Black Music Month - 50 Reasons to Groan

Who knew June was Black Music Month. I must have missed Bill Clinton's official proclamation. Or it's more likely that Columbia House or BMG are simply trying to get folks to buy over-priced CDs. It's either that or a way for BET to hype up its sorry annual Awards show.

Actually, the first time I even heard about Black Music Month back in 2001 when I wrote a free-lance feature piece for NetNoir. Yes, that meant that I wrote great pieces and they *paid* me with exposure. (It was a great honor, which unfortunately I did not appreciate at the time. For if I had, I would still be writing somewhere officially on the web or in print, instead of laboring in online obscurity.)

Anyway, back then I wrote about what I thought was the sorry state of R&B music after observing a video for a remake of "Lady Marmalade." Since then, things have not improved. If anything, things are worse.

Of course, I can even say this with any sort of authority because I now have cable. I rarely listen to music on the radio anymore, and when I do, I am locked onto the adult urban contemporary stations (which is code for easy listening for black people with jobs). Whenever I have dared to tune into the other black radio stations, I end up listening to a succession of bleeps.

With cable, I get to watch videos on a regular basis, so that averages out to about one complete video every other day. It also gives me a chance to stay current with what the kids listen to (how old do I sound). So far, I only like Ludacris, Eminem, and Missy when it comes to hip hop. They each get high marks for originality, creativity, talent and a basic command of the English language. As for R&B, my favorites are John Legend, Alicia Keys, India.Arie, Jill Scott, Eryka Bahdu, Queen Latifah, and most other neo-soul artists. And you can never go wrong with the oldies (you know, those people who recorded albums and records once upon a time).

Still, in spite of these few bright spots, I hereby declare that the general state of black music is bad. Terrible. Aweful. Shameful. Here are a few reasons:

1. Destiny's Child is the 21st century version of the Supremes.
2. P. Diddy and Kanye West are poor substitutes for Jimmy Jam, Terry Lewis, Babyface and other super producers of the 80s and 90s.
3. Faith and Mary J. Blige are both very talented, but neither deserves the right to be called a diva anytime soon.
4. Mariah Carey was once black, but somewhere along the line, she forgot.
5. Usher, no more whack *confessions*.
6. Brandy and Monica, your stars faded too fast.
7. Prince is not recognized as a true musical genius.
8. People keep buying R. Kelly CDs when they really shouldn't, not ever.
9. New Edition is under-appreciated for their work after Bobby left.
10. Collaboration songs are a last ditch effort to remain relevant just before that last minute of fame runs out.
11. Love songs can be about more than sex.
12. It is not all about you, so put the mirror away.
13. Patti LaBelle may be crazy, but she's damn near 70 and still going strong.
14. Entertainers and Recording stars replaced singers and artists.
15. Black Brits like Seal and Incognito get no airtime on black radio.
16. Toni Braxton needs to put on some damn clothes.
17. If you need JaRule, DMX or some other similarly un-talented rapper to growl in the background of your song, it was't very good in the first place.
18. Act or sing, but don't do both.
19. If you have the good fortune to be a one-hit wonderful, enjoy your 15 minutes of fame, save your money, and then disappear into obscurity like everyone else.
20. The guaranteed career boost you get by performing live on the Today Show, Good Morning America, Saturday Night Live, Jay Leno or Dave Letterman won't materialize if you don't sound the same on live TV as you do on your CD.
21. The Black Eyed Peas are stupid and totally over-rated.
22. Sampling is so 90s, so can someone please learn to play an instrument and write some original music?
23. God does not care that you won a Grammy, an American Music Award, or any other faux honor from your peers, so just say thank you and sit down.
24. If your gospel song can't be played in church, then it isn't holy.
25. Shrieking is unpleasant and uneccesary.
26. If you have to wear designer labels to get attention, then you aren't very talented.
27. Your children should not co-star with you in the reality series about your sorry life.
28. As soon as you make a cameo appearance as an aspiring singer on a sitcom, then your career has officially ended.
29. High-profile breakups will ruin your career, just ask J Lo and Puffy.
30. Just because you have blonde hair now, you are still black, Latina, etc.
31. The Star Spangled Banner is a two minute song, tops.
32. Please tell Stevie Wonder that he is fat.
33. Kellis and Amerie, your time is almost up, just ask Adina Howard.
34. If you can't remain a born-again, saved and sanctified singer of the Word after that one gospel CD, then you are going to hell.
35. No, I don't want to be hot/stank/hard-core like you.
36. Pretty does not equal talent.
37. Tribe, En Vogue and Tony, Toni, Tone all broke up.
38. If you are over 21, then you are too old to go by a nickname.
39. Snoop Dogg never looked like Snoopy--he has always resembled Marmaduke.
40. Whitney was right, crack is whack--just look at her life.
41. Not all collaborations make sense, such as the fusion of hip-hop and country music.
42. Try something unique and daring, but not something stupid.
43. No one can survive being shot 9 times, so don't believe the hype.
44. If you can't appreciate other genres of music, like jazz or blues, then you are an idiot.
45. Some of the greatest talents were once background singers for other great talents, so there is nothing wrong with paying your dues.
46. Act like you were raised by human beings and carry yourself with dignity and respect.
47. Unless done extremely well or with a different interpretation, remakes aren't flattery but indicate that someone was desperate to fill space on a mediocre CD.
48. Don't let petty rivalries from your music spill over into your personal life--that's how Biggie and Tupac ended up dead.
49. We don't need to know all about your life, so skip the Behind the Music biopic and save some details for an autobiography.
50. Michael Jackson is the tragedy of what happens when you surround yourself with people who never say no to your requests.

Civility, Where Art Thou?

Last night I attended a recital for a local dance company at Crampton Auditorium on Howard University's campus. Last weekend, I manned the door at the children's recital at St. Mark's. A few weeks ago I went to Dance Place to see a performance by the Washington Reflections Dance Theatre. The contrast among the three performances could not have been more stark. It all had to do with the conduct of the audience.

At Dance Place, I arrived and bought a ticket for the show at the box office. Everyone in the lobby was calm, patient and generally friendly. Because it was a Tuesday night, I'm sure that most of the attendees were either art critics, friends of the company members or artistic director, members of Dance Place, dancers themselves, or just curious people who enjoy seeing dance performances at a reasonable price, but each was serious about dance. I was seated near a small group of women who chattered incessantly prior to the performance, but once the lights went out, they shut up and remained quiet until the end. There was no getting up to go to the bathroom, no cell phones, and only a little cheering from the audience--at the end of the evening.

In contrast, last weekend at St. Mark's children's recital, some parents arrived well past the stated beginning of the recital (which was 12 noon) and still expected to be seated. I stood sentry at the door to keep it closed, so that meant that I didn't see much of the performances. As St. Marks does not really have a backstage, we had to create one by blocking access to the parish hall and the dance studio so that the girls could prepare without the constant in-and-out/back-and-forth parade of parents. This meant a constant struggle with the grandparents who wanted to see their little ballerinas, brothers who wanted to tease little sisters, mothers who wanted to take photos, and the daddies who wanted to present flowers. Apparently no one considered that it might be best to do all of this prior to the recital or wait until it ended. (To be fair, most of the parents did conduct themselves properly and were respectful and courteous.)

Then there was last night's recital for the Expressions Dance Company. I went to see my aunt perform, and I thought she did a great job. As for the other performances, well...aside from a dancers' critique on the uninspired and predictable choreography, I've seen worse. However, it was the conduct of the audience that made this experience so completely unenjoyable that I left with a headache. The audience was so unruly that it there was total and utter chaos during the entire performance. By intermission, I was ready to leave because: (a) I had seen enough and did not expect much more variety in the performances; (b) I figured that we had missed my aunt's performance anyway; (c) I still had my Saturday crossword puzzle to do; and (d) if I wanted to hear all that cheering and screaming, I would have gone to a ball game and not to a dance recital!

These three experiences have left me with one some pretty damning impressions: DO PEOPLE EVEN KNOW HOW TO CONDUCT THEMSELVES IN PUBLIC ANYMORE? If you take the time to get dressed and pay for admission, wouldn't you prefer to enjoy what is on stage rather than what is happening in the audience? There is a time and a place for everthing: cheering, screaming, constant standing, leaving and retuning, dancing in the aisles, etc., should be reserved for the appropriate events, such as a ball game, an outdoor music festival, or Mardi Gras.

I have now added Crampton Auditorium to the list of places I refuse to go for any type of event. This list gets longer the older I get, which is sad because soon I'll be stuck in my house watching PBS or cable for cultural enrichment. A few weeks ago, I proclaimed that I don't do Constitution Hall anymore because of the audiences it attracts. To think Marian Anderson was refused the right to sing there in the 30s...I wonder if she would even think it was worth it today.

Shameful Sighs of Relief

I am ashamed to admit that around 3:30 EDT, I sat glued to the TV in anticipation of the verdict in the Michael Jackson case. He was found not-guilty on all charges. What empty relief.

Of course, not too long ago in this very space, I declared that my childhood fascination with all things Michael Jackson had ended. I believed that his odd behavior, bizarre appearance, and apparent lack of boundaries were indicative of a man out of control--the complete opposite of the child-like image of innocence that he and his handlers had so carefully crafted all these years. Although I never believed that Mike had molested this kid, I did think that he was guilty of exercising extremely poor judgment.

So instead of occupying myself with something more worthy of my time, I sat worrying about the verdict and felt eternally sorry for the man who once was king of the world. Instead of the vibrant, electric entertainer I knew as a child, the man I saw ushered into the courtroom surrounded by bodyguards and family was barely able to walk on his own.

What a sad, pitiful, pathetic sight! I doubt that he would have been able to survive the initial impact of a guilty verdict. The minute that the bailiffs would have approached him with handcuffs to carry him off to jail, this Michael Jackson would have dropped dead on the spot. If he didn't die immediately of shock, he surely would have arranged to have one of his handlers slip him a belt or a bedsheet that would have done the deed later on.

This Michael Jackson can't even make friends his own age, so he cavorts with children. He is so fragile that he needs to be protected from the sun and can't even manage to hold his own umbrella. He is so blase that he appears not capable of thinking for himself and has handlers to manage every move that he makes. He is so gullible that he gets used over and over again by opportunists who think nothing of pimping their own children. Finally, he is so stupid because it was by his own admission of inappropriate behavior with young boys that got him into this mess in the first place.

What a loser.

I am ashamed because there are more important things happening in the world other than the Michael Jackson trial. Unfortunately, in our celebrity obsessed culture, the trials and tribulations of the rich and famous are more important and newsworthy than stopping terrorists or finding weapons of mass destruction.

I am ashamed because this type of diversion is the type of crap that shifts attention away from real tragedies. As we awaited the verdict in this case, a plane crashed in Florida, yet I bet we won't know if anyone survived until 11 after all of the analysis, critiques and endless commentary. I wish more people had been this focused on the election in 2004, which would have averted another real tragedy.

I am ashamed because the discussion on Oprah concerning sexual abuse and child molestation caused me to feel nervous and a little nausea, not because I was sickened by what happened to her guests, but because it indicated a bad omen for the verdict.

I am ashamed that I reacted to this verdict like a star-struck California juror. Clearly, these people are incapable of convicting celebrities, no matter how heinous their crimes. These are the same people who elected an over-rated actor as their governor, so why is this a surprise? Is it any wonder why Robert Blake and OJ got off too?

Finally, I am ashamed of my own sordid fascination with this case. As soon as it was announced, I called my parents, my husband and my best friend to share the 'good' news. I'm devoting all of this time to write about it...

What a loser.

A Bout of Over-Confidence

I have not been able to write anything good lately, and it appears that this started as soon as I began to feel confident that I was becoming a writer. I guess I spoke too soon.

I think part of this has to do with the way I'm trying to write. On some days, I want to write like I feel (just put some thoughts down on paper), and on other days, I want to say something profound. It is when I want to be profound that I have the most trouble.

I wanted to write a piece about religion after I saw a former peer of mine on television one Sunday morning. The spectacle was so hilarious that I wanted to write about why performances like his had driven me from the church. If I could have just been clearer and written it just hte way I wrote it here, then the piece would not have been so unwieldy and unfinished.

Another time, I wanted to write about being Irish. This was way back in March, right before St. Patrick's Day. It was going to be a tongue-in-cheek piece about how I, as a black woman, felt entitled to Irish heritage because of my last name, my family origins in Maryland, and our fair skin. I spent hours on that, only to abandon it and never finish it.

There are countless other examples of my inability to finish these more profound pieces of writing. These unfinished pieces don't exactly haunt me, but they are reminders of how much more disciplined I need to be about my writing. It doesn't help that my ADHD is on a roll these days along with myriad distractions, but my hope is that I will focus long enough to get something written and finished in the next few weeks.

I also want to join a writers' group, but I am not sure how to find one. I've checked the internet, but that is like looking for a needle in a haystack. The internet is full of wannabe writers like me, but how exactly do you find someone with whom you click? I need both a critic and a sounding board, and we already know that my husband is no good in either department.

In some ways, I feel that he presents another obstacle, even though he would probably disagree. It isn't only that he never reads anything that I write unless it is written for him, but he also doesn't provide me with the space and solitude that I need to write. One of the problems is that I spend a good part of my day doing things for my alumnae group, my clients and other career development type stuff, so by the time I want to focus on my own creative work, he comes home and then everything must center around him. He wants me to watch a movie that he's rented with him. He wants to know what I am doing, so he'll come in and watch me type. I have to stop to eat dinner...God help me if we ever have children, because I will never get any writing done!

Waa, waa, whine, whine...OK, I'm done with that. The hub isn't all that bad, it's just that when he comes home, he wants to spend time with me. I should never complain about that.

Anyhoo, I am going to keep at it until something good comes along. Maybe a trip to Europe or to the country would do me some good. I am thinking seriously about spending a week in New England somewhere, although lately, I've been wanting to go to Europe. Probably because of my new obsession with Brit-coms...

Ciao!

Too Darn Hot

I can't focus and it is so hot in this house that I am melting. I have been trying to blog for hours, but it is so pointless because I can't concentrate.

I wanted to work on several things today, but I haven't accomplished anything. Even this quick post feels like a waste of what little energy I have because it doesn't actually count as a blog topic.

I really want to get something written, and I have lots of ideas, but I just can't get anything properly formulated. I've been thinking about a writing course, but I'm broke so it will have to be free or very low budget.

I also want to travel this summer, also for free, but that can't happen if I can't get anything decent written down. I had worked on the funeral story for a while, but I lost some of my steam on that piece (despite the wealth of material that I picked up from the funeral I attended yesterday). It was so hot in my living room last night that I just sat on the futon and watched the snow on the new TV.

I think my ADHD is to blame. That and the heat. It must be 90 degrees outside...

Maybe I'll go plant my tomatoes in their pots...it must be cooler outdoors than it is in the house.