Hannibal Peterson's `Diary': A Trumpeting Of Self-Discovery

Concert review

"Diary of an African American," composed, written and performed by Hannibal Peterson, through March 25 at On the Boards, 153 14th Ave., 325-7901; performances tomorrow through Sunday, and Wednesday through Friday, March 23-25, at 8 p.m.; $12-$16. -----------------------------------------------------------------

How can an African-American artist forge an aesthetic based on affirmation, not pure pain?

That is the one of the questions raised by jazz trumpet player and composer Hannibal Peterson in his boldly conceived, uplifting, autobiographical mini-opera, "Diary of an African American," which opened last night at On the Boards.

Peterson, a big-toned player with bravado, stamina and imagination, came up in the '70s with heavies such as Rahsaan Roland Kirk and Elvin Jones. In 1977, struck by a life-threatening illness, the trumpet player suddenly flew to Kenya to recover.

The remedy worked. In Africa, he acquired a talisman - a thumb piano - as well as a mantra that saved his life: "There will always be the music. There will always be the spirits who dance and play the music."

"Diary of an African American" tells this story of self-discovery, with Peterson playing himself and his trumpet in a series of soliloquies, solo trumpet bursts, vignettes and musical tableaux ranging through blues, work songs, boogie, gospel and '70s polytonal jazz.

The action begins with Peterson, wearing a black silk outfit and dreadlocks, sounding a clarion call up the aisle, then jamming on ideas suggested by three paintings about African-American life by William H. Johnson. The action then moves through Kenya, the cotton fields of Texas, a church revival meeting, young Hannibal getting his first horn, a racist street attack, an R&B band with vocalist Byron Utley, and on to New York City.

Vocalist Ann Sinclair's big-voiced gospel and spiritual outings are especially compelling. Peterson's acting skills are also considerable. During one of several strong solo trumpet outings, Peterson reaches deep inside his horn and, leaning toward the floor, pulls out a long, distant, curling moan. "Will I ever get away from that moaning note?" he asks.

That question is answered one night on the bandstand in Hamburg, Germany, when Peterson has a revelation that his African musical ancestry might be a healing force. The result - played by Peterson and his quartet - Rahn Burton (piano), Andy McCloud (bass) and Cecil Brooks II (percussion) - is explosive, fiery, John Coltrane-inspired jazz.

The story comes full circle with Peterson passing his African thumb piano on to his son, played by 11-year-old Anthony William Sinclair. This somewhat obvious compact for the future is emblematic of a frustrating tidiness of purpose throughout.

By making baldly autobiographical the historical material black artists once used as social history (Max Roach in his "Freedom Now Suite," for example) Peterson has personalized his art in a way that is clearly positive. Yet given the opportunities inherent in such a transposition, one yearns for a more complex statement, something on the order of, say, Johnson's paintings themselves.