Jazz as Medicine: The JuJu Exchange Debuts "Jazz Rx" in Chicago

On my second night in Chicago, I rode the bus west on Belmont. It was an easy trek from the Lincoln Park neighborhood where I was staying for the week. Outside, the sky darkened and car tires sloshed through puddles. Approaching my stop, a woman’s hand, emerging from a bright, puffy parka, beat me to the pullcord, but when the doors opened I got off alone. The effect was one of subtle providence, as though the hand of fate had orchestrated things on my behalf. No, I told myself, it was only the hand of a stranger. She must have gotten mixed up or changed her mind.

I stood on the corner and reveled in the rush of traffic and the frigid March air. The intersection was like others I had seen throughout the city – a jagged, crisscrossing behemoth which seemed designed to confuse. Several times during my trip, I paused at such junctions to trace the direction of the road and confirm I was headed the right way. After orienting myself, I walked half a block down Western and stepped into the foyer of the Constellation. The room was small and dimly lit. The wall immediately to my left featured a tasteful calendar of events – square photos hung by metal clips from rows of wire. Immanuel Wilkins and Christian McBride were slated to perform later in the month. But tonight: The JuJu Exchange, a Chicago-based jazz trio comprised of Julian Reid, Nova Zaii, and Nico Segall.

I sat at the bar and clumsily shed my layers, which I had overdone out of fear of the mid-West cold. The bar was run by a soft-spoken man in a beanie and a woman who wore her grey crewneck inside-out. I wanted to ask about the fashion choice, but it seemed to defy explanation. What was there to tell? I ordered a drink and scribbled in my notebook as the room filled. Friends greeted each other with hugs and talked excitedly or grumpily about their days. Soon, I followed the crowd into the main room.

It was my first time on a show’s guest list, so I savored the brief but undeniable cool factor as I gave my name to the vendor. I wondered if she assumed I was more integral than I was – perhaps a close friend, musical peer, or critic. In reality, I was a random dude from California. After discovering The JuJu Exchange through Nico Segal (a.k.a. Donnie Trumpet, longtime Chance the Rapper collaborator), I had followed them since their 2017 release, Exchange. I knew they did not perform terribly often, so when I heard about the Constellation show, I booked a flight. Having just graduated from college and moved back home, it was perfect timing. Plus, a few months earlier, I had subscribed to the band’s Patreon. When I messaged Julian (the pianist) to tell him about my plan, he generously hooked me up with a ticket. So there I was on the guest list, soaking up my few seconds of fame.

Inside the main room, theater seats equipped with cup holders flanked two neat arrays of white folding chairs. After first gravitating toward the shadowy outskirts, I moved to one of the central clusters, taking a seat in the second row. It was nice to see so many people out for a jazz show. I sipped my drink and listened to bits of nearby conversation. Two women around my age discussed bus routes – “When have I taken the 9 before?? It takes me nowhere I need to go.” – and gossiped about a mutual friend’s relationship. Despite missing the first half of the story, I smiled at the irony as I jotted down its concluding quip: “See, being nosy saves lives!” In front of me, a young boy, chaperoned by an older brother or father, played with a Naruto figurine. When his chaperone stepped away, the boy shifted his butt so that each cheek occupied a seat.

The room was about half full when a middle-aged woman settled in beside me.

“I’m the only one in here with a mask on,” she muttered, removing it with a bemused tut.  As she scooted her chair toward the aisle, she said, “I’ll give you some room.”

            I liked the way she addressed me. I felt invited but not obligated to reply. I also enjoyed the way she verbalized this simple action. Perhaps, without her explanation, someone could have taken offense. But any potential misunderstanding was smoothed out by her comment. I wondered if society would be more harmonious if everyone was fluent in this kind of micro-interaction, or if people would simply discover new, subtler strategies of aggression and disrespect.

She noticed me writing and asked which outlet I worked for. Happy to be mistaken for a journalist, I played along and told her I was a freelancer, which was not altogether untrue.

            “But I’m just here as a fan,” I said. “I’m not sure if I’ll write anything.”

            “Oh, you should,” she encouraged, introducing herself as Connie. “I lived across the street from Julian’s family. When I threw parties, I’d always invite Julian over to perform. You could tell even then – he must’ve been about nine years old – that when he played music, it was just him and God.”

            “And you’re still supporting him all these years later.”

            “I make it a point to catch all his shows. The whole family is exceptional, you know. Very musical family. God sprinkled something extra when he made them! It’s been such a joy to watch Julian develop and progress.”

            “Have you been a jazz fan for a long time?”

            “My whole life. At least as long as I can remember. My dad loved jazz, which meant we woke up every morning to music blasting through the house. He wanted to hear it while he showered. So that was pretty much that.”

Connie and I chatted a bit more about jazz – Coltrane, Tatum, a recent documentary about Miles Davis –but quickly shut up when Akenya, the opener, sat down at the piano. Akenya’s set was short but powerful. Her first song explored the perils and phases of romantic enchantment: “My love, my friend, my obsession / She was infatuated with my intoxication by refused to reciprocate it.” Her voice simmered with a murky, menacing edge as the song built toward a climax. Growing more insistent and desperate, she repeated the phrase “it never dies,” punctuating it each time with a stabbing chord, as though proclaiming her love’s immortality while simultaneously attempting to kill it. The song transitioned into an airy plea to “release me, release you” before ending in a piano solo. Among other topics, the rest of her set touched on resilience, love, and the interconnectedness of existence. As the crowd rose for an ovation, Connie turned to me.

            “Y’all get that in California?”

            I smiled and shook my head.

 

In between sets, staffers brought out two keyboards, a stylish floor lamp, and a pink chaise lounge, turning the stage (though there was technically no stage – everyone was on ground level) into a cozy living room. Everyone loved the chaise lounge. I heard murmurs of approval all around me.

“Oh no, not the chaise.”

“Don’t do it to ‘em.”
“Iconic.”

“Luxurious.”

People fidgeted in their seats or got up to fetch more drinks. Someone in the front row played a game of chess on their phone. The Naruto kid rushed to the bathroom as only children can – full-blown, unabashed pee dance. I doodled and flipped through my notebook, scanning past entries.

With everyone back in their seats and the makeshift living room assembled, Julian and Nova (the drummer) emerged from backstage, accompanied by a bassist named Kurt Shelby (the original bassist, to my knowledge, is no longer with the group). Julian, tall and lanky, donned a sleek black sports jacket, complemented by matching orange socks, shirt, and ear plugs. Nova rocked a tie-dye sweater, while Kurt, nailing the role of incorrigibly casual bass player, wore a t-shirt and track pants. Wordlessly, they took up their instruments and began playing a slow, ambient introduction. Partway through, Nico sauntered out to a warm, robust welcome. Draped in an oversized, impossibly fuzzy coat, he looked right at home.

The group quickly found the nimble, cooperative sound that is the hallmark of their music. In a live setting this dynamic was even more palpable. Nico, taking full advantage of his trumpet’s wireless, clip-on mic, roamed freely, pausing to shimmy and groove before tossing his head back and erupting into sound. He was clearly having a blast, and the feeling was contagious. Nova showcased his patented (literally) Portals – magical, glowing orbs affixed to the top of his drum set. By holding his palms in front of them and manipulating their proximity, he triggered an array of ethereal sounds. He held one hand in front of a Portal just before hitting a snare shot, imbuing it with a mystical, reverberating quality. While Nova summoned the power of his Portals, using his hands like wands, Julian dexterously maneuvered between two keyboards, adding to the air of wizardry.

After the opening salvo, a gorgeous, long-haired woman, who had been dancing in the background throughout Akenya’s set, approached one of the mic stands. “JuJu,” she said, “I’m really struggling with despondency and disconnection. Can you prescribe some jazz?” Instantly, I recognized her voice from Jazz Rx, the band’s latest record, released on March 2nd. For Jazz Rx, JuJu invited fans to “engage in a trust-building exercise. Trust us with a story of love, pain, or anything in between, and we will create a piece of music inspired by you” (from their website). People contributed their stories and requested musical prescriptions for “those re-entering society from Cook County Jail” (“Fecundity Prompt”) or “a little more patience and hope for brighter days ahead” (“Meadower Prompt”). As promised, the band wrote music intended to represent this input and cure the collective ailments of our minds and spirits – jazz as medicine. They also enlisted the dancing woman’s angelic voice to read snippets of the original prompts, which are sprinkled throughout the album. Besides a joy to listen to, Jazz Rx is an exploration of and a testament to the healing power of music.

Nova and Julian (who, by the way, are brothers) started the next tune, “Fecundity,” one of my favorites. The intro evoked the bittersweet nostalgia of a blustery autumn day. It was heartbreaking but hopeful, sad in a way that inspired reflection rather than wallowing. Halfway through, the song blossomed into something triumphant and jubilant – the soundtrack to a montage of happy memories. It felt like I had broken through the melancholy, reflective period and reached a place of stability and acceptance. Throughout “Fecundity” and the next few songs, the band’s chemistry reached its most mesmerizing point. Each member floated in a pool of introspection, lost in his own curiosity. Yet rather than detracting from the group dynamic, this sense of discovery strengthened JuJu’s cohesion. It was amazing to see the feeling of wonder present in the faces and bodies of the performers.

About two-thirds of the way through the performance, in between songs, Julian thanked everyone for coming out and sharing in the experience. He proceeded to deliver a few shoutouts – to the band’s manager, who had helped come up with the concept for Jazz Rx; to a friend celebrating a birthday; and to me, the guy from California! It was as appreciated as it was undeserved. Connie chuckled at my embarrassment. Then, Julian announced a new jazz prescription.

“The next song,” he explained, “will be something that has not yet been created. It’s a piece of music specifically for all of us in this room, in this moment.”

And what a lovely moment it was! After our special musical medicine, the audience surged with gratitude and applause.

Akenya joined the band for the closing song, “Always Here,” while Nico played bongos from the chaise lounge. Riding a catchy melody from Julian, it was one of their dancier tunes – celebratory but mellow. With Nico on bongos, Nova rode the cymbals, adding a fun contrast to the song’s lower tones. Akenya picked up Julian’s melody, translating it into an uplifting, spiritual message: “Even when I’m gone, I’m still here / Even when you’re far, you’ll still be near.” When we stood for an ovation, it felt as though we were not only saluting the performers, but also ourselves for participating in such a joyous atmosphere.

Abuzz with excited chatter, the crowd filtered into the lobby while the musicians milled around the venue, graciously conversing with whomever approached them. I used the bathroom, assembled my arsenal of jackets, and wove my way toward Julian, who was standing near the entrance, talking to Connie. Bashful about interrupting, I checked out the merch table until I felt comfortable interjecting.

“Oh, it’s you!” said Connie.

“You guys know each other?” asked Julian, slightly puzzled.

“We sat next to each other,” I explained. “She told me all about you as a kid.”

“Uh oh, did she tell you about when I tried to learn how to skateboard?”

“I left that part out,” assured Connie with a wry smile.

In person, Julian exuded warmth and kindness. Despite being bombarded with post-performance conversations, he listened attentively and eagerly as I rattled off plans for my remaining time in Chicago. I thanked him for the ticket (and for the shoutout), and told him that if I ended up writing anything about the show I would be sure to share it. Not wanting to take up too much of his time, I said goodbye and slipped outside into a steady downpour of rain.