stmmfsbasp, part vier

4 days in a row. I'm positive that's a personal best.

Still with me on this? Good for you! I've got a treat in store for today:

Brotha, by Angie Stone.

(Get it how you live, right here.)

There's nothing like a good old affirmation. The world is full of struggles -- racism, injustice, and depression, and some have argued that those struggles are much harder for Black men than they are for Black women. I don't agree with that point of view (in fact I have serious disagreements with that point of view), but this isn't the time to consider all that. The fact remains that Black men do have a hard time in the U.S. If they're not getting stereotyped as violent, lascivious thugs on the streets, delinquent hardheads in the classroom, and lazy absent fathers in general, then they're given a hard rap as corporate sell-outs and wannabe flunkies. That's harsh language, isn't it? Abominable language, in fact. Yet, it's no more than what I hear in the streets and in classrooms on a regular basis, from people of all races.

Good Black men don't get enough love. Angie Stone realized that when she decided to write this song. It's a lovely song, and nothing too deep about it. The lyrics might be simple, but that doesn't mean they aren't powerful. This song moves me just by saying things I already know, but that I don't get to hear often enough. Affirmation. A good reality-check to fly in the face of all that negativity that pours in from news reports, media outlets, statistics bureaus, and institutional reports. Take a listen to the song, and celebrate all the good brothas you know.

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Lyrics For You Today:
"Brotha" of course. You can buy the album here.

He is my King, He is my one
Yes he's my father, Yes he's my son.
I can talk to him, cuz he understands
Everything I go through and everything I am.
My support system, I can't live without him.
The best thing since sliced bread
Is his kiss, his hugs, his lips, his touch,
and I just want the whole world to know, about my

Black Brotha, I love ya, I will never try to hurt you.
I want ya, to know that, I'm here for you for forever true,
Cause you're my Black Brotha, strong brotha, there is no one above ya.
I want ya to know that I'm here for you for forever true.

He's misunderstood, some say that he's
up to no good around the neighborhood.
But for your information: a lot of my brothers got education.
Now check it. You got your Wall Street brotha, your blue collar brotha,
your down for whatever chillin on the corner brotha.
Your talented brotha, and to everyone of y'all behind bars,
you know that Angie loves ya.

You mean so much to me, you give me what I need.
I'm so proud of you.
I love you for staying strong, you got it going on.
I'm so proud of you.
Going through thick and thin, brothas you gonna win.
I'm so proud of you.
Whenever you're facing doubt, brothas gon work it out.
I'm so proud, I got unshakable faith in you.

stmmfsbasp, part tres

Yeah! And we're back for the third consecutive day of blogging, which I think is some kind of record for me.

We're getting controversial up in here today, which is just wonderful. Today's special song has just the right mix of social commentary, amazingly adept instumentalism, and extraordinarily clever lyricism. As a matter of fact, this song is so deep that some folks don't even understand the depths it reaches. Peoples, I bring you:

Big Black Buck, by Donnie
(Yes, it's here. Wait for the countdown, click box in the upper right...)

Now, the title may be throwing you off. It sounds racist, doesn't it? But what is so superb about this is that this title is supposed to raise your ire, to get you feeling indignant before Donnie starts to get in your head with the rest of the song. For proof of that, all you have to do is listen to the opening notes. Dixieland, ragtime trumpets greet your ear as Donnie gives his best impersonation of a turn-of-the-century circus master, "Hurry, hurry, hurry! Come one, come all!" The Dixie swing continues throughout the whole song, but before things dip too far into minstrelsy, the real lyrics begin. Check this out: "Mama's little baby is nothing but a consumer, never making a profit, rendering empty pockets." How about that? How about that that's genius? How about the genius of taking an old Black folk song (Mama's little baby loves short'nin bread...) and using it to immediately characterize his song and the people he's talking about? The decision to begin this modern indictment of Black consumerism with an allusion to the storied past of Black life in the 19th century is a very important one; it lends an immediate urgency to the whole, calling the listeners to consider the past in order to gain perspective on the present.

I'm with him all the way, until the bitter end. And the song does get bitter, oh yes it goes there. Shortly after he stresses the frivolity that is Black spending (On your town look around, it's the first of the month/U.S. economy will get its usual jump...) he delves into the cycle of social irresponsibility that keeps the wheel of oppression turning. This is the thesis, if you want, of the song, and he brings it up sharply during the refrain. So the refrain is disturbing, it's jarring; he sings: "Everytime we buy into this criminal society/we whip that big black buck again/bring him down to his knees/They're waiting 'round the auction block/they jock so hard to see the consistency of my spunk/breeding their monopoly." Now you look at that lyric and balk at it. What is he saying, how can he say that, it's horrible! He shouldn't bring up such a horrible image of slavery like that!

I know what the critics mean, but they're absolutely wrong. Why not bring up that image if it's the truth? The big buck of Black spending power is exploited and abused, whipped, in the same manner as a master whipping his slave. And what's worse, and what's really deserving of your outrage and indignation is the fact that we, us Black people are now contributing to the oppression. We "buy into" this system of exploitation, thus keeping ourselves down and heaping insult on the backs of those long-dead ancestors, further humiliating and debasing their lives with an unexamined and ignorant approach to spending our money in this country. We "breed the white folks' monopoly" by spending money on dumb things like spinning rims on car tires, then we teach our children to value those same dumb material things, and never give it a second thought. That's what's outrageous to me, not Donnie's appropriation of an apt metaphor that happens make people uncomfortable.

I should be uncomfortable. You should be uncomfortable. We ain't right. And far from just pointing fingers, Donnie highlights this damaging behavior and tells us what we could do: "If mama's little baby didn't buy or sell on the Sabbath/don't you know what would happen/Some economy backbone snappin/.../Mama's little baby is the backbone of that order/and no, not kinda sorta/making dough for the Man/whipping that big Black buck again." We could help ourselves, we could force our way into social and economic equality, if we used the collective power in our collective dollars. If we could get past all this material aspiration, this pointless idea of keeping up with the Joneses, if we could transcend our own petty disagreements to make a community of smart consumers, investors, and producers, why, the world would have to listen to us, would have to pay attention and address our concerns. Snap the backbone of that oppressive economy, and you've got all the power and agency you need to make changes in your world. That's all Donnie's saying. I'm listening. I'm inspired. Not only do I want to say "it," I want you to say "it" too, and go support your local Black business. That's the first baby step.

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Lyrics for You Today
"Big Black Buck" of course. You can buy the album here.

Mama's little baby is nothing but a consumer.
Never making a profit, rndering empty pockets.
Oh, mama's litle baby is trendy, on the rumor.
Buying, never investing, rather visit market testing.

On your town, look around it's the first of the month,
U.S. economy will get it's usual jump.
We're creatures of habit, modern slaves.
Guaranteed to spend it all in just one place.

Mama's little baby is a dancer, and a crooner,
making dough for the Man.
Whipping that big black buck again.

Oh, and everytime we buy into this criminal society,
we whip that big black buck again, bring him down to his knees.
They're waiting 'round the auction block, they jock so hard to see
the consistency of my spunk, breeding their monopoly.

Mama's little baby are pawns protecting the bishop.
Taking fish, never learning. They're keeping this whole thing turning.
If mama's little baby didn't buy or sell on the Sabbath,
don't you know what would happen? Some economy backbone snappin.

Can't you see illuminati wage a quiet war?
Put the blood upon the lentil and the post on your door.
We're waiting for new world water to come,
baby don't you know it's here and almost gone?

Mama's little baby is the backbone of that order,
and no, not kinda sorta!
Making dough for the Man,
whipping that big black buck again.

stmmfsbasp, part deux

A little late on this one, but I made it in time! Welcome to day 2 of consecutive blogging.

We are of course continuing in our Black People's Music series, and today I bring you a little known number from the very well known Queen of Soul:

Young, Gifted, And Black, by Aretha Franklin

(Yes, you can download it again here, wait for the countdown, click the download box, etc.)

What is there to say? The title gives you the basics. Young. Gifted. Black. It's all good! But there's so much going on with those words. The phrase comes from an address that playwright Lorraine Hansberry gave to a group of young writers, which was later used as the title of her collected writings. We are all aware of the social climate in the United States in the mid-twentieth century (and if you aren't aware, what in the world are you doing reading random blogs on the internet? get your behind in the library or something!), and both Hansberry's address and the recording of this song are signs of the times. There are a few versions of the song, including one by the remarkable Nina Simone, and one by the brilliant Donny Hathaway, but I have ever been a fan of the Queen's interpretation.

From the gospel-saturated tinkling of the organ that introduces the song, and the gospelicious chorus of ladies that immediately follows, the atmosphere of striving and strength, of deep roots and deep possibilities is immediately apparent. And then before I can fully wrap my mind around around the first lyric, "To be young, gifted and Black, oh what a lovely, precious thing," here is Aretha completely taking off, riffing from the depths of her very soul, "Yes, thank You, Jesus!" and I'm gone. My mind and my heart belong to Aretha as the paced, strutting piano kicks back in, joined by an understated bass guitar and jaunty but almost muted drums, moving so easily as if we're all just taking a walk together down the road.

There aren't many lyrics, and I appreciate that -- the mood, the melody, the "young, gifted, Black" are more than enough for me. Especially when the gospel-ness of the whole completely takes over and Aretha is allowed to let her skill shine through. After the last true lyric, "You are young, gifted, and Black; you've got your soul intact." Everything, all semblance of pop breaks down. We're back to roots, to the gospel basic of call-and-response, and we're treated to a overflow of soul, of emotion, hope, yearning, and all the essence of what it means to strive, to work for good in the world. All of that can be conveyed by a bit of tremolo or vibrato, by the merest string of melisma, and it's a testament to Mother Aretha's powerful artistry as well as the weight of the song. She says, "Oh, it's a mighty sweet thing," and I believe her. I'm inspired. She says, "Don't you dare look back," and I am convinced I never will. I'll keep my soul intact just because she says that's the way it should be. And yes, of course when I hear this song, I want to say "it" loud.

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Lyrics For You Today:
"Young, Gifted And Black," of course. You can buy the album here. Some say it's her best...

To be young, gifted and Black,
oh what a lovely, precious thing.
Oh when you're, yes when you're --
when you're young, yes thank You, Jesus!
gifted and Black,
oh then your heart is all I need.

In this cold world you know,
there are millions of boys and girls
who are young, gifted and Black
with their souls intact. Oh, and that's a fact.

You are young, gifted, and you're Black!
We must begin to tell our young.
There's a world waiting for you, you.
Yours is a quest that's just begun.

When you're feeling real low,
here's a great truth you should remember and know,
that you're young, gifted and Black.
You got your soul intact. And that's a fact.

music is amazing. (stmmfsbasp, part I)

This is not debatable. The existence of sounds in the universe that can be combined and manipulated solely for the purpose of giving us aural pleasure is one of the most divine elements of our existence.

If you know me, you know I love the music. My tastes are sort of eclectic, but not very much. I like a little bit of everything, your canonical classical composers, your jazz, your blues, your rock, your soul, r&b, even a teeeency bit of country. Why am I telling you all of this? Two reasons.

1) It's my blog, and I can do what I want with it!

2) Because this is the last week of Black People's Time, for each of the next seven days I will try to present a different song having to do with us Black Peoples. Yes, I know that there are now only officially 4 days left of Black People's Time, but so? We can spill over into March if we want to. The womens won't mind. They have 31 days in their month anyway, so they can spare one or two for us.

Ambitious project, no? Well, for me anyway. We'll see if I can update this thing everyday for a whole week, but I'm going to give it my best. So, here we go:

Songs that Make Me Feel So Black And So Proud, Part I

Black Butterfly, by Deniece Williams

(You can download it here. Wait for the countdown, and then click the "download here" box in the upper-right corner.)

Of course I love this song, and not only because of Deniece Williams' superb soprano singing and her joyful, effervescent phrasing, but also because of the import of the whole. This song came out in the mid-1980s, during a peculiar moment in Black history. The peak of the Civil Rights Movement and Black Nationalist eras had passed, and thousands of young Blacks were starting to reap the rewards of new access to educational and professional opportunities. This was the age of Black Urban Professionals, or buppies as they were nicknamed in certain media.

In the midst of all this growing and changing in the Black community, climbing the sicial and intellectual ladders in the U.S., there were concerns that the younger generations would forget the struggles for broader social equality and justice in the face of slowly expanding economic and personal gains. Buppies were loudly and persistently urged to remember their past, to remember all the battles that had been fought to get them where they were, and to keep up the fight for future generations. The old rhetoric of being a credit to the Black race resurfaced, and buppies were charged with representing Blackness, showing their racial pride, and remembering themselves to all who had suffered or struggled for each and every buppie that made it through a first-tier school and into a first-class job.

All of this context makes the song extremely inspirational. From those first twinkling notes and opening lyrics, the mood becomes one of pride, exultation and uplift. Soon after she so sweetly sings "You've survived, now your moment has arrived/Now your dream has finally been born," we're hit by this huge crescendo, the sound swells and all the insistence overflows with the words, "Black butterfly, sail across the waters/tell your sons and daughters what the struggle brings." Williams' lilting voice begins to soar lightly and effortlessly over the words just like that metaphorical butterfly, and by the time she lands on that last piercing syllable, the soft urging, "Fly" that completes the song, I'm always ready to burst out of my house into the streets, so I can say it loud! ("it" = "I'm Black and I'm proud!" of course.)

Take a listen to this song, let it uplift your spirits, even if you aren't Black. The words can easily apply to you too. (Although, this is Black People's Time, don't forget.) I'll be back tomorrow (Yes, I will! Well I certainly mean to be back tomorrow) with another song selection to expand your musical libraries.

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Lyrics For You Today:
"Black Butterfly" of course. You can buy the album here.

Morning light, silken dream take flight
as the darkness gives way to the dawn.
You've survived, now your moment has arrived.
Now your dream has finally been born.

Black butterfly, sail across the waters,
tell your sons and daughters what the struggle brings.
Black butterfly, set the skies on fire.
Rise up even higher,
so the ageless winds of time can catch your wings.

While you slept, the promise was unkept.
But your faith was as sure as the stars.
Now you're free, and the world as come to see
just how proud, and beautiful you are!

Let the current lift your heart, and send it soaring.
Write your timeless messgae clear across the sky,
so that all the world can read it, and remember when we need it
that a dream conceived in truth can never die.
Butterfly!

Cause now you're free, and the world has come to see
just how proud and beautiful you are.

Fly.
Butterfly.
Yeah, yeah, yes,
Fly!

in the words of tony toni tone:

"Do you know what today is? It's our anniversary, yeah. It's our anniversaryyy!"

So, you know that today is a very, veery special day, right? Yeah?


No, not because it's Valentine's Day!

It's the one year anniversary of this blog! Those of you who have been with me from the beginning may remember my auspicious start, but you will also recognize just how far this clever, catchy place has come in one short year.

Okay, so not so extremely far, but I'm still here and you're (still?) here, so it's a celebration!

Sang it with me now! (No really. Sang it, no matter where you are!):

Happy birthday to you,
your blog is so cool.
You're the BEST. BLOGGER. EVER.
and we all know it's true!


Did you sing it?

Yay!

For your loyalty, you may have a piece of birthday cake.


No, I don't have any ice cream.

No. I don't have any whipped cream.

No, you can't have pie instead! Just hush up and eat the cake, Anna Mae!

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A Verse For You Today:

Look, there on the mountains, the feet of one who brings good news, who proclaims peace! Celebrate your festivals, O Judah, and fulfill your vows. No more will the wicked invade you; they will be completely destroyed. ~ Nahum 1:15

"jody sawyer."

*spontaneous clapping and cheering ensues*

That's from the monumentally profound and brilliantly performed feature film called Center Stage, starring titans of drama such as Zoe Saldana and Ethan Stiefel. If you've never seen this cinematic masterpiece, it goes without saying that there is a great big hole in your life, and in your soul. Go watch it. Now. I promise your life will change.

If you have seen this remarkable film, then surely you remember the ending, from which my title is drawn.

I bring this ending up because whenever an event occurs in my life that I just can't account for, that final scene pops into my head. It's a Jody Sawyer Moment.

It's hard to get it across online, but I laid it on thick so I'm assuming you picked up on the sarcasm slathered all over my description of this movie. Then it shouldn't come as a surprise when I say that my "Jody Sawyer" moments usually involve a completely ridiculous situation. Just the way that it is completely ridiculous for an entire lobby full of strangers to burst into loud, spontaneous applause and cheering for some girl they don't know or care about, just because Cooper Nielsen says "Jody Sawyer."

I had a Jody Sawyer moment in class today. Well, there were two, really. Both courtesy of my professor. Check it out. We're all talking and discussing, and then he brings up the subject of the paper we have due next week. Fine. He goes on about the usual -- length, style, what have you. Then, he takes a thoughtful pause, he puts his hands in his pockets, and says something like, "Let's make sure we're all on the same page. This is a paper. That means it needs to have a title, right?" We're nodding in agreement, "Yeah, of course, right." Tell me why he then proceeds to the blackboard, picks up the chalk, and draws a diagram of a sheet of paper. Automatically my eyes widen in disbelief of what's obviously coming. He draws a line across the top of the page, "Title goes here." What?!? And then, "Make sure it's right. And page numbers, not on the first page, but starting from the second." Okay. . . "Double-spaced, and that means double-space between the paragraphs too, MLA format, blah blah, blah blah." Mm hmm. "And don't forget your name."

What!?! Speaking to a room full of graduate students, who combined have probably written enough papers to fill the classroom we were sitting in, this guy takes it upon himself to make sure we don't forget to put our titles at the tops of our pages. As opposed to slipping it in between two of those double-spaced paragraphs, I guess.

Ridiculous! So ridiculous that I expected him at any moment to jump up and start clapping and cheering. I wouldn't have been surprised.

I felt the same way about an hour later, when we began discussing a new book. We all flipped our books open, and he asks, "Do you guys make an outline when you read?" I say no, because I do the underline, write in the margins deal. He looks at us in disbelief and says, "You might look into writing up outlines for dense material like this in the future." Well, okay. Good suggestion. But then, "And you know, it's also good to highlight, or even underline important passages and terms. You should also make notes to yourselves, you know. That way when you read again, you'll know which points struck you. Mark up your books!"

Huh? I mean can we get a little credit for, you know, graduating from accredited colleges? Can we just take it for granted that we all have a basic grasp of note-taking and paper-writing? How is it that when we say we don't write a complete outline for each book, all of a sudden we're in remedial reading class? Say it with me: What?!?

I know! Ridiculous is the appropriate word. So uncalled for. Jody Sawyer.


*huge cacophony of claps and cheers*

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A Verse For You Today:

I lift up my hands for Your commands, which I delight in, and I meditate on Your words. ~ Rsalm 119: 48

awwwww yeah!

It's Black People's Time!

As a Black person, I really do love Black People's Time. Time to forget about all our social troubles and enjoy the 28-day month of the year when you can find speaking engagements, creative performances and art exhibits, films, television programming, and yes, even commercials wholly dedicated to us Black folks.

We're only 5 days in and already there have been 2 lectures at my uni, there's a concert tonight (of course I'm going!), a play later this week, and I can personally vouch for having seen 3 specials on televison already (on TV Land, The History Channel, and of course BET).

AND! I've seen "Let's Celebrate Blackness and Black History" commercials on MTV and Nickelodeon. One of those even presented a bunch of children saying things like "Black is beautiful," and "I love my history," and "I love my skin." Absolutely delightful! Made me feel good. I'm sure there are more to come in the following weeks.

You might be thinking, "Man, with all this Blackness going on it's easy to get overwhelmed!" Well, it's only one month. Correction, only 28 days.


*In case you were wondering, the tone of this post is only about 20% sarcastic. I'm very happy that it's Black History Month, very happy that so many educational and enlightening events are happening, and only slightly disappointed that it's all concentrated into the shortest, arguably the dreariest month of the year. I mean, no disrespect to Carter G. Woodson, but July really is the ideal month for celebrating Black History. Perhaps I'll explain why some other time.*


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A Verse For You Today:

Have we not all one Father? And hath not one God created us? Why then do we deal treacherously, every man against his brother, by profaning the covenant of our fathers? ~ Malachi 2:10