Delbert Anderson is a Diné Jazz trumpeteer, composer, and educator, whose music flows from a deeper understanding of kinship and responsibility. The foundation of the sound created by the Delbert Anderson Quartet integrates Navajo spinning songs: social songs that carry teachings about love, healing, and how to move through the world in a way that keeps you in balance.
Those teachings also shape the inner workings of The Delbert Anderson Quartet, which doesn’t operate like a typical “band”, but moves like a circle. It’s four people listening hard, trading responsibility, letting the music expose the truth and raw emotions of the moment. From there, they let jazz do what it does best, improvise, respond, and rebel, and what emerges are compositions deeply rooted in place and history, shaped by Diné memory and survival.
In this interview, Delbert Anderson discusses the inspiration behind the music and opens up about the emotional weight of composing around Diné history. He also gives insight into the push and pull between collective purpose and individual expression, and what it means to make work that aims for healing without ever pretending healing is easy.
Q. When you think about where your music comes from, what do you see first: your family, the land, or the sound itself?
In the past, I would utilize my surroundings (land) for inspiration; however, over the past few years, the inspiration now comes from seeing my family live their everyday lives. Obviously, the sound and outside influences are always important, but when the meat of the craft comes from something other than music itself, an invisible foundation forms, creating a heavier push on the music.
Q. You talk about Navajo spinning songs as a foundation for your work. What do those songs teach you about love, healing, and connection that jazz alone does not?
Spinning Songs are social songs that have a special life, teaching, or message. While many jazz songs can speak to experiences and emotional responses, I see Spinning Songs as a preventative type of art. Therefore, it gives everyone warnings for future living, creating a more positive experience for our futures. In response to love and healing, a spinning song would speak to being careful when finding a partner. As for healing, the spinning songs speak of a certain life path that keeps beauty, balance, and harmony in our lives. The Diné way of life protects us on many levels, correcting our thinking and putting us back on a successful, positive path.
Q. The Delbert Anderson Quartet feels less like a band and more like a living circle. How do you build that kind of trust and listening between musicians?
Our elders talked about Spinning Songs also being close to a tornado. They say it pulls all your surroundings together, mixes everything up, and spits it out in the end. In the same way, our music was bringing in 4 different ethnicities, behaviours, beliefs, and personal preferences. After collaborating for many years, our friendship and personal lives grew together, and we became more like brothers with the music being our parents.
Q. Improvisation is central to both Diné musical tradition and jazz. How do those two ways of listening and responding meet when you are onstage?
On stage, it’s always a reminder that we are a collective working to achieve the same goal. I feel that is central to Diné music. When we interact as a group and listen to build each other up, I feel that is more central to jazz. Diné musical traditions provide the gathering, story, and common cause, while jazz accentuates individual expression. I’d also like to add that my mentors in jazz would push jazz as being unity, respect, and expression. I also see the pillars of my tribe being K’é (family unity/kinship) and Hózhó reflecting respect and action/expression.
Q. Your compositions are deeply tied to the Navajo Nation landscapes and history. How does place shape the way you hear and write music?
I’ve always felt places carry special memories. I loved composing about the relationships between people and the land. Land and place can refer to homes, where things are warm and comforting. Place could also express locations of war and sorrow. It depends on the events that took place.
Q. The Long Walk: 1,674 Days confronts one of the most painful chapters in Diné history. What was it like emotionally and spiritually to turn that story into sound?
I’ve always thought the tragic event was a testament to our endurance. In 2006, I wrote a melody about the Long Walk and put lyrics to it. The main catchphrase was “How did they move forward? They stayed together.” Before getting to the phrase, the lyrics talk about a little boy and a girl who were wandering around asking for their mom and dad. While a Captain observed them, he realized the parents of the children were put to death. The music had a sad sound from the start, but with little moments of hope. Going through the research and diaries was very painful to read. 1,674 Days is a long time to focus on such an event, but I believe it is needed in order to heal from the trauma. I see The Long Walk: 1,674 Days as a 4.5-year prayer for my people.
Q. What did jazz give you as a young Diné musician that other musical forms did not?
Jazz gave me excitement in improvisation. I have never played any other music form which allowed me to practice individualism and gave me 100% freedom to express myself. I was also lucky to have teachers who never put me in a box. Everyone believed that if I were to express myself, I would soon develop my own sound. It’s as if jazz gave me 100% control.
Q. You have built your own musical language rather than fitting into an existing genre. Was that a conscious choice, or something that grew out of necessity?
At the very beginning, I realized being a “Jazz Combo” would put us in a very big pool. After our 2nd rehearsal as a band, I asked everyone to bring themselves to the next rehearsal. Meaning they would bring their personal connections to music rather than all calling to a single style. With this idea, we mixed jam exploration with latin grooves and Diné melodies with jazz improvisation. That was the beginning of our sound. We still operate the same way today.
Q. “Build A Band” centers Diné values and family in music education. Why was it important for you to create a program that looks different from traditional music schools?
Music is all about connectivity and relationships. Traditional music schools rely heavily on the skill set of music. However, the biggest part of music is the collaboration among people. A band is like a big family, so I incorporated the Diné teachings of K’e and Hózhó. These two teachings focused the students’ minds on how to keep a family together and live a positive life. Music is much more than notes and academic study.
Q. What do you see change in young people when they realize their culture belongs in jazz spaces?
The young people tend to accept and grasp the art form with confidence. Jazz spaces can be very intimidating due to the many stories associated with them, but jazz has always been about self-expression and community. When the young people see that jazz is only bringing them closer to others, they begin to understand its purpose and how they fit in.
Q. How do you recharge when the work of art, teaching, and community all pull on you at once?
Although it may seem like another pile of work, being home with the family has always made me feel comfortable and easy to unpack. I feel at ease when I’m with my family. I feel it’s the sense of being home. It’s definitely my way of recharging. I also take many days off depending on how busy the workload is for the month.
Q. What is something about your journey as a Diné artist that still surprises you?
With jazz being one of the hardest markets to navigate and build a career in, I’m surprised I have a career after 12 years as a full-time artist. Being Diné sometimes blows my mind because any art is hard to sustain, yet being Indigenous can be even harder in today’s world. I heard a great quote from a friend I met through an artist zoom gathering. He said, “Delbert plays a melody that feeds his family”. The idea of having a music career is very surprising.
Q. What do you want people to understand about Native music that they might not hear in mainstream jazz narratives?
I want to create awareness of how music was a huge part of our daily lives. It wasn’t for entertainment at first, but everything had a meaning and purpose. Melodies were not necessarily about experiences or expressions, but ways to live a life in Hózhó: Beauty, Balance, Harmony.
Q. Looking back at your career so far, which piece or project feels the most like your authentic voice?
All my compositions so far have been a great example of my authentic voice. Music is not directly transcribed from our Diné spinning songs; however, I capture the general sound of the music while creating my own melodies. Some compositions are more directly transcribed from an experience or landscapes. It’s almost as if these ideas pass through my body and then presented to everyone.
Q. How do you imagine Indigenous jazz evolving over the next generation?
We are going to be okay. There are many Indigenous jazz musicians and networks beginning to grow as we speak. Younger musicians are becoming very talented at an early age, with many years to contribute their identities to this great music we call jazz. I can see many collectives being formed not only for music but for Indigenous rights and healing. These groups would then enter communities that are struggling. I can’t wait to see what the next generation will have to offer!
Q. What are you most curious about musically right now?
I’ve been really thinking about the true expression of musicians when they perform, and how that relates to the colonial idea of playing “perfect” at every performance. Striving to play perfectly is a great motivator, but it is not a true reflection of the human being at the time of performance. If we are playing a piece of work and we are sad, why not play the piece sad? It would be much more fun and appealing to the audience. Otherwise, if they want perfection, they can choose their favorite recording and listen to that over and over. Live performances are much different.
What comes through in Delbert Anderson’s answers is a refusal to separate music from life.
He keeps returning to relationship as the point. Relationship to family. Relationship to bandmates. Relationship to place, including those marked by war and sorrow. However, when he describes Navajo spinning songs as “preventative” art, he’s talking about music that doesn’t just reflect pain, but guides people back to healing and balance.
That is the takeaway here. Indigenous music, regardless of form and genre, has always been about community, expression, and survival. One only has to listen to the Delbert Anderson Quartet to not just hear that truth, but to feel in the heart of who they are.
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