Terrace Martin on the Legacy of Zane Musa

 Producer for Kendrick Lamar, Snoop Dogg, and The Game celebrates the life of his childhood friend, Zane Musa

Trigger Warning: Content in this issue contains discussion of mental health crisis and suicide, which some readers may find triggering. If you or a loved one are experiencing thought of self-harm and/or suicide, please visit https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/ or call 1-800-273-8255.

The following was originally published in Palestine in America’s 2020 Music Edition. Order a print copy or download a digital copy today!

When Thundercat, a Grammy-winning bassist and songwriter, appeared on my podcast, “The Nostalgia Mixtape,” in April, he mentioned a saxophone player named Zane Musa. I thought, “Zane Musa sounds like an Arabic name; I wonder if he’s Palestinian.” In that episode, Thundercat tells the story of how he, Terrace Martin, and Kamasi Washington were producing “Mortal Man” for Kendrick Lamar‘s 2015 album “To Pimp a Butterfly” when they got word their friend, Musa, had passed away, that he had taken his own life. They were devastated because he was not only one of the most brilliant players they had ever heard but also one of the sweetest humans and one of the most humble friends they’d ever known.  

So, I reached back out to Thundercat, and I asked him who might be a good person to talk to about Musa. He suggested keyboard player Dennis Hamm, who was one of Musa’s closest friends. I reached out to Hamm on Instagram and asked if he knew if Zane was Palestinian; Hamm said yes.  I thought, “Wow, that’s incredible.” Hamm told me very confidently, “[Musa] was the jazz community’s treasure.” Toward the end of his life, Musa played in actor Jeff Goldblum’s jazz band and toured extensively with Cuban trumpet legend Arturo Sandoval, who would later compose “Zane” in his memory. Over 600 people attended Musa’s memorial in 2015. 

Here, Musa plays with Sandoval on a rendition of the jazz standard, “There Will Never Be Another You”:

Below, Sandoval’s composition for Musa played with a full orchestra.



Hamm also said I should talk with producer Terrace Martin, who had known Musa since they were teenagers. So, I reached out to Devi Brown, former west coast radio personality and now global chief impact officer for Chopra, a wellness app. Brown connected me with Martin, and we spoke over the phone. For nearly an hour, Martin passionately described Musa’s playing as the greatest he’d ever seen for someone their age. One of the most fascinating and devastating things I learned is that Martin had planned to invite Musa to the “To Pimp a Butterfly” recording sessions but sadly, Musa never made it back home from tour. 

The following are Martin’s lucid memories of Musa:

Palestine in America (PiA): Do you have a memory of how you met Zane?

Martin: I met Zane when I was 13 and he was 14 at this concert called the Dolo Coker Scholarship. Dolo Coker was a piano player, and his family put together a scholarship program where if you was a kid, you could play with a group, win some money, and win some lessons. I met Zane in the practice room getting ready for that. All I can remember is walking into the room, not seeing everybody, but hearing this saxophone and just assuming it had to be a famous, 50-year-old sax player — it had to be. It was impossible that this was a kid in my age group playing at this level. Then I looked through the crowd and I saw Zane facing the wall; he was just warming up. He would warm up on tenor sax and alto. He would do like 30 minutes on alto, 30 minutes tenor, back and forth. It was the most cleanest, beautifullest, swiftest, intelligent, different sound I’ve ever heard. 

You know, me and Kamasi, we talk about Zane every time we talk. Zane is with us every day. Zane was the best. Zane was bad, man. Zane was a real live superhero on the saxophone. We learned a lot from Zane; he was very giving, very loving. We got real tight all through high school and college and into our adult years and touring years. The good times, the bad times, the ugly times, the pretty times, Zane would pull up wherever we was at. If we was in Watts, Zane would pull up; if we was in Compton, Zane would pull up; if we was in South Central, Zane would pull up. Zane never gave a fuck. Only thing he gave a fuck about was where the music at and where the baddest motherfuckers that play the music is at. 

And he was bad. He was superbad; I can’t even explain. I used to stand next to Zane and be so intimidated at a young age. I used to be so scared to play my horn because I felt like he was all over me, but he let me know like, man, “It’s not about that. You play your thing, and I’ll play my thing.” And he was very giving and loving about it. 

PiA: Zane used to play at Piano Bar with the West Coast Get Down, right? 

Martin: No, not with; Zane was part of the whole shit. Either we went to Zane, or Zane came to us. Zane passed in the middle of us doing the horns and strings for “Mortal Man” on “To Pimp a Butterfly.” That day. We were in the studio when we got the call. We was hoping Zane could come back [from tour for the session]. Zane was a god, man. 

PiA: Man.

Martin: We’re from South Central; we only knew white, Black, and Mexican. We didn’t even know Zane was Palestinian for years. We just knew he was our homeboy and that we needed to be around him because that motherfucker was bad. He used to send chills down people’s spines, man. He had full control of the saxophone. He used to complain though. He used to finish playing and say, “Aw, man, I sounded horrible.” And we’d be like, “Man, you just played the most amazing shit we’ve heard come from a human being.” 

PiA: And he was still being a little too critical of himself? Man.

Martin: He was critical from day one till the day it ended. And you know what? We should have paid more attention to that. We just thought Zane was being Zane. That still eats me up inside. A lot of times we don’t see people’s cries for help because we think of them as being so perfect in their world. I don’t say this often, man, but I wish I could build a time machine. 

PiA: That’s kinda what Thundercat was saying. About how to talk to your friend when they’re going through it, or how you want your friends to talk to you when you’re going through it.

Martin: Yeah, man. 

PiA: It’s a process. As human beings, we gotta learn. 

Martin: We gotta learn, man. I remember that day. Thundercat was so sad. Kamasi was so sad. And I was, too. But we still got through that session because it’s what Zane would have wanted us to do. In the middle of feeling lost and sad at the loss of one of the anchors of our childhood crew.

PiA: When you did finally learn that Zane was Palestinian, did he put you onto any parts of our culture

Martin: He put all of us on. Usually in art we don’t see color. In art I’ve never felt racism; in business, yes, but in art, I’ve never felt that. His Palestinian spirit was just such a part of our environment. When you met his mom and his dad, and then Zane would be like, “Let’s eat some shawarma,” and they would speak some Arabic, and he’d say, “Check it out; this is where I’m from. This is what our music sounds like. This is what scales sound like over here. Eric Dolphy did integrate scales from where I come from into his music.” He was always giving references to the cats like John Coltrane and Eric Dolphy that were already involved in [playing eastern scales] and bridging that gap. 

PiA: That’s so cool that he was bridging those two worlds, east and west. 

Martin: He was really bridging them. Sometimes Zane would play a saxophone solo and he would go into that [Palestinian] music and it would fuck you up! You’d be like, “Woah! What is THAT?” You’d just wanna look up and cry — the power of the notes he was choosing to play. Those scales from [Palestine] he put that shit on top of bebop and blues. He played his blues. Palestinian blues. Kamasi would say the same thing; Zane was a motherfucking superhero. We had two superheroes, only two: Isaac Smith, who’s still here with us, and Zane Musa. Isaac Smith and Zane Musa are the gurus of the high-level playing in LA. They like the roots of this shit. They made us wanna go home and be able to bring back something to the table because they gave us so much. We knew it would take us years to get to their level. 

PiA: Goosebumps. I got goosebumps for real. 

Martin: Look, I don’t know anybody from Palestine who plays like he plays. He should be a landmark. There should be a Zane Musa School of Jazz. He one of them cats that we gotta keep saying his name. 

PiA: We gotta build him a statue. 

Martin: And here’s the thing: We told him all these things while he was still here. When we got drunk, we told him this shit. Like, when he would get too critical of himself, we’d say, “Shut up, motherfucker, you bad! Two more shots! You’re a superhero, you’re bulletproof!” And then we’d hug him and say, “I love you, motherfucker. You levitate when you play.” Because, look, I don’t levitate when I play. He levitates. He would have us and the crowds mesmerized. Like, how is Zane able to appease the ears that don’t know what he’s doing and people like us who know he’s playing some incredible shit? 

PiA: What a legend. Wow. 

Martin: He used to just melt the alto saxophone. He played a Selmer Mark IV, I think from 1960. He would always change his reeds so much. For 20 years, he complained about reeds. The last time I saw him I was at Big Wangs in Hollywood with a gorgeous woman, and Zane walked in with his soprano saxophone. He was like, “Man, you gotta get me on some of this rap shit.” I said, “Man, I’ma get you on it.” And I was also working with Jason Derulo, and he was ready for that too. Then I said, “Zane, I love you, you a bad motherfucker.” He sent me a Facebook message that night and said, “If I offended you, I’m sorry.” I said, “Aw man, I’m glad you said something, because I thought I was being too loud and offended you.” He was just so loving. I can’t say this enough: God bless the spirit of Zane Musa. God bless the spirit of Zane Musa.

PiA: Amen. 

Martin: Amen. 

Below: Terrace Martin and Kamasi Washington’s emotional tributes to Zane Musa:



If you or a loved one are experiencing thought of self-harm and/or suicide, please visit https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/ or call 1-800-273-8255.