"Bill Evans is a real serious jazz pianist who, in my book, crossed over boundaries in terms of color. He used the piano as his canvas"
About this Quote
Roberta Flack’s praise lands with extra charge because it comes from an artist who made her own career out of “crossing over” without begging permission. Calling Bill Evans “real serious” isn’t just a compliment; it’s a corrective. Evans has long been packaged as the tasteful, introspective pianist for listeners who want jazz without the threat. Flack reclaims him from that polite framing and places him back where he belongs: inside the hard-earned lineage of jazz legitimacy.
The phrase “in my book” matters, too. It’s a small assertion of authority from a Black woman whose sophistication was often misread as softness. She’s not citing a critic’s canon; she’s naming her own standards. And then she pivots to “color,” a word that works on two tracks at once. On the surface it’s musical color: Evans’ harmonic shading, the way he turned chords into atmosphere. Underneath it’s race and access: the idea that a white jazz musician can “cross over” not by borrowing Blackness as costume, but by expanding the emotional and sonic palette of the music with humility and depth.
“He used the piano as his canvas” is the clincher, framing Evans less as a virtuoso and more as a painter of feeling. Flack hears him as someone who composed in real time, layering tone and silence the way a visual artist layers light. In her mouth, that metaphor also defends artistry as a kind of seriousness that isn’t loud. Evans didn’t dominate the room; he colored it in.
The phrase “in my book” matters, too. It’s a small assertion of authority from a Black woman whose sophistication was often misread as softness. She’s not citing a critic’s canon; she’s naming her own standards. And then she pivots to “color,” a word that works on two tracks at once. On the surface it’s musical color: Evans’ harmonic shading, the way he turned chords into atmosphere. Underneath it’s race and access: the idea that a white jazz musician can “cross over” not by borrowing Blackness as costume, but by expanding the emotional and sonic palette of the music with humility and depth.
“He used the piano as his canvas” is the clincher, framing Evans less as a virtuoso and more as a painter of feeling. Flack hears him as someone who composed in real time, layering tone and silence the way a visual artist layers light. In her mouth, that metaphor also defends artistry as a kind of seriousness that isn’t loud. Evans didn’t dominate the room; he colored it in.
Quote Details
| Topic | Music |
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