Nancy Wilson uses her golden voice for more than just singing by speaking up loud and clear to educate people about HIV prevention
by Dann Dulin
Blacks are in such denial. Gaawwd,” Nancy Wilson moans in a dreadful pitch, and then halts in bewilderment. “I’m serious. The denial is…..” The lady can’t even finish her thought as she is seething and completely flabbergasted.
Just moments ago, a more serene Nancy Wilson greeted me at the entrance to her hotel suite on L.A.’s Wilshire Boulevard. Once inside, I looked at her, smiled and said, “Eadie Jordan.” She looked at me quizzically because it’s been more than thirty-five years, then she remembered. Eadie Jordan was a junkie she portrayed in an episode of Hawaii Five-O which I had screened earlier in the day prepping to meet her. I praised her for her dynamic Emmy-nominated performance, and with no hesitation, she responded softly, with deep emotion, “It’s the best thing I ever did.”
Wilson stressed that she is an actress because she is a singer. And, my, what pipes! She’s a storyteller through song, and her smooth, silky, sultry voice is legendary. Besides her career as an actress and vocalist (she prefers the more appropriate title, song stylist), Wilson has also been a humanitarian, an activist, and a flag-waver for equality. She marched in Selma during the Civil Rights Movement despite having rifles pointed at her head. And from the beginning, Wilson has been in the trenches in the battle against AIDS. In fact, the lady has come into town from her California desert home for a fundraiser. Through the years she has been involved with the Black AIDS Institute, The Balm in Gilead, whose mission is to stop the spread of HIV/AIDS in the African Diaspora, Divas Simply Singing!, the CDC, and she’s a member of the National HIV/AIDS Partnership (NHAP).
“We are just not being realistic,” insists Wilson, seated in a contemporary off-white sofa. “Twenty-three black women shouldn’t be dying for every Hispanic or White. There’s something very wrong with that picture.” She eases back into the sofa and crosses her legs. “Look, I am seventy. When I was fourteen we were told about condoms, and now today, people still refuse to use them. That shit’s still going on today. It’s like, ‘What?!’” She starts to repeat, “and that shit’s still…,” then stops herself, slightly embarrassed, and laughs. “Excuse my language,” she says graciously, covering her mouth with her slender fingers and metallic red nails. Wilson giggles, composes herself, and throws up her arms. “I’ve been hearing this for seventy years! It’s like, c’mon guys, respect!”
Last year, Wilson rang in her seventieth birthday with a concert at Carnegie Hall. In 2006, Wilson won a Best Jazz Vocal Album Grammy (her third) for Turned to Blue, which was her seventieth album. With a star on Hollywood Boulevard and the recipient of a lifetime achievement award from the NAACP, the lady is not slowing down. Thank heaven. Her stunning appearance certainly belies her age, as she looks youthful, slender, and very vivacious. A class act, Wilson sports a tailored gray, striped pants suit, and her shoeless feet seem comfy wrapped in sheer black nylons. Her silver-streaked full head of hair is long and bouncy. Though gentle in nature she is vociferous in her beliefs. Sophisticated, feminine, and sexy, I have this nagging notion to call her “Miss” Wilson (though I don’t). Maybe it’s my Midwestern roots. She would understand since we’re both from an earlier generation and both Buckeyes, hailing from Columbus, Ohio.
Wilson has long been an advocate for AIDS awareness, and is now even more driven since African-Americans have one of the highest infection rates. Last year, Wilson was appointed board member and honorary spokesperson for the National Minority AIDS Council (NMAC), and, in November, at the twentieth anniversary of the NMAC conference in Palm Springs, she gave a concert.
“It was one of the best conventions,” she enthuses, folding her arms looking bookish with her ebony metal frame glasses. “We had so many Blacks in government all speaking as one voice; people who were on the same page. People who really understood that we just can’t continue to ignore AIDS and act like it doesn’t affect us.”
She sighs. “What concerns me is being able to reach the people who need to be reached,” she says. “I talk with a lot of youngsters, like hip-hoppers and they talk about their Web site links to AIDS. I say, ‘What does this have to do with what I’m talking about?’ The people I need to reach don’t have computers.” Being married to a minister for nearly thirty-five years has given her access to others in the religious community. “I’m very fortunate to have some young, really dynamic young pastors who are working with me. When they preach scripture from the pulpit, then, [they must realize that] the least among us must be cared for. ‘This is your flock; you must tend’”—she takes a dramatic pause—“‘to them.’” She looks at me with urgency. “You have to be realistic; this is a different time. We must deal with what is going on today.
“These young men who are wearing the gangsta look and these pants are down to ….they don’t have a clue,” she boldly states then shifts to a whisper to complete her thought, “what it means.” She takes no breath and sums up, “Nobody’s telling them that the style came out of prisons and that prisoners are returning home and bringing AIDS to their wives.” She specifies that the prison system is a large part of the problem and it needs to be addressed. “Work needs to be done in and with the prisons.”
Before Nancy finishes her last sentence, I am distracted by a child peeking around the corner of the hallway. Nancy looks in that direction. It’s her seven-year-old grandson, Sol, which is Spanish for sun. With some coaxing, he comes out. During our time together his presence is jovially felt, though sometimes a bit distracting.
Wilson picks up right where she left off with the prison system. “Our men have to learn respect. Our men have to learn this is somebody’s mother, daughter, and if it’s your wife, how could you….Hmm,” she bites her lip and shakes her head in disgust and disbelief. “It took me a long time to understand where the pants-hangin’-low was from. That’s just an open invitation—and then young people don’t get it. Nobody’s talking about it. No one’s being honest. That,” she pauses, “is an atrocity.” Nancy’s on a roll. “And that down-low crap. That was a word I never even heard of. You just don’t do that. And it disturbs me to see little girls running around looking like hoochie mamas. But if their mothers say, ‘No,’ they’re not going to listen. How do you fight that stuff?!”
Wilson’s fame has given her access to powerful people from all walks of life—preachers, politicians, and community leaders, you name it. Recently, she reached out to singers like John Legend, A.J. Calloway, and Kanyé West. When she mentions Kanyé’s name, however, she questions his sincerity. “He says the right things, but I don’t feel it,” confesses the lady, who’s an inductee into the Jazz Hall of Fame. “I intend to talk to Ludacris. I have such a crush on him. Waaaow!” she screams like a school girl in love. “There are some young men who really are trying to do the right thing. They need to be more up front though. I need to see them [addressing AIDS] on VH-1, MTV, TV One, and BET. [Some of] these channels are not doing enough when it comes to AIDS awareness,” frets Wilson. She ponders a moment then mentions that this year she’ll contact Mos Def. There are also plans in development for Wilson to do some PSAs.
When asked what compels her to speak out, she immediately replies, “The gift that God gave me. I have not worked at what I do. The career was always just there from when I was a child. I figure that if He’s that kind to me, I need to be that kind to somebody else. I’ve been singing without giving it a thought. There is not one song that I’ve ever sung that I regret.” She looks down. There’s Sol peering up at her from under the coffee table. “I see you, boy” she says playfully.
Memories of those she lost also keeps Wilson active in the AIDS community. “I had a cousin who told me that her son, Brian, twenty, had AIDS and didn’t want me to come see him. I said, Excuse me? She said that he doesn’t want me to know. In a few minutes, I was by his bedside. I sat by him and said, ‘Brian, you must be out of your mind if you think that [having AIDS] affects anything about how I feel about you.’” There has been a loss on each side of her family to AIDS. “And we’re still not saying that people are dying of AIDS,” says Wilson somberly. “We’re still not dealing with it.” The last sentence is repeated often throughout the meeting.
Before meeting with Wilson I had read that she was endorsing Obama for President. Though she doesn’t dismiss Hillary—in fact, she loves Bill Clinton because “he’s a black guy”—and she marvels that the leading Democratic candidates are a black man and a woman, Wilson feels Obama will, indeed, tackle the AIDS epidemic. “As I listened to what he had to say it sounds like a lyric to a song. I’ve always sung about what I believed in and I was listening to him say the things that I believe. He talks honestly on this and other issues.” She points out that not long ago, Obama took an HIV test to encourage others to do the same. “I think he’ll bring a lot to the table,” she persists confidently with passion. “He will bring the words and he will have people around him that can make the words he says come to pass.” She looks briefly down at her hands that are in her lap then darts those big browns at me and concludes, “It’s not about politics, it’s about people.”
Still under the coffee table, Sol tugs on the mic wire attached to Wilson’s lapel, as though he wants to contribute. I ask him, What do you want to say to the readers? He shies away while Grandma leans in and addresses him. “We’re talking about HIV/AIDS and you should tell readers that they need to pay closer attention to their health, to themselves, and as Black people we need to be honest.” Mesmerized, Sol repeats, “Be Honest.”
Not missing a beat, Wilson continues: “And come forward, step up, and take some responsibility for our own care and our own health.” Sol shakes his head in agreement. He has listened intently. Nancy looks over at me, pats my leg, and smiles, “My father had an expression that I used on my kids: ‘Never go out in the rain without a raincoat.’”
Get jazzed at www.MissNancyWilson.com.
Thanks to Jurnee Smollett, Devra Levy, and Sherri Lewis.
Dann Dulin interviewed Greg Louganis for the February cover story.
March 2008
For the Record
Where is you favorite place to disappear to?
My bedroom.
Do you have a favorite city?
The city that helped my career most initially in the early years, Chicago.
Out of the many people you have worked with, is there one in particular who stands out who impressed you, inspired you, or influenced you the most?
Cannonball [Julian Adderley, Nancy's friend and champion].
Whom would you like to work with that you haven’t yet?
Teena Marie. In fact, she just walked out [of the hotel room]. We’re talking about doing a duet. I have worked with these people that is on the newly released, Cannon Re-loaded [Concord Records]: Terrance Blanchard, Tom Scott, Marcus Miller, Steve Gadd, and George Duke.
Name one of your bad habits.
Smoking. I smoke about three cigarettes a day.
Name your favorite TV sitcom of all times.
Right now it’s Two and a Half Men. Though my all time favorite is The Mary Tyler Moore Show.
Do you have a hero?
Mary McCloud Bethune, one of the founders of UNICEF. I won the very first founder’s award that UNICEF ever gave. [She pauses.] I’ve just been blessed to know so many marvelous people. I would also pick Dr. Dorothy Height.
What are you most proud of?
My children.
Extended Play
Nancy says the first thing that comes to her mind when these people who she has known are mentioned.
Bill Clinton: Hillary.
Ella Fitzgerald: Ray Brown.
Liberace: Wardrobe.
Ed Sullivan: Stiff.
Carol Burnett: So sweet.
Flip Wilson: A doll.
Barry Manilow: With my lover beside me.
Johnny Carson: Nice guy!
Mo’Nique: Ha! That’s my daughter. I play her mother. So much fun.
Bill Cosby: Like a brother.
Jack Lord: That’s another stiff one.
Jurnee Smollett: That’s my daughter, too!
Frank Sinatra: A wonderful voice who learned phrasing from people like Billie Holiday, but was not one of the nicer men that you’d ever want to know.
Maya Angelou: Precious.
Queen Latifah: Fine actress, a role model. I get nothing but goodness from her.
Lena Horne: Graciousness.
Nat King Cole: Like a brother. He welcomed me.
Oprah: A perfectionist.
Sarah Vaughn: Best pipes in history.
Jenifer Lewis: Funny lady! One of the nicest people walkin the earth.
Nancy names one word to describe herself.
Lady. Lady with a song. That can be my epitaph.
|
