Racquel Perry steps up to the mic in a Chicago recording studio. She says she’s nervous, although you’d never know it based on her calm confidence.
Perry is not a recording artist, but she is here to appear on a forthcoming song that honors her son, Justin, who was killed in 2021 in a shooting just outside Chicago. He was 28 years old.
As the music cues her in, Perry begins, keeping beat in a rhythmic spoken word: Dear Justin, I just had to get this out to you. I’m writing these words and it’s hard to see it through. Even in spirit, you’re the air that I breathe. Every day I thank God while I’m praying on bended knee.
Each song in the Notes for Peace program starts with an introduction between the musicians and parents who share stories about their lost loved one. Then parents like Perry (right) work with orchestra members and songwriting coaches, such as Sara Lee (left), who travels from England to guide families through the process.
Tyler Pasciak LaRiviere/Sun-Time
The Hazel Crest resident is one of eight mothers participating this fall in a program called Notes for Peace that pairs grieving Chicagoans with musicians from the Chicago Symphony Orchestra’s training program. The families all have lost a loved one to gun violence, and together with young musicians, they write a song in honor of their late children. The whirlwind process unfolds over just two weeks, culminating in a live performance and a professionally mixed track.
The program grew out of a concert that the internationally renowned cellist Yo-Yo Ma organized at St. Sabina’s in Auburn-Gresham during a CSO residency. Since 2018, the effort — a partnership between the CSO and the nonprofit Purpose Over Pain — has sought to bring comfort to parents and also to put names and faces to the shootings that have become routine in a Chicago news cycle.
Pam Bosley, who cofounded Purpose Over Pain, was among the first parents to participate in Notes for Peace. Her son Terrell was killed in 2006. “We try to allow parents the opportunity to tell their stories, whichever way we can do it, if it’s through music, if it’s through press conferences, you need to tell the story of your child,” Bosley said.
The project is also an attempt to bring healing to a hurt city, said Rachael Cohen, who represents CSO on the project and sees it as a chance for the organization to give back.
“It’s important that we explore how music can connect with people on and off the stage in new ways,” Cohen said. “And I think this project does an incredible job at marrying how music and the humanity of musicmaking can help us connect with people we might not ever meet otherwise and offer what we have musically to help tell their stories.”
The songs vary in style and tone, each is different, just like the people they are about. But, it always starts with a conversation. Musicians ask parents about their lost loved one, to gather stories that will inform the sound and lyrics.
Perry (left) speaks with Rachael Cohen (right), the program manager of the Negaunee Music Institute at the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, inside the Lost Boy Sound studio located in the West Loop. The Notes for Peace program pairs parents with musicians in a training orchestra.
Tyler Pasciak LaRiviere/Sun-Times
In early October, this fall’s group came together for the first time in St. Sabina’s basement. As large, industrial fans circulated steamy air, the budding songwriters and parents found a spot in a circle of folding chairs. Each of the parents held a framed photo of their child as they introduced themselves.
Donna Pearson-Simmons shared how her daughter Erica always kept her hair and nails perfectly manicured. Erica was funny, her mother recalls, always dancing and singing and keeping her family laughing. She was killed in 2023.
Robbie Stevenson talked about her son Maurice, who was fatally shot in 2018. “He loved to smile,” she said. “He didn’t talk that much, but he’d go into a room and he would smile.”
Then it was Perry’s turn. “I brought two pictures of my son, Justin Perry,” she said. “He loved music. He loved everything about music. He loved every genre, from country to hip-hop.”
The group then broke off to meet with their assigned orchestra members. Perry told musicians Sava Velkoff and Hamed Barbarji how Justin was a natural leader, how the two of them just got each other, how they would laugh at each other’s jokes. That’s what she misses most about her son. She played a bit of a rap that he recorded before he died.
“We’ve got a lot of good material to go off of and I think we’re going to do justice to Justin,” Velkoff said as the conversation concluded.
“Yeah, I think we learned a lot about a really wonderful person,” Barbarji added. From there, they began composing the song’s harmony, lyrics and orchestration, all in consultation with Perry.
Two weeks later, the mothers arrived on a staggered schedule at Lost Boy Sound — a studio in a nondescript building in Chicago’s West Loop. The Civic Orchestra musicians had recorded the instrumentals. Now, it was time to lay down the vocals.
Mothers like Perry may choose to appear on their songs, but the rest is performed by professional vocalists like Meagan McNeal, a local singer-songwriter who previously appeared on “The Voice.”
“I hate that we have to do this, but as a mother, my heart resonates and breaks for these folks who’ve lost loved ones to gun violence,” McNeal said, wearing the weight of this job on her face. “I’m committed to using my voice in a way that is shown to bring them comfort and healing. So that’s why I continue to show up.”
Perry recorded her verse a couple more times for good measure. Then, the sound engineer gave her a thumbs up from behind a window. She nailed it. Relieved, Perry broke down in tears. As she weeped, she embraced Sara Lee, one of two songwriting coaches who travel from England to help guide the musicians and parents throughout the process. “That was fantastic,” Lee said encouragingly.
“He would be so proud,” Perry said of her son, wiping her eyes with a Kleenex. “These are definitely tears of joy. It’s not tears of sadness, because this is the best experience.”
Next up were Donna Pearson-Simmons and Robbie Stevenson, who headed into the booth together to offer a bit of extra support.
As vocalist Melinda Alberty recorded the song “My Cup” for Stevenson’s son Maurice, his mother sat on the couch, holding printed lyrics and mouthing along. After she recorded a part for the song, she tried to hide her emotions. “I don’t want Donna to see me cry,” she said. Stevenson is always telling Pearson-Simmons, “Don’t cry. Be strong.”
But Pearson-Simmons was there with support. “You’re a human, you’re supposed to cry, sis, it’s OK,” she comforted her friend.
All of the production, recordings and tears added up to a live performance concert at Chop Shop, along North Avenue in Wicker Park. For that tribute, the mothers gathered as a group once more. This time, each of them dressed in white. Around her neck, Perry wore Justin’s photo.
Inside the venue, about 100 people gathered to hear the music. Everyone who had touched the process was there: the musicians, vocalists, sound engineer, the songwriting experts from London, the CSO team.
Perry’s song, “A King Lives On,” closed the concert. Perry and McNeal made their way to the stage. Part soaring ballad, part loose rap, the track sounded at once heartbreaking and awe-inspiring.
As it reached the mother’s verse, she said into the mic: “Life of the party, you were always a leader. Kept a book nearby because you were always a reader. As I say these words, I can hear you say, “OG, you not supposed to talk over this track this way.” J, I’m keeping your memory alive through this song to let the entire world know that a king lives on.”
She wiped tears from her eyes and looked toward the sky. A king lives on. Both in her heart, and now, also in song.
Courtney Kueppers is an arts and culture reporter at WBEZ.