The Rhymes of Our Lives

This is "Liberation" from OutKast's five-mic album Aquemini.

Since I have to be up at 7 a.m. tomorrow (again) I'll keep this short and sweet. I remember when I bought this album back in 1998. I had played OutKast's previous effort ATLiens like I was in search of the cure for cancer in Big Boi's lyrics, so I was primed for a new release from the dirty south duo. I eagerly slid this CD into the deck in my car and reveled in 'Kast's refreshing reinvention.

Everything was going just fine until I got to "Liberation". I was haunted by what I was hearing. Never had I witnessed a hip hop group take such risks on a record. It was impactful and mesmerizing in a whole new way.

And by the time they got to the end of Cee-lo's section, I was almost in tears. I love this song.

peace.

A Deep Soul Story

Have a listen.

"Bad Girl Pt. 1 & 2." by Lee Moses

Almost two years ago now I was living in Toronto and training to be a voice teacher at York University. In October, all the students are given a week off for Canadian Thanksgiving. (For real, Canada!?) So I thought to myself, "Hey, I might as well get out of town and see some sights!" So I made arrangements for my cat, packed a bag, and hopped a train to New York to hang with my homie Mark in Brooklyn. I was looking forward to catching up with him.

He meets me at Penn Station and hits me with the obligatory bear hug. Even though the guy probably weighs about the same at a six-foot pile of feathers, you better be in shape when he decides to show you some love. We took the L train back to his spot in Bushwick and stayed up way too late making cynical and ironic jokes about music and politics. At the time he was living with both his girlfriend and another one of our LSU buddies, and I'm sure we kept them awake far too long.

Over the next week, we explored a variety of interesting New York things. The stand-out day was seeing the American Museum of Natural History. For many years I've seen pictures of the exhibits in that building and it was an incredible experience to actually stand next to them. Dinosaurs are effin' cool, especially those giant T-Rex skulls. It was also around this time when I began my interest in the work of Dr. Neil deGrasse Tyson, who is the head of the museum's astrophysics wing the Hayden Planetarium. That was a really good day.

Nevertheless, some where along the course of the week Mark says to me, "You've got to hear this guy I just found." Now, usually when Mark says something like this to me I don't take the suggestion lightly. I can only remember two or three times during the course of our seven-year friendship when he's made musical or artistic recommendations; he's a critical cat. The time before this, we ended up seeing these guys. (Be sure to turn you speakers up all the way!)

I believe the first Lee Moses track Mark played for me was "Free At Last", and it was immediately apparent to me I would rest very little before I found every bit of his music I possibly could. He soared over the track with discordant radiance and inspired abrasion, erupting with soul. I simply could take my ears off his music. Next, we heard his immense version "Hey Joe", (by far the best version I know other than Hendrix) then took off into "Bad Girl Pt. 1 & 2". I believe the first impulses I had were feelings of jealousy and frustration, because I could remember very few of my theatrical performances in which I embodied that much need and urgency. This guy was putting everything he was on these records.

I eventually found a link to download his album which is about the only way anyone can get it. It's apparently out of print, so buying a hard copy is going to be difficult and expensive. If you'd like to know more about Lee Moses, this is always a good place to start. If you're interested in exploring other deep soul artists, I've found no better site than Sir Shambling's Deep Soul Heaven. Although Lee isn't on there (He should be!) there's plenty there to discover.

peace.

"I remember when I lost my mind..."

The only way you didn't hear this song during the summer of 2006 is if you never found yourself within 50 feet of a functioning radio.

This is a live performance of "Crazy" by Gnarls Barkley from Top of the Pops in 2006.

I was in Vancouver when "Crazy" was released, immersed in the work of the Voice Intensive. Hence, I didn't hear it until June when I flew back to Baton Rouge. No, I didn't have ready access to a radio in Vancouver. Those Canadians...

I actually think my first encounter was while working at Louisiana State University's student radio station KLSU 91.1 FM. The music director had put it in rotation. Seeing as how KLSU is primarily an über-indie alternative rock type of affair, the insertion of a track as popular as "Crazy" into the line-up was quite an achievement.

Because this song was a glimmering pearl in the dank and murky waters of pop music.

I cannot remember a time in which this song came on and didn't immediately make me feel like singing, shouting, and changing the world. It was like being injected with gold-plated happiness. I remember one specific instance when my homie Mark had learned the chords on his guitar. I stopped by his place one day just to hang out. He grabs his ax and with his best nine-year-old face said, "Watch this!" When he started in, I recognized it immediately and sang loudly and uncontrollably along with him. My homegirl Kesha, who was Mark's roommate at the time, overheard the jubilant and off-key ruckus coming from Mark's room and dashed in with a camera to immortalize the event. Somewhere, there is a picture...

Every so often I revisit this song to remind myself how music is supposed to feel. It's easily one of the most influential and magical songs of my lifetime. And as far as Rolling Stone magazine was concerned, it was the best song of the last decade.

Danger. Cee-lo. Third album, please?

peace.

The Rhymes of Our Lives

No, Stankonia wasn't OutKast's first album.



I've told the story before about how I stumbled across OutKast. This track was particularly influential in converting me to a fan of their music. Keep in mind, in 1996 I think I spent more time watching Star Trek: The Next Generation on Fox (Yes, I'm a nerd. Deal.) than checking out videos on B.E.T. or MTV, so I had no idea there was a video for this. All I knew was that I had moved into a brand new neighborhood with peers who were both very foreign and oddly familiar, and this was a sample of my life's new soundtrack. Omarr was especially taken by "Elevators" and we used to crank it over and over on his living room sound system, along with whatever Mobb Deep album he was playing at the time.

This song was a gateway on my journey towards the discovery of hip hop. OutKast is incredible.



peace.

Snow Day

So, I'm blowing off my homework tonight, as my friend Ron would say. I've been watching coverage of the Tucson memorial service, reading up on photographers specializing in photos of abandoned buildings and other ruins, and debating my friend Marcel about Jon Stewart's impact on the public discourse.

So I'm not REALLY blowing off my homework. Rather, I'd like to think of it as doing research.

I'll be back tomorrow with more rambling about something or other. I hope you'll check it out.

In the meanwhile, check out this video of a guy ice-skating down Peachtree Street in Atlanta. That's right. Ice-skating. On the street. In Georgia.

Bonkers.

Peachtree St. Ice Rink in Midtown #2 from A.Nendel on Vimeo.

peace.

Jessica Care Moore: Michael Vick's Homegirl

During my nightly cruise of facebook status updates, I happened upon a new development on the page of poet, publisher, theatre artist, and renaissance woman Jessica Care Moore.

from Jess' page:

American Villian

When I met Mike Vick we were both checking into a Delta flight in Atlanta. It was about 7am, and I was in a rush. He was on crutches and had people bringing his boxes of shoes out of a car. We both had cornrolls. I didn't recognize him. I'm more of basketball fan, but I liked Mike Vick

When he was the Quarterback for the Falcons. He reminded me of the way Barry Sanders ran with the Lions. He was standing around and I jumped in front of him and asked the Delta rep to check me in, as I had a flight I needed to catch. He looked at me puzzled, but I think he liked the way I didn't know him at that moment. I never imagined the world knowing him for something other than the game of football.

This is for him.

one of janet jackson's tits
stopped america
from the luxury of their
pork and beer and family hour
of football on primetime television.

a quick glimpse of this natural dark phenomenon
shook the fat white beer bellies and right wing
like a juicy piece of bbq
dripping like blood
covering the carpets of america's
brutal living/dead room that powers it's
brains with their tv god

teaching us that a woman's body is not sacred.
one brown breast exposed for two seconds
is a sin in this home of
puritans and pilgrims

while we are forced to watch and smell them
bloated, pierced, hairy, funky
beer bellies of men who have five tits
to our two
sweating profusely as they scream at their favorite
football team
shoving cheetos down their throats

acting as if their children really give a damn who wins.

football is an outside sport.

when's the last time any of you went outside and threw the pig skin?

played under the sun and the stars?
it is a violent game that paralyzes.
excites the gladiator in us.

all this superbowl attention to a single
black quarter back and the fighting of pit bulls

but what about the abused wives of players?

what is the fine for beating your wife
after a bad loss?

are we ready to ruuuumble?

young man. rumble.

they rape women they rape dogs.

we live in a country that used to muzzle african women
and rape them like wild animals
fight enslaved shackled african men
gladiator style

and mike vick is the villain?

let's be clear. i'm an animal lover. i cried when
i had to leave my dog crystal behind when my mom
left my daddy. he was a mut and crazy as hell. nobody
would ever wanna fight crystal. he was part poodle and dug up
the damn yard like a hound dog. but around the block we knew
some fools who fought the pits and we weren't allowed to go. it
was a part of the culture of the neighborhood.

dog fighting
chicken fighting
slaves fighting

violent contact sports

boxing
football
hockey

american as apple pie.

you can lose
your legs. your game. your teeth. your life.
your legs. your game. your teeth. your life.

your career.

especially if you are a talented
fast quarter back

and

black

in the NFL.

Check out the video here. The section on Vick starts at 3:00.

I first met Jessica in 2001 while she was collecting cover charges at Atlanta's now defunct MoorEpics Cafe. At the time, I was still brand new to the idea of being black and poetic and I was devouring any media or material on modern performance poetry I could find, including one very important and awe-inspiring documentary called SlamNation.

The movie follows the journey of a number of performance poetry teams from across the nation as they converge on the National Poetry Slam in Portland, Oregon. I remember becoming particularly impressed with the energy and movement in the team from New York, which included Saul Williams, muMs the Schemer, Beau Sia, and Jessica Care Moore. They were a powerhouse!

So as Jess and I continue our conversation, it slowly dawns on me who's sitting across the table. I began to feel that feeling one gets when s/he meets a hero, and I was floored that a small town cat like me had stumbled and bumbled myself into a conversation with Jessica Care Moore. I hardly knew what to say! But she was very kind to me and made me feel comfortable, inviting me into her space. I instantly fell in love with MoorEpics, spending more time than I probably should have hanging out in what was Atlanta's best poetry spot.

Eventually, I found myself interning for Jessica's independently owned publishing house, Moore Black Press. I felt honored. All the time I spent mailing press kits and book orders, depositing checks, making phone calls, cleaning and Cleaning and CLEANING the office(!) made me feel like a foot soldier of a movement. It wasn't glamorous and most of the time I had no idea what I was doing, but Jess appreciated me and welcomed me into her life as a friend and fellow artist. Some of the best memories of my time in Atlanta were a direct result of my friendship with her and I feel incredibly grateful to have her energy in my life.

So allow me this moment to give you a PARTIAL list of Ms. Moore's extraordinary accomplishments:

- founder and CEO of Moore Black Press: publisher of notable poets such as Saul Williams, Asha Bandele, Ras Baraka, Shariff Simmons and artists Danny Simmons and Marcia Jones

- Five time winner of Amateur Night at the Apollo, an unsurpassed accomplishment

- publication of three collections of poetry; The Words Don't Fit in My Mouth, The Alphabet verses the Ghetto, and God is Not an American

- recognized by thegrio.com as one of the "100 History Makers in the Making"

- development and performance of three solo performances; There Are No Asylums for Real Crazy Women, Alphaphobia, and God is Not an American

- multiple appearances of Russel Simmons' Def Poetry

- performance and collaboration with countless poets, musicians, and all-around dope people including Mos Def, Sonia Sanchez, The Last Poets, Nas, Talib Kweli, and Gregory Hines

If you ever have the opportunity to see and hear Jess perform, please do not pass it by. She writes, speaks, and performs with an intoxicating combination of frustration and jubliation. Her voice moves like a pissed-off soul singer, with an aggressive hint of rasp and a sexiness slightly off-pitch.

She bad, homie. She bad.

peace.