A centennial celebration of John Coltrane

That's a question we have been trying to answer a lot here at NPR.

“We are exploring global histories on throughline, where hearing from national security experts”

on sources and methods, where watching the markets with planet money, you can support this work across all our podcasts with NPR Plus, find out more at plus.npr.org. This is fresh air, I'm Terry Gross. The Jazz saxophonist and composer John Coltrane was born 100 years ago. The Centennial is September 23rd, and the celebration includes concerts, album reissues,

and a new book of Coltrane photos edited by my guest, Ravi Coltrane, the son of John and Alice Coltrane. Ravi is a highly regarded tenor saxophone player and composer who is recorded as a leader and in other bands. The book is titled Coltrane, the definitive visual celebration of the legend, and it includes

“an introduction by Ravi, and several essays, including ones by Patty Smith, Carlos Santana,”

Kareem Abdul Jibar, and Phil Lesh. The Coltrane family is organizing some of the Centennial events and overseeing the estates of Ravi's parents, John and Alice Coltrane. John Coltrane is one of the most influential musicians in the history of jazz. He was famous for his early recordings in Miles Davis' band, his transcendent balance from

the Great American songbook, his modal music, his spiritual music, for popularizing the soprano saxophone and jazz with his recording of my favorite things, and for avant-garde free jazz like no one had heard before. Dequote with the late jazz critic Francis Davis wrote in the New York Times, "Full disclosure of Francis was my husband." Coltrane has come to stand for a discipline mindset, a desire

for spiritual ecstasy, a vision of music as ritual, and of performance as a holy right. That's our ITE. Depending on what a listener wants from it, Coltrane's music is a cry for black liberation, the soundtrack of a spiritual quest, a backdrop for tripping, or the next evolutionary step for jazz after B-bop, unquote.

Alice Coltrane, Robbie's mother, was the pianist and harpist who played on John's final albums, recorded many albums, and her own name, turned to Vedanta spirituality, and found it an ashram in LA. Ravi Coltrane, welcome to a fresh air, congratulations on the book. I want to start with something from your father's ballads album, because I just think that

album is gorgeous and so beautiful that it sounds a little spiritual to me because it sounds kind of transcendent. Yes. Absolutely. Where do you see this album fitting into your father's body of work before we hear a song

from it?

Well, first of all, thank you, Terry, for the invitation, it's an honor and pleasure to be speaking

with you. It's a pleasure to have you.

“And, yes, I think that album, it really displays his tone, his sound.”

And I think that, in fact, all of the songs are very beautiful. His interpretation of them, sonically, I mean, I think that's really where the record really gets its power from. His tone alone, you won't hear a saxophone, a tenor saxophone sound, quite this beautiful and any recording, it's something to marvel at.

It has this uplift to it, I don't mean that it's uplifting but his tone, it always sounds

like it's kind of rising. Yes, it carries us, it carries those that don't really. So let's hear you don't know what love is from John Coltrane's Ballads album. , it's a pleasure to have you. [Music]

[Music] [Music]

So that was from John Coltrane's Ballads album and when we heard Elven Jones on drums,

McCoy, Tyno, piano, and Jimi Garrison bass. So you just edited a collection of photos of your father and there. There were a lot of iconic photos in there. You've looked at photos of him throughout your life.

“Do you look at his photos in the hopes of finding out more about who he was but also who you are?”

And do you ever look at his photos and then look at your face in the mirror and he, like,

if you can tell that you are his son? Well, I've been told throughout my life how much I favor my father and, you know, at this point I've outlived my father about 20 years, you know, he passed away at 40. I turned 61 this year and I think with, especially with this photo book, you know, it was a real opportunity for me to, you know, not only sing these iconic photographs that we all know,

“but I mean, seeing a brand and photograph for the first time, it's enlightening and elevating, you know?”

Some people thought of Coltrane as having, of being divine himself. And there was actually, I'm not sure if it still exists or not, there was a Coltrane church in San Francisco, called St. John's. Yeah, and St. John's divine. Yeah, and, and the John was for John Coltrane and there was even, like, a painting in the church of Coltrane as if it was like one of those apostles. Yeah, and, you know, they played his music during the service and he was kind of like worshiped. And that's, you know, it's fascinating, a little strange, but what's it like for you to have your father literally be worshiped?

I mean, like, he was your dad. You might not have known him, but, you know, he was, he was like a mortal. We had an exceptional talent.

“You put it right there and that he was one of us.”

Yes, it was the thing where people wanted to, well, they, if they, if they don't recognize the fact, you know, they say all he was from another world, from other planets. Like, now he was from North Carolina, you know, he's, he's, as human as, as all of us, but he represents the highest, uh, heights and possibilities of human achievement, he's still doing this as a human being. So, I want to play another recording by your father, and this record, the album is titled Ascension.

And here's my story behind it. So, first of all, this is one of the most radical albums in jazz history.

The turning point in free jazz. It's also one of the first jazz albums I bought. Wow. Yeah. So I was living in Brooklyn, and I was on a summer break from, from out of town college, and I was working on Wall Street as a typist. Wow. But I had just started listening to, to jazz, and I wanted to buy jazz albums, but I hardly had any money. So I was working on Wall Street, and it was near J&R Records, which was a great record store.

So on the launch, I sometimes go to the record store and look for like discounted records. And I knew Coltrane's name. I didn't really know his music at the time, and I saw a sentient, so I bought it. It must have been like on sale, I don't know. But I got home, I put the needle down on the vinyl recording, because that's all there was was a vinyl. And this is what I heard. [Music]

But when I first put that on, I thought, "What is this?"

And I didn't know it to make of it, where the musician's expressing anger. Well, as it called a sentient, as in Christ, as sending, or as the souls of the dead as sending, was it expressing existential pain, where the musician's high, was it a bad trip, or a good trip? And I was afraid to listen to it, myself. I thought, "Who knows? What did you hear the first time you heard this? Do you remember?"

“Well, yes, I think what you experienced, I think it's probably what most people experienced. When they first hear that music, what is this and what's going on?”

The second feeling is like, "Yeah, it's actually entering my body in some way." I'm reacting to this, and either positively or negatively there's something that's stirring there.

And it's like diving into cold water, you know what I mean? For his shockings, it might be initially you get used to it at some point.

And as a gateway record, I mean, not a lot of people choose ascension to start learning about John Coltrane's music that was quite interesting. No, I just did it because I saw his name, I knew he was important. But one of the things with your father is that, like, for example, he took really long solos, and he could pull it off. But he set this kind of new opening for other people to take really long solos, who didn't really have much to say musically. I've sat through many jazz concerts where the editor-in-me kept thinking, "You could cut this down from 10 minutes to what have been fine."

Yes, yes, not everyone can go on that journey and take the audience and listen along with them and continue to explore and expand. You know, but the great, great improvisers, the great solos, the great visionaries and music, could. And John Coltrane, clearly, was one of those types of creators and improvisers. There's a very famous recording from a club called The Half-Node that was on Spring and Brume here in Manhattan from 1965. John plays a 27-minute saxophone solo.

And throughout heat never repeats himself.

He's building from one idea to the next and one motive to the next and expanding these motives and ideas. And the most organic way, you know, that the ear is falling, the band is falling, and things continue to build and grow for 28 minutes. I mean, that's really something, a lot of most musicians don't have 28 seconds worth of new ideas in them, within a solo, you know.

“What are your thoughts with your own playing about how long a solo should be either in performance or on record?”

Yeah, about 28 seconds. I think that's fair. How did your parents meet? My parents met at Birdland. My parents met here in New York City. The original Birdland was on 52nd Street and Broadway.

There was days to do double bills, then, you know, one band would play a 45 minutes. They'd get off a comedian or a poet with spoken word artists would get up. He'd hear she would speak until the next band was ready to play. And then that next band would play a 45 minutes and they would just keep doing that throughout the evening. There's long as people were in the club.

So for a week, the John Cole-Train Quartz had played a double bill with Terry Gibbs. Oh, and your mother was on the band? Terry Gibbs, yeah, so they met that week at Birdland 1963. So did they hit it off right away, your parents? Yes, they did. That week at Birdland, they were, you know, John was an introspective and kind of intuitive person who didn't,

and didn't lead with his words, he'd lead lead with his intentions, musical intentions.

“And I think my mother was also quiet, you know, you could say shy, but I think I would say quiet.”

You know, they both were, I think, at very similar temperaments, you know.

And following her around the club with his horn, you know, when he was not on the stage, he didn't really take his horn out of his mouth. He would play the set and then he would go back to the dressing room and continue playing.

He never stopped playing, but she did realize that he was serenading her in between the sets.

And she said the song, he would often play it was a song called Always. Everyone, Berlin's song, I'll be loving you all the way with all the way with you. Always, yeah, it's a beautiful, it's sentimental, you know, and how beautiful, you know.

“And I think my mother understood the scent of it.”

She gave up music to devote herself to her spiritual work and to her own, you know, devotional practices. But you convinced her to go back to the studio a few years before she died. And you recorded an album with her, called Translinear Light. What did you take to convince her to record with you? Well, I think 1979 was when my mom finished her contract with Warner Brothers.

She was signed to ABC Records, which is impulse records, and then through the 70s she made a bunch of records for Warner Brothers.

But when that contract ended, she never signed another one again.

And I think that was her time, you know, where she said I'm going to shift here and moved completely into the spiritual path.

“You know, and the only music that was made was for it was devotional music.”

At the same time, she still was a great, great, great pianist. And I would play gigs in LA when I started working with my own bands. And my mom would come to the gig and I'd say, "Mom, can I play one of this?" And she'd get up there and burn. She'd sound just great.

And people would say, "You know, if your mom could play and like that, watching she just do that all the time."

And you know, when I would ask her, "She'd say, "No, that was my past. The young people now. That's your time now to play this music." And so I had to start begging, you know, I'd say, "You know, just let's go into the studio, just record a few tracks." And that's really how that record came about.

“I'd go on the road and, for as many people who were buyers and followers of John Coltrane, there were as many,”

if not more, who were following Alice. So let's hear the title track of Translinear Light, composed by Alice Coltrane, featuring Alice at the piano and my guess Ravi Coltrane on soprano saxophone. ♪ ♪

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪

♪ ♪ That was my guess Ravi Coltrane on soprano saxophone with his mother Alice Coltrane, on piano from, it's the title track of their album together, Translinear Light. Well, we need to take another break here, someone who reintroduce you. If you're just joining us, my guess is Ravi Coltrane. He's a jazz composer and tenor saxophoneist and the son of John and Alice Coltrane.

Ravi edited the new collection of photos of his late father titled Coltrane, the definitive visual celebration of the legend.

♪ ♪

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“This whole time in Alabama shakes. I think when I bring something to the table and I see Zach and Heath light up, I feel like I really feel validated.”

Watch or listen to that wildcard conversation on the NPR app, YouTube or wherever you get your podcasts. This is Fresh Air, I'm Terry Gross. Let's get back to my interview with Ravi Coltrane. He's a jazz composer and tenor saxophonist and the son of musicians John and Alice Coltrane. John was one of the most influential and groundbreaking musicians in jazz history. The Centennial of his birth is September 23rd. As part of the celebration, Ravi edited a new book of John Coltrane photos titled Coltrane, the definitive visual celebration of the legend.

So I want to ask you something that I know is a turning point in your life because of a tragedy. Your older brother John died in a car crash. John Jr. John Jr. This is 1982, you were in high school. Do you remember how you heard the news?

“Oh yes, yes, yes, I remember that day. We'll always remember that day. He passed away on my birthday essentially.”

August 6, 1982, that's the day I turned 17 and if he had lived a few weeks longer, he would have turned 18 on August 26th actually. Today is the anniversary. His birthday. Yeah, we were recording this on August 26th. Yeah, it was a real shock to the system when we lost John Jr. And it really, you kind of suddenly wake up and realize that life can be heartbreaking. And events like that completely reshape you. My mother was widowed at 30 with four kids and to lose her husband and then to lose their first son together, 17 years later.

Yeah, it was not easy, not easy.

“How did your brother's death change your relationship to the future, knowing that your brother no longer had a future?”

Did you feel like you had to live life while you still could? Did you question whether you could die too?

Did you feel like your mortality in a way that you've never thought of it before?

Absolutely. Yes, you start reevaluating things. You start evaluating things, maybe. It's better when they put it in a way that you've never needed to do before, you know, the existential questions, you know, what was the meaning of his life? What's the meaning of my life? I mean, we could all literally be gone tomorrow, you know. Yeah, effectively ended my childhood, you know, and it was suddenly time to think about other things, you know, more important things.

It's a lot to ponder when you're 17. Yeah, but probably a good time for it, you know, if those questions never came up before, you know.

What did music fit in in that part of your life after your brother's death? You know, I took a very long pause, you know, after, after John Gene passed away. I had been playing the clarinet. I'd started playing clarinet in junior high school, and I was playing in the marching band when my brother was on the football team.

When John died, there was definitely a void, you know, there was something in my life that needed to be filled, and the music filled that void for me, you know.

“And it was primarily my father's recordings. You know, I think that was the first time that I really started to connect with the music on a more emotional level at spiritual level, I suppose, as well.”

But it started to speak to me in a way that I hadn't recognized before. You came out the other end of the pause. Where were you? Like, what was your next step to creating the next chapter of your life? I think it was music. You know, I think music was that suddenly this thing that I could pursue, and that there was some obsession behind it, you know, and love behind it and curiosity behind it, and it was something to really to go after. Is that when you switched from clarinet to saxophone? Yes, yeah. And was that because you didn't hear a lot of clarinet and jazz band?

Well, the saxophone was a pretty cool instrument. No offense to the clarinet. The clarinet's a beautiful instrument. It's still one of my favorite woodwinds. If I go to the symphony or something, my ears are kind of constantly pulled by the woodwinds section, flutes and clarinet's, I think. Yeah, well, you mentioned symphony. You considered becoming a classical clarinetist. Well, I mean, before the jazz bug hit me, you know, before that calling came to me.

Yeah, I would have been very content to just continue playing clarinet for the rest of my life.

“Did classical training help in playing jazz once you turned more towards jazz?”

Well, starting on the clarinet, I mean, it's a very difficult woodwind instrument compared to saxophones. So just playing the clarinet, it's a great preparation for being a saxophonist. So Elvin Jones, who was in your father's quartet and was a really brilliant drummer, he called you when you were still in your teens? No, I was still studying, I was still in school, so it was in my early 20s. And he suggested that you join him on the road and perform with his band. What was your response to that?

I said no. Because...

Well, I was not ready, I was still learning, I was still in school. You know, I basically just picked up the horn, I was still learning.

You know, I told him I was... I wasn't ready, then I was, you know, I was still studying. He said, "Well, I want to help you get ready." So I agreed, yes, I couldn't say no twice to Elvin Jones, his offer to bring me on the road and let me play in his band. That was life changing for me. So you didn't feel ready, but when you were playing with him, did you feel like you were holding your own or were you thinking like, "I really am not ready, I shouldn't have agreed to do this."

Well, that's the thing, you know, it was an experience of a lifetime. I mean, the first tours that I did in Europe. I mean, the first tour I did with Elvin Jones was 1991, spring of '91, it was two months, two months of one nighters. And that same year, we came back in the summer and did another month. I mean, to watch him play every night, through listen to him as a band leader, to see how he conducted himself on the stage and off the stage.

These were the most powerful lessons that I learned in my young life as a musician.

You know, whether I was ready to be on this stage or not with him. So when you became a jazz musician and you're playing with Elvin Jones, who's a legend unto himself, and who played with your father and your father's quartet, and your father obviously was a legend.

“Did you feel the pressure of being John Coltrane's son?”

I mean, picking up the saxophone, there's going to be a certain amount of pressure for anyone. If your last name is Coltrane, yeah, I mean, the pressure can be internal or external. Because I did grow up in very much Ravi, you know, that was who I was growing up. But who's I picked up the saxophone suddenly? I was John Coltrane's son.

Was it hard to figure out who you were as a musician since you had been so steeped in your father's music? So you couldn't really escape it, and you didn't, you didn't define yourself in opposition to your father. Like you weren't playing radically different music. You weren't playing punk rock or something. You know what I mean, that would have been totally different.

For the sake of being different, no, no. I mean, the reason why we play is because we hear something that compels us, it drows us in. You know, and John Coltrane's music drew me in, I mean, I'm not the first to be captivated and compelled by the sound of his saxophone.

You know, by the power of his, of his intention and musical invention, you know, but it's a powerful sound putting on a John Coltrane record.

You know, you say, what is that? And then you say, I want to do that, you know. I would like you to choose a recording of your own to play. Let's see. Well, there's a track written by Charlie Hayden called for Toria. Charlie wrote this song from my mother, Alice, her spiritual name was Toria.

And Charlie wrote this song in the '70s and recorded it with my mother on an album.

“I think the album was called Closeness. It was an album of two ads.”

And it went on to be one of this most popular compositions. I think he recorded it with many other musicians. And I played it with Charlie many times when I was a cowards in the '80s. But after my mother passed away, I asked Charlie if we could record the piece. With a young harpist named Brandy Younger, who was unknown at the time.

I'd like to take credit for discovering her and she's a big superstar now. But we recorded Charlie's song for Toria.

And I think it was the first time that a harpist had played it since my mother had recorded it with Charlie in the '70s.

So let's hear it. This is for Toria from Ravi Coltrane's album Blending Times. I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s. But I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s. And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s.

“And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s.”

And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s. And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s. And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s. And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s. And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s.

And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s.

And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s. And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s. And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s. And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s. And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s.

And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s.

“And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s.”

And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s. And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s. And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s. And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s. And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s.

And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s. And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s. And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s. And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s. And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s.

And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s. And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s. And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s. And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s. And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s.

And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s. And I think it was the first time that I recorded it with Charlie in the '70s. Or the new Apple Neo book. Or the resurgence of press on nails or lipstick or no lipstick I've lost track. There is only one way to know if these are actual economic warning signs, though.

Listen to the indicator from planet money on the NPR app or wherever you get your podcasts. On quotes which we're asking, "What do we owe the people who resist?" I think the public discourse makes us think that people who are strange don't care about the family or they're like self-assured, individualistic, and that really wasn't what I found. I found actually they cared so much about the family.

But they really wanted good families and they were trying their best to figure out a way to do that.

This is fresh air.

“In the interview we just heard with John Coltrane's son Ravi Coltrane,”

he talked about Elvin Jones, who was John's drummer from 1960 to 66, and became a mentor to Ravi. Now we're going to hear an interview from our archive with Elvin Jones, talking about playing with John Coltrane. To quote the late jazz critic Francis Davis again,

Jones was the drummer most crucial to the evolution of jazz in the period following Bob,

and you feel sorry for the generations who will know him only from his recordings, denied the thrill of watching him in action, unquote. Elvin Jones died in 2004 at the age of 76. I spoke with him in 1998. Since the Village Vanguard recordings that you made with John Coltrane in 1961 have just been re-assured, one and I play something from that.

“I think we'll hear spiritual, which is a Coltrane piece inspired,”

I believe, by a spiritual.

I grew up in the church, you know, and my father was a deacon. In the Baptist church. In the Baptist church, and I call trains, grandfather, and my baby grew up in this almost same kind of atmosphere that I did. So spiritual is something that is very deep and grand in our character. And spiritual, to me, brings memories of my father,

when's these prayer meetings we used to have in church, where he would get out on his knees and pray for hours. And you could feel, you know, even if you couldn't hear or understand all of the words that he was saying, you could certainly feel it.

“And that's what John Coltrane played a song spiritual.”

That's the kind of feeling that he invoked to me and I suppose a lot of people who had the experience enough to understand what it was he was saying. (Music) (Music) (Music) (Music)

(Music) (Music) (Music) (Music) (Music)

(Music) I'm wondering if you're drumming in the opening of spiritual as recorded at the Vanguard was was composed. You know, was thought out beforehand or if this is improvised.

It was all improvised. We never had a rehearsal at a, in the whole time that we were together.

Not one time. Everything was improvised, a matter of fact. I never really knew until I heard a downbeat exactly what it was we were going to play. It was sort of like that. You know, once you started playing and we just sort of fell. It's sort of rallied around the play. And it came off like that. It's very unique. I've never had that kind of experience ever before, ever since.

What John Coltrane talked with you about the pieces. Like for instance, he had a composition Alabama that he said was inspired by the tragedy one of church in Alabama was bombed and I think it was four girls were killed.

No, no. I didn't say anything about it. I think that you're referring to Lion and I know it's I think somebody who made that was an afterthought.

That was an afterthought.

“At least, as far as general public is concerned, I don't know what he thought in his own mind.”

I know what I thought in my own mind and I thought that that etmality sort of illustrated a lot of the things that a lot of people were feeling. And when I was playing that piece, I was the tears were coming from my eyes. Everybody in the group who had including Coltrane had it was very sad. [Music playing] [Music playing] [Music playing]

We're listening to my 1998 interview with Elven Jones, who was the drummer and John Coltrane's band from 1966. The Centennial of Coltrane's birth is later this month. The fatal shooting of a teenager at a protest in Seattle has gone unsolved for six years.

This is open in your face to how are there no answers. Our investigation has uncovered new evidence and witnesses who say they've never talked to police.

Did police ever call you? Not once. Listen to Weakeep Us Safe, a new true crime series on the embedded podcast from NPR. This is fresh air. Today show is devoted to John Coltrane and his son, Tanner saxophonist, Ravi Coltrane, the Centennial of John Coltrane's birth is September 23rd. Let's get back to my 1998 interview with Elven Jones, who was the drummer and John Coltrane's band from 1966 and later was a mentor to Ravi. When John Coltrane's solo's got longer, and then your solo's got longer too.

I wonder what it was like to accompany him in like 40 minutes solo. I mean that's a bit of the length of a whole set.

“There's one occasion in Philadelphia where you are now. You remember the showboat lounge?”

Yeah, that was the jazz club before I moved here. Anyway, we used to play there quite often and peps bar and the blue note up and I don't know if the routine was on Saturday or Sunday afternoon, it would be a matinee. In this particular matinee, John was playing a very fast temple piece and something happened to his horn. I just paid fell out of whatever you know, and he could barely get a tone out of just squeaks and squawks and he wouldn't stop.

He played until he finally got a final - he finally started making scales out of all of these sounds that were coming out of his horn.

And he played this piece for three hours.

“But the thing about it is when he finally finished, I was ready to play the next piece, okay, what are we going to play next?”

And the matinee was over. There's no way to get tired or just to pursue an idea or a mode and to a natural conclusion. And if it took an hour or a quarter minutes or two hours, whatever does it, then that's so good.

[Music]

“What about when the music of the group started moving away from time signatures and getting free or as the drummer, how did you feel about that?”

I was just starting anything else.

It really didn't matter. There was nothing strange about being abstracts because I used to go to a museum and enjoy a lot of Jackson Pollock paintings and Matisse and Picasso and all these guys.

“I didn't think it was any different than anything else.”

It's just a musical abstract.

But the portrait is there nevertheless. My interview with Alvin Jones was recorded in 1998. John Coltrane Centennial is September 23rd.

Jazzisturian Kevin Whitehead will have an appreciation of Coltrane closer to that date.

Tomorrow on fresh air, how big tech companies, including Google, Apple and Microsoft, have been donating equipment, holding conferences, and are offering workshops for educators and students.

“So how much are they influencing how school children learn and what they learn?”

We'll talk with New York Times reporter Natasha Singer, author of the new book Coding Kids, Big Tech's Battle to remake the schools. I hope you'll join us. To keep up with what's on the show and get highlights of our interviews, follow us on Instagram at NPR Fresh Air. Fresh air's executive producer is Sam Brigger. Our technical director and engineers are of you, Bentham. Our engineer today is Adam Stanna-Chefski.

Our interviews and reviews are produced and edited by Philis Meyers and Rebuildenado Lauren Crenzel, Theresa Madden, Monique Nazareth, Thia-Challa-Nor, Susan Ecundi and Abelman and Nico Gonzalez-Wisler. Our digital media producer is Molly C.V. Nesper. Roberta Shora, directs the show, our co-host is Tanya Mosley. I'm Terry Grounds. [Music]