John Francis Anthony “Jaco” Pastorius III was a bassist, composer and producer. He was known for his work with Pat Metheny, Michael Brecker, Herbie Hancock, Wayne Shorter, Weather Report, and Joni Mitchell among others.
I wrote John Francis shortly after his death when he was 35. We were devastated by his passing and the circumstances that led to it. It was one of those songs that flows out of you. I asked myself, did I create this, or was I a conduit?
Reviving it recently and bringing his memory back is a token of our love for Jaco, for what he brought to us during his brief life.
Joy Brooks - Vocals
Fredrick Brooks - Acoustic Guitar
Chris Pezzarello - Drums
Charles James - Bass
Christine Bougie - Electric Guitars
Robbie Grunwald - Keyboards
Produced and Mixed by Robbie Grunwald
Written by Fredrick Brooks
Mastered by Justin Gray
Released on Evening from Hillcrest (2022)
Cover art - Mal Bray mixed media based on Chris Hakkens photo (no downloading, republication, retransmission, reproduction, and all other uses of the licensed image as a stand alone file).
<Click here to listen to John Francis>
There could be a chance
For you had the fire
From Des Moines to pork pie hat
The weather was fine
Trashed on the blues
Or manicked by life
I reach out
Only to cry
And where does the wind blow
The baddest of all
Silenced – empty
Divided by loss
For laughter is seldom
On this tired road
Hear me now
On you I’ll call
For laughter is seldom
On this tired road
Hear me now
Jaco’s called home
©Fredrick Brooks
Mal Bray mixed media based on Chris Hakkens photo
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AUNTIE M.
(One Hundred and Two Years of Life)
Auntie M. sits alone
Like a stone
Still and bruised
She slowly lifts from her wicker chair
Shuffles across the uneven floors
Bending her frail body
Gathering wood for the fire
She opens the cast iron lid
Feeds the open flame
Fire for its belly
Fire for her limbs
Auntie M. wraps a familiar shawl around her shoulders
Peers out her window
Eyes a desert of white, blanketing her small world
And she remembers the wind
The freedom of it upon her face
Auntie M. holds those she loves near
Never wanders
Her life, predictable and calm
Auntie M. opens to the fragments of memory
She’s beyond old
Each day, she confronts her century
Longing for the quiet of eternal sleep
And the solace of dreams.
©Fredrick Brooks