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Her Name is Nayo Jones
C. Moon Reed
Friday night. After dinner. The group of friends stood on the restaurant's front porch and discussed what to do next. Everything in town was already stale bread, so the deliberations lasted a while. Even the conversation was tired. I, for one, had gone through the deciding-where-to-go motions many times before. Finally, one friend suggested going to Bar Smith in Downtown Phoenix. The rest agreed because it seemed like the lesser of local nightlife evils.
Turn tables, microphones and a keyboard were set up in the corner of the rooftop bar. Clearly, some performance was scheduled for the night, though the friends knew nothing about it. As the small group weaved through the moderately crowded bar, one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen passed me. She was petite and graceful yet strong—a delicate bird in the exotic plumage of an ankle-length, hip-hugging tie-dye dress. Our eyes met over the electricity of one stretched second and then we both walked on.
About 20 minutes later, when everybody was settled into the mundane rhythm of yet another night on the town, that same pretty lady took the dormant microphone and raised it to her level. She did a sound check, breathing life into the listless room with a line from a song: "My name is Nayo Jones." The melody erupted, and it gave the impression of a flower growing from seed to bloom in time-elapsed speed. Though the energy of Nina Simone and Billie Holiday was pulling this bud from the ground, the tune was uniquely hers. And then as soon as it began, it ended. The music stopped and the slow low beat of listless conversation returned. But now I knew that this lady was a singer, that her name was Nayo Jones and that she was going to perform that night. And I would get to see it. No matter how long I had to wait.
And boy was it worth the wait. Like a snake charmer, Jones took a ramshackle bar crowd and pulled it under her spell. Her music was a soulful combination of jazz and R&B. The friends agreed that she was too polished to be a Phoenician; she must have been from LA. But then Jones paused between songs to say that her mom was giving out CDs in the corner and that her dad was taking pictures. So she was local. But no time to think about that because the friends were too busy dancing to her music.
Everybody was dancing now. Even her. Jones had stepped from the stage and was moving among her new fans. This was unheard of in Phoenix. When the show ended, the friends fought the newly minted throngs of adorers to get me an interview with Jones for Phoenix Art Space.
Less than a week later, I found myself at Jones' studio on Camelback. It's a cute converted house that is also home to Next Student Academy of the Arts, which she helps her father run.
Before I had time to take out my recorder, Jones told me her story. Her dad is a music educator, and when she wasn't listening to his band play, she ways practicing music, under her his tutelage, of course. Yet, Jones never wanted to sing professionally. As a child, she would always say to her dad, "I don't want to do this for a living, so why are you so rough on me?" Instead of following in her father's footsteps, Jones went to college in Atlanta, majored in economics, and subsequently spent several years in the corporate world.
Then, four years ago, Jones's dad forced her to sing a song. That's all it took. Now Jones is out of the corporate world forever. (Though she does do the books for the family record label, Power Move Records.) More importantly, she has several CDs out and has just finished her first full-length album, My Name is Nayo. She sings in a duo with her father called Doc and Nayo. She also played at SXSW this year and her songs get airtime on independent radio in Austin, Texas. The singer is also the face of Pitt Bull energy drink (her father is part owner). "Honestly I feel like I'm successful now," Jones says. "I'm able to make a full-time living." If she can do that in only four years, imagine what the rest of her career holds.
Find out more at: http://www.docandnayo.com
and http://www.myspace.com/nayojonesmusic
Turn tables, microphones and a keyboard were set up in the corner of the rooftop bar. Clearly, some performance was scheduled for the night, though the friends knew nothing about it. As the small group weaved through the moderately crowded bar, one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen passed me. She was petite and graceful yet strong—a delicate bird in the exotic plumage of an ankle-length, hip-hugging tie-dye dress. Our eyes met over the electricity of one stretched second and then we both walked on.
About 20 minutes later, when everybody was settled into the mundane rhythm of yet another night on the town, that same pretty lady took the dormant microphone and raised it to her level. She did a sound check, breathing life into the listless room with a line from a song: "My name is Nayo Jones." The melody erupted, and it gave the impression of a flower growing from seed to bloom in time-elapsed speed. Though the energy of Nina Simone and Billie Holiday was pulling this bud from the ground, the tune was uniquely hers. And then as soon as it began, it ended. The music stopped and the slow low beat of listless conversation returned. But now I knew that this lady was a singer, that her name was Nayo Jones and that she was going to perform that night. And I would get to see it. No matter how long I had to wait.
And boy was it worth the wait. Like a snake charmer, Jones took a ramshackle bar crowd and pulled it under her spell. Her music was a soulful combination of jazz and R&B. The friends agreed that she was too polished to be a Phoenician; she must have been from LA. But then Jones paused between songs to say that her mom was giving out CDs in the corner and that her dad was taking pictures. So she was local. But no time to think about that because the friends were too busy dancing to her music.
Everybody was dancing now. Even her. Jones had stepped from the stage and was moving among her new fans. This was unheard of in Phoenix. When the show ended, the friends fought the newly minted throngs of adorers to get me an interview with Jones for Phoenix Art Space.
Less than a week later, I found myself at Jones' studio on Camelback. It's a cute converted house that is also home to Next Student Academy of the Arts, which she helps her father run.
Before I had time to take out my recorder, Jones told me her story. Her dad is a music educator, and when she wasn't listening to his band play, she ways practicing music, under her his tutelage, of course. Yet, Jones never wanted to sing professionally. As a child, she would always say to her dad, "I don't want to do this for a living, so why are you so rough on me?" Instead of following in her father's footsteps, Jones went to college in Atlanta, majored in economics, and subsequently spent several years in the corporate world.
Then, four years ago, Jones's dad forced her to sing a song. That's all it took. Now Jones is out of the corporate world forever. (Though she does do the books for the family record label, Power Move Records.) More importantly, she has several CDs out and has just finished her first full-length album, My Name is Nayo. She sings in a duo with her father called Doc and Nayo. She also played at SXSW this year and her songs get airtime on independent radio in Austin, Texas. The singer is also the face of Pitt Bull energy drink (her father is part owner). "Honestly I feel like I'm successful now," Jones says. "I'm able to make a full-time living." If she can do that in only four years, imagine what the rest of her career holds.
Find out more at: http://www.docandnayo.com
and http://www.myspace.com/nayojonesmusic
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