SOUL SESSIONS Vol. 5

profit 💣f Rage

As the analog clock tiptoed towards 5am the Soundview residents were awakened to the early morning squealing of the 1947 elevator doors that raddled the 12-story, 225 door apartment building like a prison lockdown was taking place — in some ways it was.   All of the sardine-packed renters experienced the same mundane morning miseries...., hurrying through the whiskey-aromatic halls, to catch a rundown jail elevator, only to arrive in the graffiti-tagged lobby and finally exiting through two 22-foot steel doors that opened to the brisk morning dew.  

During the first leg of the rat race you could almost taste the coffee & bagels that slipped through the bodega’s iron gates. There weren't much chatter during the morning hustle.  The silence of the morning ritual is only interrupted by the clicking heels and toes of the mostly immigrant population that took turns tapping the concrete sidewalks trying not to miss the 5:44 train to Manhattan. 

Like most mornings, the sounds of the sanitation street sweepers sprinkled suds for the alternate side of street cleaning, while the buses and gypsy cabs wove pass the working-class sprinters and hurdlers who dodged each other like a cat’s tail in a room full of rocking chairs.  Such was life in the birthplace of Hip Hop.  

As dinner time approached, something started to feel a bit different.  Sure Charlie “C-Rock” Richardson was playing his massive boom box disturbing many of the three thousand tenants.  That was fairly routine.  Rock’s exaggerated—downright fictional—tales about his ‘hood chicks, cars, & crimes were pretty typical..., humorous too. 
Nonetheless, something felt a bit different.  I certainly remember the unusual pounding rain that blurred the sight of the shinny Pelham Bay-bound 6 train. In fact, it was the hammering rain that kept our crew nailed inside the urine-stained halls for countless hours slappin' knees to ‘Rock’s legendary tales.

About hour or so into the frolicking, John “G-L-O-B-E” Miller emerged from the 174th street side of the building.  John dapped the crew up, then handed C-Rock a raw sounding cassette.  It was a recording of the latest park jam that John’s crew, The Soul Sonic Force performed over the weekend.   John always had the "exclusives."  At this point, the graffiti covered hallways were echoing at a fever-pitch...,blaring the single of a soon-to-be megahit (one that I will reveal later).  Now the entire first floor hallways were littered with random residents and onlookers, who pushed & shoved their way into a somewhat neat semicircle to watch the impromptu break-dancing session that ensued.  It’s amazing that this level of raw entertainment was born in the halls of a blue collared, high-rised, hell-hole.

Perhaps, some of these indescribable moments were even captured on videotape…  after all [no one knew this at the time], a few short years later, it was uncovered that the Bronx River Housing Projects were the first housing projects in America to be placed under 24-hour police watch – thanks in large part to a pompous, punk-assed, politician named Rudy Giuliani.

It wasn’t until C-Rock’s 6-speaker boom box batteries failed that the crowd began to disburse into a disappointing haze..., as there was no clear winner to announce.  It was always hard to identify a winner in the projects.  But, as entertaining as the breakdancing battle was, there was still an unusual fog that clogged the halls and the city streets.  In fact, the rain continued to pound the pavement for hours and, to-date, May 11th, 1981, still stands as one of the wettest days in NYC history…
And it wasn’t long before the rainy Monday night turned into a tsunami…, of tears.  

WBLS' Frankie Crocker I Dionne Warwick I Bob Marley 

C-Rock had long ejected the Soul Sonic Force tape that John slid him earlier; he tuned the jumbo radio to W-B-L-S 107.5 fm.  Rock flipped the dial just in time to hear the iconic DJ, the Chief Rocker Frankie Crocker’s crumbling announcement that Reggae legend Bob Marley passed away.  The crew sat and stared into an unplanned huddle of silence.  All of the roaring laugher and frolicking completely stopped.  Our heads dipped like someone was about to perform the eulogy.  You see..., in many ways those hallway patrons felt Bob Marley was the father that gave birth to the rebellious Hip Hop culture that was just bubbling in the Bronx.  As such it felt like a part of Hip Hop died in the delivery room.  

It would be extremely difficult to build a Mount Rushmore of music legends that did not include the Trench Town messiah Robert Nesta Marley.   It would be downright blasphemous to build a record collection that every black household should have and not include Rastaman Vibration.
More on that in a second.

Bob Marley & The Wailers ⧫Rastaman Vibration ⧫ Island Records ⧫ April 1976

Very much like Hip Hop's early foundation, Reggae music is this rich combination of deep African drums and raw uncut melodies, sprinkled with Jamaica's inner city emotions and unleasshed through the lens of this Third World soothsayer.   It's interesting to walk the urban streets and peek through the  corporate suites to witness the sea of dreadlock hairdos.   Conversely, in the 50's & 60's  when you saw dreadlocks in Jamaica it signified a way of life.  A life that Rastafarians would rather die for than to simply grow for fashion’s sake.  The poster child for this Caribbean cruise movement is Bob Marley.  There are enough books, movies and documentaries that will highlight Marley’s amazing legacy, but not enough has been said about this 35-minute masterpiece -- but that's about to change.

"Roots, Rock Reggae" is probably the first time that Marley made a song aiming directly for the pop chart's satisfaction.  That fact speaks to the "karaoke-like" appeal of that song.  However if you purchase this LP looking for THAT sort of vibe..., you were in for a rude [boy] awakening! 

The pop vibe completely vanished on "Johnny Was" which is a song about a stranger that stopped to comfort a woman who lost her son to a senseless street shooting.  The stranger is attempting to help the grieving mother understand that there is life after death.  The woman, who continues to weep, wasn't able to see pass the obviousness and the injustice of moment. 

And..., Bob’s biblical biopic is just getting warm my friends!  

My National Anthem is "Crazy Baldhead" which sounds like a slave’s manifesto.

"Build your penitentiary/we build your schools/Brainwash education/To make us the fools/Hate is your reward for our love/Telling us of your God above..."

I remember listening to this song on my way to a job interview.  The lesson isn’t how terrible the interview went.  The more obscure message is how fortunate this nation is that black people are able to navigate  through this society without demanding the level of retribution that the mom on "Johnny Was" would've applauded.

Haile Selassie I 

The temperature on Rastaman Vibration ignites to an Inferno on second half of the LP with "War."   

If this single sounds like a press conference it's because it was literally ripped—Public Enemy style—from a speech made by Ethiopian Emperor, Haile Selassie I.  This single is still laced in a tangled web of Prince-like controversies—the least of which is..., who deserves the credit for writing the song/speech.   And, if the song credit wasn't enough..., 16 years later, an Irish singer named Sinéad O'Connor would perform a selfie-styled remix of "War" on NBC’s Saturday Night Live.  O’Conner changed the lyrics to "highlight" child abuse instead of the original theme of the single which was racism.  You would think she'd stop there.  At the end of her performance, O’Conner tore in half a picture of (then) Pope John Paul to signify her disdain for the Catholic Church and their priests' involvement in child abuse.  

At this point this 1976 Rasta record could’ve wrapped here and still be considered a cultural classic.  But, one could make a very strong case that the needle hasn't touched the vinyl surface of the two best singles.  Marley saved the real rebellious beats of "Rat Race" and "Who the Cap Fits" for the newborn babies in the Bronx....,  and just like the tape that G-L-O-B-E handed C-Rock..., these two singles continue to "Rock the Planet."

1 ❤
Ray Lewis

  

SOUL SESSIONS Vol. 4

A GLOBAL WARMING 

I am not going to spend a lot of time or energy trying to examine this new world order that is changing lives in the New York streets like a sci-fi apocalypse.  What I will say is, the 400 years of impure soil that has tilled this land for centuries was bound to spread an infectious disease. Unfortunately, those responsible aren’t the only ones experiencing the ill-fated karma.   

Welcome to the Terrordome

More mercifully, until there is some sort of true acknowledgement of these historical misgivings and a heartfelt reconciliation, it’s really hard to imagine that this plague won’t continue to reek [of] unspeakable repercussions.  Only time will tell whether the final message will be clear enough for the corporations and oligarchs to digest.  More encouragingly, if history has her voice in the outcome, we will likely get through this with a much brighter and more ubiquitous understanding of just how much we need each other.  

IF 2020 WERE A TATTO

Honestly, what keeps my mind dancing at night is..., whenever this troubled time passes, what will be the tangible behavioral lessons? What will be the takeaways?  Will this society approach life any differently once the inevitable antidote “miraculously” arises?  Will we curb our naïve and insatiable appetite to spend money that we don’t really have, on things we don’t really need, to impress people we don’t really like?  Will we treat the homeless population any differently? Will we continue to take our rich & powerful DNA and share it with the Kardashians?  What about the elderly??  How will we treat them and the rest of the most vunerable amongst us -- that are being experimented on as we speak?  I fear the answer will look a lot like the reflection of the people hoarding 2-ply toilet paper, while ignoring the empty room on their shelf that should be filled with garlic, almonds, broccoli and turmeric. 

America's New Normal?

In this constant quest to make America okay again, this westernized life has had more than its share of heart-rending tribulations. And one of the healing mechanisms will come from this month’s soul selection -- more on that in a second.  After all, music has always been the perfect coping prescription for the tainted shores that surround us. And while I truly believe we are more alike than we are different, it’s those differences that keep us apart.
   
Sadly, I get it. In a self-seeking society that is fueled by capitalism, those differences have tremendous value — especially the likes of: gentrification, social injustice, education, religion, xenophobia and food deserts.  They all play a vital role in how we move and react inside of this so-called democracy.  And depending on the price of your viewing lens, these itemizations are [either] going to be very beneficial or truly toxic.  Yet, despite the hypnotic hurdles, what I love most about all genuine people is, they tend to ignore the obvious “capital gains” and instead share their God-gifted crafts, simply for the love & desire of scattering their truths to a world eager to listen. All of which leads to this month's soulful gem..., please put your headphones together to sample this unquenchable quartet from South Africa called: 

Seba Kaapstad Seba [SEE-buh] Kaapstad [kahp-staht].

Seba Kaapstad ⧫Thina ⧫ Mello Music ⧫ May 2019

First and foremost, you need to disregard all semblance of music genre or common classifications, as this fabulous foursome features the unscripted: Zoé Modiga, Philip Scheibel, Ndumiso Manana, &  band founder, Sebastian Schuster, (Seba). The eccentric ensemble mixes their diverse roots that hail from Germany, Swazi and South Africa to serve up a dope gumbo of soul, down-tempo jazz with a pinch of neo-gospel.  The outcome is their sensational sophomore LP called Thina (which is Zulu for US) -- as in we are all in this situation together – all of us.

Now, it is way too premature to call this timeless or classic, but this Berlin & Jo-Burg combo is certainly something special.  And with two-thirds of the U.S. under a quizzical quarantine, I found Thina to be the perfect home remedy to underscore these uncharted waters.   

The 43-minute journey starts-off with lead singer, Zoé Modiga showcasing her amazing tri-lingual skills on the title track, “Thina.”  This single tees-off a beautiful, yet impulsive, artsy voyage into a harmonic Zen.  What I love most about this 11-track trinket is, it sounds oh-so very familiar, yet there is nothing in your collection quite like it.  There are however, just enough elements on this project that will make you want to reach for something more familiar like the late 90’s sound from Maxwell, Jill and Erykah, with some Hiatus Kaiyote supplying the instrumentals.  

The beat on “Africa” could be the quintessential summer spark that invades the R&B airwaves like a Soul II Soul single — that is -- if the groove didn’t shift like someone learning to drive a manual transmission. Despite that fact, the melody is refreshingly dope. The single could have really used a Phonte-like rap verse (or lesson) but the music more than covered for Zoé’s failed rap career.

The cadence on “Don’t” is probably the closest you will come to something you might experience on commercial radio—and that is still highly unlikely.  The piano solo at the end glides like a flow from Steven Ellison’s (Flying Lotus) formidable fingertips.  
The single that literally stopped me in my teary-eyed track was the gospel-laced, “Dezaster”.  This churchy track spins as if someone really close to you is experiencing excruciating pain, has one outlet and we just so happen to be in the audience at the time.  The melody grabs you like a song that is ending a scene in a Chitlin' Circuit play.  The lyrics, while pretty simple are humble and poetic:

This is new, hurts like brand new shoes/Sad but true, sometimes we play to loose/Life moves on, even though you’re gone, it moves on/ Life moves on, without your song/And I think about all the joys I’ve missed/This very life of mine I’ve missed/The precious time I’ve missed/No matter what I miss, I’ll miss you/

My absolute favorite song is ‘Welcome...,"which is what you'll experience once this LP enters every black person’s household. 


1 love, 
Ray Lewis

SOUL SESSIONS Vol. 3

GAYE WRITES

If you are lucky enough, one day you will experience your version of love; and honestly, there are few experiences in life that are more precious. Unfortunately, somewhere along that journey you will probably witness some unspeakable heartbreak, which (I assume) is necessary.  Life’s not-so-secret ingredient is finding the balance to endure both ends of the emotional spectrum.  No matter what facet of life you are undergoing, it always helps to have someone to share the voyage. 

Well, on December 15, 1978, apparently Marvin Gaye wanted to get a few emotions off his shirtless chest.  Unfortunately, for his ex, Marvin’s confidants were among many of the 222 million mostly Motown-ers living in America.  If you know anything about the fire signs like Leo, Sagittarius & Marvin’s astrological sign Aries, they are – for better or worse -- relentlessly determined people…, which may sound like a compliment to anyone not named Anna Gordy.

Anna Gordy Gaye is the ex-wife of Motown’s finest solo act and the elder sister of the label’s founder, Berry Gordy -- and if technicalities matter, Marvin Gaye’s “boss.” Technicalities probably mattered to Marvin as much as cameras in an elevator did to Solange Knowles. 

Anna and Marvin wed in June of 1963; and by all of her accounts [and his admissions], their relationship was about as authentic as a Jussie Smollett press conference. 

Two of Motown's Greatest
Stevie & Marvin

Marvin Gaye just might be one of the greatest artists in the history of modern music.  Even with arguably the greatest artist line-up in history, Marvin was the emperor.  His outstanding Rock and Roll Hall of Fame discography spanned nearly 3 decades.  And, his soulful signature songs were the soundtrack of social sobriety for black life in America.  Yet, at the peak of Gaye’s unparalleled success, Anna filed for divorce—sighting Marvin’s extensive drug use, his horrific money management misgivings, and his serial escapades of infidelity—including one with a 17-year-old girl named, Janis Hunter, who Gaye eventually married.., then divorced. 

This rocky romance is all captured on one of the greatest break-up albums in history.  The double LP is called Here, My Dear, which is essentially Marvin’s 73-minute diary of notes about his ex-wife.  

Here, My Dear ⧫ Marvin Gaye ⧫ Tamla-Motown Records ⧫ December 1978

Early tabulations confirmed that this project was the least favorable of his career.  Upon its release the content was greeted by Motown executives like an episode of Cheaters.  One famous publication said Here, My Dear sounded like a cheesy, supermarket tabloid which is contrary to the “sugar pie honey bun” factory Berry Gordy spent decades creating.  

Marvin admitted that some of the songs were actually written during and after the courtroom divorce proceedings.  Anna was soured by the experience and wanted to sue Marvin for $1 million dollars to part ways with the estranged hubby.  Marvin was apparently too pissed to realize that despite his illustrious career, he didn’t have $1M to give her...even if wanted to.

Marvin & Anna share happier hours

The divorce grew painfully public and extremely contentious.  And at one point, the courts ordered Marvin to pay Anna $6,000 per month in child support and alimony.  Gaye’s retort..., (insert technicality), “I’m not obeying any f@#$ court order -- the only thing I will do is take off my hat when I enter the courtroom..., maybe."  The divorce got so messy that Anna eventually had Marvin arrested as he fell far behind on the court-ordered “agreement." Things didn’t change much until Marvin’s lawyer came up with what seemed like a very bizarre notion at the time.  The idea was so preposterous that ONLY an Aries man of Marvin’s eccentric energy and determination would agree to it.  

The "deal” was Marvin would pay Anna $600,000 upfront (half of which would come from the advance from his next LP), paid by Anna’s brother Berry and the rest would come from the royalties of Gaye’s next album.  Due to Gaye’s remarkable success and stellar résumé Anna agreed.  After all, what could possible go wrong with an angry can’t-miss, soul-singing, hit-maker recording an album..., knowing that ALL the proceeds would go to a women that he despises?   Well, get your “Lemonade” ready.  

Legendary artwork created by artist
Michael Bryan

Let’s start with the  LP’s artwork -- the inside cover of the album is an artist drawn Monopoly board.  But, the word Monopoly was replaced with JUDGMENT.  You can almost hear the bell signaling the beginning of the next round. The artwork, which Marvin suggested should have his side of the board burning in flames, instead, featured a black male’s hand, handing a female a vinyl record.  His side of the “Monopoly” board also featured old tapes and a piano.  Pictured on her side of the board were cars, cash and a few houses littered on the most expensive and (statistically speaking) the least likely of places Monopoly players could land…, Boadwalk and Park Place.  Do you know how pissed (or high) a person would have to be to think of this?  And believe it or not, the album cover is probably the most gracious part of Marvin’s fuming strategy for the new album.  

Nowhere is this more evident than on Gaye’s one man therapy session “When Did You Stop Loving Me?” On the song he (rhetorically) tells Anna… "If you ever loved me with all of your heart, you'd never take a million dollars to part."

On another upper cut..., “Is That Enough,” his self-healing takes a meditative turn when Gaye writes…..  "Somebody tell me please, tell me please/Why do I have to pay attorney fees (My baby's) Attorney fees...This is a joke/I need a smoke.”

Marvin enjoying a rare,

back seat moment

The entire LP spins like a lyrical punching bag,and after each song, Marvin’s salty sarcasm spreads like a Lewinski stain. Gaye’s pettiness reached astronomic levels when it was time to play the LP for the Gordys.  Because the LP was recorded in Marvin’s personal studio, no one heard the finished project.  So Marvin decided to rent a room that was designed for conducting focus groups and hid behind a two-way mirror so his Ex’s couldn’t see his face.  But he could watch theirs as they listened in astonishment at the depths of his soulful scorns.   Naturally, Anna hated it and her brother, unlike Marvin, was at a loss for words. As love goes, time passed..., Anna forgave Marvin and even grew to appreciate the creative genius in Gaye’s unspeakable truths.

Gaye’s plan was simple…, record something mediocre, and get the settlement over with and Anna out of his life forever.  Instead, over the years the double LP became an epic masterpiece and arguably one of the most coveted of Gaye's collection. And, one of the best LPs every black household should have.

1 love, 

Ray Lewis

SOUL SESSIONS Vol. 2

I want you to turn your clocks back to May of 1921- the very last month that a predominately Black community witnessed true, self-preservation built on its own merit.  This was such an effervescent time, in a somewhat obscure part of the country; that black people were literally walking halfway across the nation to be a part of a community they truly organized and controlled. This 2-mile treasure was neatly tucked in Tulsa, Oklahoma and was littered with Black-owned and operated banks, hospitals, law firms, newspapers, grocery stores, hardware stores, schools, entertainment venues, transportation and retail stores.  What a beautiful time to be black in America’s Greenwood community. 

This neighborhood was so electric that the residents hardly noticed the fizzling economy outside of the thriving 1,280-acred paradise.  And, as fate would have it, less than a decade later, the Great Depression would cripple the entire country and forever be remembered as Black Thursday.  

Talk about irony. 

Meanwhile, this incredible, booming black town soon found out that their neighboring, white “peers” were riddled with envy.  And, never one to shy away from stealing a culture’s resource, they attempted to impose “some legal measures” to slow down the Greenwood community’s generational aspirations. Impatient and unwilling to await the time it would take to enact such an egregious legal act (the “tweaked” plan would later be known as Apartheid) -- these head-hunting hooligans had a swifter system in mind.  

On May 31st, 1921, in one of the most heinous acts that the US has unleashed on its own citizens — all in an effort to make America Greater again -- a bomb exploded in the heart of the Tulsa, Oklahoma city.  Within hours, thirty-five blocks were ablaze. The entire black community and its rich history was up in smoke -- 1,256 homes and 191 businesses were totally destroyed. 10,000 black people were left homeless — many found dead under the rubble.  The shamelessly violent and purposely hidden deed would forever be referred to as The Black Holocaust.  The heart and soul was literally ripped from a community..., simply because black folks controlled it. 

One of the saddest facts of American history is that this massacre was (and still is) purposely omitted from school textbooks, museums and more noteably from the mainstream storytelling in music.   Therefore, as we reluctantly embark on the remaining 28 days of the hypocritical pageantry dubbed Black History Month, I wanted to share 2 things:

a)  The unveiling of our real history.  And

b) The musical treasures that help us cope with living in a land that masks it.

After all, the foundation of our music speaks directly to and from the soul,and throughout these monthly posts...you will discover the LPs that every black household should have. 

Quite naturally, some of these obscure treasures, are often buried in the formulaic radio spins, neatly concealed from our kids; which is the ambitious goal of the white, generational-privileged bums, whose ancestors blew-up Greenwood.  Power and control have always been the key ingredients to destroying this culture, while hypnotizing black folks to aim for Grammy wins and Roc Nation brunches. I wish we could re-capture the magical, Greenwood spirit again.., and there is still some amazing artists that are choosing consciousness over commerce to preserve it.

Great artists understand our rich hidden history, like the legendary Gap Band – whose name is an acronym – that pays homage to the once pulsating, tri-section of the Tulsa, Oklahoma neighborhood;  Greenwood, Archer and Pine—the most bubbling blocks during the romantic, renaissance days of our Black Wall Street. And, contrary to "popular demand," there are many artists that are still planting the seeds in our black soil --  so this month, I want you to spend some time with a special one..., put your headphones together for the sexy songstress, Somi.

IF THE RAIN COMES FIRST ⧫ObliqSound ⧫ October 2009

Just think, a mere 61 years after the intentional “tsunami” in Tulsa, the Midwest gives birth to a Black-African American hidden treasure.  The coco-complex-ioned, Illinois native, has unleashed 4 really dope studio LPs –and this month’s selection levees her Ugandan and Rwandan heritage in a jazzy, 11- track masterpiece titled:

If The Rain Comes First   

From the start, as the needle pokes the vinyl, the strings and congas of “Hot Blue” makes you feel like you’re a patron in a perhaps familial Greenwood, Archer and Pine coffee spot. 

You can prepare to cap a perfect date, in a moonlit room, basking in the peace and tranquility of this tri-lingual wonder.  And, nowhere is her skill more evident than on “Rising,” where Somi mixes her sultry voice, African drum beat and jazzy guitar that whisks you onto the imaginary breezy shores of a tropical villa.  Somi’s, Sade-inspired sound just curls your soul on the remarkable single, “Enganjyani.”  And, I'm telling you, if her rich mezzo-soprano voice isn’t enough, Somi tags legendary South African trumpeter, Hugh Masekela to cuddle the verses around this track – and the title means “the most beloved” or “the memory of whispered prayer” -- depending on who translates.  There is something very special about the Afro-Cuban-Caribbean congas that sets the dazzling mood throughout this marvelous meditation-layered, magnum opus.

Growing up, Somi’s mom told her that “the rain comes, ever unpredictable -- and it could be as much of a blessing as it is a challenge, and the blessings might come before the rain."

Perhaps a memorandum to Kobe Bryant fans.

"If The Rains Comes First" will take you through a rollercoaster of sentiments and not-so-ironically, some of the-dopest toe-tappin’ singles like "Jewel of His Soul," triggers sobering emotions.  On this particular journey, Somi recounts her feelings of a homeless man she met in Paris, whom was once a prominate and very well-respected pillar, and after a series of heartbreaking circumstances he is all but forgotten...reminiscent of the residents of Greenwood.

1 Love, 

Ray Lewis

SOUL SESSIONS Vol. 1

Donnie ⧫ The Colored Section 
Giant Step Records ⧫  December 2002

The year was 2002.  It was an unseasonably brisk and chilly April afternoon in the oxymoronically dubbed Black Mecca of the south. Around 1pm the sun started to peek through the clouds, and I just finished putting the spit-shining wax on my 4-door, champagne-beige, Acura Legend.  Back in the day, “the Ac” really had some wonderful, common street-cred appeal.  If you had one, it wasn’t quite enough to just lean far right while whippin’ through the city in the Jamaican drug lord-approved vehicle of choice---you almost had to have the 12-inch subwoofers raddling the trunk, where the Honda manufacturer fully expected most luxury car owner’s to store luggage.

Whip Appeal

Determined to be punctual, I jumped on interstate 285 to arrive right on time at Hartsfield-Jackson Airport.  With trunk space now-limited, I loaded my childhood friend’s bags in the back seat, as I scooped him up from his 2 hour flight from NYC.   I’ve known my boy over 30 years and the one thing I know for sure is…, he is probably the only music snob that is more critical than me.   Knowing this fact, I had the perfect CD cued up before he landed.  When I saw his light skin grin, curbside, I pulled up and he hopped in the ride.  Just before his right foot could plant firmly on the freshly shampooed floor, I let Donnie’s culturally-commanding contralto voice fill the car cabin…..

THE LESS THINGS CHANGE

The death of democracy is not likely to be an assassination from ambush. It will be a slow extinction from apathy, indifference, and undernourishment.

 Robert M. Hutchins

For far too long, Black life in America has this perpetual feeling of a deepened, dark state of dispiritedness.  We wake-up (if we are lucky), climb in & out of the shower then migrate to the kitchen for a jolt of morning coffee. As the morning ritual continues, we turn on the morning news trying to either; avoid, justify, denounce & sometimes perpetuate, how Black people in America are being portrayed & betrayed by the corporate-owned news networks in their desperate attempt to make America white-er again.  The morning continues with a wink at the weather, a dose of celebrity gossip, before finally squeezing OFF on the flat screen’s remote right before Kayne West says something more stupid than his spousal choice. 

The journey continues by traveling over an hour to a job (if we are lucky) that we often hate or tolerate—just to be surrounded by a group of people [that if given a choice] we’d never hang out with voluntarily.  As noon hits, it’s lunch and lattes lazily, clock watching and  desperately awaiting the evening horn to sound.  Before night taps us on our tired shoulders, we try to hang out with or talk to or text the actual people we really love and want to spend time with…, just before tucking a loved one in bed—only to hit repeat for four more days.

At our society’s worse, we are often seen marching on T.V.’s evening news, wiping the tears of the new nightly social injustice.  At our community’s best, we are often cheering for people that abandoned the community five years before their celebrity & elite drugs ever kicked in.  The marches, despite the emotional optics, won’t (independently) change or fix much…, until we put our collective money where our overworked mouths and feet are.  Good luck explaining that "freedom plan" to the loved one that is on a line holding an iPhone, waiting to buy an iPhone, while Tweeting about the long line, online. Sure the “Likes” and the “Tweets” are considered (for some inane reason) the social norm of modern communication, but what are the people saying and who are they saying it to and, more importantly, who’s responding to timelines of extraneous, unfiltered, inconsequential rhetoric?

And, oh by the way, there is a fucking idiot in the White House with the keys to a nuclear bomb!!  If you are still wondering how the Adjective-in-Chief got in the Oval Office, look no further than the Hollywood’s ‘hood' orator, Spike Lee and his newest release BlacKKKlansman.  I feel like Spike’s body of work is becoming so extraordinarily, effortless, that we are taking his vivid, unapologetic, portrayals of black life for granted.  Much like we did to the work of a Nina Simone or a Mos Def, or a Bill Russell or to a lesser degree Donald Glover. 

BlacKKKlansman is one of Spike Lee's best films and it flowed fluently, like a Black Thought freestyle.  This is one of the rare Lee films that didn’t need Spike’s heavy-handed, socio-political thumb prints, as the plot needs no extra seasoning. The dichotomy-famed John David Washington was simply outstanding as the Black man, infiltrating the hate-based Ku Klux Klan.  

Washington got plenty help from the well-balanced cast, led by co-infiltrator, Adam Driver, whose performance was literally and figuratively toe-to-toe with Washington’s.  The insanely dope music cupped your ears between the ignorant oral tsunamis of hate speeches.  

Stars of BlacKKKlansman: JD Washington & Adam Driver 

Somewhat surprisingly, Spike was able to stay out of the way of this storyline that seemed to be pilfered from an old Chappelle Show skit, but far more real, while somehow managing to be equally funny. We can thank the satirical brilliance of Jordan Peele for those incredible captured moments.  
There are long, pin-dropping moments in the film where you can almost hear your theatre mate’s heartbeat, trying to grasp how humans can behave this way.  The gut-wrenching, hate-spewing, anger seemed so outlandishly-extreme that you’ll say to yourself, there is no real life,  industrialized nation that could ever withstand a group of mentally-deranged, lily-white lunatics until we near the end of the film when Spike Lee poetically spins America’s Oval Office chair around…, then the real tears start to flow... if you are lucky. 

1 love,
Ray Lewis