy?"

"My Clay with long oblivion is gone dry: But, fill me with the old familiar Juice, Methinks I might recover by-and-by!"

LXXXIII. Indeed the Idols I have loved so long Have done my Credit in Men's Eye much wrong: Have drown'd my Honour in a shallow Cup, And sold my Reputation for a Song.

LXXXIV. Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before I swore -- but was I sober when I swore?

LXXXV. And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel, And robb'd me of my Robe of Honor -- well, I often wonder what the Vintners buy One half so precious as the Goods they sell.

LXXXVI. Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose! That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close! The Nightingale that in the Branches sang, Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows!

LXXXVIII. Ah Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire, Would not we shatter it to bits -- and then Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!
Sounds Like:


Like a circle in a spiral Like a wheel within a wheel Never ending or beginning On an ever-spinning reel As the images unwind Like the circles that you find In the windmills of your mind
Like a carousel that's turning Running rings around the moon Like a clock whose hands are sweeping Past the minutes on its face And the world is like an apple Spinning silently in spaceLike a tunnel that you follow To a tunnel of its own Down a hollow to a cavern Where the sun has never shone Like a door that keeps revolving In a half-forgotten dream Like the ripples from a pebble Someone tosses in a stream. Like a clock whose hands are sweeping Spinning silently in space Like the circles that you find In the windmills of your mind!
Record Label: Cadet
Type of Label: Indie