yes, i missed the CNN special Black in America: Black Women and Family. what can i tell you?my day had still had me running around like a chicken with my head cut off by early evening. maybe subconsciously, i wanted to miss it because i didn't want to have something else to be pissed off about, right about now. they'll rerun it ad nauseum, i'm sure.
in the meantime, here's an interesting twist: they're going to dissect all of it online, with experts and anchors and viewers oh my! you can send in commentary, video, you name it. they really want feedback. here's hoping they get it.
all i could think was, so what's the goal here? is it redundant to talk to me about what its like to be black in this country? are we attempting to uplift the race with stats about how well we're really doing? are we attempting to initiate thought-provoking conversations about issues like race and class? or are we trying to let white people in on something that they may not be aware of? and isn't it usually a totally different conversation when there are no white people in the room?
like i said, i missed the special. and unlike a lot of black folk i know, i'm going to make a point of watching it. still and all, having an online special is interesting. and yes, i'm definitely going to miss that, too -- i have an audition. more on that later.
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Soledad O’Brien Hosts One-Hour Online Special Featuring iReports and Interviews with Viewers, Experts
On Thursday, July 24, at 12 p.m. (ET), CNN anchor and special correspondent Soledad O’Brien will host a live, one-hour online special entitled Black in America: Your Reaction on CNN.com Live, the site’s live, multi-stream video news service. Focused on CNN’s highly anticipated Black in America documentaries, the online exclusive will examine viewer reactions to Black in America: The Black Woman & Family, which airs tonight, Wednesday, July 23, at 9 p.m. (ET/PT) on CNN/U.S. During the CNN.com Live one-hour special, O’Brien will interview several prominent figures in Black America, as well as the documentary series’ producers about their 18-month investigation. CNN.com Live’s Black in America: Your Reaction also will feature a brief preview of Black in America: The Black Man, airing on CNN/U.S. Thursday, July 24, at 9 p.m. (ET/PT).
O’Brien will interview author and activist Maryann Reid about the themes discussed in her latest book, Marry Your Baby Daddy; as well as co-authors of Love in Black and White – former U.S. Defense Secretary William Cohen and his wife, Janet Langhart Cohen, a public relations consultant and former journalist – about their inspiring story of overcoming obstacles in race and romance as an interracial couple in America.
During CNN.com Live’s Black in America: Your Reaction, O’Brien will speak with Bishop James W.E. Dixon, II of The Community of Faith Church at the King’s Dome in Houston – which this week is holding Black in America viewing parties and town halls – about his congregation’s reaction to the documentary. O’Brien likewise will showcase viewer reactions that were taped following other special pre-screenings of the Black in America series in Atlanta, Chicago, New York City and Washington, D.C.
O’Brien will present viewers’ and users’ firsthand accounts of the black experience and reactions to the documentary series submitted to iReport.com, CNN Worldwide’s first uncensored, unfiltered, unedited, user-generated community Web site. Online users may share their firsthand accounts of and reactions to Black in America through video, photo, or audio submissions to www.iReport.com/BlackinAmerica. Black in America, reported by O’Brien, examines often under-reported stories of the African-American experience, including fresh analysis from new voices about the real lives behind the stereotypes and statistics that frequently frame the national dialogue about Black America. Black in America: The Black Woman & Family airs on Wednesday, July 23 at 9 p.m. (ET/PT), and Black in America: The Black Man airs on Thursday, July 24 at 9 p.m. (ET/PT). Black in America was filmed in high definition and will air on CNN/U.S., CNN HD and CNN International. The series will be available on iTunes and on video on demand (VOD) 24 hours following the premiere. Viewers should check with their local cable providers for VOD availability.
CNN.com is the world’s No. 1 destination for online and wireless news, garnering the greatest audience share among current events and global news sites. Launched in 1995, CNN.com draws from the resources of CNN Worldwide and its many partners to provide consumers with the most enriching, immediate interaction with news anywhere, seamlessly combining articles, videos, images, interactive features and user-generated content. CNN.com’s news video offering – both live and on-demand – is unparalleled on the Web. CNN.com’s recent awards include an Edward R. Murrow award, a National Headliner award and two EPpy awards.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Saturday, July 19, 2008
CNN: Black in America
i have a bad feeling about this one.
what makes this especially frustrating is that i've received at least a half-dozen email blasts encouraging any black anybody to see it. i'm going to make every effort to watch both specials with an open mind.
first up: the black woman and family, on hdtv wednesday july 23th at 9pm.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
high fashion, real progress and black beauty
earlier this spring when i heard about the july issue of vogue italia that would feature black models exclusively, something in me gushed with enthusiasm and more than a little hope. italian vogue has always used black models. it is said that they are driven more by creativity and art than commerce and it has a strong influence internationally. where they go, others follow. would that happen this time? or would this issue be an exotic one-off?
according to the editor franca sozzani, this move was inspired by many factors, most notably the rise of senator obama and the change that seems to be swirling in the air in america, and his smart, attractive and fashionably on-point wife michelle. but there was more. evidently when former agent/mother of kadeem hardison/legendary former 60's model bethann hardison held a 3 day forum on the lack of diversity in the fashion industry last fall, ms. sozzani took notice and was inspired enough to want to do something about it. by february, she and stephen meisel (the photographer behind madonna's book sex) were talking about the possibility of an all black issue and a short time later, they were off to the races.
there was a lot of speculation about this issue: who would be on the cover (that all important question); who would be prominently featured (and how); and most importantly, the impact of the statement that an all black issue from such an influential stylemaker would make on the rest of the fashion world. i looked forward with heady optimism to the rush of being able to open a world-class magazine and see an array of beautiful black women.
then for some strange reason, something in me began to sour on the idea of it, and the more i thought about it, the more unsure i became about its positive outcome.
the last time i was overwhelmed by one black model after another after another, it was when vicksburg mississippi native patrick kelly ruled the runways. remember him? i could glimpse so much of my black southern self in everything he did because he never apologized for who he was. he reveled in it. he ran around in overalls all the time. he gave away little pickaninny dolls -- symbolic of at all of his fashion events, so much so that they became his totem. he amassed a large collection of black dolls, actually. when he used white models, he put them in blackface and put their hair in plaits to make them look like some racially inverted version of topsy. and those mismatched buttons? he said he got that from his grandmother, who couldn't always find buttons that matched when it was time to mend his clothes when he was a child.
as the legend goes, mr. kelly's grandmother brought home a fashion magazine one day when he was 6 years old. when he asked why there were no african-american models in it, she told him that fashion designers didn't have time for black women. and so mr. kelly decided that someday he would do something about that. oh, boy did he ever.
when fashion designer willi smith of williwear -- brother of the infamous toukie smith -- died of pneumonia at 39 in 1987 that was a huge loss. when mr. kelly died of AIDS in 1990 at the age of 35 at the peak of his career, i knew that it was the end of an era. yes, other black designers would appear. but that flood of black models everywhere? not a chance.
with no patrick kelly at the helm to infuse his southern blackness everywhere, i had to acknowledge 3 things as i looked at the preliminary pictures of the july issue:
according to the editor franca sozzani, this move was inspired by many factors, most notably the rise of senator obama and the change that seems to be swirling in the air in america, and his smart, attractive and fashionably on-point wife michelle. but there was more. evidently when former agent/mother of kadeem hardison/legendary former 60's model bethann hardison held a 3 day forum on the lack of diversity in the fashion industry last fall, ms. sozzani took notice and was inspired enough to want to do something about it. by february, she and stephen meisel (the photographer behind madonna's book sex) were talking about the possibility of an all black issue and a short time later, they were off to the races.
there was a lot of speculation about this issue: who would be on the cover (that all important question); who would be prominently featured (and how); and most importantly, the impact of the statement that an all black issue from such an influential stylemaker would make on the rest of the fashion world. i looked forward with heady optimism to the rush of being able to open a world-class magazine and see an array of beautiful black women.
then for some strange reason, something in me began to sour on the idea of it, and the more i thought about it, the more unsure i became about its positive outcome.
the last time i was overwhelmed by one black model after another after another, it was when vicksburg mississippi native patrick kelly ruled the runways. remember him? i could glimpse so much of my black southern self in everything he did because he never apologized for who he was. he reveled in it. he ran around in overalls all the time. he gave away little pickaninny dolls -- symbolic of at all of his fashion events, so much so that they became his totem. he amassed a large collection of black dolls, actually. when he used white models, he put them in blackface and put their hair in plaits to make them look like some racially inverted version of topsy. and those mismatched buttons? he said he got that from his grandmother, who couldn't always find buttons that matched when it was time to mend his clothes when he was a child.
as the legend goes, mr. kelly's grandmother brought home a fashion magazine one day when he was 6 years old. when he asked why there were no african-american models in it, she told him that fashion designers didn't have time for black women. and so mr. kelly decided that someday he would do something about that. oh, boy did he ever.
when fashion designer willi smith of williwear -- brother of the infamous toukie smith -- died of pneumonia at 39 in 1987 that was a huge loss. when mr. kelly died of AIDS in 1990 at the age of 35 at the peak of his career, i knew that it was the end of an era. yes, other black designers would appear. but that flood of black models everywhere? not a chance.
with no patrick kelly at the helm to infuse his southern blackness everywhere, i had to acknowledge 3 things as i looked at the preliminary pictures of the july issue:
- when we as people of color are in control of our image -- when we photograph ourselves, design the clothes, style the shoots and make the pertinent choices (like who's going to be the model for this shoot?) -- those images are unlike the images that our counterparts would create of us. that led me to another thought...
- these are europeans creating and manipulating images of africans/african-americans/people of color -- not africans/african-americans/people of color making those images of themselves. if andre leon talley or bethann hardison had the opportunity to be a guest editor and create something like this, it would probably look a lot different than what vogue italia has done.
- exactly who worked on this issue? were there any african-american consultants/stylists/fashion designers involved? were any black people in high fashion a part of the decision-making process? were there any black consultants?
in the end, who is this really for, exactly? is this issue for the fashion world, to show them that black really is beautiful, that there are many black models available for work, that they are just as alluring as the blue-eyed blonde russians/eastern europeans? will it take more than one issue to pull that off -- or will over 150 pages of stunning photos make them see the light?
evidently so. vogue italia was all black but the paris couture show was all white -- and parading the same excuses of "supply and demand." so yes, its going to take more than one issue. but one thing is for sure: the conversation has begun.
oh -- and lest you think that it's just fashion and fashion doesn't matter, i leave you with this quote from Robin Givhan, a fashion writer and Pulitzer Prize-winning commentator for The Washington Post:
“One of the things people need to understand and come to grips with is they’re in the business of defining beauty and selling beauty. Beauty is a form of currency and if the industry is in the business of defining what is beautiful, then it also is in the business of defining who is valuable and who is invisible.”
ps: check out the NYT slideshow here.
Friday, July 11, 2008
The New Jersey Four
before i'd read about the new jersey four on a fellow afrospear's blog, i knew nothing about their plight. why? i hadn't heard anything about this on the local or national news. if it was talked about in the black blogosphere, i missed it. even the lesbians i know weren't informed. that's not a cop-out on my part, or theirs. it's the truth.
contrary to what anyone may assume, i don't have an internal rss newsfeed that's race and gender specific, automatically informing me of any and every injustice that applies to me as an african-american and as a woman. where would i -- or anyone for that matter -- have heard about this incident if it weren't publicized ad nauseum somewhere?
when something horrible happens to people of color nowadays, a media-savvy publicist is almost as necessary as a good lawyer. you have to climb to the top of the heap of news items and wave your flag of information as high as you can, and you have to keep waving it until your situation gets the attention and the coverage it deserves. i'm sure that any major media outlet in this day and age would mark this as a story on non-interest but as a black female, i have to disagree. anytime a black woman anywhere defends herself against a male attacker and goes to jail for it, you have my full and undivided attention.
and anyone who's warped enough to believe that this country and its legal system is just and fair to everyone needs to have their head examined.
the details are right here but the story in a nutshell is this: on august 16, 2006 four african-american lesbians walking through the west village were verbally harassed and physically assaulted by a black man, so they did the unthinkable: they defended themselves.
all of this was captured on video from a surveillance camera at a nearby store, including the two men who finally came to their rescue and proceeded to beat living crap out of the guy -- dwayne buckle -- that started the whole thing in the first place. later as mr. buckle recovered from his hospital bed, he said that the two men were responsible for his injuries. visual proof didn't matter, either. on june 14, 2007 all 4 of them -- venice brown (19), terrain dandridge (20), patreese johnson (20) and renata hill (24) -- received sentences ranging from three-and-a-half to 11 years in prison. none of them had previous criminal records. two of them are parents of small children.
do i have to tell you that they were convicted by an all-white jury? hm. i guess not.
the updates are promising. according to the new york times article, ms. dandridge's conviction has been reversed and her indictment dismissed because there wasn't enough evidence to support a guilty verdict. ms. hill has been released because her conviction couldn't be upheld, either. ms. brown and ms. johnson are still in prison, awaiting appeals.
this clip is a testament to the way things are coming together in a grassroots way all over the country to suport this cause.
the new jersey 4 blog has the latest updates, benefits, concerts and anything else you'd need to know about them -- including their contact information, to send donations, letters of support and encouragement.
contrary to what anyone may assume, i don't have an internal rss newsfeed that's race and gender specific, automatically informing me of any and every injustice that applies to me as an african-american and as a woman. where would i -- or anyone for that matter -- have heard about this incident if it weren't publicized ad nauseum somewhere?
when something horrible happens to people of color nowadays, a media-savvy publicist is almost as necessary as a good lawyer. you have to climb to the top of the heap of news items and wave your flag of information as high as you can, and you have to keep waving it until your situation gets the attention and the coverage it deserves. i'm sure that any major media outlet in this day and age would mark this as a story on non-interest but as a black female, i have to disagree. anytime a black woman anywhere defends herself against a male attacker and goes to jail for it, you have my full and undivided attention.
and anyone who's warped enough to believe that this country and its legal system is just and fair to everyone needs to have their head examined.
the details are right here but the story in a nutshell is this: on august 16, 2006 four african-american lesbians walking through the west village were verbally harassed and physically assaulted by a black man, so they did the unthinkable: they defended themselves.
all of this was captured on video from a surveillance camera at a nearby store, including the two men who finally came to their rescue and proceeded to beat living crap out of the guy -- dwayne buckle -- that started the whole thing in the first place. later as mr. buckle recovered from his hospital bed, he said that the two men were responsible for his injuries. visual proof didn't matter, either. on june 14, 2007 all 4 of them -- venice brown (19), terrain dandridge (20), patreese johnson (20) and renata hill (24) -- received sentences ranging from three-and-a-half to 11 years in prison. none of them had previous criminal records. two of them are parents of small children.
do i have to tell you that they were convicted by an all-white jury? hm. i guess not.
the updates are promising. according to the new york times article, ms. dandridge's conviction has been reversed and her indictment dismissed because there wasn't enough evidence to support a guilty verdict. ms. hill has been released because her conviction couldn't be upheld, either. ms. brown and ms. johnson are still in prison, awaiting appeals.
this clip is a testament to the way things are coming together in a grassroots way all over the country to suport this cause.
the new jersey 4 blog has the latest updates, benefits, concerts and anything else you'd need to know about them -- including their contact information, to send donations, letters of support and encouragement.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Sunday, July 06, 2008
ray charles, johnny cash and black country music
for those of you who don't think that you like black country music, don't believe that it exists, or believe that black americana is an abberation before the Lord that i somehow invented when i self-released my CD, here's ray charles on his second appearance on the johnny carson show, singing everyone's favorite -- ring of fire.
actually, ray charles recorded this song for his album love, country style in 1970. truth be told, i love it when anyone can make a piano twang -- but this is something special.
actually, ray charles recorded this song for his album love, country style in 1970. truth be told, i love it when anyone can make a piano twang -- but this is something special.
Friday, July 04, 2008
the black national anthem controversy
just in time for the 4th of july, there's some hot black mess in the media that's going to have fox news foaming at the mouth for weeks.
when i was a kid in the 70s, we sang the black national anthem whenever we had to sing the national anthem, say the pledge of alliegance or salute the flag. who taught it to me? who told me what it was? who told me why it was important? maybe a music teacher. or my father. i'm not sure. the truth is that everyone -- from my great-grandparents to my next door neighbors to the children i didn't play with -- treated the song with a reverence and an importance that let me know it mattered a great deal. like the sandbox in the backyard or the pound cake under that glass dome on the kitchen table or fish and grits for dinner on fridays, it was always there. here's the kicker: every black anyone in my little kid world knew this song and they knew it cold. they sang it from the heart, with feeling. and in a way, all of us knowing this song gave us a kind of solidarity and a unity that bloomed all the time.
feeling this togetherness as a child in the south amongst black folk gave me a glimpse into the jim crow years that my now 92 year old father lived through and how, in the moments when all we had was each other, we looked out for each other in so many unspoken ways that don't seem to happen anymore -- probably because white people aren't lynching us as much as they used to or hanging us at their town picnics. what's ironic is that we need that solidarity now more than ever. but i digress.
when i first saw a photo of a lynching (in Jet magazine in the 70s) what struck me the most was that the white people wanted to pose with the twisted hanging bloody bodies. they were laughing and pointing and having so much fun. and don't kid yourselves, yankees -- lynchings and cross burnings happened all over the country, not just the south. even nat king cole's upscale beverly hills neighbors burned crosses on his lawn.
any chance of a national apology to black people for all of this crap? probably not.
i don't know every negro in america but i can't think of any black people that don't know this song. don't believe me? ask an african-american you know to sing it. i don't think we should stop singing it until they acknowledge what happened during slavery and reconstruction and -- at the very least -- apologize for it. there has never been a collective reckoning amongst all americans, where we talk about these ugly racist things openly and deal with our feelings in a supportive way. like south africa, we need a truth and reconciliation commission of our own. everyone should know who emmett till is.
any chance that carolyn bryant, the woman responsible for emmett's murder, will ever see the inside of a prison cell? probably not.
on my last visit home, my adorable 4 year old nephew thomas stood proudly before the entire family after sunday dinner and sang the whole song -- with no help from anyone, not even his musician father. only four years old! where did he learn it? pre-k. then again, of course they're teaching little black children the black national anthem. they live in ATL -- a black mecca if there ever was one.
with thomas' happy little rendition (that left my friend reeling), i realized that singing the song nowadays was really an act of protest. with that in mind, i had to admit that i thought it took a lot of balls for rene marie to sing that song in denver the way that she did.
an act of treason to have a black national anthem, you say? get off of your jingoistic high horse and get real. clearly, america is a nation divided. i know way too many southerners who sing "dixie" (a song straight out of the minstrel tradition) as their national anthem and salute the confederate flag as they do so. the united sons and daughters of the confederacy have been doing this in federal/state/locally funded public settings ever since they lost the civil war and no one has ever batted an eyelash, much less called their actions treasonous. this is the same organization that recently decided to put up this massively huge confederate flag in the middle of a busy interstate in florida. nationally, no one has noticed -- certainly not fox news.
much, much more as this develops.
oh -- and happy july 4th, america! (...you know i already celebrated my independence day on juneteenth...)
Los Angeles Times Staff Writer
July 4, 2008
DENVER — The jazz singer, invited to perform the national anthem before the Denver mayor's annual state of the city address, stood at the microphone and let loose her voice.
What came out were the lyrics of the song known as the black national anthem, set to the tune of "The Star-Spangled Banner."
"Lift ev'ry voice and sing, Till earth and heaven ring," belted out Rene Marie, as the expressions of city officials behind her grew puzzled.
It was, Marie later said of the unpaid gig, an artistic expression of her emotions about being a black American and a decision she made months ago to no longer sing the national anthem. But instead of telling that to the mayor's office beforehand, "I pulled a switcheroonie on them," Marie told the Denver Post.
Now elected officials and residents are joining a chorus of outrage: Gov. Bill Ritter Jr. called her actions disrespectful; Mayor John Hickenlooper accused her of deceiving the city for the purpose of a political statement.
"We all respect artistic license and support freedom of expression," he said. "But in a tradition-laden civic ceremony . . . making a personal substitution for the national anthem was not an option. We asked for 'The Star-Spangled Banner' and that's what we expected."
Even Sen. Barack Obama, campaigning for the presidency this week in Colorado, weighed in.
"We only have one national anthem," Obama told the Rocky Mountain News on Thursday. "And so, if she was asked to sing the national anthem, she should have sung that. 'Lift Ev'ry Voice and Sing' is a beautiful song, but we only have one national anthem."
On newspaper websites, comments have poured in by the hundreds, most of them critical of the popular local singer. Some have said her performance would harm Obama's presidential bid, a suggestion Marie dismissed as "a serious overestimation of my influence as an artist."
She did not return a call seeking comment, but on her website she defended her decision in a statement:
"I am an artist," she wrote. "If I wait until I am asked to express myself artistically, or if I must ask permission to do it, it would never get done. I knew that if I asked to do my version of the national anthem, the answer would be 'no.' "
Marie, 52, said that as a child raised in the segregated South, she sang both songs. But she grew to feel the sentiments of freedom expressed in the national anthem weren't a reality "for black folks living in a town with Jim Crow laws, where the flag often hung from buildings they could not enter," she wrote.
"Nobody but black folks found comfort in 'Lift Ev'ry Voice and Sing,' " penned by James Weldon Johnson and put to music by his brother, J. Rosamond Johnson, in about 1900 to commemorate President Lincoln's birthday. The hymn was sung at protest rallies during the civil rights struggles of the 1950s and '60s.
So Marie decided to meld the two anthems in what she describes as a love song to her country. She said she also rewrote the melodies to "America the Beautiful" and "My Country 'Tis of Thee," but kept the lyrics. She calls the three-part suite "Voice of My Beautiful Country."
Though she apologized to the mayor for any distress she caused him in her performance Tuesday, she stopped short of the public apology others are calling for. "As for offending others with my music, I cannot apologize for that. It goes with the risky territory of being an artist," she wrote.
Her chances of performing her art for the city again?
Probably not good, according to Hickenlooper, who said he wished he had interceded during Marie's performance.
"We will do whatever it takes to ensure that a situation like this never occurs again," he said, "even if I have to sing the national anthem myself."
deedee.correll@latimes.com
when i was a kid in the 70s, we sang the black national anthem whenever we had to sing the national anthem, say the pledge of alliegance or salute the flag. who taught it to me? who told me what it was? who told me why it was important? maybe a music teacher. or my father. i'm not sure. the truth is that everyone -- from my great-grandparents to my next door neighbors to the children i didn't play with -- treated the song with a reverence and an importance that let me know it mattered a great deal. like the sandbox in the backyard or the pound cake under that glass dome on the kitchen table or fish and grits for dinner on fridays, it was always there. here's the kicker: every black anyone in my little kid world knew this song and they knew it cold. they sang it from the heart, with feeling. and in a way, all of us knowing this song gave us a kind of solidarity and a unity that bloomed all the time.
feeling this togetherness as a child in the south amongst black folk gave me a glimpse into the jim crow years that my now 92 year old father lived through and how, in the moments when all we had was each other, we looked out for each other in so many unspoken ways that don't seem to happen anymore -- probably because white people aren't lynching us as much as they used to or hanging us at their town picnics. what's ironic is that we need that solidarity now more than ever. but i digress.
when i first saw a photo of a lynching (in Jet magazine in the 70s) what struck me the most was that the white people wanted to pose with the twisted hanging bloody bodies. they were laughing and pointing and having so much fun. and don't kid yourselves, yankees -- lynchings and cross burnings happened all over the country, not just the south. even nat king cole's upscale beverly hills neighbors burned crosses on his lawn.
any chance of a national apology to black people for all of this crap? probably not.
i don't know every negro in america but i can't think of any black people that don't know this song. don't believe me? ask an african-american you know to sing it. i don't think we should stop singing it until they acknowledge what happened during slavery and reconstruction and -- at the very least -- apologize for it. there has never been a collective reckoning amongst all americans, where we talk about these ugly racist things openly and deal with our feelings in a supportive way. like south africa, we need a truth and reconciliation commission of our own. everyone should know who emmett till is.
any chance that carolyn bryant, the woman responsible for emmett's murder, will ever see the inside of a prison cell? probably not.
on my last visit home, my adorable 4 year old nephew thomas stood proudly before the entire family after sunday dinner and sang the whole song -- with no help from anyone, not even his musician father. only four years old! where did he learn it? pre-k. then again, of course they're teaching little black children the black national anthem. they live in ATL -- a black mecca if there ever was one.
with thomas' happy little rendition (that left my friend reeling), i realized that singing the song nowadays was really an act of protest. with that in mind, i had to admit that i thought it took a lot of balls for rene marie to sing that song in denver the way that she did.
an act of treason to have a black national anthem, you say? get off of your jingoistic high horse and get real. clearly, america is a nation divided. i know way too many southerners who sing "dixie" (a song straight out of the minstrel tradition) as their national anthem and salute the confederate flag as they do so. the united sons and daughters of the confederacy have been doing this in federal/state/locally funded public settings ever since they lost the civil war and no one has ever batted an eyelash, much less called their actions treasonous. this is the same organization that recently decided to put up this massively huge confederate flag in the middle of a busy interstate in florida. nationally, no one has noticed -- certainly not fox news.
much, much more as this develops.
oh -- and happy july 4th, america! (...you know i already celebrated my independence day on juneteenth...)
Denver singer opts for black national anthem lyrics over 'Star-Spangled Banner'
Rene Marie's unexpected choice at a mayor's event where she was asked to sing the more traditional song has prompted a chorus of criticism.
By DeeDee CorrellLos Angeles Times Staff Writer
July 4, 2008
DENVER — The jazz singer, invited to perform the national anthem before the Denver mayor's annual state of the city address, stood at the microphone and let loose her voice.
What came out were the lyrics of the song known as the black national anthem, set to the tune of "The Star-Spangled Banner."
"Lift ev'ry voice and sing, Till earth and heaven ring," belted out Rene Marie, as the expressions of city officials behind her grew puzzled.
It was, Marie later said of the unpaid gig, an artistic expression of her emotions about being a black American and a decision she made months ago to no longer sing the national anthem. But instead of telling that to the mayor's office beforehand, "I pulled a switcheroonie on them," Marie told the Denver Post.
Now elected officials and residents are joining a chorus of outrage: Gov. Bill Ritter Jr. called her actions disrespectful; Mayor John Hickenlooper accused her of deceiving the city for the purpose of a political statement.
"We all respect artistic license and support freedom of expression," he said. "But in a tradition-laden civic ceremony . . . making a personal substitution for the national anthem was not an option. We asked for 'The Star-Spangled Banner' and that's what we expected."
Even Sen. Barack Obama, campaigning for the presidency this week in Colorado, weighed in.
"We only have one national anthem," Obama told the Rocky Mountain News on Thursday. "And so, if she was asked to sing the national anthem, she should have sung that. 'Lift Ev'ry Voice and Sing' is a beautiful song, but we only have one national anthem."
On newspaper websites, comments have poured in by the hundreds, most of them critical of the popular local singer. Some have said her performance would harm Obama's presidential bid, a suggestion Marie dismissed as "a serious overestimation of my influence as an artist."
She did not return a call seeking comment, but on her website she defended her decision in a statement:
"I am an artist," she wrote. "If I wait until I am asked to express myself artistically, or if I must ask permission to do it, it would never get done. I knew that if I asked to do my version of the national anthem, the answer would be 'no.' "
Marie, 52, said that as a child raised in the segregated South, she sang both songs. But she grew to feel the sentiments of freedom expressed in the national anthem weren't a reality "for black folks living in a town with Jim Crow laws, where the flag often hung from buildings they could not enter," she wrote.
"Nobody but black folks found comfort in 'Lift Ev'ry Voice and Sing,' " penned by James Weldon Johnson and put to music by his brother, J. Rosamond Johnson, in about 1900 to commemorate President Lincoln's birthday. The hymn was sung at protest rallies during the civil rights struggles of the 1950s and '60s.
So Marie decided to meld the two anthems in what she describes as a love song to her country. She said she also rewrote the melodies to "America the Beautiful" and "My Country 'Tis of Thee," but kept the lyrics. She calls the three-part suite "Voice of My Beautiful Country."
Though she apologized to the mayor for any distress she caused him in her performance Tuesday, she stopped short of the public apology others are calling for. "As for offending others with my music, I cannot apologize for that. It goes with the risky territory of being an artist," she wrote.
Her chances of performing her art for the city again?
Probably not good, according to Hickenlooper, who said he wished he had interceded during Marie's performance.
"We will do whatever it takes to ensure that a situation like this never occurs again," he said, "even if I have to sing the national anthem myself."
deedee.correll@latimes.com
Thursday, July 03, 2008
the dark knight
here it is -- as if you haven't seen it elsewhere on the internet! -- the first 5 minutes of the dark knight. enjoy.
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
something from goodreads...
my goal is to read 100 books this year and blog about them on goodreads, so i can keep up with my bookshelf life. so far, i'm off to a flying start. we spend so much of our lives waiting. i figured out the trick: keep a book in my purse at all times, so that while i'm waiting for the train, waiting in line at the bank, waiting to see my doctor, waiting for that crosstown bus, i'm reading. in the past few months, i've finished quite a few books this way. this is one of them.
What a Difference a Daddy Makes: The Lasting Imprint a Dad Leaves on His Daughter's Life by Kevin Leman
rating: 4 of 5 stars
i read this as a gift to myself for father's day, to give me some insight on my relationship with my father (which is actually pretty cool these days).
this is a smart book, an easy read, one that i would recommend to absolutely anyone, but it's especially a must for black men who are fathers. way too many women i know see fathers as just a paycheck. in many instances, they don't understand the importance of a father because they've never had one who had a strong presence in their lives. sometimes, even when he was physically present, he wasn't necessarily "there".
so why have a father that's especially involved with your daughter?
because according to this book, it is fathers who give girls their self-esteem/self-worth. girls get a sense from their fathers -- not their mothers -- that they're worth being loved. if the father isn't present in the girl's life to give her this, she will find a surrogate who will. this can mean lousy choices in love for the rest of her life. and of course, this cycle will perpetuate itself when it's time for her to have children.
kids are going to belong someplace. the question isn't whether they'll belong but where. a gang. a basketball team. a boyfriend/girlfriend. but they will belong.
some of it was a little too disney-esque for me -- like him crying his eyes out when one of his daughters left home for college/got married (yeah, he's a cryer) -- but on second thought, maybe the ideal situation needed to be presented so we'd see the male/father and female/mother roles in the home in their proper perspective.
yeah. a definite must-read.
View all my reviews.
What a Difference a Daddy Makes: The Lasting Imprint a Dad Leaves on His Daughter's Life by Kevin LemanMy review
rating: 4 of 5 stars
i read this as a gift to myself for father's day, to give me some insight on my relationship with my father (which is actually pretty cool these days).
this is a smart book, an easy read, one that i would recommend to absolutely anyone, but it's especially a must for black men who are fathers. way too many women i know see fathers as just a paycheck. in many instances, they don't understand the importance of a father because they've never had one who had a strong presence in their lives. sometimes, even when he was physically present, he wasn't necessarily "there".
so why have a father that's especially involved with your daughter?
because according to this book, it is fathers who give girls their self-esteem/self-worth. girls get a sense from their fathers -- not their mothers -- that they're worth being loved. if the father isn't present in the girl's life to give her this, she will find a surrogate who will. this can mean lousy choices in love for the rest of her life. and of course, this cycle will perpetuate itself when it's time for her to have children.
kids are going to belong someplace. the question isn't whether they'll belong but where. a gang. a basketball team. a boyfriend/girlfriend. but they will belong.
some of it was a little too disney-esque for me -- like him crying his eyes out when one of his daughters left home for college/got married (yeah, he's a cryer) -- but on second thought, maybe the ideal situation needed to be presented so we'd see the male/father and female/mother roles in the home in their proper perspective.
yeah. a definite must-read.
View all my reviews.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
homeward bound
since i'm going to meet the rest of my friend's family this weekend at his cousin's wedding in pennsylvania -- and since monday is my birthday -- i thought i'd push play on this classic: simon and garfunkel at monterrey in '67.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
home away from home
i was way too busy shooting a music video in the middle of union square today for the title track of my CD "talkin' fishbowl blues" to blog about home -- so i thought i'd include some shots of the first scenario, which show me "at home" as a small fish in a very big bowl, surrounded by city life. i really loved the concept for the shoot and the way it unraveled the meaning of the song. everyone was so enthusiastic and full of ideas and eager to do a great job. it was a wonderful experience.
to read more about how it all went down, click here.
this is the opening shot.
this is john of london, england pretending to be bentley farnsworth.
this is the director and one of the cameraguys (both of whom are indonesian) discussing a shot.
to read more about how it all went down, click here.
this is the opening shot.
this is john of london, england pretending to be bentley farnsworth.
this is the director and one of the cameraguys (both of whom are indonesian) discussing a shot.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
spitting image's version: "our house"
this is an irresistable UK spoof of the madness song "our house" from the oh-so brilliant and sorely missed spitting image. i included the lyrics for the sake of clarity.
i know it's about the housing market across the pond, but the situation is basically the same as what we're experiencing here. the economic/financial situations in each country all over the world are more interconnected than we realize.
one world government, anyone?
Dad believed what Maggie said
Get a mortgage buy a home
So dad took out a great big loan
For a while there we were chuffed
Now the market has collapsed
And we're absolutely stuffed
Our house, in the middle of a slump
Our house, no one wants to buy this dump
Dad is desperate to sell
But now our homes worth even less
Than a pension from Maxwell
Our living room's a mess
Full of magistrates and bailiffs
Trying to repossess
Our house, in the middle of the boom
Our house, it was worth a small fortune
Our house, left us in a dreadful state
Our house, why the hell'd we decorate
We really caught a cold
Nowhere we can go to now
All the council houses have been sold
Our dads taken some stick
He's still voting Tory though
By God he must be thick
Our house, didn't work out like we planned
Our house, prices dropped by fifty grand
Our house, threw us out and changed the locks
Our house, it is now a cardboard box
i know it's about the housing market across the pond, but the situation is basically the same as what we're experiencing here. the economic/financial situations in each country all over the world are more interconnected than we realize.
one world government, anyone?
Dad believed what Maggie said
Get a mortgage buy a home
So dad took out a great big loan
For a while there we were chuffed
Now the market has collapsed
And we're absolutely stuffed
Our house, in the middle of a slump
Our house, no one wants to buy this dump
Dad is desperate to sell
But now our homes worth even less
Than a pension from Maxwell
Our living room's a mess
Full of magistrates and bailiffs
Trying to repossess
Our house, in the middle of the boom
Our house, it was worth a small fortune
Our house, left us in a dreadful state
Our house, why the hell'd we decorate
We really caught a cold
Nowhere we can go to now
All the council houses have been sold
Our dads taken some stick
He's still voting Tory though
By God he must be thick
Our house, didn't work out like we planned
Our house, prices dropped by fifty grand
Our house, threw us out and changed the locks
Our house, it is now a cardboard box
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
my voiceover demo is DONE! yippee!
dan duckworth at voiceovers unlimited emailed the voiceover demo to me a few hours ago. it’s only about a minute long. i’m absolutely over the moon that i got this done. it sounds fan-freakin’-tastic! don’t believe me? click here to listen for yourself.
i decided i wanted to try my hand at voiceovers because i figured, if i made money when i sing, why not when i talk? i got proactive, i set goals and priorities, and now i’ve got another stream of income, just like that—one that i can stay at home and do, at my leisure in my pjs if i feel like it.
all of this is already starting to pay off: last friday i just recorded an episode for season 2 of PBS’ wordworld! (i’m the elephant…)
See more progress on: Finish my voiceover demo
Monday, June 23, 2008
celebrate me home
for today's monday video selection, i thought this kenny loggins song would either really move you or totally cheese you out. let me know which feeling overwhelmed you first.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
sermonette
the sermon this morning at times square church was about -- you guessed it -- home. since it fit so neatly in this month's theme, i thought i'd include it on my blog.
it was called the most difficult journey of all and revolved around the prodigal son's return to his father's house. if you'd like to hear it, click here.
it was called the most difficult journey of all and revolved around the prodigal son's return to his father's house. if you'd like to hear it, click here.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
yes, it's true!
on thursday night -- juneteenth! -- i won the jazzmobile 2008 jazz vocalist competition. more details and photos of me with that oversized check later. in the meantime, you can read all about it here.
what a great way to start the summer!
what a great way to start the summer!
Friday, June 20, 2008
Thursday, June 19, 2008
unbelievable...
at first i thought this was some sort of a joke, but it's true: some italian guy sees his ex at a bar, drags her to his place and makes her do housework. (!!!) one can only guess as to what could be seen with a glimpse into their relationship window, especially if it revolved so heavily around her ironing his shirts. they need to convict him so he can go to prison and iron and fold laundry for the next 10 years.
the world is a very sexist place. i wonder how often this actually happens. a lot, i imagine -- they're just not telling it.
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Man accused of kidnap to get ironing done
the world is a very sexist place. i wonder how often this actually happens. a lot, i imagine -- they're just not telling it.
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Man accused of kidnap to get ironing done
Italian man accused of kidnapping ex-girlfriend to get ironing, dishes done
Reuters
updated 5:32 p.m. ET, Mon., June. 16, 2008
ROME - An Italian man was arrested on suspicion of kidnapping his ex-girlfriend from a pub, taking her home and forcing her to iron his clothes and wash the dishes, police said Monday.
The 43-year-old man dragged the woman out of a pub in the port city of Genoa, shoved her into a car and took her to his home, where he made her iron and wash dishes after threatening her, they said.
Police arrived at his house after being tipped off by a friend of the woman who watched the scene at the pub.
The man, who was apparently furious at his ex-girlfriend for leaving him, was arrested on charges of kidnapping, police said.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
go figure...
maybe this explains a lot of the construction that's happening in the city and in my neighborhood -- although in my area, a lot of the renovation feels like they're planning a big party that hardly anyone will attend. sure, it's the city -- but as my friend told me months ago, it's still the ghetto, with all of the danger and the stigma that's attached to it.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------One way to handle gas prices: Move
More people are looking to live closer to work and shopping, and find relocating saves them hundreds of dollars a month in gas.
NEW YORK (CNNMoney.com) -- It may seem a bit drastic, but more and more people are taking what is perhaps the ultimate step in cutting gas prices: They're moving.
Peaches Stevens used to rent an old farm house in southern Indiana. She loved the setting, but her job as a high school science teacher was 62 miles to the north.
Coaching golf after school made carpooling difficult, and even though her Dodge Neon got an impressive 30 miles a gallon, she was still spending upwards of $400 a month on gas.
So she moved. Now Stevens, 49, rents a place eight miles away from school. Plus, she bough a Honda scooter that gets 80 miles a gallon. Now she can get to work and back for about $16 a month.
"I'm doing it all for economic reasons," said Stevens, who figures she'll save enough in gas to pay off the $2,400 scooter in under 7 months. "I loved [the farmhouse], but I do feel like I'm doing the right thing."
Stevens is part of a national trend of high gas prices playing a major role in where people choose to live. Factors like distance from work, access to public transportation, and proximity to shopping are gaining ground on square footage and whether or not the home has a yard and pushing people into more densely packed areas.
"The high cost of gas is cited as a driving factor in increased interest in urban living," said Jim Gillespie, chief executive of Coldwell Banker, a national realty franchise. "Over the past several years we've seen a boom in downtown living all over the country."
It seems like the people actually making the move so far seem to be renters as opposed to owners, as not renewing a lease is obviously much easier than selling a home.
While their wallets may be happy, whether the quality of life is improving for the people who move is debatable.
"I went from a beautiful home with a big back yard to an itty-bitty studio apartment," said Erinn Thomas, who moved from a suburb of Reno, NV, to the downtown area to save on gas. "But it's what I had to do to eat."
So 25-year old Thomas now rents a place just a mile from work.
She says she'll miss the space of the suburbs, but in addition to the $200 a month she hopes to save on gas, she also aims to pocket another $100 a month - and probably improve her health - by staying away from the Drive-thru window at the local fast-food joints.
"I don't have to drive anymore and I can buy a bike," she says.
In addition to personal health, some are also tipping their hat to the health of the planet.
"You cut your carbon footprint, which is pretty cool," said Jason Zulick, a 31- year old human resources manager from Orwigsburg, Penn.
Jason and his wife Tara moved to Orwigsburg from a town 25 miles away. High gas prices weren't the only reason they moved - the couple hopes to start a family and wanted to be closer to relatives in the area.
But they played a big part, and Tara's commute to her teaching job has been cut in half.
"We've saved $150 a month on gas alone just making the switch," said Jason.Tuesday, June 17, 2008
the noisiest building on the block
at about 8 am, the front door of my apartment building is propped open and the workers begin jackhammering everything. at least, that's the way it sounds. right now, the jackhammering is on the 2nd floor but for awhile, it was in the apartment above mine. when they were upstairs, every so often, it sounded like someone bodyslammed a baby elephant onto every flat surface up there. it shook loose the heavy glass fixture over the lights on the ceiling, shattering all over the living room. when i came home, it looked like the rug was caked in glass.
basically, as tenants vacate the apartments, the building owners renovate them and turn them into luxury digs. the other day, i stepped outside and realized that although they're doing construction on all of the empty apartments on my side of the street, my building seems to be taking it the hardest.
how nice were these newly renovated apartments? i was very curious.
the same hardworking guys have been coming in and out of the building for months. the africans and the west indians and the black folk always speak to me. the russians and the polish guys, not so much. when i new that they were working on an apartment down the hall, i whipped out a few glasses and some paul newman lemonade (my favorite!) and paid them a visit. of course, they let me roam around -- it's the best lemonade in the world. the apartment mirrored mine, but it seemed bigger -- probably because it was empty. they gave me all sorts of inside scoopage, though. in the end, they could flip the building if they get enough vacancies. new york city real estate is ruthless.
i'm not sure what my game plan should be, but one thing is for sure -- i'd better get one.
basically, as tenants vacate the apartments, the building owners renovate them and turn them into luxury digs. the other day, i stepped outside and realized that although they're doing construction on all of the empty apartments on my side of the street, my building seems to be taking it the hardest.
how nice were these newly renovated apartments? i was very curious.
the same hardworking guys have been coming in and out of the building for months. the africans and the west indians and the black folk always speak to me. the russians and the polish guys, not so much. when i new that they were working on an apartment down the hall, i whipped out a few glasses and some paul newman lemonade (my favorite!) and paid them a visit. of course, they let me roam around -- it's the best lemonade in the world. the apartment mirrored mine, but it seemed bigger -- probably because it was empty. they gave me all sorts of inside scoopage, though. in the end, they could flip the building if they get enough vacancies. new york city real estate is ruthless.
i'm not sure what my game plan should be, but one thing is for sure -- i'd better get one.
Monday, June 16, 2008
who can it be now?
thanks to last friday's entry and my current stay-at-home mentality, i thought this week's "home" themed music video choice was a fairly obvious one.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Happy Father's Day!
i wish i could go home to ATL to celebrate with my 92 year old daddy, but alas and alack, my situation is such that i cannot. but i did send flowers. and i'd like to think that this snarky little card would make him laugh.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
good news!
the good news is, i'm one of four finalists that have made it to the 3rd round of the jazzmobile jazz vocal competition. i just found out that one of the judges may be hard bop drummer grady tate. what many people don't know is that aside from his definitive jazz drumming style and the countless albums he's recorded with basically everyone, he has another discography as a baritone. i was first acquainted with his work as a part of schoolhouse rock! via mathematics rock! singing two "numbers" for them: one for six ("i got six! that's all there is!") and another for nine ("naughty number nine").
who says television is bad for kids? schoolhouse rock! still rocks.
i wanted to post this on my music blog when i wrote about what happened at round 2 but it wouldn't let me youtube these videos.
here's i got six!
this one is naughty number nine
who says television is bad for kids? schoolhouse rock! still rocks.
i wanted to post this on my music blog when i wrote about what happened at round 2 but it wouldn't let me youtube these videos.
here's i got six!
this one is naughty number nine
birthday season
earlier this week, i made a birthday package for my nephew ezra and sent it to ATL right after his special day. thanks to my friend allowing me to cherry pick my way through a longbox of material that he didn't want anymore, i managed to send 19 batman comic books. and when that didn't seem like enough, i put nine 1 dollar bills in an envelope (he's 8 so i gave him one to grow on), with a little note. i was going to include a free scoop of ice cream from baskin robbins but i thought, whoa -- that wouldn't be fair to the other munchkins, his brothers and sister. so i backed off. i'll probably send something like "free ice cream scoops for everyone!" before the end of the summer. it's an auntie thing to do.
i know it seems insignificant, but that was a nice little morning, making his bundle. and it made me feel like such an aunt, when he called -- unprompted by his mother, believe it or not -- to thank me. he also thanked my friend, who is still in awe of how polite those children are on a casual ordinary day-to-day basis.
my goal is to not forget any kiddie birthday this year. so far, so good.
i know it seems insignificant, but that was a nice little morning, making his bundle. and it made me feel like such an aunt, when he called -- unprompted by his mother, believe it or not -- to thank me. he also thanked my friend, who is still in awe of how polite those children are on a casual ordinary day-to-day basis.
my goal is to not forget any kiddie birthday this year. so far, so good.
Friday, June 13, 2008
the knock on the door
i got a knock on my door the other day. when it happened, it seemed to echo throughout the entire apartment, like something ominous was about to happen. like something out of a hitchcock movie. my friend and i looked each other dead in the eye like he was steve mcqueen and i was ali macgraw and we were on the lam. ah, peckinpah. i actually felt a few seconds of genuine panic.
i know that it's weird, i know that "people don't do that," but i don't care. those "people" don't have to walk a mile in my converse all-stars. and if they did, they'd never make it across the street. i never answer the door. and i know very few black people who do. answering the door is the kind of thing that happens in the suburbs or on television. they answer the door on your favorite sit-com. in reality, it's not the thing to do in the ghetto. it's just not. there's absolutely no such thing as an unexpected visitor in this neck of the woods. when someone wants to come over, they call first to make sure you're home. or you plan it out. you say stuff like, yeah i'll be home around 7pm. swing by, we'll have ice cream. but they don't just knock out of nowhere. only cops do that. and even then, i'm not opening the door. that's a great way to rob someone at gunpoint. you can buy a cop uniform anywhere.
a few years ago, my next door neighbors got robbed by two guys pretending to be cops. they flashed badges and everything. and they had small children in that apartment! heh. not me, buddy. i ain't goin' for that okey-doke. you're going to have to shoot me through the peephole. and you'd better not miss.
i even know actors who keep cop outfits on hand, in case there's last minute on camera extra work or under fives to be had.
and hey -- remember that deranged guy that pretended to be a fireman who knocked on his former co-worker's door on halloween? he raped her, beat her up -- for 13 hours. he even videotaped everything. why did it take months to find him?
so like i said the first time: if i don't know that you're coming over, i'm not answering the door.
so yeah, it's funny now but for some reason it wasn't funny in the moment: there we were, watching the daily show and we're both looking at each other as we silently ask the same question and run through our mental database of who it could be. all of that in a glance.
so he gets the door. it's this guy, a 19 year old kid really, from the 2nd floor. he's dark skinned, with these contacts that make his eyes look hazel, almost vampiric. he's dominican, like almost everyone else in the building. and he's flaming. i like this kid. he's got two little brothers and they're adorable. i always make sure to give them kindereggs at holloween. and a baby sister. and his mother is kind of a saint. so he's got my full and undivided attention. i want to help him for his mother's sake. she's that much of a sweetie.
he wants to talk to me about modeling. modeling!? get this: someone stopped him in the street, said they were an agent from elite and after an initial meeting, decided to work with him doing runway -- for 40% of his take. i balked. first of all, while i'm sure that happens to lots of people in the industry -- every other model, from gisele to alek wek started exactly this way -- it sounds like a total con. just because it happened to them doesn't mean they aren't going to pull your leg or try to use you up. he's telling me about what a fierce walk he's got. who cares if you're getting used up? the average modeling career only lasts until you're 21.
i didn't tell any of that to the kid. instead, i told him the numbers that never get an argument out of anyone: my manager has never taken more than 10% and neither has any agent i've ever worked with. and i can write that 10% off at tax time. i'm doing on camera and voiceover work now, but even when i did print work in college, no body took that much. i know visual artists who have to fork over 50% to the galleries that represent them. elvis gave up 50% to colonel tom parker, his manager. but that was their deal. that wasn't the norm. i don't know any runway models who give up 40%. and runway is an important distinction to make because that's where black models get paid as much as white ones.
as i'm talking to him, i look over at my friend who's standing in the kitchen and he makes a face. then i look at the kid and realize that he's making the same face, too. of course, this made me laugh. but then the kid thought i was laughing at him, and that made me feel bad. so instead of explaining why i laughed, i apologized, brought him inside and gave him my card. i know quite a few fashion designers and stylists and the like. if he wants some advice, i know of a few people that he can call.
the last thing i said to him was, you can knock on my door whenever you want. and you know what? i actually meant it.
i know that it's weird, i know that "people don't do that," but i don't care. those "people" don't have to walk a mile in my converse all-stars. and if they did, they'd never make it across the street. i never answer the door. and i know very few black people who do. answering the door is the kind of thing that happens in the suburbs or on television. they answer the door on your favorite sit-com. in reality, it's not the thing to do in the ghetto. it's just not. there's absolutely no such thing as an unexpected visitor in this neck of the woods. when someone wants to come over, they call first to make sure you're home. or you plan it out. you say stuff like, yeah i'll be home around 7pm. swing by, we'll have ice cream. but they don't just knock out of nowhere. only cops do that. and even then, i'm not opening the door. that's a great way to rob someone at gunpoint. you can buy a cop uniform anywhere.
a few years ago, my next door neighbors got robbed by two guys pretending to be cops. they flashed badges and everything. and they had small children in that apartment! heh. not me, buddy. i ain't goin' for that okey-doke. you're going to have to shoot me through the peephole. and you'd better not miss.
i even know actors who keep cop outfits on hand, in case there's last minute on camera extra work or under fives to be had.
and hey -- remember that deranged guy that pretended to be a fireman who knocked on his former co-worker's door on halloween? he raped her, beat her up -- for 13 hours. he even videotaped everything. why did it take months to find him?
so like i said the first time: if i don't know that you're coming over, i'm not answering the door.
so yeah, it's funny now but for some reason it wasn't funny in the moment: there we were, watching the daily show and we're both looking at each other as we silently ask the same question and run through our mental database of who it could be. all of that in a glance.
so he gets the door. it's this guy, a 19 year old kid really, from the 2nd floor. he's dark skinned, with these contacts that make his eyes look hazel, almost vampiric. he's dominican, like almost everyone else in the building. and he's flaming. i like this kid. he's got two little brothers and they're adorable. i always make sure to give them kindereggs at holloween. and a baby sister. and his mother is kind of a saint. so he's got my full and undivided attention. i want to help him for his mother's sake. she's that much of a sweetie.
he wants to talk to me about modeling. modeling!? get this: someone stopped him in the street, said they were an agent from elite and after an initial meeting, decided to work with him doing runway -- for 40% of his take. i balked. first of all, while i'm sure that happens to lots of people in the industry -- every other model, from gisele to alek wek started exactly this way -- it sounds like a total con. just because it happened to them doesn't mean they aren't going to pull your leg or try to use you up. he's telling me about what a fierce walk he's got. who cares if you're getting used up? the average modeling career only lasts until you're 21.
i didn't tell any of that to the kid. instead, i told him the numbers that never get an argument out of anyone: my manager has never taken more than 10% and neither has any agent i've ever worked with. and i can write that 10% off at tax time. i'm doing on camera and voiceover work now, but even when i did print work in college, no body took that much. i know visual artists who have to fork over 50% to the galleries that represent them. elvis gave up 50% to colonel tom parker, his manager. but that was their deal. that wasn't the norm. i don't know any runway models who give up 40%. and runway is an important distinction to make because that's where black models get paid as much as white ones.
as i'm talking to him, i look over at my friend who's standing in the kitchen and he makes a face. then i look at the kid and realize that he's making the same face, too. of course, this made me laugh. but then the kid thought i was laughing at him, and that made me feel bad. so instead of explaining why i laughed, i apologized, brought him inside and gave him my card. i know quite a few fashion designers and stylists and the like. if he wants some advice, i know of a few people that he can call.
the last thing i said to him was, you can knock on my door whenever you want. and you know what? i actually meant it.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
all in a day's work
housework (that daily constant), a commercial audition (in chelsea), two voiceover auditions (from home), a full workout that includes a boxing conditioning class (in soho), a piano lesson uptown (and yes, piano practice for at least an hour) and round 2 of the jazzmobile jazz vocal competition this evening at the alhambra ballroom (in harlem), with all the getting ready prepwork that goes with any gig.
still don't think i do anything all day?
still don't think i do anything all day?
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
finally!
sometimes people would ask me, are you on facebook? and i'd say, nope and that was that. well, i guess i got asked that question one time too many because yes, yes, a thousand times yes: i am finally at long last on facebook -- as a musician. i don't know what took me so long. i guess i'm not all that hip. (heh.)
to tell you the truth, i like it a lot better than myspace because it gives you room to grow your fanbase. the people that connect with you aren't necessarily other musicians.
anyway, i'll be posting videos, pictures and what not on that site in the next few months so if you want to see them, you know where to find me!
to tell you the truth, i like it a lot better than myspace because it gives you room to grow your fanbase. the people that connect with you aren't necessarily other musicians.
anyway, i'll be posting videos, pictures and what not on that site in the next few months so if you want to see them, you know where to find me!
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
the old lady at the door
in the apartment down the hall that faces the street there lives an old lady and her small dog. a young woman lives with her, too. twentysomething. past college, easily. young and working and playing in the city. i've seen her chatting with paul and chad. paul is the one that introduced us. and yes, her name escapes me.
i'm not sure if she is the old lady's niece or her granddaughter or what but they seem close. the old lady is puerto rican or probably dominican. she speaks no english. in the few times that i've seen her in the hallway, she's usually carrying on a running conversation with her dog. the young woman looks white but she speaks spanish. they have the same heavy-lidded brown eyes, the same wiry determined frame. the same kind of pretty.
sometimes during the day when everything has levelled off sonically and there is a lull in the construction, i can hear the old lady at the door. at first i thought it was my bad 8th grade spanish playing tricks on me. but no. it was definitely her, and she was completely distraught. later, i asked paul and chad about it -- because they lived right next door to them, they must have seen and heard much more than i ever could. paul (who's nosy enough to know) said that the old lady is going senile. when the young woman leaves for work, she locks the door with a special lock from the outside in, so the old lady can't unlock it and wander off. evidently, she fell into the habit of doing just that and was found some blocks away in her gown and robe and slippers, her hair in pincurls, confused and scared, her little dog at her feet, faithfully following her lead.
the young woman comes home on her lunch hour to make sure that she's alright. but when she leaves, she locks her in again, and i can sometimes hear her messing around with the doorknob and the locks as her little dog scratches at the door and she begs for help in spanish.
today was especially bad, probably because it was almost 100 degrees outside. i'm sure she's okay, i reasoned to myself as i went into my apartment. i'm sure she has plenty of water. i'm sure the a/c is on. i'm sure that she's eaten breakfast. i'm sure that white-looking dominican girl will be here soon. i'm sure there's food and water in there for the dog. i'm sure, i told myself again and again. but the truth is, i wasn't sure. and neither was anyone else.
i went into my apartment with my mail and my groceries and my piano lesson and my problems. but i couldn't stop thinking about her, no matter how hard i practiced. so i went back out there, into that hot, sun-drenched hallway, to face the source of all of that whimpering.
as i approached the door with what little spanish i knew, i could hear the dog scratching, and when i spoke he began to bark. but she quieted it down with one sharp word. i heard myself talking through the doorjam and asking her: es mucho calor, no? que haces? tienes hambre? que quieres? somehow, we began to talk.
(evidently, that spanish i took in middle school still works. don't let them fool you, not for a minute -- nothing learned is ever wasted.)
of course i thought of my grandmother in charleston, sc and how comfortable her life is right now and what i would do if it were her and me against the world. it would break my heart to have to lock her up in an apartment in an urban setting like this one, but i'd do it in a heartbeat if that's what it took to keep a job and pay the rent.
the old lady was fine, sort of. she didn't like feeling trapped and i think that more than anything else, she wanted her husband. he died in the apartment a few years ago. either she thinks he's lost outside somewhere or she's waiting for him to come back from the store, or both. or something else. hey, my spanish isn't that good. but it was a nice chat.
she may be senile, but she isn't blind. apparently, she knows what i look like. she kept calling me morena.
i'm not sure if she is the old lady's niece or her granddaughter or what but they seem close. the old lady is puerto rican or probably dominican. she speaks no english. in the few times that i've seen her in the hallway, she's usually carrying on a running conversation with her dog. the young woman looks white but she speaks spanish. they have the same heavy-lidded brown eyes, the same wiry determined frame. the same kind of pretty.
sometimes during the day when everything has levelled off sonically and there is a lull in the construction, i can hear the old lady at the door. at first i thought it was my bad 8th grade spanish playing tricks on me. but no. it was definitely her, and she was completely distraught. later, i asked paul and chad about it -- because they lived right next door to them, they must have seen and heard much more than i ever could. paul (who's nosy enough to know) said that the old lady is going senile. when the young woman leaves for work, she locks the door with a special lock from the outside in, so the old lady can't unlock it and wander off. evidently, she fell into the habit of doing just that and was found some blocks away in her gown and robe and slippers, her hair in pincurls, confused and scared, her little dog at her feet, faithfully following her lead.
the young woman comes home on her lunch hour to make sure that she's alright. but when she leaves, she locks her in again, and i can sometimes hear her messing around with the doorknob and the locks as her little dog scratches at the door and she begs for help in spanish.
today was especially bad, probably because it was almost 100 degrees outside. i'm sure she's okay, i reasoned to myself as i went into my apartment. i'm sure she has plenty of water. i'm sure the a/c is on. i'm sure that she's eaten breakfast. i'm sure that white-looking dominican girl will be here soon. i'm sure there's food and water in there for the dog. i'm sure, i told myself again and again. but the truth is, i wasn't sure. and neither was anyone else.
i went into my apartment with my mail and my groceries and my piano lesson and my problems. but i couldn't stop thinking about her, no matter how hard i practiced. so i went back out there, into that hot, sun-drenched hallway, to face the source of all of that whimpering.
as i approached the door with what little spanish i knew, i could hear the dog scratching, and when i spoke he began to bark. but she quieted it down with one sharp word. i heard myself talking through the doorjam and asking her: es mucho calor, no? que haces? tienes hambre? que quieres? somehow, we began to talk.
(evidently, that spanish i took in middle school still works. don't let them fool you, not for a minute -- nothing learned is ever wasted.)
of course i thought of my grandmother in charleston, sc and how comfortable her life is right now and what i would do if it were her and me against the world. it would break my heart to have to lock her up in an apartment in an urban setting like this one, but i'd do it in a heartbeat if that's what it took to keep a job and pay the rent.
the old lady was fine, sort of. she didn't like feeling trapped and i think that more than anything else, she wanted her husband. he died in the apartment a few years ago. either she thinks he's lost outside somewhere or she's waiting for him to come back from the store, or both. or something else. hey, my spanish isn't that good. but it was a nice chat.
she may be senile, but she isn't blind. apparently, she knows what i look like. she kept calling me morena.
Monday, June 09, 2008
home
this monday's music video: another beautiful song about home, this time from sheryl crow. i don't necessarily consider myself a fan of her work -- emmylou harris did it first and she did it way, way better than this -- but ms. crow has so many songs that i like, i almost can't resist appreciating her in this indirect peripheral way. great songwriting is definitely where it's at.
too bad i couldn't embed the longer version. visually, it's tremendous. but hey -- i can't have everything i want, now can i.
too bad i couldn't embed the longer version. visually, it's tremendous. but hey -- i can't have everything i want, now can i.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
i've got the cigar -- sort of...
i went into voiceovers unlimited/aaa voiceovers a few days ago and did the voiceover takes for each minute or so of commercial copy for my voiceover reel. i bounced in and out of the studio listening carefully as dan duckworth edited all six of them together with the music that we’d already chosen for each one, then cut all of it into snippets of mere seconds each and trimmed the excess fat (breathiness, etc) away. fascinating stuff. protools is a little miracle.
by the time he was done, the running time for the whole thing was something like a minute and 10 seconds—because no one has a real attention span and because of the nature of voiceovers, they don’t have to. they can get the gist of it in short order.
when i heard a rough cut of the end result, i was floored. it sounded so good, i could hardly believe it was me.
now i have to wait for the whole thing to be edited and synched and polished and all. that should take something like two weeks. here’s how it goes: they’re going to email it to me and then they’re going to make 12 copies and a master copy for me to pick up. i’ll also get a mailing list, so i can do a postcard mailing to let agents who represent voiceover artists know that i’m available – and that means registering at sendoutcards.com so that i can take care of all of that asap. my goal is to have all of this done – the demo, the mailing to agents, the master copy in my hand – by my birthday on june 30th. with that as a present to myself, anything else is extra.
yay! i’ll be working from home as a voiceover artist in no time!
See more progress on: Finish my voiceover demo
Saturday, June 07, 2008
home away from home
when my friend realized that it was going to hit at least 90 degrees today, he made a point of putting in the AC unit that the window installers removed -- sooner rather than later, so that when we came home, we could sit in the coolness and not melt. such creature comforts are priceless in the city, especially when you don't have a lot of money and the weather turns nasty, like it did today. by midday, everyone was sweating so much in the street as they moved past us, they looked like they were made of wax and melting constantly without dissolving into the sidewalk.
its days like these that make you want to leave home for the enviorns of what can only be described as your home away from home: a place that's comfortable and relaxed, where someone is friendly enough to guide you through the pesky details of whatever's on the menu that's special and interesting and unknown, a place that you long to get to, like you long for your couch at the end of a workday. my friend, a former bartender/bar manager, doesn't like bars. tonight, we found one we both want to live in.
when you work hard, you have to make sure that you have enough fun to balance all of it out, or you burn out and out goes the cool city life you thought you were having. in these moments, your fun must be planned. i don't mind being "julie the cruise director" if it gets me the results i want. and to tell you the truth, it was a long beautiful nearly perfect summer day away from the sanctity of my couch: the jeff koons exhibit on the roof of the met museum for one; walking down 5th avenue with my friend as he ate a colorful sno-cone and reminisced about his jersey childhood; dinner later with friends -- and then dessert at tailor's in soho. i went there so we could try the absinthe gummi bears with espresso (my friend's eyebrows went up and basically stayed up when i told him about them), but we stayed for so much more. we realized that although the food was experimental, the bar downstairs was cozy enough to belong to us. i think we've found a home away from home.
its days like these that make you want to leave home for the enviorns of what can only be described as your home away from home: a place that's comfortable and relaxed, where someone is friendly enough to guide you through the pesky details of whatever's on the menu that's special and interesting and unknown, a place that you long to get to, like you long for your couch at the end of a workday. my friend, a former bartender/bar manager, doesn't like bars. tonight, we found one we both want to live in.
when you work hard, you have to make sure that you have enough fun to balance all of it out, or you burn out and out goes the cool city life you thought you were having. in these moments, your fun must be planned. i don't mind being "julie the cruise director" if it gets me the results i want. and to tell you the truth, it was a long beautiful nearly perfect summer day away from the sanctity of my couch: the jeff koons exhibit on the roof of the met museum for one; walking down 5th avenue with my friend as he ate a colorful sno-cone and reminisced about his jersey childhood; dinner later with friends -- and then dessert at tailor's in soho. i went there so we could try the absinthe gummi bears with espresso (my friend's eyebrows went up and basically stayed up when i told him about them), but we stayed for so much more. we realized that although the food was experimental, the bar downstairs was cozy enough to belong to us. i think we've found a home away from home.
Friday, June 06, 2008
getting out of the house
with a nice cushy loveseat, cable/internet and guitars, and lots of voiceover work/auditions online, it's hard to get out of the house these days -- and with a piano teacher on the first floor, it's even harder to leave the building. i know when i wake up that if i don't leave my place before noon, i won't leave at all. for some strange reason, there's always something to do here. practicing the piano can take all afternoon.
on a good day, there's no freelancing. i'll hit the gym and go to work, making art. i know i'm making progress because the guitar is getting easier, the piano is starting to make more sense, i'm writing better songs and i'm getting leaner and stronger. i'm going to give myself until the end of the summer to hit pay dirt: a better left hand with my piano playing, a better right hand with my guitar playing, 50 new songs and a perfect fit in those corseted jeans i just bought last weekend.
in the meantime, talk about getting out of the house: i've got a gig with jc hopkins' biggish band tonight in prospect park tonight and then there's miona's birthday party in soho. tomorrow, there's chris' birthday party at a spot on indian row in the lower east side and then an art opening in billyburg. and of course, there's a picnic with the dreamland orchestra on governor's island on sunday afternoon for a jazz age lawn party: everyone on the swing scene decked out in vintage clothing from the 20s, a vintage fashion show/swimsuit contest, cars on display, a DJ and a parquet floor for dancing, and more.
okay, maybe i am getting out of the house. but don't let the busy weekend fool you -- i'm definitely hibernating.
on a good day, there's no freelancing. i'll hit the gym and go to work, making art. i know i'm making progress because the guitar is getting easier, the piano is starting to make more sense, i'm writing better songs and i'm getting leaner and stronger. i'm going to give myself until the end of the summer to hit pay dirt: a better left hand with my piano playing, a better right hand with my guitar playing, 50 new songs and a perfect fit in those corseted jeans i just bought last weekend.
in the meantime, talk about getting out of the house: i've got a gig with jc hopkins' biggish band tonight in prospect park tonight and then there's miona's birthday party in soho. tomorrow, there's chris' birthday party at a spot on indian row in the lower east side and then an art opening in billyburg. and of course, there's a picnic with the dreamland orchestra on governor's island on sunday afternoon for a jazz age lawn party: everyone on the swing scene decked out in vintage clothing from the 20s, a vintage fashion show/swimsuit contest, cars on display, a DJ and a parquet floor for dancing, and more.
okay, maybe i am getting out of the house. but don't let the busy weekend fool you -- i'm definitely hibernating.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
work from home
great news! dan duckworth (of voiceovers unlimited) and i have selected music for the voiceover demo and i've finally finished my vocal takes. in about two weeks, everything will be edited together and i'll get 12 copies on CD and a master copy, as well as a list of voiceover agents. i'm going to do a mailing as soon as its downloaded onto voice123.com. they can't hire me if they don't know that i exist.
my goal is to be able to do voiceover work comfortably from home -- although lately it's hard to audition because of all the construction in the building, but i think that's subsiding. or maybe they've moved to another floor.
this is my workspace:
i want a medical narration voiceover demo, too -- but i think i'll push for that by or before the end of the summer.
the problem with most actors -- most artists, actually -- is that they're so caught up in making art that they don't treat what they do like a business. it's not about waiting for the phone to ring. it's about getting out there and doing it whether the phone rings or not.
the thing that i love about voiceovers unlimited is that they didn't just make me a demo -- they showed me how to market myself, and gave me the contacts and the tools to pull it off. there were marketing workshops, one-on-one coaching, introductions to casting agents. you name it. they even suggest a system for losing weight, if that's what you need. working with them has really opened my eyes to a lot of what i should be doing for myself every day. it's been a great experience.
i actually love doing voiceovers and i'm so relieved that i've developed another stream of income. it's low stress, takes a minimal amount of time to pull off and it's fun. union jobs can pay as much as on camera work, easily.
all of this -- the commercial demo, the mailing and and everything inbetween -- should be up and off the ground by or before my birthday. i love giving myself birthday presents. this is a good one.
my goal is to be able to do voiceover work comfortably from home -- although lately it's hard to audition because of all the construction in the building, but i think that's subsiding. or maybe they've moved to another floor.
this is my workspace:
i want a medical narration voiceover demo, too -- but i think i'll push for that by or before the end of the summer.
the problem with most actors -- most artists, actually -- is that they're so caught up in making art that they don't treat what they do like a business. it's not about waiting for the phone to ring. it's about getting out there and doing it whether the phone rings or not.
the thing that i love about voiceovers unlimited is that they didn't just make me a demo -- they showed me how to market myself, and gave me the contacts and the tools to pull it off. there were marketing workshops, one-on-one coaching, introductions to casting agents. you name it. they even suggest a system for losing weight, if that's what you need. working with them has really opened my eyes to a lot of what i should be doing for myself every day. it's been a great experience.
i actually love doing voiceovers and i'm so relieved that i've developed another stream of income. it's low stress, takes a minimal amount of time to pull off and it's fun. union jobs can pay as much as on camera work, easily.
all of this -- the commercial demo, the mailing and and everything inbetween -- should be up and off the ground by or before my birthday. i love giving myself birthday presents. this is a good one.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
home work
my corporate landlord in all of their benevolent self-serving money-grubbing glory has decided that every apartment in the building needs new windows -- not just the ones that are being renovated because they are empty. yesterday was my turn.
i can't even begin to tell you how ginormous and beautiful these windows are. sure, you probably have this in the suburbs. but in new york city? i know people who have grown up their whole lives in the city and seeing this in harlem would be a shocking thing for them. and this isn't a huge apartment.
and just like that, he popped the window right in.
i have to admit, it was strange to watch him work so quickly and with such exacting movements. he cut the frame for the outside and put the window in just so, and then someone else came in and nailed in the wood frame and caulked everything.
he had obviously done this a jillion times. i had never seen this before, so i took snapshots from my couch, riveted. my father was right: you can learn a lot by watching someone do something.
i could totally do construction.
i can't even begin to tell you how ginormous and beautiful these windows are. sure, you probably have this in the suburbs. but in new york city? i know people who have grown up their whole lives in the city and seeing this in harlem would be a shocking thing for them. and this isn't a huge apartment.
and just like that, he popped the window right in.
i have to admit, it was strange to watch him work so quickly and with such exacting movements. he cut the frame for the outside and put the window in just so, and then someone else came in and nailed in the wood frame and caulked everything.
he had obviously done this a jillion times. i had never seen this before, so i took snapshots from my couch, riveted. my father was right: you can learn a lot by watching someone do something.
i could totally do construction.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
gentrify, testify
there's been a massive amount of construction in my building. a commercial development company bought all of the buildings on my side of the street, and although the rumor is that they'll flip the buildings and turn them into condos when the vacancy limit is reached, others say that it's more of a moneymaker to continue renovating each apartment as it becomes vacant and jacking up the rent to match whatever they're paying downtown. they've even put up green awnings at each entrance with the address and this really silly, pretentious name: the westbourne.
what's especially sad is that when they renovate, every other room becomes a bedroom, for the most part, and harlem apartments were never meant to be lived in that way -- especially on the west side. the people who move into these spaces never realize that. most places have a living room, dining room and a kitchen that's large enough to sit and eat in. and the larger apartments in the front also have sun rooms or sitting rooms. even my two bedroom apartment is supposed to be a one bedroom set-up: they converted the dining room into a large bedroom and put a closet in it, then sealed off a doorway that led directly to the kitchen.
the reason why they don't have anything like that downtown is because back in the day, harlem was meant for luxurious living. the sidewalks are broader, there are malls filled with flora and fauna that divide the streets with benches to sit and chat, and the streets feel more like thoroughfares than roads. and compared to what you'd find downtown, the apartments are cavernous.
the apartments downtown were created for immigrants: small cramped situations with bathtubs in the living room and bathrooms down the hall when they weren't placed in a closet. that's the nyc in the tenement museum in the lower east side. no one gets to wander through a harlem apartment unless they're watching one of those screwball comedies from the 20s or 30s -- and when you happen upon one of those movies, with the sumptuous marble lobbies, replete with chandeliers and whatnot, you have to keep reminding yourself that its new york city that you're seeing.
watching the disparity in these movies as a kid, i always knew that i would live in a palace of an apartment in harlem. why bother with any other part of the city? and although i've had pretty standard issue places so far -- with the exception of a cavernous place on riverside drive -- they have been huge in comparison to the apartments downtown and elsewhere in the city. i still want such a place. what's bizarre is that if i stay in this building long enough and if they actually flip the building, i just might get it.
what's especially sad is that when they renovate, every other room becomes a bedroom, for the most part, and harlem apartments were never meant to be lived in that way -- especially on the west side. the people who move into these spaces never realize that. most places have a living room, dining room and a kitchen that's large enough to sit and eat in. and the larger apartments in the front also have sun rooms or sitting rooms. even my two bedroom apartment is supposed to be a one bedroom set-up: they converted the dining room into a large bedroom and put a closet in it, then sealed off a doorway that led directly to the kitchen.
the reason why they don't have anything like that downtown is because back in the day, harlem was meant for luxurious living. the sidewalks are broader, there are malls filled with flora and fauna that divide the streets with benches to sit and chat, and the streets feel more like thoroughfares than roads. and compared to what you'd find downtown, the apartments are cavernous.
the apartments downtown were created for immigrants: small cramped situations with bathtubs in the living room and bathrooms down the hall when they weren't placed in a closet. that's the nyc in the tenement museum in the lower east side. no one gets to wander through a harlem apartment unless they're watching one of those screwball comedies from the 20s or 30s -- and when you happen upon one of those movies, with the sumptuous marble lobbies, replete with chandeliers and whatnot, you have to keep reminding yourself that its new york city that you're seeing.
watching the disparity in these movies as a kid, i always knew that i would live in a palace of an apartment in harlem. why bother with any other part of the city? and although i've had pretty standard issue places so far -- with the exception of a cavernous place on riverside drive -- they have been huge in comparison to the apartments downtown and elsewhere in the city. i still want such a place. what's bizarre is that if i stay in this building long enough and if they actually flip the building, i just might get it.
Monday, June 02, 2008
a house is not a home
with this month's NaBloPoMo subject of home, this song a house is not a home was the first thing that came to mind. it sums up in this effortless way exactly what a home really is. burt bacharach wrote it -- i guess that's why they keep panning the camera over to dionne warwick. well, luther did some production for her as well and i think they had a hit song together. but her body of work overshadows everything she's ever done since then. it's bizarre how straight out of the 80s this feels. (heh.)
nevermind the vocal gymnastics. luther vandross was a tremendous talent -- as a vocalist, arranger, composer and producer. he will always be missed.
nevermind the vocal gymnastics. luther vandross was a tremendous talent -- as a vocalist, arranger, composer and producer. he will always be missed.
Sunday, June 01, 2008
a home is a house
i decided to do the NaBloPoMo this month. the theme is home. i'm not sure how i'll riff on it, but i'm looking forward to flexing and building some creative muscle and writing about something every day. let's see what develops.
serendipitous thing. whilst wandering through the philadelphia museum of art this weekend during a fun jaunt with my friend, i got lost in the gift shop and the house book by phaidon press haphazardly fell into my idle happy hands. (like i don't have enough to read already!) what a brilliant little book. it's basically 500 or so houses from all over the world in alphabetical order, based on architect/tribe/patron, with a paragraph or so of descriptive text and history on the place, along with it's name, if it has one -- like fallingwater, for example.
all of it got me to thinking about the kind of house i'd like to have someday. not that this hasn't crossed my mind lately. nyc real estate is crazy. i'd have to be a millionaire to have a house in this town, even in the ghetto i live in. the thing is, it's interesting to see how houses are a zeitgeist of the times and a reflection of the people who built/designed them.
here's the $64,000 question: what would my house look like, if i designed it? victorian opulent? buckminister efficient? german modern/minimalist? i'd definitely want something with some weight and history to it. probably one of those assemble-it-yourself sears & roebuck prefab houses from the 20s.
i've always loved frida kahlo's "blue" house, the way she and diego rivera lived together but not really -- they each had their own artist studios in the house, their own separate entrances and areas to entertain and sleep. i guess you can do that when you don't have children. and of course, like so many famous people's homes, it's a museum -- with her cremated ashes perched lovingly in her bed.
houses have their own secrets, it seems. diego rivera hid all kinds of things in trunks and sealed in rooms and whatnot throughout the blue house, not to be opened until God knows when. the benefactors/patrons/caretakers knew of these things and finally opened them a few years ago -- and it's quite the motherlode. over 30,000 pieces -- everything from books and magazines, to x-rays of her spine. now it's a museum exhibit.
he's not the only one that hid stuff. remember that drag queen dorian corey from the movie paris is burning that died a few years ago, and when they went into his apartment to collect his things, they found a dead body stuffed a trunk in his sewing room's closet? it makes you wonder how many other dead bodies are hiding in nyc apartments. makes you wonder, period.
serendipitous thing. whilst wandering through the philadelphia museum of art this weekend during a fun jaunt with my friend, i got lost in the gift shop and the house book by phaidon press haphazardly fell into my idle happy hands. (like i don't have enough to read already!) what a brilliant little book. it's basically 500 or so houses from all over the world in alphabetical order, based on architect/tribe/patron, with a paragraph or so of descriptive text and history on the place, along with it's name, if it has one -- like fallingwater, for example.
all of it got me to thinking about the kind of house i'd like to have someday. not that this hasn't crossed my mind lately. nyc real estate is crazy. i'd have to be a millionaire to have a house in this town, even in the ghetto i live in. the thing is, it's interesting to see how houses are a zeitgeist of the times and a reflection of the people who built/designed them.
here's the $64,000 question: what would my house look like, if i designed it? victorian opulent? buckminister efficient? german modern/minimalist? i'd definitely want something with some weight and history to it. probably one of those assemble-it-yourself sears & roebuck prefab houses from the 20s.
i've always loved frida kahlo's "blue" house, the way she and diego rivera lived together but not really -- they each had their own artist studios in the house, their own separate entrances and areas to entertain and sleep. i guess you can do that when you don't have children. and of course, like so many famous people's homes, it's a museum -- with her cremated ashes perched lovingly in her bed.
houses have their own secrets, it seems. diego rivera hid all kinds of things in trunks and sealed in rooms and whatnot throughout the blue house, not to be opened until God knows when. the benefactors/patrons/caretakers knew of these things and finally opened them a few years ago -- and it's quite the motherlode. over 30,000 pieces -- everything from books and magazines, to x-rays of her spine. now it's a museum exhibit.
he's not the only one that hid stuff. remember that drag queen dorian corey from the movie paris is burning that died a few years ago, and when they went into his apartment to collect his things, they found a dead body stuffed a trunk in his sewing room's closet? it makes you wonder how many other dead bodies are hiding in nyc apartments. makes you wonder, period.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
next: round two
good news: i made it past round one in the jazzmobile jazz vocal competition and i'm still in the running. round two happens on june 12th at 7:30pm. i've got a little time to get it together. more details later, when i get some sleep and get more work done.
Friday, May 30, 2008
round one begins...
way too busy getting ready for the jazzmobile jazz vocal competition to blog at length here, so i did it over there. at present, i'm practicing the piano and vocalizing and trying to figure out what i'm going to wear. i haven't lost that winter weight gain yet, so nothing in my closet fits the way it's supposed to and that's pretty aggravating but whatever. not that i was going to show up in a glitter glove or anything but i'm kind of giving up on any spectacular visual effects i may have had in mind. i just want to sing my soul and go home.
it's a sunny blue sky beautiful day. there's a cafe/coffee shop near the venue that reminds me of the mission district in san francisco. i'm probably going to check in early -- interestingly enough, we will perform in the order that we arrive -- and then go have some sort of makeshift high tea at that mission district spot until show time.
i'm very much interested in hearing what the other vocalists sound like and who the judges are. as luck would have it, the mistress of ceremonies for the evening -- alyson williams, an r&b and jazz crooner who holds the distinction of being the first woman signed to def jam in the 80s -- is someone that i actually know and have worked not too long ago. we did the wiz with george faison at the arena theater in houston texas a few years back. (she was evillene. i was addapearle. it was fun.)
mostly, this will be fun. for some strange reason, i keep forgetting how much fun it is to simply sing.
it's a sunny blue sky beautiful day. there's a cafe/coffee shop near the venue that reminds me of the mission district in san francisco. i'm probably going to check in early -- interestingly enough, we will perform in the order that we arrive -- and then go have some sort of makeshift high tea at that mission district spot until show time.
i'm very much interested in hearing what the other vocalists sound like and who the judges are. as luck would have it, the mistress of ceremonies for the evening -- alyson williams, an r&b and jazz crooner who holds the distinction of being the first woman signed to def jam in the 80s -- is someone that i actually know and have worked not too long ago. we did the wiz with george faison at the arena theater in houston texas a few years back. (she was evillene. i was addapearle. it was fun.)
mostly, this will be fun. for some strange reason, i keep forgetting how much fun it is to simply sing.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
eat some peaches
this video featuring miss piggy is way too clever. and yes, there's some smutty language in there -- the name of the song is f*ck the pain away, if you need a clue -- so clear the room of children and small animals, and enjoy.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Sunday, May 25, 2008
how cool is this?
yesterday was the 125th birthday/anniversary of the brooklyn bridge. when i woke up and saw a picture-perfect sunshiny blue sky day, i thought it would be cool to be a part of that somehow, so my fiance and i took a train downtown and walked across to the brooklyn side and had lunch in an irish bar. and then we went next door and got some pretty amazing hot chocolate. the bridge was densely crowded, to say the least. of course i forgot my camera but everyone around us seemed to have one. they would stop abrubtly to snap an impromptu group shot, as though there was absolutely no one behind them or around them, and that - along with the bicycles, the baby strollers, and running children - created these sudden massive snarls that almost undid my patience.
and foreigners, foreigners everywhere! i mean, sure—in nyc, everyone is from someplace else. if you spend any time at all in the city, you get used to being surrounded by people who aren’t necessarily native speakers but this was borderline wacky. oh, well. it’s the nature of the beast. as the dollar weakens, there will be less of an incentive to skip town for a vacation and more european tourists on the scene in the most mundane moments of my nyc life.
on the way, i called my 92 year old father to tell him all about it. he told me about the waterfall in the east river. (hm. something else to check out.) at the top of the bridge, they gave away fake old timey looking certificates that declared your loyalty and love to the brooklyn bridge – i thought it would be cute to send that to my father, that he’d get a kick out of it.
there was also a brass band that played new orleans style jazz, and so inside of all the aforementioned stop and start confusion, there was a spirit of revelry and merriment, and an audience for the music – people formed a fairly thick half circle around the musicians to enjoy them and automatically created a dance floor, though only one couple actually took the bait. they were dancing like they were drunk. or high. or both. i remember the woman wore a little purple pointy “happy birthday to me” looking hat that was strapped to her head, laced with purple fringe. it was pretty obvious that they were as much a part of the show as the band was. ew. we kept it moving.
later, after pointedly deciding to take the train home, we impulsively walked back across the bridge to manhattan and found the #2 on william street.
my reward? i ran into some people i hadn’t seen in ages: ola, this really lovely african woman that everyone mistakes me for, as well as her husband and her little girl, whom i held in my arms when she was about 2 weeks old. she’s 6 now! (that kind of freaked me out…) and aisha, a harlemite/grad student who’s phone number i keep losing.
all in all, i’m glad that in some small slight way, i was a part of history. and yes, i wish i’d taken a picture of the bridge—although it was ultracool that ola’s husband took a picture of the two of us.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
reading and writing
between preparing for the jazzmobile vocal competition on 5/30, making that IMWS deadline for the millionth time on 5/21, rewriting work for submission today to a writer's residency at Atlantic Center for the Arts and organizing the home office, i've been more than just a little busy. as if all of that weren't enough, i'm working out every day so i can get my body back by my birthday in june. so far, i really love the boxing lessons and the conditioning, and yesterday i ran a 10 minute mile. i haven't done that in quite some time.
instead of the usual blogging hi-jinx, i thought i'd let you read the first two pages of what may grow into my first book. i'm just writing what i know and remember and elaborating on it. i'm not sure what you'd call it -- memoirs? creative non-fiction? you tell me.
i didn't fall into writing last week, by the way. my mother taught me how to read when i was 3 years old and i started writing and storytelling very soon afterwards. i never thought about pursuing a career as a writer but somehow, writing was always with me. when i crashlanded in the city, i wrote a one act play and two one person shows. i majored in screenwriting as an undergrad at the new school. sure, i was a freelance writer here and there. and i'm seriously thinking about applying for the master's degree program in dramatic writing at NYU. but that's a whole other enchilada...
actually, this book idea came out of my earliest entries as a blogger for cafe los negroes. people kept telling me, this should be a book -- and one day, the idea stuck.
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During any given Sunday morning service when I was very small, I would cry as if on cue when our bishop would begin his sermon. One would think that the music and the prayers and the praise that went up all around me for some time beforehand would lull me into a state of grace that would leave me gazing at the gigantic kaleidoscope of a stained glass ceiling that seemed to dangle just out of reach as I reclined in my mother’s lap, but no. As our bishop opened his Bible and began to read scripture, I would speak in tears. It happened with an intensity and a regularity that was disturbing. My mother’s disapproval was an ever-present threat and yet it was not enough to quiet me. A loud hasty exit that had her dragging medown a long wide aisle and the fit of violence that ensued in the ladies room was inevitable. I could not be satisfied.
instead of the usual blogging hi-jinx, i thought i'd let you read the first two pages of what may grow into my first book. i'm just writing what i know and remember and elaborating on it. i'm not sure what you'd call it -- memoirs? creative non-fiction? you tell me.
i didn't fall into writing last week, by the way. my mother taught me how to read when i was 3 years old and i started writing and storytelling very soon afterwards. i never thought about pursuing a career as a writer but somehow, writing was always with me. when i crashlanded in the city, i wrote a one act play and two one person shows. i majored in screenwriting as an undergrad at the new school. sure, i was a freelance writer here and there. and i'm seriously thinking about applying for the master's degree program in dramatic writing at NYU. but that's a whole other enchilada...
actually, this book idea came out of my earliest entries as a blogger for cafe los negroes. people kept telling me, this should be a book -- and one day, the idea stuck.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
During any given Sunday morning service when I was very small, I would cry as if on cue when our bishop would begin his sermon. One would think that the music and the prayers and the praise that went up all around me for some time beforehand would lull me into a state of grace that would leave me gazing at the gigantic kaleidoscope of a stained glass ceiling that seemed to dangle just out of reach as I reclined in my mother’s lap, but no. As our bishop opened his Bible and began to read scripture, I would speak in tears. It happened with an intensity and a regularity that was disturbing. My mother’s disapproval was an ever-present threat and yet it was not enough to quiet me. A loud hasty exit that had her dragging medown a long wide aisle and the fit of violence that ensued in the ladies room was inevitable. I could not be satisfied.
As time went on, interesting theories as to the motive for my tearful behavior were bandied about with increasing regularity amongst the congregation:
“How could she possibly know when the sermon is going to begin?”
“Where did she get those lungs? They sound like they’re bigger than she is!”
“What in the world could she possibly have to say? She just got here!”
“Is she trying to sing -- or what?”
There were many who saw these weekly eruptions as a sign from God. After an especially noisy outburst, someone began to call me “The Wailing Prophetess.” Eventually, so did everyone else.
I can still see that church in my mind’s eye: the modest yet stately entrance; the vestibule that felt more like a reception area than a foyer; the stained glass windows and ceiling that caught the light so completely, it made me feel as though I were perched inside of a prism; the large piece of cloth that ushers would give every woman as she entered the sanctuary if she wasn’t wearing an ankle-length skirt; the paper fans that fluttered amongst the congregation on a hot day like a flock of cooing pigeons at rest, so carefully stapled to small wooden handles, solemnly advertising local funeral homes on one side with a rather formal photo of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. placed, inevitably, on the other; the sea of beautiful seasonally appropriate ladies’ hats that hovered head and shoulders above the congregation; the organ and the piano that mirrored each other in their placement in the sanctuary and augmented each other in sound, like clasped hands; the ladies dressed in white who looked more like elegant nurses than usherettes, my father, painfully well-dressed and dignified, a large well-worn Bible in his lap, tilting his head and making a face at me as I looked over my mother’s shoulder and caught his eye. The amen corner. The church mother. The visiting missionaries. The junior choir. The sacred alter before us. Jesus amongst us. All of us, praying as one and bound together as brothers and sisters -- in spirit and in truth, and as black folk.
In the parlance of the day, black people referred to each other as brothers and sisters and it was a heavy thing because of our collective history. In the church, it carried even more weight because it held its own spiritual significance. To this day, there are some that I know and remember fondly from this church that I still refer to in this way. Even as I pass black folk in the street, I hear myself say these words in such an effortless unaffected way. Somewhere in our collective being, we know that once upon a time, when all we had was God and each other, our unity meant everything. And although we may not have known it when I was little, it still mattered a great deal. We are a family.
All those tears. Where did they come from?
“How could she possibly know when the sermon is going to begin?”
“Where did she get those lungs? They sound like they’re bigger than she is!”
“What in the world could she possibly have to say? She just got here!”
“Is she trying to sing -- or what?”
There were many who saw these weekly eruptions as a sign from God. After an especially noisy outburst, someone began to call me “The Wailing Prophetess.” Eventually, so did everyone else.
I can still see that church in my mind’s eye: the modest yet stately entrance; the vestibule that felt more like a reception area than a foyer; the stained glass windows and ceiling that caught the light so completely, it made me feel as though I were perched inside of a prism; the large piece of cloth that ushers would give every woman as she entered the sanctuary if she wasn’t wearing an ankle-length skirt; the paper fans that fluttered amongst the congregation on a hot day like a flock of cooing pigeons at rest, so carefully stapled to small wooden handles, solemnly advertising local funeral homes on one side with a rather formal photo of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. placed, inevitably, on the other; the sea of beautiful seasonally appropriate ladies’ hats that hovered head and shoulders above the congregation; the organ and the piano that mirrored each other in their placement in the sanctuary and augmented each other in sound, like clasped hands; the ladies dressed in white who looked more like elegant nurses than usherettes, my father, painfully well-dressed and dignified, a large well-worn Bible in his lap, tilting his head and making a face at me as I looked over my mother’s shoulder and caught his eye. The amen corner. The church mother. The visiting missionaries. The junior choir. The sacred alter before us. Jesus amongst us. All of us, praying as one and bound together as brothers and sisters -- in spirit and in truth, and as black folk.
In the parlance of the day, black people referred to each other as brothers and sisters and it was a heavy thing because of our collective history. In the church, it carried even more weight because it held its own spiritual significance. To this day, there are some that I know and remember fondly from this church that I still refer to in this way. Even as I pass black folk in the street, I hear myself say these words in such an effortless unaffected way. Somewhere in our collective being, we know that once upon a time, when all we had was God and each other, our unity meant everything. And although we may not have known it when I was little, it still mattered a great deal. We are a family.
All those tears. Where did they come from?
Sunday, May 18, 2008
the day before the audition -- hair, hair, everywhere!
i got a call from my agent for an AT & T commercial at beth melsky casting near the flatiron building. the set-up? it was a support group and i was "susan." when she described the character as "somewhat polished," i asked if i should wear a wig and she let out this perky yet elongated yeeeeeeees that made me burst into laughter. i knew what that meant: if i wanted a shot at this one, i had to take care of business.
i washed and conditioned my hair and then i worked through it with a blow dryer -- an all day event reduced to an evening of hard labor. but it didn't stop there. i went to 125th street and decided to go with the first nice african lady that approached me. and there were quite a few. after some haggling (because you have to haggle; that's just the way things get bought and sold, and it makes what you're haggling over more valuable) she cornrows my hair so that i can put on a wig cap comfortably. now the wig i'll wear to the audition will have me looking "somewhat polished." heh. i suppose i could find some other way of putting my hair away but anything else makes it look as though i'm smuggling something on my head, and that can't possibly read well on camera.
the upshot of it all has me looking more like a nigerian graduate student or an office worker from ghana -- young and african with my own air of sophistication, and yet so desperate to fit in, to blend somehow (is that even possible?!) or at least not look like a threat to the status quo. the idea is to be the black woman that someone behind a desk thinks of as pretty. apparently when it's time to look "somewhat polished," this doesn't involve my natural hair.
should i protest by showing up with an afro and my fist in the air a la angela davis? i suppose i could -- but that's not going to get me the job, now is it. this question of "what is black beauty" is answered everyday a thousand times over whenever you look at a black woman in an any kind of an ad or album cover or whatever. how far she has to move away from what she actually looks like to encompass that ideal is your answer. shifting things in the right direction is an inside job. if cornrows and natural hair were trendy to the extreme, absolutely everyone would do it. even the white folks. especially the white folks.
in the end, preparation is everything -- not necessarily talent. who would ever guess that i would have to do all of this to my hair to audition for a commercial?
i washed and conditioned my hair and then i worked through it with a blow dryer -- an all day event reduced to an evening of hard labor. but it didn't stop there. i went to 125th street and decided to go with the first nice african lady that approached me. and there were quite a few. after some haggling (because you have to haggle; that's just the way things get bought and sold, and it makes what you're haggling over more valuable) she cornrows my hair so that i can put on a wig cap comfortably. now the wig i'll wear to the audition will have me looking "somewhat polished." heh. i suppose i could find some other way of putting my hair away but anything else makes it look as though i'm smuggling something on my head, and that can't possibly read well on camera.
the upshot of it all has me looking more like a nigerian graduate student or an office worker from ghana -- young and african with my own air of sophistication, and yet so desperate to fit in, to blend somehow (is that even possible?!) or at least not look like a threat to the status quo. the idea is to be the black woman that someone behind a desk thinks of as pretty. apparently when it's time to look "somewhat polished," this doesn't involve my natural hair.
should i protest by showing up with an afro and my fist in the air a la angela davis? i suppose i could -- but that's not going to get me the job, now is it. this question of "what is black beauty" is answered everyday a thousand times over whenever you look at a black woman in an any kind of an ad or album cover or whatever. how far she has to move away from what she actually looks like to encompass that ideal is your answer. shifting things in the right direction is an inside job. if cornrows and natural hair were trendy to the extreme, absolutely everyone would do it. even the white folks. especially the white folks.
in the end, preparation is everything -- not necessarily talent. who would ever guess that i would have to do all of this to my hair to audition for a commercial?
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
get a load of this...
this was a float in a recent german parade. so nice to know that the whole world is paying attention, even if we aren't.
here's a thought: what's going to happen if obama becomes president and becomes unpopular overseas? will they darken his skin and call him the "N" word and hang him in effigy in parades like this? i already know that there's an element in this country that isn't above such behavior -- they just think that they are -- but how will the world react?
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