What Happened, Miss Simone?

by Alan Light

  When Nina would get upset, she would disappear to her “treehouse”—the apartment over the garage that was fully equipped with a bathroom, kitchen, telephone—and stay there, sometimes for several days. Other times, she would just get in her car and vanish.

  Lisa claimed that she was stunned when she read the accounts of her father’s abuse in Nina’s diaries, but in retrospect she could summon up certain troubling moments from her youth. “I remember sitting in the car with them one day,” she said. “At that time, the cars had one long seat—you had the driver, and the middle, and then the other passenger, and you didn’t have to wear your seat belts and the whole nine. I was sitting in between them and they were arguing about something, and I remember my father reaching across me and backhanding her.”

  The frequency of physical violence is difficult to assess, since neither party was entirely forthright, but tensions were definitely rising on all sides. A note from Simone to Stroud, written on a record sleeve and dated December 1966, indicates a growing strain between her husband and Lisa, which she attributed to his unresolved feelings about his late daughter from a previous relationship.

  Andrew—Again I say, “you have Lisa, now” Celeste is dead”! I’m fully aware that you put on quite a show of loving Lisa by fighting with her all the time under the disguise that she’ll know how to defend herself but it’s a lie. You don’t love her at all (though she’s prettier, smarter than your original Celeste) she tries to reach you, but all you do is fight. (you don’t fool a fucking soul Baby—) I let you believe that you fool me cause I’d do anything to please you, but honey, I’m just what you always thought I was—I don’t miss nothing (and don’t forget it) I love you—but you make me sick cause you’re dead: and you have the nerve to be egotistic about it. you don’t even love me—(you worship me but that’s a far cry from love motherfucker. Lisa loves you, but just like I can’t get over Edney, you can’t get over Celeste well, you better it’s december 1966—this is it. your daughter knows everything. you better start loving her to you’ll get your ass read like you never imagined one day (not from me but from her and your Boys, baby!

  The harshness of that message may have also reflected her mounting professional pressures. A story in Sepia magazine asserted that “Nina Simone has exploded into national prominence with all the force of a super musical bomb.” Next up was a major national tour opening for Bill Cosby—once a comrade in the Greenwich Village club circuit, he was now one of the country’s most popular comedians.

  Simone was feeling exhausted and disoriented before the shows even started. Still, she was able to pull it together enough to get things rolling on the road, and the tour seemed to be going well. Simone’s sets were being warmly received, and she and Cosby were getting along.

  The final stop was Baltimore, in February of 1967. Before each show, Nina would typically get dressed at the hotel and then go directly onstage when she arrived at the venue. On the night of one of her last performances, Andy came to the hotel to get her and found her behaving erratically.

  Most alarming, Nina was putting shoe polish in her hair. When he asked her what was going on, she replied in gibberish. Further efforts to get her to explain her actions led nowhere, so he decided to let it slide and see what happened. “I wasn’t going to interfere,” he said. “If that’s what she wanted in her hair, that’s her thing.”

  “My husband discovered me putting makeup in my hair, and I kept saying that I wanted to be the same color all over,” said Nina. “I said, ‘I’m very tired and you’re not my husband, and we’re going to fly away, we’re going to go home to heaven and you had better do what I tell you to do.’ I could see through his skin. I actually could see it. I was too tired, so I kind of left here. He said, ‘Do you want to finish the tour?’ I said, ‘Yeah, don’t tell Bill that I’m this way.’

  “I went a little crazy. I had visions of me walking on the edge of a laser beam, and I thought that Andrew was my nephew.”

  Taking her word that she wanted to go ahead with the concert, Stroud took Nina to the theater, holding her by the arm. She was, he said, still “partly incoherent,” but she insisted that the show go on. When she was up, he walked her onto the stage and took a position directly in front of her in the wings. He signaled from backstage for her to start playing; she made it through her set.

  He thought she was having a nervous breakdown. The Stroud family was supposed to go to Hawaii for a two-week vacation after the Cosby tour, but Stroud called and canceled all the reservations, insisting that Nina stay home and rest. When she got back to Mount Vernon, she slept for three straight days.

  Despite the harrowing experience of watching his wife unravel, at the time Stroud chalked it up as an isolated incident brought on by the vigorous performing schedule and, presumably, exacerbated by the passion and intensity she delivered onstage. “After a few days’ rest, she was okay,” he said. “She was normal. There was no further thought given to the matter.” In retrospect, he realized that it was a defining moment in her emotional condition.

  While nothing else may have happened immediately, this frightening episode would prove to be the beginning, rather than the end, of Simone’s more public battles with stress. The incident was a turning point in her history—the most obvious manifestation yet of problems that were very serious. A retreat to her bed was a sufficient solution for now, but keeping Simone in condition to perform would gradually come to dominate her life and the lives of those around her.

  Nina showed an early aptitude for music—she was discovered at the age of six while playing church music in a local theater. Michael Ochs Archives/Getty

  Born Eunice Waymon, she changed her name to Nina Simone when she started playing nightclubs in Atlantic City, knowing that her mother (a preacher) would disapprove. Herb Snitzer

  Nina was blessed with perfect pitch. She understood that she had a gift to share with the world. Herb Snitzer

  Nina was highly style conscious and had her own distinctive fashion sense—a perfect blend of elegant sophistication and black pride. Courtesy of the Estate of Alfred Wertheimer

  Nina’s home in Mount Vernon, New York, where she and husband Andrew Stroud entertained luminaries like Ossie Davis and Ruby Dee, Harry Belafonte, and Sidney Poitier. Courtesy of the Estate of Alfred Wertheimer

  Lisa Simone, age two, at the piano. Nina always had music playing in her home growing up and continued the tradition with her own family. Courtesy of the Estate of Alfred Wertheimer

  Nina in a contemplative moment on the road. Bernard Gotfryd/Courtesy of Lisa Simone Kelly

  Trained as a classical pianist, Nina taught herself to incorporate multiple, independent music lines into one improvisation that blended everything from Bach to pop. Courtesy of the Estate of Alfred Wertheimer

  Nina with her dear friend James Baldwin. Bernard Gotfryd/Courtesy of Lisa Simone Kelly

  Nina’s new Afro coincided with her increasing interest in black pride and a commitment to using her talent in the fight for racial equality. Jack Robinson/Getty

  Nina loved to look theatrical when she went on stage; she often had sequins glued to her eyebrows and eyelids for her performances. Courtesy of the Estate of Alfred Wertheimer

  Nina pointing to her name on the marquee at the Luxor Theatre in Arnhem, the Netherlands. Gerrit De Bruin

  With Andrew in their hotel room on the road. He became her manager in 1962 and helped her realize her dream of playing Carnegie Hall the following year. Courtesy of the Estate of Alfred Wertheimer

  Nina greeting fans after a show; she often complained that Andrew worked her too hard. Bernard Gotfryd/Courtesy of Lisa Simone Kelly

  Nina reviewing her set list before her Carnegie Hall appearance. She was the first black female soloist to appear at the legendary theater. Courtesy of the Estate of Alfred Wertheimer

  She played eighteen pieces, an eclectic set list ranging from an Israeli folk tune to a Leadbelly song. Courtesy of the Estate of Alfred Wertheimer

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sp; Nina was aware of her power as a performer—she described it as “mass hypnosis…a spell that you cast.” Bernard Gotfryd/Courtesy of Lisa Simone Kelly

  Released in 1963, Nina Simone at Carnegie Hall was an artistic triumph and became one of her signature albums. Courtesy of the Estate of Alfred Wertheimer

  After a trip to Africa, Nina developed a deep love for the continent’s people and culture; this affection inspired the many African gowns she commissioned upon her return. David Redfern/Getty

  A disciplined perfectionist who was finely attuned to her audiences, Nina often paced the theater before performances to get a sense of its sound. Guy Le Querrec/Magnum Photos

  Nina posing for a photograph in 1978. John Minihan/Getty

  Nina on a European tour in 1978. Facing tax evasion charges in the States and bitter about the rampant racism there, she moved to France that same year. Gerrit De Bruin

  Nina sometimes found the constant touring physically draining and mentally punishing, but she continued to perform until the very end of her life. Courtesy of the Estate of Alfred Wertheimer

  Tel Aviv, 1978. Nina spent many of her later years abroad; while she traveled extensively through Europe and the Middle East, she felt most at home in Africa. Upon her death, she asked that her ashes be scattered across several countries there. AP Photo/Max Nash

  London, 1997, enjoying her final act as an international icon. Bernard Gotfryd/Courtesy of Lisa Simone Kelly

  Nina in 1990 with a triumphant fist raised on stage. “An artist’s duty, as far as I’m concerned, is to reflect the times,” she said. David Redfern/Getty

  CHAPTER 9

  I’ve had a couple of times onstage when I really felt free, and that’s something else. I’ll tell you what freedom is to me—no fear. I mean really, no fear.

  After releasing eight albums in just over three years with Philips, Simone signed with a bigger label, RCA Victor. The title for her final record with Philips was inspired by the regal nickname that had been bestowed upon her, High Priestess of Soul. It wasn’t quite as successful as her last few releases—it peaked at number 29 on the black albums chart—but her reputation was still growing.

  Whether her sound was already changing when she switched labels or whether working with new people shifted her music’s direction isn’t entirely clear, but the timing of the RCA deal aligned closely with a new phase in Nina’s music. “If you compare the Philips records and the RCA records, they’re completely different,” said close friend Gerrit De Bruin. “The Philips Nina is a wonderful, mellow girl, and beautiful arrangements in the music. RCA, that’s a woman, a bit angry. Philips was very sophisticated, and RCA was more raw, more bluesy….Nina’s problems became more apparent, and that also changed her music. In the Philips time, she said, ‘Hopefully, time will change things.’ In the RCA time, she said, ‘Wrong. I should kill to stop this.’ She got hard and harsh, a fighting woman.”

  Given her ambivalence about the genre, it’s notable that her first album for RCA was titled Nina Simone Sings the Blues. Less surprising, though, is that the record took a more expansive view of the sound and scope of the style; the musicians were not standard blues players but jazz- and soul-based session musicians like guitarist Eric Gale and master drummer Bernard Purdie. The moments when they took a conventional approach were the least satisfying. But the more stripped-down arrangements resulted in some of her greatest recordings.

  The set encompassed blues history: a sensual, unforgettable version of Bessie Smith’s “I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl,” a spare and languid reading of “My Man’s Gone Now” (from Porgy and Bess), a barrelhouse-style rerecording of “House of the Rising Sun,” even a new song called “Backlash Blues,” which bore the remarkable writing credit “Langston Hughes / Nina Simone.”

  “They are songs of the soil, of the people and their troubles,” wrote DJ Sid McCoy in the album’s liner notes. “What we have here is an acceptable artist really giving it to us about the most unacceptable pangs of life.” White rock-and-rollers had brought the blues to a new generation, but for black listeners the form was often a reminder of a past they wanted to escape. Simone’s approach personalized the blues, retaining the fundamental human truths of the songs while transforming them beyond old-fashioned period pieces.

  Despite the breakdown in Baltimore, after a brief pause the touring rolled on. In April, Simone returned to Europe for shows in England, France, and the Netherlands, including some dates opening for comedian Dick Gregory. The size of the crowd varied wildly. In Bristol the bill sold only thirty tickets, but in London they were a sensation.

  “I remember Royal Albert Hall, they was in the street lined up,” said Gregory. “Sold that house every night. But I never heard her ’cause she was opening. I knew that she was the buzz in my neighborhood, with the people I hung out with. They’d memorize her songs. The white folks that was coming, they understood what she was talking about. And I know them jazz musicians couldn’t wait to get offstage so they could put their horn down and come and listen to her—this woman with no sugar in it, just, here it is.”

  In Europe, Simone had also met someone who would prove to be critically important to her several decades down the line. Prior to her performance at the Concertgebouw in Amsterdam, Al Schackman was greeted at the stage door by a young man who offered to help carry his guitar and amp. Assuming he was part of the crew, Schackman handed over his gear. Backstage security, in turn, thought he was with Simone’s entourage and waved them through, but as soon as they got inside and heard Simone warming up on the piano onstage, the stranger handed Schackman his equipment back and ran inside the theater. Gerrit De Bruin had devised a clever way to sneak into the sold-out concert.

  “I climbed up the stage, and I said, ‘Miss Simone, my name is Herr De Bruin and I’m your biggest fan in Holland,’ ” he said. “And she looked at me and said, ‘Well, since you’re my biggest fan in this country, I might as well get you a chair.’ She yelled for somebody to bring a chair, and she asked me, ‘What can I play for you?’ And I said, I like the song ‘Just in Time,’ but she said, ‘No, that I’m gonna do in the concert.’ So she played for about ten minutes, and then we had to go offstage because people were coming in.”

  Andy Stroud passed along an invitation from Nina to join the after-show party at the Hilton Hotel. After she returned to the States, she and De Bruin began corresponding and soon became fast friends.

  Simone spent much of the summer in America playing the newly thriving circuit of jazz festivals (in Austin, Cincinnati, Detroit, and of course returning to Newport). She went back to a familiar base in October for a two-week stand at the Village Gate, though this time she clashed with the club’s audience. In Atlanta, she was named “Female Jazz Singer of the Year” at the annual convention of NATRA (the National Association of Television and Radio Announcers). Despite the new record deal and steady work, though, she continued to express dissatisfaction with her own celebrity, looking for more respect—and more cash.

  “My music, I feel, is the same as it’s always been,” she told Sid Mark, her old friend who had initially broken the “I Loves You, Porgy” single, in 1967. “I work on emotion. Each tune, no matter how many times I do it, it’s different, and I trust that instinct that lets me go where I go with the tune. But I have not gotten the kind of recognition that I think I deserve, and I certainly have not gotten the money. I’m waiting for a feeling that I have been recognized and accepted. And when that happens, I feel that I can do the kind of music that ordinarily people don’t listen to.”

  Her next album—her third of the year, called Silk & Soul—mostly stayed away from pushing things too far forward musically or politically. As the title indicated, it was a smoother ride, with more focus on love songs and sweeping string arrangements. The material ranged from songs by Andrew Stroud and her brother Sam Waymon to Burt Bacharach and Hal David’s “The Look of Love.”

  The songs that did advance her agenda, like Martha Holmes’s ambitious “T
urning Point,” which addressed the origins of racism through the story of the burgeoning friendship of two young girls, felt out of place, awkwardly earnest in the album’s lush musical settings. And, despite the softer rhetoric, Silk & Soul wasn’t quite the commercial success RCA had hoped for; it reached number 24 on the black charts, a few ticks higher than Simone’s last few albums, but not a significant climb.

  But there was at least one song on the album that would become part of Nina Simone’s legacy—her version of jazz pianist and educator Dr. Billy Taylor’s “I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel to Be Free.” Once again, the contrast between the emotion of the lyrics (“I wish I could share all the love that’s in my heart / Remove all the bars that keep us apart”) and the song’s swinging melody and arrangement added depth and power to the performance. She understood the impact of this tension: the upbeat, finger-popping, gospel-based sound rang out as a hopeful but realistic vision of emancipation, offsetting the more somber tone of the piece’s words. The song quickly became a civil rights anthem, a standard that would be recorded dozens of times by other artists in the years to come.