jazz

Meshell Ndegeocello Recast Fifteen Duets as Same-Gender Pairs

Islands in the Stream was written by the Bee Gees and recorded by Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton. On Synonym it is sung by Meshell Ndegeocello and Chaka Khan. I Got You Babe belonged to Sonny and Cher; here it goes to Ndegeocello and ANOHNI. Golden Ring, a George Jones and Tammy Wynette record about a wedding ring passing between owners, is handled with Brandi Carlile.

The rule holds across all fifteen tracks. Every duet on the album is performed by two people who identify as the same gender, and the songs were chosen from a canon that almost entirely assumes otherwise. Ndegeocello’s third Blue Note album arrives on 2 October 2026, and that single constraint is the whole design.

Why the Album Is Called Synonym

She has been direct about what the title means. “This project is an expression of queer liberation as a synonym for liberation of all kinds,” she has said, and the record is built to demonstrate the point rather than argue it.

A duet is one of the few song forms with gender written into its architecture. The call and response, the harmony parts, the narrative of who is asking and who is answering were all arranged around an assumption. Removing the assumption and changing nothing else is a cleaner experiment than writing new songs would have been, because the listener already knows what these records are supposed to sound like.

Fifteen Songs From Four Decades

The source material runs from the 1960s to the early 2000s and refuses to sit in one genre. I Knew You Were Waiting (For Me), the George Michael and Aretha Franklin record, opens the album with Cynthia Erivo. Don’t You Want Me, the Human League’s, goes to Cat Power. It Ain’t Me Babe, Bob Dylan’s, is taken with Madison Cunningham, and With God On Our Side, also Dylan, closes the album with Bill Callahan and Chris Thile.

Elsewhere the list reaches into R&B and hip-hop: Don’t Stop The Music with Nick Hakim and Robert Glasper, Always on Time with Laura Lee of Khruangbin, Don’t Look Any Further with Lianne La Havas, The Closer I Get To You with Destin Conrad and Moses Sumney. Be Real Black For Me, the Roberta Flack and Donny Hathaway song, is sung with Emily King and Lizz Wright. Hunger Strike, the Temple of the Dog track, goes to WILLOW.

Nineteen guests is a large number for a record with any coherence, and the spread of idioms is deliberate. Ndegeocello has described the songs as diverse in tone and representative of various genres, and the effect is to show that the constraint is not a genre trick. It works the same way on a country weeper as on a synth-pop single.

The Producer Who Made Her First Two Records

David Gamson co-produces alongside Ndegeocello and Abe Rounds. Gamson produced Plantation Lullabies in 1993 and Peace Beyond Passion in 1996, which makes this a working relationship resumed after roughly thirty years.

That is a pointed choice given the subject. Plantation Lullabies was noted at the time for presenting a distinctly androgynous persona, and it was one of the first releases on Maverick Records. Returning to the producer of that record to make an album about who is allowed to sing to whom closes a loop that has been open most of her career.

Players Rather Than Features

The instrumental credits explain why this reads as a Blue Note album rather than a covers project. Abe Rounds and Deantoni Parks share the drums. Chris Bruce plays guitar. Jake Sherman, Jebin Bruni and Larry Goldings handle keyboards. Josh Johnson and Levon Henry play saxophone, Elena Pinderhughes plays flute, and Bela Fleck plays banjo.

Goldings, Johnson and Pinderhughes are serious jazz musicians, and Fleck’s banjo on a record containing Dolly Parton and George Jones songs is a straight-faced instrumentation decision rather than a joke. The band is fixed and rotating rather than assembled per guest, which keeps fifteen different vocal pairings sounding like one album.

Ndegeocello has framed her own role in production terms, saying she wanted to do more collective music and to show what she can do as a producer. For an artist whose reputation was built on bass playing and songwriting, that is a real repositioning.

Two Grammys in Two Years

She has thirteen Grammy nominations and three wins. The first came for Best R&B Song, for Better Than I Imagined. The other two are consecutive awards for Best Alternative Jazz Album, for The Omnichord Real Book and then No More Water: The Gospel of James Baldwin, which were her first two Blue Note releases.

Those were also the first Grammys to honour her own albums across a recording career of more than thirty years, which is a strange fact about an artist widely credited with helping to spark neo-soul. Winning the same category twice running, immediately after signing to a jazz label in her mid-fifties, describes a late-career surge rather than a legacy lap.

Go-Go Bands in Washington

She was born Michelle Lynn Johnson in Berlin in 1968 and learned to play in Washington, D.C. in the late 1980s, working with go-go bands including Prophecy, Little Benny and the Masters, and Rare Essence. The surname she adopted means free like a bird in Swahili.

Go-go is relevant to what she does now. It is a live, percussive, call-and-response idiom built on continuous grooves and audience exchange, and the habit of treating a song as something two parties do to each other rather than a fixed text runs directly into an album made of duets.

The label history since then reads like a map of an artist nobody could file: Maverick and Reprise, then Shanachie, EmArcy, Decca, Mercer Street, Naïve, and finally Blue Note in 2023. Seven labels across three decades usually indicates a commercial problem. In this case it tracks a musician who moved between R&B, rock, spoken word, covers projects and jazz faster than any single roster could follow, and the Blue Note run is the first time the catalogue and the label have been pointed the same way.

The Argument Underneath

Her other stated position on the project is disarmingly plain: whatever the differences between people, what they want underneath is much the same, and she has named healthy food and a safe place as the example. That is a modest claim to hang a fifteen-track album on, and the modesty is the point.

She has also said she is not defining anything, because the absence of definition is where she feels most free. A record that reassigns famous duets without rewriting a word is exactly that principle applied to material rather than to identity. Nothing is explained; the pairings simply happen and the songs turn out to work.

What Follows

She plays the Blue Note Jazz Club in New York on 18, 19 and 20 September 2026 in a trio configuration with Chris Dave and Eric Gales, ahead of the album’s arrival at the start of October.

A run of small-room dates before a guest-heavy studio release is the right sequencing for what this is, because the album’s argument is finally about performance rather than production. It sits alongside Immanuel Wilkins recording three albums across two nights at the Village Vanguard as evidence of what Blue Note is currently doing, which is signing musicians with a formal idea and then letting them execute it at length.

Immanuel Wilkins Made Three Albums in Two Nights at the Vanguard

On the evening of 15 May 2025, four musicians carried their instruments down the stairs into a basement room on Seventh Avenue South that holds about 130 people. They played there that night and again the next. Between the two evenings they recorded thirteen pieces of music, and rather than choose among them, Blue Note put out all thirteen across three separate volumes.

That decision is the story here. A live album is normally an act of compression: you play a run of nights, you take the best version of each tune, and you assemble a single record that sounds like one great evening. Immanuel Wilkins Quartet: Live at the Village Vanguard refuses that. Vol. 1 arrived on 20 March on vinyl, CD and digital, Vol. 2 on 17 April and Vol. 3 on 15 May, the last two digital only. Almost nothing was left out.

Two Nights, Thirteen Tracks

The maths explains part of it. These performances stretch. One piece on the first volume runs eighteen minutes, and it is not an outlier so much as a statement of how the group works. Four tracks fill Vol. 1, five fill Vol. 2 and four fill Vol. 3. Compress that into a single seventy-minute record and you would be cutting roughly two thirds of what happened in the room.

The sequencing across the volumes is deliberate rather than chronological tidying. Vol. 1 opens with Warriors, moves through Composition II and the Alice Coltrane cover Charanam, and closes on Eternal. Vol. 2 gathers The Big Country, Waiting Pt. 1, Citrine, Grace and Mercy and Go ‘Head Get Down. Vol. 3 holds Ring Shout, Composition IX, Dolla$ and Put 100 on the Blue Chain. Each set has its own arc.

The titles carry their own logic across the three records. Ring Shout, which opens Vol. 3, names a ritual form that predates jazz entirely, a circle dance from the Black American church built on shuffling feet and call-and-response. Grace and Mercy and Go ‘Head Get Down point the same way. Set against those are Composition II and Composition IX, deliberately plain labels for the most formally constructed pieces here. The pairing of devotional language with numbered exercises is not accidental, and it maps closely onto how the music actually behaves.

The Room Is Part of the Instrument

The Village Vanguard has been recorded so many times that its sound is itself a reference point, a slightly boxy warmth with the audience close enough to hear. Sonny Rollins, John Coltrane and Bill Evans all made records there that people still study. Playing a first live album in that room is a decision about lineage as much as acoustics.

Tina M. Campt, who wrote the liner notes, framed the project as an attempt to summon the room’s own recorded history and make it audible again. That is a fair description of what these performances do. The quartet is not imitating anyone who played there before, but the room keeps supplying the context, and the group plays into it rather than around it.

There is a practical dimension too. The Vanguard is small and its stage is shallow, so a quartet stands close enough to hear each other without monitoring. Groups that play there often describe it as the easiest room in New York to listen in, which matters enormously for music built on reacting rather than executing. Much of what sounds telepathic on these recordings is really just four people who can hear every detail of what the others are doing.

What Wilkins Means by Practice

Wilkins has described these sessions as practice, and he defines the word in a specific way: “working things out without a certain set of key variables; a refusal of the conditions expected of your production.” That is a working method, not modesty. It explains why passages are allowed to run past the point where a studio take would be cut, and why the group is comfortable letting an idea fail in public.

It also explains the three-volume structure better than the running times do. If the sessions are practice, then editing them into a highlights record would misrepresent what happened. Releasing everything keeps the searching in, including the parts that do not resolve.

The Alice Coltrane Cover at the Centre

Charanam is the only piece on Vol. 1 that Wilkins did not write. It comes from Alice Coltrane’s Turiya Sings, and its roots are in kirtan, the devotional practice built on call-and-response chanting. That structure survives the translation to a jazz quartet: the music moves in circles, with rhythmic repetitions gathering around Kweku Sumbry’s beat and Micah Thomas’s wide chords.

Over that, Glide Magazine noted Wilkins using a fluttering technique more commonly heard from trumpet players than saxophonists, alongside the spiralling solo lines that have become his signature. Choosing Alice Coltrane rather than a standard says something too. It places the record in a devotional tradition rather than a repertory one.

Where the Length Becomes the Argument

Not everything lands, and the reviews have been honest about it. Eternal builds on an eleven-note phrase that recurs for thirteen of its eighteen minutes, descending in volume over a two-chord bed. Glide found it ponderous, and suggested that what works as hypnosis in a room does not necessarily survive the trip to a recording.

That is a real limitation of documenting practice rather than editing it. But the same approach produces Composition II, modelled on Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier and played with deliberate restraint: Ryoma Takenaga’s bass handled gently, Wilkins in a clear and unhurried tone, Thomas accompanying rather than filling. The record asks for attention and rewards it unevenly, which is what a real night in a club is like.

The Quartet Doing the Work

Micah Thomas has his own trio and three solo piano albums, and his playing here moves between wide harmonic support and near-silence depending on what the piece needs. Sumbry’s drumming is the engine on the faster material, kinetic without crowding. Takenaga anchors the quieter passages, which on this record is the harder job.

Wilkins came to the instrument through a community church in Upper Darby, Pennsylvania, then the Clef Club of Jazz and Performing Arts in Philadelphia, then Juilliard, where he studied with Bruce Williams, Steve Wilson and Joe Temperley. He is not yet thirty. This is his sixth album for Blue Note, after Omega in 2020, The 7th Hand in 2022 and Blues Blood, which earned him a Grammy nomination for Best Alternative Jazz Album.

He has also spent a substantial part of his twenties as a sideman, and the list is a good map of where contemporary jazz has been concentrated: four albums with the vibraphonist Joel Ross, two with the drummer Johnathan Blake, sessions with Kenny Barron, James Francies and Orrin Evans. That volume of collaborative work is audible in how he leads. He does not play like a soloist with a rhythm section behind him, which is the default shape for a saxophone-led quartet, and the long pieces here only function because the other three are given room to determine where things go.

Why the Label Backed the Long Version

Don Was, who runs Blue Note, has said that like Coltrane, people will be listening to Immanuel Wilkins sixty years from now. Labels say things about their artists, but the release strategy is the more reliable signal: issuing three volumes of long-form live improvisation, two of them digital only, is not a commercial play. It is an archival one.

It also fits where instrumental music has been heading. The most interesting records in this space keep refusing the shapes that streaming rewards, in the same way Nala Sinephro built a film score that declines to behave like one. Wilkins had two nights in a small basement room and thirteen pieces of music. Rather than decide which four mattered most, he let all of them stand.