KCRW’s acclaimed music documentary podcast, Lost Notes, returns for its fourth season. Co-hosts Novena Carmel (KCRW) and Michael Barnes (KCRW / KPFK / Artform Radio) guide you through eight wildly different and deeply human stories, each set against the kaleidoscopic backdrop of LA’s soul and R&B scene of the 1950s-1970s. Support KCRW’s original programming like Lost Notes by donating or becoming a member.
In our last episode, Lost Notes examined the legacy of Reggie Andrews, a world-class musician, producer, and mentor who changed the lives of countless young musicians in South LA.
This week, we bring you conversations with two people who were part of Reggie’s innermost circle.
Nia Andrews is an extraordinary and multifaceted musician, songwriter, and vocalist. The fifth of Reggie Andrews’ six children, she attended Locke High and played alongside Kamasi Washington, Thundercat, Ronald Bruner Jr., and others as part of the Multi-School Jazz Band. In this interview, Andrews talks about growing up as Reggie’s musical daughter and her deeply personal journey to find her own identity as an artist.
Terrace Martin is a multi-instrumentalist, arranger, and producer who has worked closely with everyone from Snoop Dogg to Stevie Wonder. In this interview, Martin discusses his fateful meeting with Reggie at a crossroads in his life, and the transformative nature of Reggie’s (literally) life-saving mentorship.
NOTE: These interviews were originally taped as part of the Lost Notes team’s background research and production process, and were not initially intended for distribution. However, we felt they were so powerful that Andrews and Martin deserved to be heard in their own words. Transcripts have been lightly edited for clarity.
Nia and Reggie Andrews in 2005. Photo courtesy Nia Andrews.
NIA ANDREWS: Singer, songwriter, musician. Daughter of Reggie Andrews
Myke Dodge Weiskopf
Nia, you're the fifth of Reggie's six children, but you once described yourself as his "angsty middle child." What do you mean by that?
Nia Andrews
In my family, we have a good sense of humor about the middle child role. Now, to be fair, [Reggie] raised six daughters ... but of his Andrews girls, I'm the middle one. And there's something about the firstborn that's just so, like, "Oh, now I'm a father. Now we're a unit. This is bringing this unit together." And there's something about the baby that's like, "Oh, the baby." But the middle child is such a sophomoric place. You're not new, you're not old, you're just kind of weirdly in-between. And I'm definitely one of the more outspoken and passionate ones, and the only musically inclined one, I guess, of his daughters. So we butted heads a lot, because when I looked just like him, and we had just a common affinity. So with the middle child role, and our shared interest and our similarities, it was like an angsty kind of relationship.
Myke Dodge Weiskopf
And did that persist throughout your life in different ways?
Nia Andrews
Yeah, forever. [Laughs] Listen, we had a really great shared language. We had a great shorthand. But, like anyone that you perceive yourself to mirror you -- this is what he would say, what I would find out about from his students, which would be mortifying as a teenager. I'm the only one of his daughters that went to the high school he taught at. Because I was such a fan, I wanted to follow him everywhere. So I'm like, "I'm going to Locke!" And most of us grew up at Locke High School, just always being there. But I wanted to be a Locke Saint, a student there. And so I would find out, at nutrition or lunch, some random person I barely know is like, "Yeah, your dad was telling us how you're just alike," and I'm like, "What is this?!" So I found out that he really, through others and then eventually from him, that he saw so much of himself in me. And anyone you're really similar to, you can lock horns at times.
Myke Dodge Weiskopf
There's so much in what you just said about being the only daughter of his that went to Locke, wanting to follow in his footsteps ... and also him, in a way, validating that, in the things that he would say about you to his other students. But in Reggie's memorial service, you used a really interesting word: you said that he "shielded" you from his mentorship. And that is such a specific word. And it sounds like there was this dynamic where you were really craving this mentorship from him. And he gave it to you in a certain way, but not really in the way that you wanted. Can you talk about that dynamic some more?
Nia Andrews
Yeah, I wouldn't say that I was in there with him in the way that I wanted. I pretty much clawed my way into his spaces like a groupie would. [Laughs] You know, it's like, "I'm going to Locke!" And that was one of the best decisions I ever made, by the way. It was such an incredible experience. But I just saw that I would never have the mentorship, and all of the things that his other students got, because I was related to him. He was so philanthropic that he always felt like, "A lot of these people don't have. You and your siblings have each other." I'm like, "Yeah, but what we want is you." So it's been my life's work, really, up until now, to figure out why. I was always asking, "Why, why, why?" And I finally landed on: What if it was for my own protection, in some way? And in my glass-half-full perspective, it's: Alright, maybe my role was to have some of my own experiences on my own. I chose to perceive it like it's in my highest good, versus something that was robbed from me. And I definitely have had my fair share of, "What could I have been? Who could I have been, if I had the support?" But I had what I had, you know.
One thing I do have are his genes. None of his mentors [sic] have that! [Laughs] When he passed, we learned how sentimental he was, which we didn't know when he was alive. He saved everything. And it was news to me. I found this Father's Day card I made when I was six or something that he still had. Which is so heartening, you know. And so my friend was like, "He don't have any notes from us [his students]!" So that was a good perspective for me. His role was to be my father. Not my mentor. I don't know if he was able to compartmentalize the two. Maybe he just didn't know how to do both. And so I'm scrappy enough where I got what I could get. But I didn't get lessons, so I'm a crap piano player. But it's calibrated my sound as an artist. You hear the imperfection. You hear the the longing. All of that stuff that I didn't get, I think, tells the story of my own voice.
Myke Dodge Weiskopf
What's your earliest memory of your dad?
Nia Andrews
OK, so there's this lore of this video of me banging on a keyboard, trying to figure out "Für Elise" and screaming, and I'm like a toddler or something. But I don't know if that's my own organic memory or just being told, like, him being in the room with me there. Maybe one of my organic memories is hearing him sing into a tape recorder and laughing, because he sounded almost tone-deaf to me in my child ears. And [being] like, "What is he doing?" What I didn't know is that he was recording ideas. And he was like, "Be quiet! I'm trying to get..." And that's where I learned that was part of his process. But that was toward the end of that chapter in his life. I didn't see him do that again.
Myke Dodge Weiskopf
And Reggie's career, when you were born ... the Dazz Band was really just starting to heat up ...
Nia Andrews
... Payday time.
Myke Dodge Weiskopf
Yeah, he was really in the full flush of his writing, producing, A&R work for Motown ... really more in the music industry side of things than he had been for a while. As far as you can remember, what was home life like for you at that point?
Nia Andrews
He was extraordinarily consistent. I was with him every weekend and every summer. So he was physically there. He was a teacher; he loved teaching. He retired from teaching and then started substitute teaching. [Laughs] I'm like, "What are you doing?" [Laughs] So it wasn't like, "Let me teach as something to fall back on." He loved it. We found some assignment he did in middle school where he wrote down what he wanted to be when he grew up. And he did the things that he wanted to do. And one of them was being an educator, a music educator. So, with that schedule, we were able to spend a lot of time with him. But his attention was often split, because he was giving so much of his time and energy to his projects, to his students, to the artists he was managing...
Myke Dodge Weiskopf
So did you and your sisters rely on one another during a lot of this time?
Nia Andrews
My older sisters are closer in age, so I'm a little bit of an island with birth order. There are seven years between my older sister, Aisha - my dad's first biological child, essentially. And my younger sister is five years younger than me, but I was two years ahead in school. I skipped a grade, and then my dad did some program. He called it Qua Tre.
Myke Dodge Weiskopf
And what does Qua Tre mean?
Nia Andrews
He liked puns and playing with words. And so his thing was like, "Let's do four years of high school in three." Quad ... Tres. Yeah.
Myke Dodge Weiskopf
Okay, so what did that look like in practice for you?
Nia Andrews
Basically, I went to school on a crazy schedule. I didn't take any breaks. And a few of us did it. Tyrese [Gibson] is one of the Qua Tre kids, where we all graduated from high school a year early. So I was 15 when I graduated from high school. But, that being said, even though my younger sister and I are five years apart, I always felt even older, 'cause I just started things sooner.
Novena Carmel
And you started college at 16, right?
Nia Andrews
Yeah, my birthday's in the summer.
Myke Dodge Weiskopf
What was the idea behind Qua Tre?
Nia Andrews
I think he just thought ... It was like an experiment. But the part of the experiment that he missed was, how about you follow up with the kids after to see how they did? [Laughs]
Myke Dodge Weiskopf
How many kids were in this program?
Nia Andrews
I mean, I have a picture of all the Qua Tre [kids]. I think there were eight of us. Locke, to me, was like a hood "Fame." Do you remember the show "Fame?" So it was very, like … us freestyling down the hallways, beating on the lockers, making beats, going to the band room every lunch to battle each other. So it created this really hyper-creative, close-knit community of creators. I won't say musicians, because it was rappers, singers, dancers. [Reggie] was very, very gifted at fostering that kind of energy. So Locke was like that, too. And it wasn't Utopian in that, "and now we're all best friends" [way]. It was very high rivalry. Like, "Oh, you're wack. I play piano better than you." "No, you're wack!" Just constantly battling to be better. So I think all of the Qua Tre kids were from that collection of people who were always in the band room. It was Tyrese, it was me. It was this girl Kenya Chapman, she was a rapper, Kiki. My dad was managing her, she was signed to Motown. Her project was never released, but she was such an ill freestyler. Would battle everybody all the time. All the boys, all the time! It was amazing. Another girl, Suzanne, was more like a dancer. We would all dance, do talent shows, somebody else was in the marching band. That's who we were. So we had closeness with him, because he was the music department chair, and we were always in there, in his hair.
Myke Dodge Weiskopf
You had this great story on Instagram when [the Dazz Band's] "Let It Whip" was having a moment on TikTok. And you talk about this early moment with what you called your "producer ears" when you were very young with Reggie in the studio. I was hoping you could tell that story again.
Nia Andrews
So, one thing my dad would engage about me musically was getting my opinion. Apparently, I predicted "Let It Whip" was going to be a hit by how I would wiggle when it would come on. [Laughs] And so he would sit me in the studio a lot with his producer protegés and be like, "What do you think?" And I didn't have any tact, because I wasn't raised to have that. My dad didn't have tact either. I now know, in a female body, you have to learn that. It kind of sucks, I'm so direct! Anyway, he would have me, like, "What do you think about this?" when he was more in management mode: "Is this good? What does it need?" He really got a kick out of when I would tear something to shreds. He thought it was so funny. But, you know, I didn't make many friends doing that. It's like, "Who's this little snot coming in here ripping apart my beat?" And I'm like, "Well, he asked. I'm just answering the question." I didn't know.
Myke Dodge Weiskopf
And how old were you at that point?
Nia Andrews
I would say before puberty. I probably stopped by 12. And then [at] 13, I'm at Locke with him. Just a little bit of a fruit fly, always buzzing around, trying to be down with my dad.
Novena Carmel
I'm curious, Nia, for you at school … You talk about people being competitive, and all that sort of thing, and then your dad being a teacher there. Do you feel like you got treated differently by the students because your dad was a teacher there? And then also because a lot of the competition had to do around [the] arts?
Nia Andrews
Yes, in some ways. It was expected that I was going to be this insane phenom because of how generous he was with his students. So it was like, "He's definitely gonna go ham with his own child." But the opposite was true. So some people were like, "Oh, you're not even that dope." You know? "You're supposed to be blah, blah, blah." But considering that I was self-taught, I was killing. But some people would also use the angst ... because my dad was known to be a hard-ass with certain people. Not everyone. But I think people he was harder on, they would get their rocks off with me. You know, if my dad would come for them with their playing or technique or whatever, those would be the ones that would really want to kill me musically. I didn't care. I mean, I was raised by the hard-ass. It really rolled off my back. And I was learning, because I was around all these musicians who were better than me, honestly, in terms of technique.
But I always felt like my ears were better than most people's. Could I translate what I was hearing? Not necessarily, because I didn't have the technique. But I learned so much my senior year of high school -- leaps and bounds. 'Cause by then, that's when he started Multi-School Jazz Band. And one of my regrets is letting myself participate in Qua Tre. Because, while it gives other people bragging rights, like, "My daughter is only 15..." What I missed was more time learning and playing. 'Cause I think it was one year we all played together. The next year, I go to UCLA, and then that year, they do Hollywood Bowl. I'm like, "Are you kidding me? The band is playing Hollywood Bowl?" And I was so frustrated by then, I quit music completely. And so I would run into Kamasi at UCLA, and he's like, "How come I never see you in the band hall?" And I was like, "I don't do that anymore. That's in the past." So yeah, it was hard. You know, people were hard on me, because they perceived that I got this special treatment, when it was truly everyone else getting the special treatment that I wasn't getting. Most of the people there called him Paw-Paw or Daddy or something. They perceived him like a father figure. So I didn't feel bothered to call him Mr. Andrews, 'cause everybody else was calling him Daddy and Paw-Paw. I'm like, "Well, I'm gonna call him that too, then." So that was an unexpected thing that I didn't have to change.
Myke Dodge Weiskopf
What was your dad's response when you told him you were quitting music?
Nia Andrews
I did it to be obedient. I thought, "He clearly doesn't want me to do music," because of the experience I had in Multi-School Jazz Band. I was the most A+ people pleaser you had ever met when it came to my dad. I just wanted him to be happy with me. And it became clear, so clear: "He doesn't want me to do music, so I'll stop." I mean, begrudgingly. It felt like my first intense heartbreak.
Myke Dodge Weiskopf
It sounds very lonely.
Nia Andrews
Yeah, it wasn't the easiest, but I'm very tough now. [A] pressurized diamond. My shine is earned.
Myke Dodge Weiskopf
It seems like you did share a few things on Instagram with you and Reggie in a musical context. Did you two ever find your way back to one another musically? Did you ever build that bridge again?
Nia Andrews
I've posted a couple of things on Instagram for sure. He helped me transpose some really tricky guitar chords to piano. So that was a moment which was very deep and healing. And then, my son is super-musical. So he really did a lot of repair with my son. One day, he didn't exactly apologize, but he acknowledged all of the things that I'd been whining about, and it was ironically at a time where I'm like, "Oh, I moved on. I don't need it anymore." It was out of the blue. And I said, "Well, you can give it back to me by giving it to your grandson." And so he really, really pulled up with my son. My dad definitely is gone too soon for that to be fully realized. But I'm so grateful for the years. And it's cool to see my nephews and nieces. They're showing musical promise. We got some songwriters and singers, and it is so cute: "Oh my god, all these babies is making stuff." So yeah, I give thanks for that. I don't think that's nothing.
Myke Dodge Weiskopf
How do you think you're most like your dad now?
Nia Andrews
I used to say I wear his face. But now [I] have a nephew that's like, "Oh no, you now wear Paw-Paw's face." So what's the new way? I think that saviors' thing? I have learned, in reflecting since his transition, "Oh, I get that from him." [I] judged it so much, only to be just like that sometimes. I definitely have that. And I'm very into community, bringing people together. My dad was great at that. My dad was very Black and proud. I definitely believe in unity in humankind, but I love being Black. And I'm LA Black, LA proud. I get that from my dad. He was very much into giving to the community that you're from, and nurturing where you're at. Not "[the] grass is greener over there." It's like, water your own grass, I definitely have that. I try to pour into wherever I'm at. It's like, "I'm gonna make the most of where I am."
Novena Carmel
One question that came to mind, because you were talking about your son, and then you're talking about the amount of energy that you give to other people. Putting those things together and thinking about how you're so there for others ... Was there a trigger at all where you're like, "Let me make sure I don't give so much to these situations outside of myself, and not enough to my son or those people that are directly around me," based on the experience that you had?
Nia Andrews
100%. And as it goes, he doesn't get it or appreciate it. I pour it into that child so hard. He's like, "Yeah, yeah." Because that's what he's always had. You know, most of the time, I think we give what we were lacking. And it's really important to tune in and see, "Okay, are you giving what your kid needs? Or are you just filling your own inner child's void?" So I try to update my relationship as a mom and see what he needs, you know? But he might think that I was smothering, 'cause I'm like, "I'm here!" And he's like, "Please go away!" [Laughs]
Terrace Martin at 16 years old, with jazz legend Billy Higgins and Reggie. Photo courtesy of Terrace Martin.
TERRACE MARTIN, Producer, arranger, multi-instrumentalist. Mentee of Reggie Andrews.
Myke Dodge Weiskopf
Terrace, tell me the story of how you first met Reggie Andrews.
Terrace Martin
When I first met Reggie, I was in 10th grade. It was first semester, I was going to Santa Monica High School at the time, and I got into some trouble with the law. One of the counselors and the security guards were friends at Santa Monica High School, these two brothers. The security guard was Mad Dog; he was a drummer too. And the counselor's name was Ron Wilkins. Ron Wilkins is one of the first cats that witnessed the action with the young brother and the police that happened [to set off] the Watts riots. So he was a counselor that Santa Monica had hired to kind of really talk to kids of color and different things like that, that really, you know, he understood. So Ron Wilkins was a friend of Reggie's.
Long story short, Ron Wilkins was my counselor at Santa Monica High School. We didn't really see eye to eye in the beginning, but he always kept his arm around me. So I got into trouble at Santa Monica High. And Reggie Andrews bailed me out of jail and came and talked to my mom and said, "I've been hearing about this dude on this alto. So I feel like this is the time that I could really get him. And I can't guarantee nothing -- I remember when he said this -- but I have a few tools that could probably channel that energy in a whole 'nother direction. At that point, I was already in 10th grade. getting in trouble. I'd just had my first kid, you know what I'm saying. But I had this talent and this ability on the alto saxophone, and I loved Charlie Parker. So Reggie just knew how to combine all that into a young kid's mind so I can make a living for my family today and keep rolling without getting hurt or hurting somebody.
Myke Dodge Weiskopf
Yeah, and that really seemed like one of Reggie's biggest gifts that he had was to see people as they were, and to see parts of themselves that they couldn't see, and that they needed to be invested in and believed in by somebody.
Terrace Martin
Me being a man in my 40s now with a family, a wife, [and] kids is ... He really sacrificed a lot for us. I know what a mentor does [for] other kids, but I also know what a mentor does to their family, because their family's sharing them with the world, you know what I'm saying? It's a lot of layers into that thing.
Myke Dodge Weiskopf
Can you talk a little bit about your relationship to Reggie, both inside and outside the classroom, and a bit of the texture of what your relationship was like with him?
Terrace Martin
It was 90% outside of the classroom, it was only because ... When I got kicked out of Santa Monica High, I would go to Locke High. But I had a car by then and I was ditching school so much. You know, I hardly went to school back then. The lessons and the game and the time I spent with him was really more outside of the school. School was only a certain amount of hours a day when you were in high school. You're not doing music class all day. Music class [was] once ... Maybe I think, for us, we had it twice: me and Ronald Broder, we had class twice, but it was in the morning for the theory class and then in the afternoon. But then we was also part of a situation called the Multi-School Jazz Band: Kumasi Washington, Thundercat, Ronald Bruner, Brian Porter, Isaac Smith, Keisha Potter ... I mean, it's crazy. Everybody's successful now. Crazy. Thank God for Reggie.
So, Wednesdays I would see him at five o'clock. But all throughout the day, it would be me and Reggie. Because when Reggie realized I was ditching so much school, he just started having me come on his errands with him while I was ditching. Through that, I would just be with him riding around all through LA, just really getting game and really good mentoring. Because, at that time, I was going through a crossroads. I wasn't sure if I want to go full-fledged and live a street life and a hustler's life, living by the way of the land, or if I wanted to be a musician. Because, at that time, I didn't really have faith in musicianship. Because I didn't really grow up in a very lucrative musician household. I grew up [in] the opposite. I grew up knowing what amazing musicians that struggle go through. Like, the life I lived and Kamasi lived is totally, completely fucking opposite from the reality that 99.9% of musicians live. Reggie knew how to dive in and control that, but at the time he got with me, I was going through a crossroads if I wanted to gangbang or be a musician. And what he did was know how to channel that. He definitely was a "stay in school, don't be a fool" kind of vibe, but it didn't come like that. It was like, "Shit, you gonna be out here with no home, man." You know, he did it kind of cool. But we spent so much time together, man.
I remember when I [had] my first child. She's 27 years old now. And then when she called and said, "I'm about to have a baby," he let me use the car to go watch her have this kid. We were so personal, man. Even up until he died, man. When I had a problem with my kids, with my son at 16, 17, he was going in trouble in and out the law, different things at that particular age. I didn't know what to tell my son, so I drove him to Reggie Andrews' house. And we sat down and Reggie would do things like give us the games, or give me all these DVDs and say, "Hey, man, you know, for this kind of kid, you got to be a father, but to get [garbled tape] you're gonna have to be a friend." He just knew how to navigate through life and how to have a real good communication with the youth and elder. He had that youth/elder communication divider going. You know what I'm saying? It was like, you really understood him.
He really changed ... He changed my life. He changed how I even ... I was like, "What? Like, you could make a million dollars writing a note?" I mean, I know everybody want to get deep about the art, but what made Reggie special too ... because the art is important, and the art is of God, the art is important. And it's not a "but" what I'm going to say, it's an "also" ... business, finances, branding, paying your taxes, knowing what royalties are ... Like, these things are important, because without these things, you can't even take care of yourself to do the art. So he was very influential. Not only I should practice on my saxophone and learn how to read and all the keys and play piano, learn all the keyboards, learn the Mini Moog, learn the Prophet, learn what computers are, learning how music is shifting ... and at that time, it wasn't no mp3s, it was none of this, it was just CDs. So it was learning how to mix in 24-bit, all these things that will show you how to make a living where, if one thing didn't work out, you can still survive at a high level throughout the course of music. And that's what he was special at doing. So you didn't feel like, "Oh god, if the saxophone don't work out, I'mma die." You didn't feel like that. You felt like, "Damn, if that goes a little left, I'm gonna just write some songs." You know what I'm saying?
He gave you options. And sometimes ... not sometimes, all the motherfucking time ... as human beings, options are a blessing. When you have options, that is a blessing. Everybody doesn't have an option. So to have an option means you are one of the special ones, man. Everybody ... We all have options, but some people ... That shit gets deep. You know what I'm saying, right? He provided options in a young Black kid's brain that I didn't even think there was options. And it was like, once I figured out there was options, and I put the hustle, everything I was putting in the streets, brother, it was ... You know, man, we used to steal guns and sell 'em and all kinds of crazy stuff. But everything I was putting in the streets, for some reason, he redirected to my art and my brain power of how to survive financially for my art. He redirected all this negative energy into art and survival. Which then turned into: "Oh my god, dreams can come true?" Turned into me putting more action behind the dream. Dream. Action. Equals success. That's it. Reggie Andrews, that's it.
It's deeper than rap, deeper than music, it's way beyond music, the things he's done. I don't even like talking about music with Reggie, 'cause music ain't shit. It ain't nothing. What he did, like, music is ... that shit regular, bro. Like, music is regular as fuck to me. What he did is superhero shit. It ain't Superman, it ain't Batman. This man really saved lives. How many people you know saved lives? Lives. And not the, "He took me off the street." No, literally like: "Give me the gun. Give me the gun. Give me the gun. Put the gun up. Throw it away. Take a deep breath." I'm talking about shit like that. I can't get into that, but you feel what I'm saying, right?
Myke Dodge Weiskopf
I have heard stories of him walking up to young people on the street who are in a heated moment, and defusing those situations on the spot.
Terrace Martin
I've seen him do some shit in the streets that I ain't seen street dudes be able to do. I even seen him take a dude about to kill a dude's gun. Man, I've seen some shit. But you know what, and everybody that comes from Reggie, we all kind of got that too, where it's like ... Let me be clear with you: I don't give a fuck what happens to me to make somebody calm down and relax to get to the next day, even if he sacrifices me, As long as people can get to the next day, it's something about that Reggie spirit, man. And just growing up in the hood.
See, with the hood, it works like this: If you come in with peace, the hood brings you back peace. You come in with war, you'll never survive there. So, you walk with a fearless thing, because you know you come in peace. And when you know how the hood work and the ghettos work around the world, if you come in peace, you know that's always like a force field around your body that nobody can see but the people that don't come in peace sometimes. This shit is deep, man, but he had this thing, man, and he gave it to the ones that wanted that -- and I wanted that. I wanted that from him. I was intrigued with the music, but that ain't why I stayed so long with Reggie. 'Cause I grew up in a house of musicians. Mind you, I grew up in a house of badass musicians, and our whole family and a whole ... Look, when I got to Reggie, I was from a whole thing.
So, what Reggie was showing me was, there was more to life than what I seen growing up. And that's what I fell in love for him for: for twisting my brain and showing me a way. Like, a way to where, if my hand breaks and I can't play saxophone for the two years, my family's okay. A way to where, if I gotta sit back and regroup, just ways of taking care of this family, and everybody. When I say family, yes, I'm talking about my immediate, but I'm talking about everybody. You're my family. Everybody's my family if we in the streets. I want to make sure everybody get home. I don't want to get killed, I don't want you to get killed, I want everybody to get home. And Reggie's thing was: Always make it home to wake back up. That concept went through music, business, relationships, everything.
Reggie is bigger than music. I don't even know what more I could say about him about some fuckin' music. I'm not gonna say nothing about no music with him, because it's so much bigger. I'm talking about ... This man remembered me and Tyrese's birthday every year and called us every year until he died. I'm looking at the text messages right now, every year: "Happy birthday. Happy birthday. When are you and Tyrese gonna work. Hey man, you gonna do a song with Tyrese?" I'm looking at this shit. You know what I'm saying? But it's real life for Reggie Andrews.
Myke Dodge Weiskopf
How did you learn to trust Reggie when he first came into your life? How did he reach you?
Terrace Martin
Reggie was written in my book already. See, my father moved us to Los Angeles in the '70s. And the first person he was looking for was Reggie Andrews. He never got to him. Everybody was looking for Reggie, never got to him. So my life is like Star Wars in the music world. You know what I'm saying? It's like Yoda this, and Darth ... it's all these real characters in my life that when you ask the question, "How did I trust Reggie," is [like] when interviewers ask me, "How long have you been playing music?" And I say, "I'm a fifth-generation musician. I don't know life without music. Which means: I don't even know what it would be like not to trust Reggie, 'cause when I met Reggie, from where I come from, my spirit was already prepared to meet him. My family trusted him instantly the first time we talked to him on the phone. And my father said, "He was sent to you. I prayed for you to get Reggie Andrews. He was sent to you."
So, when you ask how I trust him, I was prepared mentally, spiritually. It was that time. It was that time of life that God was like, "Oh, yeah, it's the time. You fucking up, but you got the skill level down? Cool, perfect time. You got the aggression? Let me put this guy into your life. Bam!" And I obey the spirit, man. I obey the spirit. Sometimes I don't, and it fucks me up every time. But for me personally, what I believe: I believe in the spirit. I believe in God. And I believe that Reggie was sent to me. And I feel I owe him the culture and the art. That's why me, as a mentor ... I don't look at me as a mentor. I look at me as everybody's big cousin or big bro. Because my kid is like, between Reggie Andrews and Billy Higgins, the "each one, teach one" thing is so deeply in my blood to where ... You know, some people talk that shit and be lying. But I don't even know how not to give game. Every time I get game, I just slide my mouth or into somebody else's life. Game. Game. "Here, man, come do this," and "I just learned this, and ..." 'cause that's how life go. You know what I'm saying? Like, I don't know how many people I've mentored. I'm not sitting here counting motherfuckers like that. But hopefully, everyone gets some game. You know what I'm saying? Because every day I wake up, I try to get game and give game as much as I can. That's how I can sleep good.
Myke Dodge Weiskopf
You and the Multi-School Jazz Band kids are really the second generation of Reggie's most famous students. How would you say your relationship to Reggie was different than it was for kids in the older generation?
Terrace Martin
If you want to get the music-type answers, you gotta ask the older generation, like Gerald Albright and all them. Because they come at a time where it was more music industry. By the time Reggie got to us, it was full-fledged Crippin'. Full-fledged Bloods. Full-fledged Hip Hop. Riots already happened. Guns. It was all this. So Reggie was too busy trying to save lives. So it was just "saving life" time. It wasn't really about B-flat major sharp 11, E-flat minor, E-major seven sharp 11, 2-5-1s. Diminished whole ... It wasn't about that. It was about: I don't give a fuck what you know. Let's stay alive with the music so you can make it to another day. Even if you choose to play for the rest of your life or if you don't. But if you're serious, I'll open the other doors for you. And me, Kamasi, Stephen Bruner, Ronald Bruner, Ryan Porter, were serious, and he opened up the other doors for us. And guess what? When we got older bro, we smashed for Reggie, man. We was like: I mean, I love all his classes, but I know for sure: Me and Kamasi, that era? Wasn't nobody fucking with us, because we would have killed for Reggie for what Reggie did for us. We was really like ... If we heard students talking loud to Reggie, for real? like, if I heard a student talk loud, especially a dude, a man, a man? Like one of those gangbangers back in high school who talk loud? I would talk louder. I would go to his classroom in the middle of his class. I would check the teacher, who'd say, "You can't be in my class, Mr. Martin." I'd say, "Shut the fuck up. I'll slap the fuck outta you." I'd say, "Don't you ever talk to Reggie Andrews like that again. I'mma dog walk you the next time you talk to my teacher like that." We walk out the class. So, my story is a little different than everybody else, do you feel me? And 'til he died, that's how I felt about him. If somebody would have pushed Reggie over on accident in a crosswalk, I would have [garbled tape]. That's how much we love Reggie Andrews.
Lost Notes is a KCRW Original Production. It’s made by Michael Barnes, Ashlea Brown, Novena Carmel, Melissa Dueñas, and Myke Dodge Weiskopf. Special thanks to Gina Delvac, Jennifer Ferro, Katie Gilchrest, Ray Guarna, Nathalie Hill, Anne Litt, Phil Richards, Arnie Seipel, Desmond Taylor, and Anthony Valadez.
MORE:
Lost Notes S4 - Ep. 8: Do What You Want To Do: The Legacy of Reggie Andrews
Lost Notes S4 - Ep 7: Dear Ruth: How Ruth Dolphin (Re-)Built A Musical Empire
Lost Notes S4 - Ep. 6: Go with the Flow: Community, Virality, and the Politics of Dancing
Lost Notes S4 - Ep. 5: Places & Spaces: The Mizell Brothers’ LA Alchemy
Lost Notes S4 - Ep. 4: Viva Tirado: The South/East LA Connection
Lost Notes S4 - Ep. 3: My Lady’s Frustration: How Fela Kuti Found Afrobeat in LA
Lost Notes S4 - Ep. 2: Mojo on Trial: The Seedy, Greedy World of Ruth Christie
Lost Notes S4 - Ep. 1: Tainted Love: Gloria Jones and the Half-Life of a Hit
