"...not all of the presidents were douchebags?" The more I read, the less sure I am about that statement. Here's three fun facts that you probably haven't considered today -- facts that have changed the way I think of many of our presidents. Something to mull over while you run to catch that white sale at the mall.
Twelve of our presidents -- George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, James Monroe, Andrew Jackson, Martin Van Buren, William Henry Harrison, John Tyler, James K. Polk, Zachary Taylor, Andrew Johnson, Ulysses S. Grant -- owned slaves. Eight of them owned slaves while serving as president.
Of all the dead presidents in your wallet -- Washington, Lincoln, Hamilton, Grant and Franklin -- Lincoln is the only one that did not own any slaves. Is it any wonder that ex-slaves wanted to honor Lincoln when you hear quotes like this from him?“I have always thought that all men should be free; but if any should be slaves it should be first those who desire it for themselves, and secondly those who desire it for others. Whenever I hear any one arguing for slavery I feel a strong impulse to see it tried on him personally.” (1865)
According to some sources, Obama is not our first African-American president. There are six presidents that preceded him who are said to have both European and African ancestry. According to the US government (and of course the one drop rule), that's enough to make them legally black. (Trust me -- there were plenty of folk who got harassed, beat down and lynched over that one drop. It matters, then and now.) Who are they? Thomas Jefferson (really?), Andrew Jackson (he was probably bipolar, too -- what a violent nutjob), Abraham Lincoln (no wonder he was so anti-slavery), Warren Harding (everyone knows this one, don't they?), Dwight Eisenhower (surprise! his momma looks like she could be one of my cousins!) and Calvin Coolidge (i didn't know about this one).
The next gig: "What A Little Moonlight Can Do" - A Tribute To Billie Holiday
Tonight I'll be singing in a Billie Holiday tribute at The Rum House (helmed by the cocktail slingers behind Ward III in Tribeca) with a trio led by Grammy award-nominated songwriter/pianist JC Hopkins. I'm in the process of developing a libretto that includes Lady Day's rarer sides from the 30s, so this gig is a fine moment to stretch out on some of that material before I present my work at The Apollo Theater Soundstage for the residency/performances in April.
I think The Rum House having a Bespoke Music Series seasonally is the hotness. They are the songs that you love and hardly ever get to hear live - and when you do, it's most definitely not as intimate as this. This place is so tiny, I'll practically be sitting in your lap with you holding my mic.
There is NO COVER for this gig - though I'm sure a hat of some sort will be passed through the crowd - in one of the hottest little "speakeasy" bars in midtown.
Here's the official blurb:
JC Hopkins leads a Bespoke tribute to the one and only Lady Day. Hosted by Jonny Porkpie, featuring JC on piano, Wayne Tucker trumpet, Dylan Shamatt bass, and vocalists Queen Esther, Dana Danger Athens, Cyrille Aimee, Wyndham Baird, Kiki Valentine and Sarah Elizabeth Charles.
how green is my kudzu: greatest hits and near misses
here's the entries that are getting the most hits on this blog lately. enjoy!
your inner svengali - a few pithy observations on making the transition to on-camera work from theater/musicals. for some reason, this is a pretty popular post. not for the faint of heart.
the dr. king interview you probably haven't seen - this is from the mike douglas show, circa 1967: a fascinating chat with mr. douglas, dr. king and singer tony martin (do you even know who he is?) in the guest seat.
the black national anthem controversy - a jazz singer in denver, colorado sings the lyrics of lift every voice and sing over america the beautiful. bedlam ensues.
i'm feeling especially grateful for my creative life -- all of it. i have no idea why this feeling of gratitude has covered me like a strange dark shroud. the epiphany that unfurled itself inside me the other day probably has everything to do with it. for some strange reason, that simple thought and all of what it really meant rattled me all the way to my bones. i'd certainly had that thought before but this time, it carried a weight to it that made it so profound, so overwhelming. all of a sudden, everything seemed divinely ordered. all of a sudden, in one bright moment, everything made perfect sense.
i realized that i didn't choose to be an artist. my early years were a series of happy accidents and strange coincidences and "lucky" moments that made me aware of a knowing feeling that grew inside me, a feeling that constantly reassured me that i am who i am -- an artist -- and that's all that i am, no matter what. my only real choice meant coming to terms with this information and deciding what to do with my life.
my most productive and satisfying moments came when i got out of the way and let God take over and give me whatever ideas i was meant to have. that's the way its always worked for me. i get out of the way and have a kind of blackout while inspiration takes over and works through me to make something wonderful. very stanislavski. actually, it was through method acting in performing arts high school that i learned how to get out of the way. more on that later.
when i first came to new york city, a beautiful dancer -- one of those stunning ailey acolytes, i think -- told me that it was a sin to have a God-given talent and do nothing with it. she said it in passing. it was almost an afterthought. i never forgot those words. in my darker more mundane moments, when i was working and working and working and (seemingly) not getting anywhere with what i was doing, those words would float back to me and drift just above my head, like a smoke ring. and i would keep going and then a breakthrough would sail into my life with so much ease, it would leave me breathless.
now i know that although mr. vonnegut was wrong -- you can make a living in the arts -- he was also so very right: every human being has a grand capacity for creativity and art. it can augment all of our lives and make them better, and make life much more bearable. so many apply their bright ideas to the most mundane parts of their world and illuminate them with ingenuity and verve, leaving light and love in their wake.
i'm not talking about haberdashers who use their albums and music videos and their ability to "beef" and start static to shill their clothing lines, alcoholic beverages and energy drinks. i'm not talking about fashion victims or fame junkies. i'm not talking about corporate tools or media whores.
i'm talking about creativity in its purest most elegant and accessible form -- something that we all have within our grasp as human beings. something that is there to give you joy within the confines of your everyday world. something that you can take further than that, if you feel so inclined. something that connects you to the divine in such a deliberate way, it's almost stultifying.
more and more it feels as though the only time we have a moment to talk about our history collectively as a nation is during the month of february when there is an overwhelming amount of information, events, movies and more, specifically about us. by focusing on who we are and what we've accomplished and what happened, everybody else subconsciously begins to ask those questions about themselves. we all end up with a fat albertteachable moment of some sort. who knows? we all might learn something before its done.
what's especially painful is knowing that for many of us, this is all the black history we get - they don't teach it in schools because according to some, there's no time to include it in the curriculum. this should be an ongoing conversation. there's way too many of us that just don't know.
i'm the kind of negress that celebrates my blackness all the time, so when february happens along, its not that deep in my world. for me, every day is black history month. i'm always reading biographies, watching the history channel, doing research, learning something new. this is probably because my mother taught me to read when i was three years old. by the time i hit kindergarten, i was so far ahead of the other students that the teachers would leave me in the library each afternoon, to read at my leisure. all the little munchkins who could hardly spell would wonder what i was doing over there amongst the big kids and the adults. i knew from an early age that if i wanted to know anything, i'd have to find out for myself. the teacher had neither the time nor the inclination to dwell on subjects that held my interest. needless to say, my questions were completely off topic, complex, annoying and ultimately disruptive.
ah, public school.
as it turns out, my vocation suits me completely. for an actor -- a good one, anyway -- a library card is your friend. everything is research. everything.
if you don't have a lot of money to throw around and you'd like to celebrate black history month from your couch, there's plenty to watch on television. i think (well-researched) documentaries are a great way to learn about anything. the unfortunate truth is, what's on television and what's at the movies is the way most people learn about a lot of things. you want to change the world? get on television.
there are quite a few interesting documentaries that are up for grabs on public television -- so many that it makes me wonder if they'd get this kind of attention if it weren't black history month. here's highlights of a few of my favorites. (check pbs for details.)
this one breaks my heart: being pavarotti. in it, a 13 year old boy from a shantytown in south africa is given pavarotti's version o solo mio and decides that he wants to be an opera singer.
produced by the national black programming consortium (NBPC), distributed by american public television (APT), and supported by funding from the national endowment for the arts, and the corporation for public broadcasting. afro-pop: the ultimate cultural exchangepresents the south african documentaryhip-hop revolution by female director weaam williams.
now this is the documentary i'd make on this topic - more than a month questions the very idea of black history month and makes a quite few interesting points along the way.
slavery by another name delves into what really happened to the slaves after emancipation. i'm pretty sure this one is going to break me but if you really want to lose it, check out the book worse than slavery: parchman farm and the ordeal of jim crow justice by david m. oshinsky. there were moments when i had to put that book down for days at a time because it was so overwhelming.
the making of the documentary slavery by another name -- a behind-the-scenes look. always fascinating, to glimpse how they put it all together.
the must-see american masters documentary cab calloway: sketches almost never was -- it was financed entirely by the french, with no american assistance whatsoever. may the world never forget how truly brilliant mr. calloway was -- as a bandleader, jazz vocalist and actor.
i think it's important to make every effort to see our icons as people. it's always the same quotes, the same figureheads, the same perspective -- and that gets especially annoying each february -- so here's something completely different. i've never heard dr. martin luther king preach an entire sermon so i thought i'd post this one.
he gave this sermon at atlanta's ebenezer baptist church in november of 1967. the title but if not comes from daniel 3:18 in the story of shadrach, meshach, and abed-nego.
Tonight I'll be singing in a Billie Holiday tribute at The Rum House (helmed by the cocktail slingers behind Ward III in Tribeca) with a trio led by Grammy award-nominated songwriter/pianist JC Hopkins. I'm in the process of developing a libretto that includes Lady Day's rarer sides from the 30s, so this gig is a fine moment to stretch out on some of that material before I present my work at The Apollo Theater Soundstage for the residency/performances in April.
