Blessed are Those Who Ask the Question

On what would have been my mother's 84th birthday a week ago today, it was heartwarming to reflect on the wonderful woman and mother she was, and also to ruminate on the many life lessons she taught me along the way. Often delivered as clever, matter-of-fact one liners, you could always expect her to bless you with gems of wisdom that made you laugh but also made you think. As I grew older and began to chase my own dreams, one piece of advice from her that I held close to my heart when oppositions arose was "Just ask for what you want. All that can be said is 'yes' or 'no'."

Now I admit that when I was was younger, I didn't always heed that advice and, in fact, found it quite annoying. After all, who ever wants to feel the disappointment of possibly being denied a request? But, in time, I not only came to realize how much wisdom resided in her words but also how much power lies in having the courage to ask for what you want and in being prepared to accept whatever that response brings.

Writer James Baldwin once said, "Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.” And whatever that change is that's needed usually begins with a simple question, whether it's as rudimentary as asking for a raise at work or something more meaningful as asking for someone's hand in marriage or something more powerful as asking for your basic human rights to be respected. However, what often prevents us from asking for what we desire is rooted in the fear that our vulnerability will not allow us to handle receiving that dreadful "no" or is rooted in the angst that we may not be prepared to step up to the next level required if a "yes" is given. And so we end up existing in that space called, "I Wonder If...." However, as is often said, "If God brings you to it, He'll bring you through it," in addition to believing enough in divine order to know that a "no" can be just as huge of a blessing as a resounding "yes," for that's often God's gentle way of saying, "Not that way; but this way."

In also reflecting on the current unrest in the world from challenging the "promises" of our National Anthem to demanding police accountability to fighting against proposed policies that threaten justice and liberty for all, the first step toward change all begins with the courage to ask for what is needed. And, if the answer is "no," finding gratitude in the opportunity to strategically plan a course of action that will lead to the next great movement. Just as every paramount moment in life begins with a simple act; every great act begins with a single question, and it's often, "How can this/I/we be better?"

Thankfully, as I continue to grow, I am developing greater courage to put my mother's words into action even more, which has led to new opportunities that continue to sharpen me. Therefore, as we near the ending of 2017 and prepare for what I pray is an even more blessed and bountiful 2018 for us all, may we develop or continue to build the courage we need to ask the questions that will lead to us living our best lives yet. Thanks Mama.

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Review: Over the Moon, Child

With a week until summer is behind us, I grow nostalgic about my favorite month of the season: June. Not only does it represent Black Music Month, but also the annual Capital Jazz Fest held at Merriweather Post Pavilion, in Columbia, Maryland. In addition to the beautiful weather, dope people, and lineup of award-winning artists surrounded by lush green trees and countless vendors selling items for and about Black people, the Capital Jazz Fest is a time to reconnect with "music heads" and do what we do best--eat, drink, laugh, and "put each other on" to artists we've discovered. This year's 25th annual festival was no exception, as I have a friend to thank for turning me on to what would become my "soundtrack of the summer": Moonchild's Voyager. And so I pass the musical blessing on to you....

First, let's get two fun facts out of the way: 1) I all but overdosed on Voyager's Change Your Mind and The List tracks, and 2) Moonchild is of the "blue eyed soul" variety. However, in addition to the latter, they are also sexy, sassy, and intentional in their lyrics and music. A recent LA Weekly article proclaimed that everyone including Jill Scott, 9th Wonder (with whom they've worked closely), Robert Glasper, Stevie Wonder, The Internet, and Tyler the Creator are fans of the neo-Soul trio. Having met in the University of Southern California's jazz performance program, Max Bryk, Andris Mattson, and lead vocalist Amber Navran toured together as a horn/woodwind trio, with Navran on saxophone, Mattson on trumpet and flugelhorn, and Bryk on sax, flute, and clarinet. As Narvan recalled, “We rode in the car together and realized that we had the same music taste. When we were on that tour, we tried writing a song together and it was really easy, so we decided to come together as a group. It wasn’t that calculated really. We were doing well so we kept going.” (Source: LA Weekly, June 20, 2017)

Photo credit: Meeno

In fact, lead singer Narvan does vocals "so well," you'd be hard-pressed not to compare her to Jill Scott or, perhaps more accurately, Scott's neo-Soul predecessor, Erykah Badu. Although the 14-track Voyager is the L.A. group's third album following their 2012 debut, Be Free, and sophomore album, Please Rewind, which they described as "electronic Dilla soul," for many--like myself--Moonchild is still both new and, yet, right on time. The only thing that's going to be better than keeping this trio in my musical rotation is finally seeing them live, which I'm already making plans to soon do. So, while there are still a few warm weather days left, cop Voyager, put the windows down on your ride, place it in cruise control, lay back, and go on a journey with Moonchild.

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Segregated Sympathy

A few weeks ago while on travel, I decided to break up my busy day with a trip to the movies. I'm a regular moviegoer, but there's always something electrifying about taking in a flick away from home. It's like a further escape from your escape. My movie of choice: Detroit. Now, I will say, as much as I champion black cinema, I had no intention of seeing the much-anticipated film. After reading reviews and watching interviews, I just didn't think I could stomach seeing on screen what is continuing to be experienced by many young African-American men on a daily basis. But I dared myself to proceed and managed to make it through its 143-minute running time stoically, sans the few times I winced and shook my head during a few nerve-wracking moments. As the credits rolled, a few sat in reflection, while others attempted to collect themselves between sniffles. I, however, felt numb--until I exited the theater and, without any physical cues, the tears began to fall. It was like an unexpected punch in the gut. I surprised even myself and had no idea where the emotion had welled up from, having known the the history of the 1967 Detroit riot and being fully aware of what to expect on screen. But then I realized what was behind my tears: the realization that although some things have changed, so much has not.

1967 Detroit riots

The images of a re-created, litter-lined Detroit street, of cops brutalizing young black men and women, of Armed forces patrolling the streets in riot gear, of the pain, tears, and fear that paralyzed its citizens looked identical to the streets of Ferguson after the death of Mike Brown; to the streets of Baltimore after the death of Freddie Gray; to the streets of Beavercreek after the death of John Crawford, and of so many cities across the United States after tragic injustices have been committed. Then enters Charlottesville. 

2015 Baltimore riots

I must admit, although sad, nothing about this past weekend was surprising to me, especially when the Free World is being led by a man whose very election platform was laced with racist rhetoric, lies, and unsubstantiated "facts." Honestly, I was more perplexed at those who were shocked he didn't take a stronger stance in denouncing the white supremacists and neo-Nazis who descended on the Virginia town to protest the pending removal of a statue of the Confederate's top leader--General Robert E. Lee. In fact, waiting for sincere outrage from Trump on this matter was akin to waiting for an atheist to deliver the Thanksgiving grace. Like really? However, what his lack of empathy could not distract from was the sad reality that three lives were lost--one directly, two indirectly--and the world was both outraged and saddened. Talking heads shared their remorse, late night talk show hosts offered monologues asking that Heather Heyer's death not be in vain, and people everywhere were saying it's time things change. And then I was forced to ponder a deeper question: Where in the hell have some of these people been? 

Heather Heyer

There's no doubt that young Heather is indeed a martyr for the cause; she was protesting on the side of "right" as opposed to the Alt-Right, and had lived a brief life championing the cause for equality. However, from 1619 Jamestown to 1967 Detroit to now, African-Americans have been fighting, bleeding, and dying for this same equality; screaming in what feels like a silo, only to have it often fall on deaf ears and for the order of most American's days to continue on unbothered. Not saying that African-Americans have stood alone in their fight, but the latest outrage from those who usually remain silent makes me believe that even in mourning, there's segregation. 

Dre Harris

In solidarity of Saturday's tragic events, I was compelled to make a donation to the Go Fund Me campaign of Dre Harris, the young man who was captured on video being beaten with poles by white supremacists in a parking garage near the Charlottesville protest. His campaign was created to ask for assistance with medical bills, after having suffered a concussion, lacerations, broken wrist, broken teeth, and more. As of today, he has far exceeded his donation goal, which is a blessing since several contributors who worked in the medical field stated he was far underestimating what his costs would be, considering his injuries. But it didn't take long for the supportive words lining his campaign to be overshadowed by "jokingly" asking if he was really going to use the money for bills or would it be primarily used to buy weed. Two protesters fighting for justice; two victims in spite of their different endings. However, something tells me if Heather had been lucky enough to walk away from the tragedy with only injuries and was requesting assistance with medical bills, the outpouring of support would have been void of the sarcasm Dre received. For it seems even when we're victims, we're victims. And therein lies one of the biggest problems. 

Robert E. Lee statue in Charlottesville, VA

There's no doubt this country must do better with facing its ugly past and working toward a better future, and whatever it takes to "awaken" people--even tragedy--is never in vain. However, before white America considers the biggest enemy to be those across the protest line wearing Swastikas, wielding sticks and chains, and yelling racial slurs, it must consider its own ways it has contributed to this country's lack of progress in race relations, whether that's turning a blind eye to those protesters who stay on the front lines in the fight for equality, because they don't look like them, or in ignoring causes they feel don't speak to their "needs," or simply in the sarcastic humor offered in the face of tragedy. As the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. so eloquently stated, "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere." We may be on the same side of the protest line some of the time, but nothing will change if we're not of the same mindset all of the time. 

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A Fallen Monument Remembered

If you are a native Washingtonian of a certain age, there is no arguing that there were three men who were the living embodiment of "D.C. monuments": Mayor Marion Barry, Godfather of Go-Go Chuck Brown, and long-time TV news veteran and lead anchorman, Jim Vance, whom we lost yesterday at the age of 75. Known as much for his swag and humor as his hard-nosed news telling style, Vance came into our homes each night to inform, enlighten and, often, unknowingly entertain.

Never too cool to not enjoy a hearty laugh with his fellow news desk anchors, and never to laid back to not get in your face with "the real," Vance often used his own life struggles as a cautionary tale and, yet, a way to inspire. Having battled drug addiction, depression, attempted suicide, several failed marriages, and a two-time bout with cancer, Vance kept going strong and was a constant reminder to his viewing audience that you can always begin again if you got just a little fight left in you to do so.That tenacity did not go unnoticed or unappreciated, as just last month, in addition to 17 local Emmy awards, Vance was bestowed with one of D.C.'s most anticipated honors: being immortalized in living color on the side of the famous Ben's Chili Bowl wall as one of its mural honorees--an honor that was not only timely but also befitting for someone who loved D.C. as much as D.C. loved him.

There's so much that can be said about Vance, from his early beginnings and his years as a Philadelphia school teacher before coming to Washington as a reporter and eventually becoming one of the few lead anchors of color on a major news network--a position he held for more than 45 years, making him the region’s longest-serving television news anchor (click here for in-depth coverage of Vance's life and career). Yet I'll simply say, another shining light has dimmed. Vance left footprints that can not be erased and a legacy that can not be denied, and reminded us all that not only is staying on top of news cool but you can look cool delivering it. As longtime radio personality Donnie Simpson said, "Jim was our Frank Sinatra." And he most certainly did it his way.

D.C. will miss you, Jim, and I know I personally will whenever I hear "My Mood" by M.F.S.B.--the song Vance personally selected in 1975 to close out WRC-TV's nightly newscast on Friday evenings, which still plays today. Vance indeed set the mood and standard for how news should be delivered and we were all made wiser because of it. So, job well done, Jim. You can officially sign off now...and rest in peace.

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The 411 on 4:44

4:44 exclusively on Tidal

This will probably be one of the shortest reviews I'll ever write because I have so much to say about Jay-Z's latest offering, "4:44," after his four-year solo absence from our "ear-rea," that I'm honestly speechless, and have instead been reduced to .gif worthy facial expressions, ranging from surprise to pensiveness to devilish glee. Now, I'll be completely honest and say I haven't been a die-hard fan of Jay's for a while now (read: at least a decade), while remaining a pretty steadfast fan of his producers (if you really know me, that makes perfect sense). But last night, when the album exclusively dropped on Tidal, the stars aligned and gave us 10-solid No I.D.-produced tracks, revealing a more introspective, grown up and, sometimes remorseful, Shawn, gifting us with, as one tweeter wrote, "that 'i got shit to say; i ain't really come to play'" type fiyah. (And shout out to a good friend for adding me to their Tidal account recently, which obviously proved more on time than I could have predicted).

Jay-Z

Although Mr. Carter has always kept it "real" about who he was, is, and is always striving to be, it would be accurate to say that as the commas in his bank account grew over the years, so did the divide in his relation to some of his fans. At times, it felt like he was no longer "one of us," but now a high-perched observer instead, creating what often felt like a unreachable pillar from which he sat, challenging everyone to (impossibly) de-throne him and, at the same time, try and understand him. Now, don't get me wrong, Jay is still doing much of the same, but let's just say he's climbed down long enough to let folks know, "I got it all...but I got every day problems too," which feels raw, honest, and needed at a time when much of nothing feels "real" from hung juries to diabolical Administrations.

Producer No I.D.

Over hundreds of bars exploring fame, poverty, gentrification, colorism, same-sex love, financial literacy, family, marriage, infidelity, and all of the highs and lows associated with each, Jiggaman is purging while, as the young folks say, "snatchin' wigs in the process." Nobody is spared from "analysis" (read: criticism) on this album--Kanye, Al Sharpton, Bill Cosby, OJ, Eric Benet, even Jay's own mama, which means one of two things: that he is so solid in his life right now, he could care less about having any friends at all or that at 47 he simply has no time to waste in not keeping it real with anyone about any and everything--including himself. I'll go with the latter, and echo the words of comedian Chris Rock exclaiming, "I ain't saying it's right....but I understand." God bless everyone in the rap game right now and those trying to get in it, for Hov has added yet another tier to his already high pillar, while raining and reigning down on everyone in the process.

So take heart while bumpin' it at your work desk, in your car, rockin' to it at listening parties or cookouts this weekend, and relish in a bit of that ol' Jigga we all knew and loved...and are loving again. Perhaps I had more than a little to say after all...

Hitting the replay button like:



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