Inspirational Old School Friday: All Blues

The theme for this week’s Old School Friday is Songs That Inspire. I have many songs that inspire me in one area or another. But the song that inspires my creativity and writing output is definitely “All Blues” by Miles Davis. At one point while writing my dissertation I had this whole album on repeat, listening it to it again and again and again. I would feel a special surge of inspiration whenever Track #4 would open with that amazing piano and high hat.

Instead of providing a clip to just that song, I am re-posting a previous OSF post where I featured the entire album. Enjoy!

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The theme for today’s Old School Friday is “the Greatest of All Time.” As usual, the creators of this meme have purposefully left open interpretation of the theme—and a look around the OSF participants reveals the usual high degree of creativity folks came up with in applying their own lenses.

I think I will do something a little different. I will focus on the greatest art form ever created by the young country we call the United States of America. That art form is jazz music. I know this heres a fightin’ words kind of topic among jazz fans, but I think that—hands down—the greatest jazz album of all time is Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue.

Listen to the whole album here on Last.fm.

"vero jazz." intermundia, http://www.flickr.com/photos/intermundia/2574080894/

I’d really, however, like to dedicate this OSF to all those jazz musicians who are not well known. All those people who play on street corners or in subway stations…who gig in small neighborhood clubs and at the zoo’s “jamming with the animals” programs…who learn brass and percussion and improvisation in high school jazz band.

When I was growing up, everything “extra” I ever got was because of my mother’s jazz gigs that she got in addition to her full time teaching or other jobs. My private telephone, my prom dress, my summer leadership camp—my own saxophone for jazz band. All thanks to the tips she got in her “kitty jar”—an extra large brandy snifter that sat atop her piano and that she primed with a couple of bucks of her own to cue folks in to what they were supposed to do. She was only continuing the tradition of her own mother, who had a regular full time gig for much of her adult life.

Some of my favorite memories of my mother, and the true mark that I had reached adulthood, was when I would come home from college and go out to jazz clubs with her. There is a tradition in the community of jazz musicians that when you have a gig, you invite fellow jazz musicians who are in your audience to sit in with you for a tune or two. To snub a colleague was to risk not getting a recommendation from them in the future, or an opportunity to sub for them, or certainly the chance to be asked to sit in with them in return. It was always quite incredible to listen to her perform with these musicians. She became someone else on stage, and for a time, took me with her.

My mother’s name would not be known to you. Unless you happen to be one of her thousands of former students or unless you happen to be familiar with the Indianapolis community jazz scene of the 70s and 80s. But the next time you are having drinks in a bar and you see the vocalist or trio performing on the small stage up front, or are waiting on the 5:12 to take you home and you see the brother blowing “Satin Doll” on his horn, please drop a five or ten into the kitty jar or open saxophone case for my Moms. And know that you are helping to continue the greatest music of our, and possibly all, time.

Happy Old School Friday!

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As always, a big thank you to OSF hostesses, Marvalus at (her new place) Conversations with Marva and MrsGrapevine. Please check out the rules for joining and list of other OSF participants here.

Post-election Analysis Done Correctly

Instead of letting your blood pressure rise unnecessarily due to listening to political pundits talk about the recent elections, why not just start with Nate Silver?

Why did Democrats lose in Virginia and New Jersey on Tuesday? Because independent voters moved against them, say the pundits.

This is true, insofar as it goes; Democrats lost independents nearly 2:1 in the gubernatorial race in Virginia, and by a 25-point margin in New Jersey.

But it doesn’t really tell us very much. It’s a lot like saying: the Yankees won the Game 6 last night because they scored more runs than the Phillies. Or: the unemployment rate went up because there were fewer jobs…. [Source]

BTW, I am getting together a listing of resources for bloggers who may not be statistical wizzes. (I include myself in that number—educational credentials notwithstanding.) My idea is that as blogging as a means of social media has matured, we bloggers need to be more intentional and factual about how we interpret statistics. If you have any links to suggest, please drop me a line.

 

 

Cranberry Homophobia

"Cranberries in fudge." villoks, http://www.flickr.com/photos/villoks/34352744/

Good point: Now that marriage equity has been repealed in Maine, will we see the same vitriol against segments of the Maine population as we saw against Black Californians (actually, all Black folks) following Proposition 8? Will Dan Savage write about feeling betrayed by small town and rural voters in Maine, who apparently voted overwhelmingly in support of Question 1?  Will he write,

I do know this, though: I’m done pretending that the handful of racist cranberry- and lobster-hating gay white men out there—and they’re out there, and I think they’re scum—are a bigger problem for African Americans Maine residents, gay and straight [and cranberry- or lobster-loving], than the huge numbers of homophobic African Americans cranberry and lobster lovers are for gay Americans, whatever their color [or juice/seafood preferences]… [Original quote here]

Probably not.

At the time of Prop 8 I read lobster-crates full of incredibly racist, stunningly naive, or just plain ignorant commentary about Blacks and marriage equity and responded around blogland until I was cranberry-red in the face and utterly depressed. Eventually I quit reading and quit commenting, concluding that folks just needed to vent and that they were just (unfortunately) using Black folks as a temporary whipping group.

But I am not so sure. It is my belief that that racism never goes away and never will go away. That may be an unpopular and pessimistic view, but it is one that I hold. I do not think there will ever be a “cure” for racism, resulting in its eradication forever. There may be vaccines for uninfected young people. There may be treatments that put the scourge in remission. But it will always be there—virulent as ever in those who refuse treatment, ready to newly infect others with mutated strains, and powerfully rebounding in those who thought they were over it for good.

The fight, then, to manage racism generally and anti-Black racism specifically is an on-going struggle. As is and will be the fight against homophobia. The building and maintenance of ally relationships will have ups and downs. And probably more of the latter than the former. There will be steps forward* as well as steps—like Question 1—back.

But the way forward when we find our chins deep in the cranberry bog is to pick ourselves up, dry ourselves off, and start all over again. (Without pointing fingers at others absent the benefit of facts and context.)

*And there’s at least this look on the bright side from the world of the Chicago Cubs.

What am I missing?

**UPDATED: As of 11/4/09 the body count is now up to 10: “A judge denied bond Wednesday for a convicted rapist accused in multiple killings, saying the latest allegations are ‘gruesome’ and the ‘most serious’ he has heard during his time on the bench.” [Source] These latest developments have resulted in the case garnering front page exposure on the Nancy Grace Blog (stories here and here).

Frustrating: The story below reports that latest news on the investigation into the discovery of remains from six Black women at a convicted rapist’s home was to be aired yesterday on Nancy Grace’s CNN show. However, when I looked for further information about the story and aired report on the Nancy Grace blog, there is not an entry for it. (There is only a link back to the news story I excerpted from below. There are, predictably, several stories on Elizabeth Olten and Somer Thompson that appear on the first page of the site.)

So what am I missing? Did Grace cover the story or not? How many murdered Black women does it take to warrant a series of posts about them? (Apparently, more than six….)

…Local authorities also are attempting to trace 50-year-old Anthony Sowell’s residential history since his June 2005 prison release to learn whether there are additional victims, according to Lt. Thomas Stacho of the Cleveland Police Department.

Police arrested Sowell on Saturday, two days after discovering the decomposing bodies of five females inside his home. Another female body was discovered outside the house.

Authorities found the first two bodies while trying to serve an arrest and search warrant on Sowell related to a sexual assault investigation. Sowell was not home at the time; officers found him after a tipster told them of his whereabouts.

The decomposing bodies of the women, all of whom were African-American, could have been lying where they were found for “weeks, if not months or years,” a coroner said Saturday….[Source]

The Nancy Grace blog does have a post appearing on the front page about this case. See more commentary about this Cleveland case at From My Brown Eyed View and at Black and Missing But Not Forgotten.

‘Til It’s Gone, Again

"telephone dial." Leo Reynolds, http://www.flickr.com/photos/lwr/9257237/

A re-post from this past spring, on the occasion of falling back. Recently I have gone retro with my mobile telephone ring tone. Instead of the annoying song that used to play when someone calls, now my cell phone rings like an old rotary-dial land line phone. My kids think it is the funniest thing—and think it is amazing that everyone’s phone sounded pretty similar….

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So I spent Sunday morning walking around the house, re-setting all the clocks. The microwave oven, the regular oven, three alarm clocks, two automobiles…

At about the third change I had a random thought:

Hmmm. None of these clocks has a dial.

A dial. A circular disc or knob with markings of some sort that you can manually rotate.

Most people would probably acknowledge such a thought, then let it go to move on with their day. In my case, the thought nagged off and on at the edges of my consciousness for the next couple of days.

With some discomfort I came to the conclusion that there is not a single dial in my house. Not on my telephones, or clocks, or stovetop, or computer, or television. Not even on any children’s toys. No dials. Anywhere.

When did this happen? When did my home make the technological leap from manual knobs to fully digital, LED-lit controls? I suspect it was not so much a leap as kind of technological creep. One year the computer with the dial to control volume is replaced with one with more memory and better features that–quite unnoticed–has two buttons marked with little speaker type graphics to make sound softer or louder. Another year the old, huge microwave with the knob you turn to 2:00 to make a bag of Orville Redenbacher was replaced with the sleeker model that uses a touch screen. And although I still speak of having a contact on “speed dial” it has been many phones ago since I actually put my index finger through a hole on a disc and moved it round to dial someone’s number.

No more dials here.

I never voted on this move. There was never any big national initiative, perhaps like the move from analog TV, to phase out dials.

Honestly, I never really missed dials–hadn’t realized that I had none, even–until the other day. I cannot say that I have been particularly dissatisfied by the tools that have replaced dials. A more environmentally-attuned person might comment on the human-environment disconnect that comes from less interaction with the machines that we create…a lessened ability for everyday people to actually fix machines themselves using tools from their own homes…an increased bias towards disposability rather than maintenance.

My feelings of loss about dials is not this noble, however. My feeling has more to do with the fact that I was not even aware that these implements were now absent from my space. I feel at times as if the entire universe is at my fingertips. Everything is only a click away. Everyone has a cell phone camera and the ability to uplink to YouTube. Nothing can happen without someone noticing.

But of course this is not true. Technology disappears all the time with barely a notice. Languages. People. Cultural artifacts. Stories.

Gone things can be got back–if someone notices that they’ve gone in the first place. But never in the same way. Only under the guise of “retro” or “nostalgia.”

Today I did find a dial in my house. To my knowledge it is the only one. It is an old bathroom scale hidden far in the back of a closet that no one had used in years. In fact, I did not even know that we still had it. I spent almost five minutes trying to calibrate the dial so that the scale reads “0″ when no one is standing on it. I have to have my glasses on in order to read the tiny numbers and tick marks at my toes. It is not incredibly sleek and does not match my decor. But I plan to clean it up and put it in my bathroom and use it.

I Smile for Old School Friday: Halloween Edition

"What's so funny?" John Carleton, http://www.flickr.com/photos/johncarleton/284011194/

Because I am late with my Old School Friday selection, I am going to kill two ravens with one headstone and combine the official OSF theme, Songs That Make Me Smile, with a tribute to one of my favorite dates on the calendar. Here are Halloween-flavored songs that make me smile.

I may as well start with the obvious. Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” has become more than a song. It is a cultural institution. From prisoners to wedding parties to my little brother’s recent swim team talent show, everyone at some point in their life must find reason to participate in a reenactment of the Thriller choreography.

Of course this Halloween the song is bittersweet, with the recent death of MJ and the thus-far enormously successful film This Is It. “Thriller” is still one of those Halloween-appropriate songs that makes me smile.

“Thriller (Bird Peterson Remix)” by Michael Jackson

Another highly participatory Halloween song that always puts a smile on my face is from one of the most uproariously fun movies of all time. If you ever meet me in person remind me to tell you the story of the first time my friends and I, in high school, went to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show downtown, bringing bags full of raw eggs and rocks and filled water balloons—all of which were confiscated by the security guard at the door. Or, about the time we took my exchange student from Yugoslavia to see it for his first time, and he got mad when the audience yelled “VIRGIN” to him when he said the wrong thing at the wrong time.

“Time Warp” from The Rocky Horror Picture Show Motion Picture Soundtrack

My last pick is probably the best song ever made to send a chill up your spine. It makes me smile because ever since I was a child I have loved scary movies—and The Exorcist is one of the scariest ever made.

“Tubular Bells” by Mike Oldfield

Have a safe Halloween weekend!

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As always, a big thank you to OSF hostesses, Marvalus at Conversations with Marva and MrsGrapevine.

Please check out the rules for joining and list of other OSF participants here.

The Obamas and The (Re)Discovery of Blackness

Damon Winter/The New York Times, http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/01/magazine/01Obama-t.html?_r=2

The past few months have seen a constant string by the mainstream media of discoveries about Black people. I use the word “discoveries” in the same sense of Christopher Columbus and his discovery of what we now call the United States of America. Of course the land mass already existed. Of course other people were already living on it. And indeed, others from other places had previously “discovered” it.

We Black people—like the land mass and folks living there—did not become that interesting, that open for analysis, that ripe for exploration (and exploitation) until others discovered us.

There have been other times when attention has been focused on Black people and all things Black. But the most recent interest is the direct result of Barack H. Obama and his family.

I am sure someone has the data:

The number of news stories on interracial marriages and multiracial people pre- and post-Barack Obama (e.g., “Should we call Obama ‘black’ or ‘biracial’?” NY Times).

The amount of discussion about Black people’s (men, women and children) hair pre- and post-Barack (e.g., re: his barber), -Michelle (e.g., “Why Michelle’s Hair Matters,” Time Magazine), and -Malia (e.g., re: her hair style during a trip to Russia).

The level of fascination about Black women’s bodies pre- and post-Michelle (e.g., “First Lady Got Back“).

We have even been exposed to the shocking!yes,shocking! news that the First Lady has Whiteblood!yes,whiteblood! in her genetic ancestry.

Now comes the latest (for the moment) oddity of the Obamas: their marriage. Of course, married presidents are not something new. But according to the writer of this New York Times Magazine cover story, “the Obamas mix politics and romance in a way that no first couple quite have before.”

The entire article is worth a read. And in fairness, I cannot blame the media for being somewhat fascinated by, or at least interested in, the Obamas. What’s there not to be interested in?

But I suspect that with this NY Times Magazine story may follow a rush of articles trying to figure out What is going on with marriages between Black professional men and Black professional women? … to uncover the truths about What forces are challenging these unions in the 21st Century? …to declare that the Health and Future of The Black Family is dependent upon these Black Marriages! …to headline all manner of other questions, and problems, and observations about a demographic that—I am sure it will seem—sprung up out of nowhere. I would like to supply some perspectives from one woman involved in such a fascinating Black Marriage, so as to save some writers some research effort when it comes time to produce these news pieces.

* I have been half of a Black Marriage for almost as long as Michelle and Barack. (They’ve got us beat by almost exactly 1 year.) Our circle of friends include other Black couples who have been married as long or longer than the First Couple.

* “The centrality of the Obama marriage to the president’s political brand opens a new chapter in the debate that has run through, even helped define, their union….” Though my spouse’s and my marriage is not a capital-P political one, that we are both Black and married (to each other) seems to be very political in some people’s eyes. For example, my spouse has had Black women in his workplace act warm and friendly toward him after previously being cold and aloof once they find out that his wife is Black. Part of our “brand” very much seems to be that we are individually successful, individually well-educated, and yoked to each other. Like the Obamas, we have learned to deal with and even embrace this.

* We’ve dealt with those imbalances that come from managing continuing educations/training, jobs, a marriage, and two children. Like the First Lady, I have usually been the one who has had to put something on hold, take up some slack, slide something to the back burner, make some extra adjustments. Many women of many different races deal with this. However, the racial component makes things that much more interesting for me. For example, I once had a fellow mother at a private school where our daughters attended express surprise when she found out that (a) I had an advanced degree and (b) my husband was a physician. (I suppose, when she heard that we both worked, that she assumed we were what was euphemistically called a “scholarship family.”) She—a stay-at-home-mother—asked me why I didn’t just stay home, as she had done. Further, she couldn’t understand why I did not hire a nanny to help me with my twins when they were younger as she had with her twins. That was not a very pleasant conversation after that, and as a result, this woman avoided me for the next two years.

* Black married couples have all sorts of married models they are drawing on for inspiration. I know part of the fascination with Michelle is that, unlike her spouse, she grew up in an “intact” family. Both my own spouse and I spent our childhoods in such homes. And in my case, both my parents had advanced degrees. There was nothing necessarily “unique” about this upbringing. Once during the run of “The Cosby Show” a White colleague on a college campus expressed how “unrealistic” the family was. I probed her to explain to me what made the family such an inauthentic portrayal of Black life. (You can probably guess where the conversation went from there.) I certainly knew of Black single mothers, or men who had second (or third) simultaneous families. But I also had “traditional” couples to draw from, and those are the ones that have informed my own relationship ideas. (Not to mention my relationship models that were “non-traditional” same-sex couples…a different story for a different day.)

When she interviewed for a job at the University of Chicago Medical Center, her baby sitter canceled at the last moment, and so Michelle strapped a newborn Sasha into a stroller, and the two rolled off together to meet the hospital president. “She was in a lot of ways a single mom, and that was not her plan,” recalls Susan Sher, who became her boss at the hospital and is now her chief of staff….

* I can relate. Because of my spouse’s schedule at one time, I was the one rolling around a stroller, alone, with two little babies strapped in. But this comment by Mrs. Obama’s old boss reminds me of an additional element to all this that I never quite got used to:  Frequently people assumed, just by the sight of me, that I was a single mother. Once, a colleague I had known for just a few weeks told me that if there was anything she could do—anything at all—to help me out, to just give her a call. This, because she had “so much respect for what it must be like for a single Mom.” Another time, a woman pushing her child-filled stroller on the sidewalk in the opposite direction from me stopped to comment. “Are they twins? My hat is off to you! You are one strong sister to be able to raise two by yourself.” (The first woman was White; the second was Black.)

* I cannot relate to complaints from some of my married friends (of any race) about their husband’s lack of help around the house. In addition to working full time my spouse also cleans and cooks. He even does little girls’ hair so long as what is required is a basic symmetrical afro. I once had a woman at an academic conference tell me that this was because we were a Black couple and Black couples are a lot more egalitarian than White couples and White men had a lot to learn from Black men. (You might be able to imagine where that conversation went from there.) Once again, the way that we have organized our lives, our parenting, and our household has become political. Yet our arrangements are really just what work for us. We do not join each other in a round of “I (She) Am (Is) Woman, Hear Me (Her) Roar” following a joint clothes-folding session or after tucking our children in bed at night. Things do not always go smoothly. There are “bumps,” as Michelle Obama said about her own marriage, and yes they are pretty continuous. But in general, things are good.

I often find it strange that I sometimes feel disloyal or embarrassed for saying so.

* “…Parenting in the White House is more complicated….” Actually, Parenting-While-Black is complicated enough already. The biggest challenges my husband and I face as a couple have less to do with us as individuals or a couple, and more to do with our roles as parents. As my battle conversation with my children’s school personnel over their decision regarding the President’s back-to-school speech illustrates, raising Black children in the USA can, indeed, be life on a battlefield. There are some negative things my children have faced that I thought were over with. There are new negative things they’ve faced that have completely bewildered me. They have also, however, been fortunate to be exposed to a similar diversity as I was in my parents’ 70s college-era environment. (Alas, not so much now as when we were in the Twin Cities.) Life as a Black couple parenting Black children is challenging—but not all gloom and doom.

As the great experiment of the presidency rolls on, the Obamas may finally learn definitive answers to the issues they have been debating over the course of their partnership. The questions they have long asked each other in private will likely be answered on the largest possible stage. They will discern whether politics can bring about the kind of change they have longed for and promised to others, or whether the compromises and defeats are too great. They will learn whether they were too ambitious or not ambitious enough. And even if they share the answer with no one else, the two will know better if everything does in fact become political — if their marriage can both embrace politics and also at some level stay free of it.

Then, in three or seven years, the president’s political career will end. There will be no more offices to win or hold, and the Obamas will most likely renegotiate their compact once more — this time, perhaps more on Michelle Obama’s terms.

The equality of any partnership “is measured over the scope of the marriage. It’s not just four years or eight years or two,” the first lady said. “We’re going to be married for a very long time.”

* In the end, that is what it is about with my own Black marriage, too. A belief in the long-range. A faith in the this-too-shall-pass. That to some my spouse and I are considered an anomaly, an outlier far beyond the normal data points—none of that matters. It should not make me feel more special than anyone else, or less “authentic” than anyone else.

There is no Black Marriage. There are Black Marriages. And mine is just one of them.

85 Years as President…

…That is how long it would take Barack Obama (or any POTUS at the current pay) to make what the CEO of Hewlitt-Packard makes in 1 year. This, according to the graphic reproduced here (from this original piece). Of course, we cannot all be leader of the fee world. If you are an “average worker” making around $40K, it will take you 836 years to reach H-P CEO bank.

"Monopoly." d0bb0, http://www.flickr.com/photos/d0bb0/2319191944/

I’ve heard some say that the next world war will be fought over water. Perhaps. But will the next US revolution be fought over income disparities?

Doesn’t seem plausible, IMO. Many folks seem to think that they—with hard work and a “quality education”—might one day pull down H-P CEO-type money, or position their kids so that they might. In the meantime, so much more efficient to blame affirmative action or immigration for any lack of personal income power.

Eating Obama (Again)

Here we go again with the Obama-food-racist imagery. This time the culinary delight is fried chicken. Apparently, one of the RNC’s Facebook fans uploaded an image of the President chowing down on what appears to be a chicken wing (no word on whether it is the left wing or the right wing) with text that read, “Miscegenation is a crime against American values/Repeal Loving v. Virginia” (Source, incl. image). The image has been removed—but it seems it was up for some time before this action was taken. This reminded me of this post from a while back, so I decided to re-post.

Yes, Obama makes some folks bat-sh** crazy ravenously hungry. Not to mention scared that he’s going to be the harbinger of Black men taking up with the all the White women eating up all of America’s friend chicken….

Eating Obama

One thing I know for certain: Barack Obama sure seems to make some people hungry.

We’ve had Obama Waffles (“Change You Can Taste!”), White House lawn-grown watermellons,  and Obama Bucks to buy all of this food. More recently there have been Obama Fingers—a tasty fried chicken treat, and this frozen ice cream treat that appears to be vanilla covered in nut-sprinkled chocolate.

On a less sinister note, we’ve also witnessed portraits of Obama in the medium of over 1,000 cupcakes, Obama campaign logo cookies, and even Obama (flavored?) hot sauce.

What’s going on with all this Obama-inspired culinary activity?

Are folks just hungry, and want to combine their love of (or hate for) Barack Obama with nutritional ingestion? Are some supporters on an Obama Eucharist kind of trip, thinking they’ll witness some kind of miraculous transubstantiation after eating foodstuff emblazoned in his image? We Obama supporters often were accused of looking upon the man as Messiah. But my answer to all that was always, “Don’t hate because you have a boring snoozer of a candidate. We Dems certainly have had to suffer with such candidates in the recent past.”

As for the more negative portrayals, is food just an efficient shorthand tool for expressions of racism? In the case of the non-US food companies, do they really just have no clue? Well, at least with the frozen treats, it seems as if the whole racial “____ on the inside and ____ on the outside” meme is a feature of their product line. Clearly they know more than they seem to be letting on. But perhaps they still see the product as harmless, even complimentary? The Americans—I have no sympathy for them. Everyone past a certain age who grew up here knows what they are doing when they invoke food-related racial imagery.

**Sigh**

I don’t know. Damn the Internets, though, for bringing this constant barrage of images to our front doors/browsers. It’s going to be a long 4-8 years…

Sometimes the smallest things make your day

Wandering around the small convenience store on campus. Finally decide on an overpriced bottled water and an overpriced variety pack of Now ‘r Laters. Get to the 20-something Black male cashier. He rings me up, says—pointing to his pal who had just ducked into a door behind the counter—

“My partner there says you look like Claire Huxtable. That’s a compliment.”

It surely is, young man. It surely is.

Old School Friday in Small Doses

I was in somewhat of a bind this Old School Friday. The theme is Sade.

My first thought upon reading that was–Huh? Come up with a tribute post to an artist who only has three albums?

Well, I looked it up, and actually she has 5 studio albums (plus a new one that is supposed to be released), a remix album, a “Best of” album, and a live album.  Still not a whole lot of material. (And of course quantity does not equal quality.) But that still did not explain my reticence to dedicating an entire OSF post to Sade.

I have seen Sade in concert and enjoyed it a great deal. I own two of her albums, and am looking forward to the new one. So why was I hesitating?

"My Old Medicine bottle/jar collection." aussiegal, http://www.flickr.com/photos/aussiegall/309391023/

Then I started listening to Love Deluxe—that I hadn’t listened to in full in years…and it struck me—That’s why. By the time I got to “Kiss of Life” I was totally chilled out. Somewhat depressed. Lethargic. Sade is one of those artists I love—but that I have to listen to in only small doses. She does what I call “groove music.” You may call it “mood music.” I love Sade’s music—but only so long as I can deal with the mood it puts me in. As I was listening to Love Deluxe I wished she could have up-tempo-ed her mid-tempo songs just a notch. Maybe throw in a break with a Missy rap in the middle of “Cherish the Day”… Something just to shake things up a bit.

But no. Sade is for that mood and anything else would destroy the mood. Best to just sit back, relax, and enjoy.

“Like a Tattoo” by Sade

So this insight about Sade gave me the inspiration to adapt this OSF post to better suit my needs. In addition to Sade, I’d like to feature a couple other artists I love, but only seem able to listen to a little bit at a time.

I may be risking my (perhaps already in jeopardy) Black woman card here. But another artist that fits this bill for me is Erykah Badu. I have every single album she has ever commercially released. But I still can only deal with Ms. Badu a little at a time. In her case I think it is all the super-spirituality-new-agey-earth-mothery themes in much of her music. I can deal for a while—but only for a while. Then her music gets to sounding just a little pompous, like she takes herself a little too seriously. I know; I know. She’s an artist, and she’s sensitive about her s***.

Again, when I am in my Baduizm phase, it’s best to just relax and enjoy.

“Drama” by Erykah Badu

The last small-dose artist I’d like to feature is someone I didn’t get into until I started dating Mr. Scribe. At the time, I thought it cool that this Black dude was so into such a wide range of music. That meant he wouldn’t make fun of me for my own musical tastes! The list of artists he turned me onto is quite long, including Lenny Kravitz, the B-52s, Nirvana…

And Sinead O’Connor.

Sinead’s music is also moody. And she also seems a little full of herself at times most times. But I still love her stuff. Even if I do want to shake her sometimes and say, in my best Heath Ledger Joker imitation, “Why so serious?”

“Nothing Compares 2 U” by Sinead O’Connor

So this week, as my fellow OSFers feature Ms. Adu, I think I will spread out my Blog visits over the whole weekend. Wouldn’t want to OD on the chill pills!

Happy OSF and have a great weekend!

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As always, a big thank you to OSF hostesses, Marvalus at Conversations with Marva and MrsGrapevine.

Please check out the rules for joining and list of other OSF participants here.

Way to Wonderful

It’s OK to head out for wonderful. But on your way to wonderful, you’re gonna have to pass through alright…

~Bill Withers, in doc trailer “Still Bill” (via Afronerd)

(Also see “Somebody to Lean On“)