Chapter 1: Cory Henry
December 4, 2020
Illustration by Maalya Adams
In the early 1930s, Laurens Hammond, an engineer and inventor from Evanston, Illinois, began developing the technology for an electric organ. Hammond wasn’t an organist, much less a pianist. He was an inventor trying his hand at what he believed could make him some money. By 1935, Hammond had a working model (Hammond Model A) in hand that could be put on the market for sale and began looking for possible suitors.
To Hammond’s surprise, his electric organ found an immediate home in churches. After seeing the success of the organ with churches, he started marketing the instrument as a substitute for the larger, more expensive pipe organ. Hammond’s organ was a hit, but the amplification system left more to be desired. As such, shortly after the release of the Hammond Organ, Donald Leslie began developing a speaker amplifier system in 1940, which included rotating treble horns, a bass speaker, and other features.
For Leslie, the intent was to help the organ sound more like a pipe organ or theater organ. Much to the chagrin of Hammond, Hammond didn’t invent the amplifying system, and perceived Leslie’s invention as a threat to his business. But what Hammond didn’t realize was that Leslie’s invention only boosted his sales, making the already popular instrument even more popular.
Years later, in 1954, Hammond released his Model B-3 organ, which included added features of manual vibrato and tremolo, and a percussive harmonic feature. With its drawbar system, two keyboards, and bass pedals played with the Organists feet, the instrument built on the idea of the pipe organ, but by now it was noticeably different - it was distinctly its own instrument, and its users began pushing it beyond what anyone could have imagined.
Hammond and Leslie were trying to make an instrument that could emulate the pipe organ, an instrument widely used in European music(s) and churches, because for many, that was the standard of music. But instruments are only tools.
In the hands of Fats Waller and Count Basie the organ became an instrument for swinging and dancing; liberation and exploration. Years later, the organ became Jimmy Smith’s tool, and ripple effects were created for years to come, transforming the possibilities of what the instrument could even be imagined in doing.
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In the Black church, the Hammond Organ is an integral part of the sonic landscape – both experientially and spiritually. The instrument can be both brooding and sweet; ominous and soul stirring. And organists have the ability to move a room like no one else – it’s both a burden of responsibility and honor to take the wooden bench.
In the contemporary context, there is no organist more noteworthy than Cory Henry, a 33-year-old native of Brooklyn, NY. Henry follows in tradition that is equal parts Art Tatum and Melvin Crispell Jr., Herbie Hancock and Billy Preston, gospel and funk. And as a child of the Church of God in Christ (COGIC) and New York’s legendary Jazz scene, Henry’s musical style melds time and breadth of Black American music(s).
In recent years, Cory Henry’s gained recognition for his work with the fusion band Snarky Puppy, as the multi-talented keyboardist (synthesizers, piano, Rhodes) and organist. Most notably, on the closing track of their album We Like It Here, Henry delivered an awe-inspiring solo that moves scores of musicians to try to decode what he’d done. It was brilliant.
But Cory Henry’s story starts before joining Snarky Puppy. For me and my friends, Cory Henry was somewhat of an urban legend – the great, young organist from Brooklyn. By the time Henry was an adolescent, he’d already made a name for himself playing the organ as a young child – he could hardly sit on the bench and reach the bass pedals. As a teenager, he was crucial to the sound of gospel music coming out of New York playing behind the charismatic choir director, James Hall, and later for saxophonist Kenny Garrett and many others in gospel, jazz, and R&B worlds.
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On October 30th, Cory Henry released his fourth studio album, Something to Say, which also features his backing band, The Funk Apostles. Henry’s new album sees the artist venturing into new spaces, stretching himself as an artist and songwriter. And in true Cory Henry fashion, he serves as an extension of traditions of Black religiosity and musicianship, the blues and funk, organists and keyboardists.
In a year filled with protest, Something to Say fittingly opens with Don’t Forget, a song that serves as a reminder to continue the fight. But the song isn’t an empty promise that leads to listener to believe that simply fighting in, and of, itself will open the doorway(s) of liberation, as Henry sings: Sunshine don't come without rain / And that's ok / Love ain't magic without pain / So we keep trying, we keep trying anyway.
Central to funk, like all forms of Black music, is the blues. On songs like GawtDamn and Switch Henry assumes the role of the classic Bluesman, like Howlin Wolf, B.B. King, and countless others before him, telling the story of a relationship gone [so] wrong he’s left with no money, or hope. They’re a set of stories where you feel bad for Henry, but it’s so funky you forget he’s probably down to his last dime because he’s been done so damn wrong, now all his money’s gone.
The Blues have a way of making sorrow seem palatable, like everything will be okay despite a present reality that says otherwise. Henry’s music communicates as much. On a song like Rise the Funk Apostles sing: It looks as though all hope is lost in the world today / We're all trying to find the light to make it a better place. It’s textbook Blues in a lot of ways, set to the sound revival and foot-stompin’ gospel.
A key aspect of being an organist is controlling the dynamics of the instrument. The Hammond is unique in that it has a volume pedal and draw bars that allow the musician to alter the volume and tone at a moment’s notice. Fittingly, one of the strong points of Henry’s latest offering is his ability to control the flow and dynamics of the album. On Say Their Names, a quiet and beautifully composed song that features long time Robert Glasper Experiment member, DJ Jahi Sundance, is positioned as a tribute to those whose lives have been claimed by state violence. Henry’s playing on the piano paints a reflective picture, a nice contrast to his approach when playing organ. Similarly, on songs like Icarus, Black Man and Dedicated, Henry reflects the present condition of the world, but he’s never consumed by it. Like in the spirituals and the blues, when hope seems like it may be lost, there is yet a desire to press on.
For all of the thing Cory Henry has to offer on Something to Say, the album is a reminder of the sometimes unspoken and subtle qualities we find in Black music(s). The squall of the organ, a moan, a shout, the sound of an organist releasing a drawbar that sounds so much like air being breathed into life. Cory Henry’s music communicates all of these things, and in a moment such as this, Henry’s music is what’s needed.
