The Not So Angry Black Man

Sam's Favorite Albums of 2011

2011-12-31T15:49:00.000-05:00

Only four this year...

Emily King - Seven

I had no idea who this woman is before I heard her. (Shannan, thanks for the heads up.) And I really didn’t care to find out. When you listen to her EP, “7,” you really don’t care about anything else. That’s the point.

Of every album I’ve heard this year, for me, this one’s it. No question. You hear it and you think of brighter skies and warmer weather and nicer people. You smile without knowing it. You stop what you’re doing and just sit with the music.

This EP seeps a musical luxury in every measure, a quiet opulence in every verse. It is exquisitely layered, and carefully executed. And so subdued. That’s the best part.

There’s this part on the 6th track, “Sides,” towards the end. The song is building to a peak, and this simmering drum roll starts to build. With ANY other R&B singer, you’d expected a full-throated yelp to come next, or a holler, or a yell. SOMETHING big.

With King, there are none of these things. The crescendo falls into itself. The drumroll ends. Emily King stops singing, and just lets the track play. Before you know it. It’s all over. That’s the genius of this album. It knows when to stop. It knows when to breathe. It paces itself.

It’s the album Norah Jones would have made if she were really into D’Angelo. The EP India Arie would make if she had better producers. The disc Lauryn Hill could have made if she’d just slow down.

It is the album I can’t say anything bad about. The album you need to hear this year. That she ended up on no major year-end lists is a sad indictment of the current state of affairs. But I’ll try to do my part. I implore you, download this LP. Listen to it. Then listen to it again.

Thank me later.

Kendrick Lamar - Section.80

The hardest thing about hip-hop is having to defend it. For every innovation, there is an inopportune “bitch.” Behind every cosmic revelation, a “slut,” or a “suck my dick.” For every breakthrough, an indictment on “the government” for giving Black people AIDS, or “The White Man,” whoever that is, for doing every single bad thing that has ever occurred. EVER.

Section.80 is no different. It is misogynist and profane. It has some convuluted views on race and gender I would not play this in front of my godson, or my mother, or even some of my friends. It is offensive.

It is worth defending.

Because it's beautifully earnest, in a way other rap albums I wanted to be this year just weren’t. “Watch The Throne” was too boastful. “Camp” wasn’t sure what kind of person it wanted its hero to be. Kendrick Lamar, on Section.80 is himself, flaws and all.

It’s soul-bearing in the way “The College Dropout” was. Only Kendrick’s a better rapper than 2004’s Kanye West. The aesthetic channels The Pharcyde and Souls of Mischief -- early 90’s cross-colors rap. Jazz-sampling, bouncing rap. Riding rap.

Did I say it’s earnest? On “Kush & Corinthians” Lamar raps about reading the Bible, while smoking weed:

“As I open this book and then burn up some of this reefer

My plan is to figure out the world and escape all my demons

I’m dying inside, I wonder if Zion inside the heavens

A condom, a rollie, pain, a fat blunt and a mack 11

That’s all I see in my life and they tell me to make it right

But I’m right on the edge of Everest and I might jump tonight

Have you ever had known a saint that was taking’s a sinner’s advice?”

“When I lie on back and look at the ceiling, it’s so appealing to pray

I wonder if I’m just a villain, dealing my morals away

Some people look at my face then tell me don’t worry about it.”

Verses like these make mucking through the profanity worth it. It is revelatory in a way few albums have been for me this year. And Lamar is quite the lyricist. Check out "Keisha's Song" and "Rigamortis." As well as "Hol' Up," -- it's the smoothest rap track of the year.

Thundercat – The Golden Age of Apocolypse
There was a time when I thought I could make it as a jazz musician. I was a music major in undergrad, and had totally figured out the genius of the major 7th, the tritone, the diminished scale. But my mind wasn’t big enough, my fingers weren’t fast enough, I couldn’t get my head around it all. I got ok enough to respect artists like Thundercat.

He makes music that sounds like the musicians I once wanted to be. I am living vicariously through “The Golden Age of the Apocalypse.” It is dense, heady stuff. Jazz with a side of hip-hop. And you may not like it. But it’s my list. So there.

Beyonce - 4

There’s this really great YouTube video of Beyonce, backstage before a performance at the American Idol Finale. She’s in her dressing room, in a ballroom gown, with perfectly crimped blonde hair. She’s facing a wall length mirror, and singing. Jay-Z’s recording on what seems to be his cellphone, with a shaky hand.

Beyonce. Is. Singing. SANGIN’

Rehearsing “1+1” with her keyboardist beside her, and three soul sisters of backup singers to her rear. It is perfect. Family and friends sit on the sidelines transfixed. It’s better than what she’d do onstage later. Impeccable. Controlled. Emotive. Dynamic.

This is Beyonce, version 2.0. No longer just a pop star. She’s now an impresario.

Anything you can sing, she can sing better. And that’s what makes her album “4” amazing. Not all of the songs are incredible, but they don’t have to be. Beyonce could sing the phone book and you’d be caught up in the rapture of it all.

That fact that she made an album full of ballads when the rest of R&B is going either emo (The Weeknd) or Euro (Rihanna, Chris Brown, etc...) shows she’s very assured of her talent. And this is a good thing. It lets her languish in powerhouse R&B on songs like “Rather Die Young” and “Love On Top,” but push the genre on tracks like “Countdown,” and the sparse and stunning “I Miss You.”

That this disc gave her no top ten singles is not a surprise. Beyonce’s not particularly making songs for radio on this album. She doesn’t need to -- she’s Beyonce. She can bring down the house in dressing room.

Sam's Top 20-something songs of 2011

2011-12-27T16:33:00.005-05:00

1. Frank Ocean - "Strawberry Swing"
There are songs you can’t put down. Songs that won’t leave you alone. Songs you imagine playing in the background at major events in your life. Like, there was a time that I was convinced Kanye’s and T-Pain’s “Good Life” needed to be played as I walked across the stage to get my master’s degree. Frank Ocean’s cover of Strawberry Swing is that song for me this year. There’s something about his voice and those needling Coldplay guitars. The way he weaves Chris Martin’s vocals in towards the end. The soul without the dramatic melisma. The emotion without any strain. One hopes it’s indicative of a new kind of R&B -- subdued, refreshingly derivative, disciplined, refined. If not, it’s enough, in and of itself. My song of the year.

2. "BTSU" - Jai Paul
Who is this guy? What is this song about? Is that a saxophone I hear? These questions need no answers. Just nod your head and press repeat.

3. Alabama Shakes - “Hold On”
I could hear this song playing in a crowded hipster concert venue. Or in a Pentecostal church. What’s so underwhelming about so many hipster interpretations of old soul is their inability, or reluctance, to go for it, full throttle. If you’re gonna sing it, sing it. The Alabama Shakes do. Barefoot and sweating.

4. Chris Brown - "Beautiful People"
This is the second year Chris Brown’s made my list. In spite of “The Incident.” Say what you will about him - and I have - he is the most consistent male R&B singer out right now. Usher’s too corny. Trey Songz is too... annoying. With this track, Brown embodies the tectonic shift happening in R&B right now. It’s getting faster, dancier, Euro. “Soul” music is going to Ibiza. This could be troubling. But songs like these remind you that we shouldn’t be afraid.

5. Foster The People - "Call It What You Want"
“Pumped Up Kicks” was catchy, but repetitive, and ultimately, boring. This song is not. Neither is the video.

6. Little Dragon - "Ritual Union"
If only the rest of the album were this good...

7. Jay-Z and Kanye - “Murder To Excellence”
Forget what you heard. “Watch the Throne,” though titillating, is ultimately a hot mess. Patched together across several continents, studios, and time zones. It’s not coherent. Just boastful. Obnoxiously so. When Jay-Z raps, “I’m planking on a million,” it makes you wonder -- Who is this inspiring? How can I relate? Doesn’t he know we already get that he’s very rich? That, with Kanye’s incessant brand name dropping, makes it more of a commercial than an album.

But there are flashes of brilliance, or at least relatability.. Rhyming to future children in “New Day.” Or speaking to realities of black-on-black violence in “Murder To Excellence.” It’s my favorite track on the album. Name dropping Danroy Henry and Fred Hampton, preaching unity. “The church ain’t got enough room for all the tombs. It’s a war going on outside we ain’t safe from. I feel the pain wherever I go. 314 soldiers died in Iraq. 509 died in Chicago.” Poignant. But in the second half of the song, what’s supposed to be an inspiration to Black excellence plays like a listing of rich Black man first world problems with an admonishing, "You should be more like us! Ya know, Will, Obama, Kanye and I.”

A Black elite “pull yourself up by your boot straps” story. But what if the ones who need to hear have no boots on? And yours are gold-plated? “Power to the people. When you see me, see you.” rhymes Jay, in the 1st half of the track, as if his wealth alone can serve as enough inspiration to cure Black America’s ills. For Kanye and Jay, their simply being Black and rich is enough. That’s the problem with this album. It’s not.

8. Beyonce - "Countdown"
Every good thing about this song has already been written, by some music publication or another. They are right to fawn over “Countdown.” But they are wrong to think that this is a new thing for Beyonce. This hyper, funky, space-age dance floor R&B has been her forte since the days of Destiny’s Child. You heard it on tracks like “Jumpin’ Jumpin’” from early DC days. Then there was “Get Me Bodied,” the anthemic dance floor call to action. Or the swag-dripping “Upgrade You.” Or the other-worldly “Diva.” Beyonce has this way of crafting whimsically eviscerating verses, that seem to have a cadence and structure that can only be her own. A genre unto itself. Beyonce Club Music.

9. M83 ft Zola Jesus - “Intro”
Breathtaking in a way the rest of the album never was for me. I put this song on one of my running playlists this year. Halfway through it, jogging down 5th, my arms went up, in a victory pose, involuntarily. This song will do that kind of thing to you.

10. Childish Gambino - Freaks and Geeks
The idea of Childish Gambino is a good one. Rap for nerdy colored kids, like me. Terry Gross references, indie rock samples. But it works best in small doses. Gambino’s (Donald Glover's) latest full-length effort, “Camp,” was a strange juxtaposition of “It’s hard being a Black nerd,” and “Ha! Look at all these white and Asian groupies I have!” All of the introspection of the album is overshadowed by its misogyny, and every time he says the N-word, I cringe. But this song, right here, is fun, light, driving, witty. And it’s enough; three and a half minutes of Donald Glover was all I needed in 2011.

THE REST OF THESE ARE IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER:

J. Cole - Lost Ones
The smartest track on Cole’s solid debut. The tale of one young couple’s pregnancy, told through the voice of the soon to be father, AND mother. It’s a refreshing take on what is so often a one-sided story. When Cole rhymes as the woman in the situation, it’s believable. “Tryna take away a life, is you God, muthafucka? I don't think so! This a new life up in my stomach. Regardless if I'm your wife, this new life here I'mma love it. I ain't budging I just do this by my muthafucking self. See my mama raised me without no motherfucking help from a man.”

The song ends, and we don’t know if they kept the baby or not. If they stayed together or broke up. And that’s the way it should be. Stories like these can’t be tied up with a pretty bow at the end.

Lana Del Rey - "Blue Jeans"
She’s the perfect gimmick. Beautiful girl, oddly beautiful voice. Videos full of random hipsterdom. She may not be around next year, like any other record label’s experiment. But she leaves us “Blue Jeans,” so she can stay for now.

"Sure Thing" - Miguel
Perfect riding music. Also, check out his album. Came out in 2010. It’s surprisingly good.

Raphael Saadiq - "Movin’ Down The Line"
It’s virtually impossible to adequately followup an album as good as Saadiq’s “The Way I See It.” Stone Rollin’ is a valiant effort, but it never catches fire. However, Movin’ Down The Line is the perfect treat midway through the disc. The bass line floats effortlessly, the breathy background vocals fill up your headphones. It makes you wanna two-step. Saadiq’s still got it.

Kelly Rowland ft. Lil' Wayne- "Motivation"
The song is so smooth. So slick. So sing-along-able. So “Why the hell isn’t Kelly Rowland BLOWING UP in the states?” The winding Jim Jone’s bass line. The halting snare. Whatever guy in the background sing-songing “oh luvah.” You can see the sweat coming through your speakers. It works. Splendidly.

Justice - “Helix”
Another standout on my running playlist this year. Yep, that’s a Billy Ocean sample. Dance, I say. DANCE!

Jo Jo - "Marvin’s room (remix)"
Drake is SO bad that... a has-been teen-pop one hit wonder can out-sing him, on his own song. Jo-Jo takes Drake’s Marvin’s Room and makes it real, felt, textured. This song is all about the torture of love lost, and seeing your ex move on. She expresses that better than Drake. “I been up three days. Aderall and Red Bull.” This is serious.

Here’s the thing with Drake -- he can’t sing. Which is why having a vocalist re-interpolate one of his songs magnifies his inadequacy. And also, I hate Drake, so this is me giving him the middle finger.

The Rapture - “How Deep Is Your Love?”
Your next house party needs this song. Especially from minute 3:15 onward.

KARMIN - “Look At Me Now (Cover)”
When white people rap, they have to be either VERY good at it -- think Eminem -- or make fun of themselves -- think that Natalie Portman SNL skit. But the “Look at me, I’m a white person rapping badly,” meme is a tired one. It diminishes the [potential] skills of the White person involved, as well as any real respect they have for the genre. Enter Karmin. This homage to one of the years catchiest songs says, "Hey, I’m cute and girly, yes. But I really like this song! And I will give it due diligence.” She does. Watching her tackle Bustah Rhymes verse is a sight to behold.

Kreyshawn - "Gucci Gucci"
Obligatory. If only as a piece of high performance art. Read this review

College and Electric Youth - “A Real Hero” (Drive soundtrack)
A very good song from a very good movie.

"Fly" - Rihanna and Nicki Minaj
The most refreshingly uplifting song of the year, from two of the most sexualized artists of our day. Whodathunk.

[A holdover from 2010] Jessie J - "Do It Like A Dude (acoustic)"
I really don't know what she's getting at when she says, "Do it like a brother." But that's irrelevant. Just watch. Just. Watch. Right around the 2:00 mark:

Cake - "Long Time"
There’s something about John McCrea’s voice. It drips with an almost sarcasm. It’s deadpan, in an “I’m cooler than you” kind of way. Add a trumpet and a nice drum machine, some driving guitars. And you’ve got a gem. The yelps and handclaps in the breakdown at the end are golden. Most of you didn’t even know Cake put out a new album this year, did you?

Rebecca Black, as interpreted by a bad lip reader - “Gangfight”
Rebecca Black is the meme that keeps on giving. This video is simultaneously everything right and everything wrong with modern-day Internet culture. “Have I brought this chicken for us to thaw.” Lyric of the year.

Obligatory includes. Don't hate, you like them, too:
LMFAO - “Party Rock Anthem”
Maroon 5 - “Moves Like Jagger”
Rihanna - "We Found Love"

Sam's Top 20-something singles of 2011

2011-12-27T13:32:00.018-05:00

1. Frank Ocean - "Strawberry Swing"
There are songs you can’t put down. Songs that won’t leave you alone. Songs you imagine playing in the background at major events in your life. Like, there was a time that I was convinced Kanye’s and T-Pain’s “Good Life” needed to be played as I walked across the stage to get my master’s degree. Frank Ocean’s cover of Strawberry Swing is that song for me this year. There’s something about his voice and those needling Coldplay guitars. The way he weaves Chris Martin’s vocals in towards the end. The soul without the dramatic melisma. The emotion without any strain. One hopes it’s indicative of a new kind of R&B -- subdued, refreshingly derivative, disciplined, refined. If not, it’s enough, in and of itself. My song of the year.

2. "BTSU" - Jai Paul
Who is this guy? What is this song about? Is that a saxophone I hear? These questions need no answers. Just nod your head and press repeat.

3. Alabama Shakes - “Hold On”
I could hear this song playing in a crowded hipster concert venue. Or in a Pentecostal church. What’s so underwhelming about so many hipster interpretations of old soul is their inability, or reluctance, to go for it, full throttle. If you’re gonna sing it, sing it. The Alabama Shakes do. Barefoot and sweating.

4. Chris Brown - "Beautiful People"
This is the second year Chris Brown’s made my list. In spite of “The Incident.” Say what you will about him, and I have, he is the most consistent male R&B singer out right now. Usher’s too corny. Trey Songz is too... annoying. With this track, Brown embodies the tectonic shift happening in R&B right now. It’s getting faster, dancier, Euro. “Soul” music is going to Ibiza. This could be troubling. But songs like these remind you that we shouldn’t be afraid.

5. Foster The People - "Call It What You Want"
“Pumped Up Kicks” was catchy, but repetitive, and ultimately, boring. This song is not. Neither is the video.

6. Little Dragon - "Ritual Union"
If only the rest of the album were this good...

7. Jay-Z and Kanye - “Murder To Excellence”
Forget what you heard. “Watch the Throne,” though titillating, is ultimately a hot mess. Patched together across several continents, studios, and time zones. It’s not coherent. Just boastful. Obnoxiously so. When Jay-Z raps, “I’m planking on a million,” it makes you wonder -- Who is this inspiring? How can I relate? Doesn’t he know we already get that he’s very rich? That, with Kanye’s incessant brand name dropping, makes it more of a commercial than an album.

But there are flashes of brilliance, or at least relatability.. Rhyming to future children in “New Day.” Or speaking to realities of black-on-black violence in “Murder To Excellence.” It’s my favorite track on the album. Name dropping Danroy Henry and Fred Hampton, preaching unity. “The church ain’t got enough room for all the tombs. It’s a war going on outside we ain’t safe from. I feel the pain wherever I go. 314 soldiers died in Iraq. 509 died in Chicago.” Poignant. But in the second half of the song, what’s supposed to be an inspiration to Black excellence plays like a listing of rich Black man first world problems with an admonishing, "You should be more like us! Ya know, Will, Obama, Kanye and I.”

A Black elite “pull yourself up by your boot straps” story. But what if the ones who need to hear have no boots on? And yours are gold-plated? “Power to the people. When you see me, see you.” rhymes Jay, in the 1st half of the track, as if his wealth alone can serve as enough inspiration to cure Black America’s ills. For Kanye and Jay, their simply being Black and rich is enough. That’s the problem with this album. It’s not.

8. Beyonce - "Countdown"
Every good thing about this song has already been written, by some music publication or another. They are right to fawn over “Countdown.” But they are wrong to think that this is a new thing for Beyonce. This hyper, funky, space-age dance floor R&B has been her forte since the days of Destiny’s Child. You heard it on tracks like “Jumpin’ Jumpin’” from early DC days. Then there was “Get Me Bodied,” the anthemic dance floor call to action. Or the swag-dripping “Upgrade You.” Or the other-worldly “Diva.” Beyonce has this way of crafting whimsically eviscerating verses, that seem to have a cadence and structure that can only be her own. A genre unto itself. Beyonce Club Music.

9. M83 - “Intro”
Breathtaking in a way the rest of the album never was for me. I put this song on one of my running playlists this year. Halfway through it, jogging down 5th, my arms went up, in a victory pose, involuntarily. This song will do that kind of thing to you.
Intro (ft Zola Jesus) by M83

10. Childish Gambino - Freaks and Geeks
The idea of Childish Gambino is a good one. Rap for nerdy colored kids, like me. Terry Gross references, indie rock samples. But it works best in small doses. Gambino’s (Donald Glover's) latest full-length effort, “Camp,” was a strange juxtaposition of “It’s hard being a Black nerd,” and “Ha! Look at all these white and Asian groupies I have!” All of the introspection of the album is overshadowed by its misogyny, and every time he says the N-word, I cringe. But this song, right here, is fun, light, driving, witty. And it’s enough; three and a half minutes of Donald Glover was all I needed in 2011.

THE REST OF THESE ARE IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER:
J. Cole - Lost Ones
The smartest track of a Cole’s solid debut. The tale of one young couple’s pregnancy, told through the voice of the soon to be father, AND mother. It’s a refreshing take on what is so often a one-sided story. When Cole rhymes as the woman in the situation, it’s believable. “Tryna take away a life, is you God, muthafucka? I don't think so! This a new life up in my stomach. Regardless if I'm your wife, this new life here I'mma love it. I ain't budging I just do this by my muthafucking self. See my mama raised me without no motherfucking help from a man.”

The song ends, and we don’t know if they kept the baby or not. If they stayed together or broke up. And that’s the way it should be. Stories like these can’t be tied up with a pretty bow at the end.

Lana Del Rey - Blue Jeans
She’s the perfect gimmick. Beautiful girl, oddly beautiful voice. Videos full of random hipsterdom. She may not be around next year, like any other record label’s experiment. But she leaves us “Blue Jeans,” so she can stay for now.

"Sure Thing" - Miguel
Perfect riding music. Also, check out his album. Came out in 2010. It’s surprisingly good.

Raphael Saadiq - "Movin’ Down The Line"
It’s virtually impossible to adequately followup an album as good as Saadiq’s “The Way I See It.” Stone Rollin’ is a valiant effort, but it never catches fire. However, Movin’ Down The Line is the perfect treat midway through the disc. The bass line floats effortlessly, the breathy background vocals fill up your headphones. It makes you wanna two-step. Saadiq’s still got it.

Kelly Rowland ft. Lil' Wayne- "Motivation"
The song is so smooth. So slick. So sing-along-able. So “Why the hell isn’t Kelly Rowland BLOWING UP in the states?” The winding Jim Jone’s bass line. The halting snare. Whatever guy in the background sing-songing “oh luvah.” You can see the sweat coming through your speakers. It works. Splendidly.

Justice - “Helix”
Another standout on my running playlist this year. Yep, that’s a Billy Ocean sample. Dance, I say. DANCE!

Jo Jo - Marvin’s room remix
Drake is SO bad that... a has-been teen-pop one hit wonder can out-sing him, on his own song. Jo-Jo takes Drake’s Marvin’s Room and makes it real, felt, textured. This song is all about the torture of love lost, and seeing your ex move on. She expresses that better than Drake. “I been up three days. Aderall and Red Bull.” This is serious.
Here’s the thing with Drake -- he can’t sing. Which is why having a vocalist re-interpolate one of his songs magnifies his inadequacy. And also, I hate Drake, so this is me giving him the middle finger.

The Rapture - “How Deep Is Your Love?”
Your next house party needs this song. Especially from minute 3:15 onward.

KARMIN - “Look At Me Now (Cover)”
When white people rap, they have to be either VERY good at it -- think Eminem -- or make fun of themselves -- think that Natalie Portman SNL skit. But the “Look at me, I’m a white person rapping badly,” meme is a tired one. It diminishes the [potential] skills of the White person involved, as well as any real respect they have for the genre. Enter Karmin. This homage to one of the years catchiest songs says, "Hey, I’m cute and girly, yes. But I really like this song! And I will give it due diligence.” She does. Watching her tackle Bustah Rhymes verse is a sight to behold.

Kreyshawn - "Gucci Gucci"
Obligatory. If only as a piece of high performance art. Read this review

College and Electric Youth - “A Real Hero” (Drive soundtrack)
A very good song from a very good movie.

"Fly" - Rihanna and Nicki Minaj
The most refreshingly uplifting song of the year, from two of the most sexualized artists of our day. Whodathunk.

[A holdover from 2010] Jessie J - "Do It Like A Dude (acoustic)"
I really don't know what she's getting at when she says, "Do it like a brother." But that's irrelevant. Just watch. Just. Watch. Right around the 2:00 mark:

Cake - "Long Time"
There’s something about John McCrea’s voice. It drips with an almost sarcasm. It’s deadpan, in an “I’m cooler than you” kind of way. Add a trumpet and a nice drum machine, some driving guitars. And you’ve got a gem. The yelps and handclaps in the breakdown at the end are golden. Most of you didn’t even know Cake put out a new album this year, did you?

Rebecca Black, as interpreted by a bad lip reader - “Gangfight”
Rebecca Black is the meme that keeps on giving. This video is simultaneously everything right and everything wrong with modern-day Internet culture. “Have I brought this chicken for us to thaw.” Lyric of the year.

Obligatory includes. Don't hate, you like them, too:
LMFAO - “Party Rock Anthem”
Maroon 5 - “Moves Like Jagger”
Rihanna - "We Found Love"

A City of Blinding Lights

2011-09-12T11:18:00.005-04:00

Any real view of the World Trade Center Memorial is tarnished by its surroundings. All the quiet reflection of the site is cradled by noisy construction. The TV cameras don’t show it, but Ground Zero is still very unfinished.

Towers with gutted floors, the beginnings of other buildings with deep abscesses into the ground, cranes and dirt and tools and noise. Tarps and fences and temporary barriers.

And of course, all of that is surrounded by a miniature police state. Car checkpoints and patrolmen staring at tourists. Traffic blocked for miles, with street closings and motorcades and sirens. You will need a photo ID and a hotel room key to get down that street. And you probably shouldn’t try to bring a backpack.

Sunday morning, we leave the service early. We had news to file. On the way to coffee and a computer, my colleague shows me where the “Mosque at Ground Zero” is supposed to live. She points out that the whole debate is strange, as the World Trade Center, before it was obliterated, always had a Muslim prayer space. And Islamic services are held in another building just down the road, as they have been for years after 9/11, without any conflict. Like so many other things about 9/11 and Ground Zero, most people don’t know the whole story. Most people don’t care to.

We finish our work. I go home to sleep. That night, when I wake up, it’s overcast, and my brain is full. I’m disturbed by the whole thing. Why is this place still unfinished? What does it say about America? Why was Manhattan a police state this weekend? I couldn’t help thinking the night before, as the cop at the checkpoint in Midtown had my cab driver open the trunk, “Yeah, the terrorists won.” As we left the checkpoint, the cab driver said to me -- in reference to my skin color, I suppose -- with as much humor as he could muster, “They probably stopped me because of you, no offense.”

None taken.

9/11 has changed us; this weekend in Manhattan showed me. It left us unfinished and scared, like the construction work at the Memorial and the general feeling all that police presence inspired throughout the weekend. And no remembrance, no matter how solemn or repetitive could change that. In fact, the more we indulge the reverence, the remembrance, the memorials, the more we point out how different we’ve all become in these past ten years.

Perhaps we all just need a break, to stop remembering, just for a bit. But I don’t say those things around a lot of people. “Never forget,” you know?

Sunday night, I head to the W with a friend, to drink and eat. The burger is good. The ambiance, like so many other things that weekend, is off. The Giants game is on, and people cheer for their team, but it’s all subdued. How loud and celebratory can you be on this day?

We ask for Jameson on the rocks. The bartender says they ran out of every Irish drink they had hours ago. Makes sense. The crowd is strange -- people who would never be there if not for a terrorist attack. How do you drink to that?

After an hour, my friend says, “This place is freaking me out.” We leave. “I want to find the lights,” I say once we’re outside, amongst the watchers and the overcast sky. We walk. And the then we see them.

The most beautiful part of the whole thing is the lights. Those two striking beams shining, some nights, into the darkness above, making a memorial of the entire New York City skyline. You’d think they’d be at Ground Zero, maybe even jutting out from the two fountains. They’re not. They are actually a few blocks south, on top of what looks like a parking garage. Only the dedicated onlookers find them. And to see it up close perhaps finally puts it all in perspective, this noble fracas, this melee of memorial, this cacophony of remembrance.

Everyone’s taking pictures. If you’re close enough, it looks like the two beams come together in the sky, forming a unity yet to be recreated at the official site, with its lingering disarray.

There are birds, flying into the lights, perhaps blinded by them. At that moment, I have the intense desire to be one of those creatures, for just a few minutes.

Someone told me earlier that day that one of the reasons those lights can’t shine every night into the New York sky is that they confuse the birds’ migratory patterns. The lights are so bright, so distracting, that the little winged things sometimes fly right into them, perhaps thinking it’s the sun, forgetting where they’re going. Some nights, even, when the lights are on, they’re turned off for 5 or 10 minutes at a time, to let the birds find their way again.

That sums it up for me, I realize, standing underneath the weight of the light, and the fountains, and the memorials, and the remembering. Even with the birds, there is only so much light, so much tribute, one can take.

Royal Weddings and Birth Certificates

2011-04-29T17:50:00.005-04:00

This week, the British monarchy took part in royal fanfare, fully asserting their role as the world's ultimate Brits. On the other side of the pond, an American president went on national TV, just to prove he is American.

It was quite the juxtaposition. The Mother Country, steeped in tradition, reaffirming its commitment to pomp, circumstance, and national unity. America, toying with tribalism, conspiracy theories, and race-baiting. A high paired with a low, both must-see TV.

What makes one nation cling dutifully to its figureheads, and the other have theirs jump through pointless hoops?

For one, the monarchs have no responsibilities as heads of government. They exist to stand around and look regal, wear fancy hats and remind Britain of past empire. They are meant to be nothing more than symbols. But our American president serves both as head of state and head of government. He's an elected king, and while he gets to preside over state dinners and such, he also has to deal with the dirty game of running a country full of political parties and splintered interest groups, deficits and wars, cable news and sound bytes.

This makes things difficult. He will never make everyone happy. There will be nothing like "Long live the Queen" for Barack Obama. And it's almost fair, that to a certain extent, discord and anger should perpetually surround an American president, at least from the side of his opposition.

But this week was different. The climax of Birthergate wasn't just political. It touched at the very core of the American struggle: what exactly "American" means and who gets to fit that definition.

Our nation's founding was an exercise in the rejection of strict rules of royalty, class and religion. It was a middle finger to British rigidity and what our founders thought were pointless rules and traditions. And of course, that whole taxation without representation thing.

Over time, the American experiment became the British monarchy's antithesis, the idea that you weren't born into your place in life. The belief that anyone could be anything.

Of course we know that that has not always been true. Our history has been an ongoing struggle to give that "right to be anything you want to be" to more and more marginalized groups: immigrants, women, the disabled, minorities, gays and lesbians.

But that anti-monarchical belief has been what's made America, at least as an ideal, so inspiring.

Which is why this week is so upsetting. We are reminded not of our great American ideal in this latest saga, but confronted with our lingering obsession with the "other," and our need for them to prove themselves and their very fitness to be fully American. Centuries ago, immigrants had to change their last names and quickly lose their accents to become White and American. A Civil War was fought, and decades of political and legal struggles endured to determine that Black people could actually be full citizens who worked for pay and got to vote. Women struggled for suffrage and still fight for the right to equal pay. And even today, Brown people in the American Southwest, citizen or not, might soon be forced to have their papers on them at all times, just to avoid detention and deportation.

We are a nation full of hoops.

The other has always had more to prove. More to fight for. A longer path to full American-ness.

For some, Barack Obama, even though he is our president, represents that other. His name is "funny." His father is foreign. He may or may not be Muslim, or the Antichrist, or a chain-smoking unicorn who "pals around with terrorists."

For those, there should be hoops. He needs to prove he's one of... whatever it is they think they are.

The Brits, through their monarchs, have always known exactly what they are, at least romantically, symbolically, in an archetypal sense. Prince William is a royal. Kate Middleton is a commoner. Their marriage made them the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge. And that's that.

Not so for Barack. He is our nation's leader, it's ultimate representative, and at the same time, millions in this country don't know exactly what he represents. A poor kid who made it from food stamps to Harvard, or a wealthy liberal elitist. A Black man who went to a crazy Black Christian church that hated White people, or a Muslim who studied in a madrassa. A man whose election and presidency is a sign of national progress, or someone whose ongoing otherness reveals the worst about America.

And in the best and worst sense, that is the American way. Not having a monarch means that roles our figureheads occupy are more fluid. Heads of state can be questioned, everything can be challenged. But just because scrutiny of an American president is justified, the level of that scrutiny, and the often sinister motives behind it, are not.

That undue scrutiny is a symptom of America's relationship with the other. It makes us ask female politicians if they can handle running for office and raising children at the same time. It makes us force our leaders to go to church and talk about their religion. It made us ask Sotomayor if she could be both a "wise Latina" and a fair Supreme Court justice.

It makes some of us want to see Barack Obama's birth certificate.

It is a reality, even if it is wrong.

But in weeks like this, I don't want reality, when London is full of centuries-old fantasy, and carriages and boys choruses and big, gravity defying hats. I'd rather do without America's complex treatment of its current leader. For at least a day, I'd like there to be a parade. With a band and police on horseback. And a kiss on a balcony. And throngs waving at people who knew exactly where they fit, and who they are, and who are loved for that very reason.

Some days, I don't want to fight over who gets to be what. Or confront existential crises of American identity. Some days I want it easy.

Some days, I'd rather have a king.

Liberation

2011-04-05T21:50:00.004-04:00

I used to tell myself I could blog every day, if I put my mind to it.

I can't.

I'm ok with this. I decided when I started this space to save funny hyperlinks and quick, quirky updates for my Facebook feed. This blog is supposed to be editorial, longer-form, more thoughtful. I realize now that I'm not nearly long-form, thoughtful or editorial enough to justify a daily post on "The Not So Angry Black Man." Guess I'm just not that angry...

Oh well. Blogs wax and wane as they will. The internet doesn't skip a beat just because I do, and at some point, inspiration will strike again. I won't apologize for not writing enough. But I do feel compelled today to share why I write at all.

My Aunt Alta taught my brother and me to read before we started kindergarten. Dr. Seuss for days and weeks on end. She was an English teacher, and the best reading coach two awkward, almost-twins like Ruben and I could have.

After that coaching, I was always one of the best readers at St. James Catholic School in Seguin, TX. Until the fourth grade. I still remember the moment vividly. Sis. Mary Ellen asked for volunteers to read from whatever book we were using that day, and I, always a show-off, wanted to display my lingual acuity. I started as I always did, in my crisp blue uniform, in those desks with the seat attached and the little undercarriage book storage slat. Per usual, I was a little too loud, a little overdone, with a little too much flair. This was not just fourth grade -- in my mind, I was on stage.

But at some point in those paragraphs I was reading, I got tripped up. The words stopped coming out, and this time just wasn't the same as my previous grandiose performances. It was the beginning of a speech impediment -- throughout my time in elementary, middle and high school, and even into college and grad school, I have been a chronic stutterer.

Movies like "The King's Speech" make one believe that strong people deal with their deficiencies by forcing themselves to overcome them. In actuality, a lot of us just avoid them. So as the stuttering got worse during my youth, I threw myself into writing. It was a way to say exactly what I wanted, at once, without ridicule, or constant demands from family and friends to "just spit it out," or strange faces from teachers who asked if I could really even read at all. In high school, I actually was a competitive expository writer. Seriously. In college and grad school, I wrote for the school papers. Once I got on Facebook, I started writing notes. And now I do this.

But even as I found solace from my disorder through the pen, I tried, bit by bit, to make myself get over it. In high school and college, I joined student government so I would be forced to speak in public. In grad school, I took an Arts of Communication class to do the same thing. And landing my first job at NPR was the perfect way to tell my disorder to piss off, once and for all.

Although I've gotten better, I really still prefer writing to speaking, in the same way someone who's ambidextrous might still prefer to use the first hand they started writing cursive with. When I finish a blog post, I experience a high. And when you "Like" my blog links, or comment on what I've written, I love it more than you'll ever know.

Like just about everyone else, I write to let it all out. To say what needs to be said, and then some. But it's something more for me, because for a large portion of my life, there was just no other way to say it at all.

I tell myself that when I play music, I speak directly to God. And when I write, I just speak -- directly. Your reading this blog helps free me, from any impediment, any disorder, any deficiency. And ultimately, the act of sharing my writing makes me whole. That's why I write. That's why I'm thankful to all who take the time to read. And it's why I forgive myself for not doing is as frequently and as thoroughly as I should.

How often I write is secondary. That I do it at all is important, and why I do it is something I finally feel comfortable sharing. So, I might not blog again for a while, but I got this one out, and it feels good. Because for me, every word penned is an act of liberation, even if those words are few and far between.

Karaoke

2011-01-18T00:10:00.008-05:00

For young professionals in a city like Washington, DC, bars can become a second home. No, we’re not alcoholics. But in the absence of band camps, and athletic rehearsals and community service in your high school’s student council, where else do you hang out with your friends after work? For us, the bar becomes an institution unto itself. Gatherer of wayward 20-something souls. Town hall. Secular sanctuary. And sometimes, teacher of life lessons.

A few coworkers and I organized a night of karaoke at a deliciously tacky basement bar a few Fridays ago. The event was a success. Britney Spears, Montell Jordan, and several pleas for “Teach Me How To Dougie” later, we’d decided to keep the party going. Friday #2 was to be even more spectaculous.

That next Friday, eager to be close to the action, we settled on a table right up front, just a few arms lengths away from the mics. Close enough to read the karaoke screens from our seats. The table was perfect, save for all the jackets piled onto it. So, being the go-getters we are, we moved them to a random corner table just a few feet away. Because what else are stray jackets in a dive bar if not nuisances to rid oneself of?

Settling down for our first few drinks, trouble came. A balding, paunchy, ruddy drunk approached us. He was mad that we’d moved his jackets. He became even more upset when we wouldn’t move them back. He started to yell. Lots of expletives. A strongly pointed index finger. Demands that we move away and return the jackets post-haste.

And then he zeroed in on me. Mind you, I’ve never been in a bar fight; I don’t think I’d do so well with that kind of thing. And I didn’t need to be escorted out of any bar that night, especially without even getting to sing.

So as his finger got closer to my ear, his face closer to my cheek, his voice closer to breaking, I buckled down. Locked my jaw. Trained my gaze on something in the distance on the other side of the room. I felt stray spittle hitting my ear lobe, and smelt cheap bear on his breath. But I knew I couldn’t respond.

Because I don’t know how to fight.

Luckily, before I lost my composure, one of my [female] cubicle buddies stepped in. Sometimes, nothing defuses a drunk man better than a stern, sober woman.

“If you wanna yell at someone, yell at me!

“You wanna fight me?!”

“What are you gonna make ME do?”

He wilted. Other coworkers seized the moment, and began speaking sense to his less inebriated and much more reasonable friends. I was still mad. So I just stood there. One by one, Drunkard and his posse gathered their things and went to the other side of the establishment. At some point an hour or so later, they were gone.

But I was still irate. Not for having a woman step in to diffuse the situation. Or for being able to keep my cool in a predicament like that. The reason I was confused, then absolutely indignant, was because I couldn’t figure out why he chose to single me out for the yell-fest.

I wasn’t the only man in the group, and I wasn’t the only one to move the jackets. After a few more minutes of deduction, I decided that Drunkard picked me because I’m Black.

I then made his shouting part of a meta-narrative of racial resentment, fear, and objectification of Black masculinity. So on and so forth. He thought I was trying to steal his things, didn’t he? He didn’t want me in that bar at all, did he? He probably wanted to call me the N-word. Because I’m a Black man.

How dare I have to butcher Motown classics next to this racist prick.

I went to unload my new theory on my cubicle buddy who saved the day. But she stopped me fast. Before I could even get the word “race” or “Black” out, a pleading hand went up:

“Sam, I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not that. It’s not that at all. He picked you because you’re the biggest guy in the group. Look at us, who else was he gonna try to fight?”

I stopped. And thought. She was right. I was wrong. It was about alcohol. And height. And things having nothing to do with my brown skin.

Life as a Black man can be a continual fight against paranoia. Will I be a statistic? Do they think I’m stealing this? Is that cop following me? Why am I the only one of me in the room?

Why does Drunkard want to fight me?

But the older I get, the more I realize, with the help of my friends, that not everything is a conspiracy, or a racial allegory, or a struggle centuries old.

Sometimes I’m just a guy. On a Friday night. With friends. Wanting to do a little karaoke.

Sometimes, it’s not about race. At all. And in those situations, the lesson of the bar is a simple one:

Stop. Breathe. Drink. Sing.

Repeat.

Sam's Top 20-Something Singles of 2010

2011-01-01T17:09:00.006-05:00

Waiting for a healthy debate on this list in the comments section. I'm realizing my palette's becoming more and more hip-hop and Top 40. I don't think this is a bad thing. The top ten are numbered. Everything else is just thrown in the mix, in no particular order.

1. Robyn – Dancing on My Own (Original Version)
I wanted the entire Body Talk trilogy to be this brilliant. This danceable, yet melancholy. I wanted Robyn to be this vulnerable on every track. I wanted all of her new music released this year to be this accessible, this poetic. But expecting an album full of songs this complete, this anthemic, might just be expecting too much. Songs like these don’t really need accompanying albums, anyway. They just need headphones. Or a dancefloor. And a repeat button.

2. Kanye West and friends – “Power (Remix)”
This song makes me proud to be a fan of hip-hop

3. Cee-Lo – No One’s Gonna Love You” – Paul Epworth Remix
Forget about “F&@K You!” It’s a good enough ear-worm, but ultimately, trite. Cee-Lo’s Band of Horses cover, which appears on his newest, and commendable, solo disc is even better. But it’s this remix, and its accompanying video, that best display the soulster’s knack for transcending genre and making someone else’s music sound better than they ever thought it could (Remember “Crazy”?) The video is also a gem, poignantly telling a typical love-that-couldn’t-last story with surprising grace. One only wishes that Cee-Lo would have made an entire album like this. In trying to sound so retro on “The Lady Killer”, he ended up becoming a sleepy, watered-down version of himself.

4. Bettye LaVette – “Isn’t It A Pity”
I first heard this song in Portland, OR. I had just started a three-month stint with Oregon Public Broadcasting. And I didn’t know anybody. And I missed DC. And I was driving in my economy-class rental car, getting lost. Bettye LaVette’s voice came through the speakers, performing this song live on A Prairie Home Companion, and as a testament to the ability of radio to not just tug at your heartstrings, but rip them out every so often, LaVette, and that stark, lonely piano, that weepy guitar, that gravely voice, captured all of my loneliness that day, all of my ambivalence, and made it a song. I stopped my car and just listened. Portland got much, much better - I grew to love the place. But the strongest emotion of my time there was that day, alone with Bettye in that car, her, and I, and this song.

5. Childish Gambino – Do Ya Like
I think I’ve found a new hero. Kanye, step aside. Anyone who could make Adele thump is a winner. And yes, Childish Gambino is that Black guy from NBC’s Community, Donald Glover. Which makes this all even awesomer.

6. Mark Ronson – “Bang Bang Bang”
An amazing song from a truly disappointing album. Mark Ronson has yet to find post-Amy Winehouse success/credibility/artistry. But songs like this keep me hoping he’ll get there at some point.

7. Willow Smith – “Whip My Hair”
I’ve played this song more than any other this year. And I don’t care what anyone says, Willow Smith deserves to be a star, and rich nine-year olds are perfectly qualified to sing about brushing haters off. But I can’t help but feel weird about making the uber-rich Smith clan even richer. Somewhere, in a room lined with money, Will and Jada are playing “Whip My Hair” and making a toast. And all I got out of it was a sore neck…

8. Flying Lotus – MmmHmm (Ft. Thundercat)
As an album, Cosmogramma was a little too much. A lot to soak in, but not really a lot to hold it all together. Adventurous, but often frenetic and unfocused. This track, though, captures everything great on the disc. The ambiance, the acid jazz meets trip hop, meets the coolest coffee shop in your city. Listening to this song, with it’s winding bass line, and morphing time signature, makes you feel cooler than everyone else with a latte and hipster glasses in the café.

9. Usher and Will.I.Am – “OMG”
I hated this song at first. I just couldn’t understand why Will.I.Am would AutoTune Usher, one of a handful of modern pop singers who can actually sing. And the lyrics are absolutely ridiculous – what grown man says “boobies” and means it? But then that stadium crowd starts chanting in the background, and that snare-drum rat-a-tat gets into your bones, and Usher sings the now timeless R&B lyric, “Baby, lemme love you down” and you’re taken back to a middle school dance. And then your fist is pumping. And then you realize that Will.I.Am isn’t just a music producer. He’s a drug dealer, making crack cocaine for the eardrums.

10. Janelle Monae – “Cold War”
Remember when you first saw/heard Lauryn Hill’s artistry on full display? Maybe it was in the chorus of “Killing Me Softly” or the breakdown of “Doo Wop (That Thing)” or towards the end of the extended vamp of “Ex Factor.” Whatever it was, you, like me, probably thought soon after, “I hope we never lose her; because we need her. Music needs her.” That’s how I felt after watching the video for “Cold War.” It marks the emergence of a new standard bearer, more than “Tightrope” which was too fun to make the point. Janelle Monae is no Lauryn Hill – she’s not at all a lyricist and is twice the vocalist L-Boogie ever hoped to be. But she is just as remarkable a talent, has just as captivating a solo debut, and is worthy of just as much of our attention.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And now all the others, in no particular order:

Kesha – "Your Love is My Drug"
I don’t like Kesha. She can’t sing, her perpetually-drunk schtick is tiring, and her music is overplayed. But there’s something about the last half-minute of this song. When the drum track stops and it’s just Ke$ha, bouncing synths, and autotune. She starts sing-talking, ad-libbing. The layers are stripped away, and you finally realize how beautiful this song’s chord progressions are. And then she let’s out a little laugh, mid-90’s Janet Jackson style. It’s flirty, it’s immediate, and it’s, as much as mindless pop like this can be, perfect.

Ok Go – “White Knuckles”
I like this group more than I should. Partly because of their amazing videos, but most likely because I see them as the band you’d want to play at your wedding. They are the just right combination of funk, fun, pop and rock. This song channels Prince in the drum track, and makes you ready to sing along after just one listen.

Rihanna – "Cheers (Drink to That)"
Every year needs a drinking song. It was either this or Pink’s “Raise Your Glass.” Rihanna wins, not only because I’m obsessed with her, but because I think she’d be a much better drunk. Pink would probably get in a fight. This meandering ode to Jameson, with an awesome Avril Lavigne sample (I know, how are we sampling Avril Lavigne so soon?), makes me think that Rihanna would just keep dancing.

Kanye West and Pusha T – “Runaway”
Kanye West has become the town drunk who doesn't know when to shut up. The guy you don't want to invite to your party, because you're not sure who he might yell at. The guy you think is always angry, no matter what he says. And that’s what caused the media to lose the real message of Runaway. What everybody forgets is that this song isn’t about Taylor Swift. At all. It’s an ode to a girl (or girls) he’s wronged. Sending out pictures of his junk to random females, having an addiction “to ‘dem hoodrats,” being a general douchebag to his love interest. It’s also haunting, and an instant classic. A song only Kanye could make.

Kanye and Friends – “Monster”
Dare I say it, but Nicki Minaj’s verse MURDERED EVERYBODY ELSE ON THIS TRACK.

Taio Cruz – “Dynamite”
There is no enduring quality to this song. No higher or deeper meaning. Nothing to separate it from the recent outpouring of genre-less, pan-ethnic, auto-tuned to death pop coming from the likes of Iyaz, Jason Derulo and Jay Sean. There is no reason to commend this song’s singer or writers for doing what they’ve done with Dynamite. It’s just an awesome song to dance to. And so it makes the list.

Alicia Keys – “Unthinkable (I’m Ready)”
She didn’t yell on this song. For that, I am happy.

Chris Brown – “Deuces/Yeah 3X”
He might not ever be redeemed as an artist for what he’s done to Rihanna. But these two songs show why he ever mattered in the first place. He’s very good at what he does, whether we like him or not.

Lil’ Wayne – “6 Foot, 7 Foot”
Jail’s been good to Lil’ Wayne. He went in in a drug induced haze, his final pre-prison verses often incomprehensible, disjointed, clouded by the drugs. You can tell he’s off that stuff now. His delivery is so sharp, his metaphors so witty, his control of the beat so complete. I almost wish he’d go back to jail…

Wiz Kalifa – “Black and Yellow”
Every time I get excited about Wiz Kalifa's "Black and Yellow" I realize it's a song about the Pittsburgh Steelers, and then I throw up a little bit in my mouth. But I keep on dancing.

Chiddy Bang – “Opposite of Adults”
This duo deserved much more love this year. The sampling is top-notch, and the lyrical delivery might not be groundbreaking, but it makes a fitting accompaniment to the lush tracks on Chiddy Bang’s LP debut. This song is that collection’s standout. Those handclaps, the driving bass, the echoing snare. It’s feel-good rap music. And we all need more of that.

Lady Gaga and Beyonce – “Telephone”
Lady Gaga’s managed to make my singles list two years in a row. But this one’s not even really about her. This song belongs to Rodney Jerkins, the most underrated R&B producer of our day.

Katy Perry – “Teenage Dream”
Katy Perry doesn’t know if she wants you to take her seriously or not. She has music videos with cream shooting out of confectioned breastplates one minute, and has an outstanding Unplugged album with an oddly satisfying cover of “Hackensack” the next. She gives us the curse of “California Gurlz” and then makes a song as blissful as Teenage Dream. And it is blissful. The driving, three-chord track, with those tick-tocking guitars that build to a techno-ish crescendo that beats its way into your brain. And that one line in the song, that one line every songwriter wishes for. When Katy sings “Let’s go all the way tonight. No regrets, just love.” That moment you know that everyone is going to be singing the words you wrote. The melody you crafted. Living in the moment you made.

Wacka Flocka Flame – “Hard in Da Paint” – Instrumental
Wacka Flaka is awful. Really. He’s awful. But this track is brutal and bombastic. And so crunk it hurts.

Erykah Badu – “Window Seat"
#1 R&B earworm of the year. With a strange video to boot. Ms. Badu is getting better with age.

Diddy Dirty Money- “A$# On The Floor/Hello, Good Morning”
“Train Music” didn’t seem like a good idea. But when’s the last time Diddy had a good idea? Mase? Whatevs. Diddy Dirty Money is more about Dirty Money than Diddy. His two twins of backup singers, Dawn, and that other one, are proving themselves to be quite the singer/songwriters. I couldn’t pick between either of these tracks, as they’re both so danceable. Although I do think I’d like the chorus of “Hello, Good Morning” as my iPhone alarm clock tone.

My Top 5 Albums of 2010

2011-01-01T17:06:00.002-05:00

Because it should be a crime to put out a list like this before 2010 is over. Happy New Year, everyone. Lemme know what you think in the comments.

1. Janelle Monae – “The ArchAndroid”
Janelle Monae is what Lauryn Hill and Andre 3000’s love-child would sound like. The perfect synthesis of R&B, Atlanta Funk, and psychedelic musical experimentation. What’s hardest to believe about this album is that she’s on Diddy’s label. For the last decade or so, save for Notorius B.I.G., he’s found a way to ruin the career of just about everyone he’s managed. Remember Danity Kane, Day 26, Dream, Shyne? I don’t know how it happened, but Sean Combs himself stepped away from the mic long enough to let Monae’s genius shine through on this soaring, if long, masterpiece. No Diddy in the background, as perpetually annoying hype-man. This album is Monae’s, and hers alone (well maybe Kalindo’s as well, the guy supplying the absolutely EPIC guitar solos throughout). It’s scored like a film, with Janelle’s vocals Broadway-quality. She covers about a dozen genres in just over an hour, and manages to make it all cohesive. Some of the tracks, like the nine-minute long “Babopbye Ya” are a bit over-indulgent, but it’s done so well, you can’t be mad. One only hopes that Monae finds away to keep it going. Diddy, keep your hands off.

Standout tracks: “57821”, “Cold War”, “Mushrooms and Roses”, “Faster”

2. Vampire Weekend – "Contra"
Vampire Weekend had the first #1 album of 2010. What an amazing way to start a new decade in music. What they’re doing isn’t new; a Paul Simon-ish take on light, breezy Afro-pop. What makes this disc stand out are the small flourishes, the effortless strings, or xylophones, or percussion instruments you’ve never heard before. Every time I listen to this album, I hear some new tick, some previously unheard buzz, some production trick that makes this quick collection of songs all the more enticing. A friend told me that the problem he had with this album was the same one he has with the Black Keys; justifying loving young white hipster/prep kids’ take on Black (and African) music more than the original. I don’t have that dilemma with Vampire Weekend. They’re not trying to be Amadou and Miriam; they know they can’t be. Their music is more homage than imitation. And it works, because they know exactly who they are, who they want to be, and how to occupy that space.

Standout tracks: Contra, White Sky, Run

3. Kanye West – My Beautiful, Dark, Twisted Fantasy
This is NOT Kanye West’s best album (It’s a tie between Lat Registration and Graduation). It did NOT deserve a perfect score from Pitchfork. It might not even be an album for the ages. It lacks the wide-eyed introspection of the College Dropout, replaced with an icy, if entertaining, cynicism and self-loathing. The baroque flourishes of Late Registration have been watered-down. The euphoria of Graduation has been replaced with anger, angst, and asshole-ery. Some of the guest appearances take away from Mr. West himself (see “So Appalled”). And there are no radio singles.

But, I can’t hate; Kanye doesn’t make bad albums. So, in spite of its inability to live up to the unmerited critical hype, and my inability to get excited for a first listen when half the CD was given away before it’s release, I have to admit, Fantasy is outstanding. Because Kanye West makes music nobody else can make. Could you see anyone else pulling off “Lost In The World”, anyone having the courage to call himself a douchebag and mean it, like West did on “Runaway”? Anyone getting Chris Rock to be any raunchier on “Blame Game”? Even when working with various producers, and an army of guest stars, Kanye makes everything he does sound like something only he could do. So, Fantasy, like all of his other discs, is beautiful, flawed, and a constant reminder of hip-hop’s ability to channel everything good about modern pop music and culture, while being absolutely unlike anything else at the same time.

Standout tracks: All of them

4. Salem – “Ignore This”
I’ve got a soft spot for Swedish pop. Robyn’s self-titled 2008 album made my top five list that year. She has a way of making a simple, straight-ahead pop song magisterial; Robyn can make four chords and a drum machine fill a room like an orchestra. Salem might be her musical complement. Just as good, but he lives on the deeper side of pop. A mix of Steely Dan and 80’s synth, what his newest album lacks in immediacy, it more than makes up for in nuanced complexity. He’s a jazzer, and it shows on this disc. Listen to the last minute or so of “This Is For”, or the straight out-of-a-movie-score instrumental “Cowboys and Dinosaurs.” This is nothing you’d hear on Top 40 radio (and that makes “Ignore This” a difficult listen in some spots). It’s the kind of music that makes the B-Side of a studio musician’s demo tape. Experimental, quirky-- and impeccably polished. Add Salem’s voice, which is the most unique I’ve heard since Cee-Lo Green, and you’ve got a thing of beauty.

Stand-out tracks: “4 O’Clock” and “Part of It”

5. Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross - The Social Network Score
I thought if any instrumental album made the list this year, it would be Four Tet or Flying Lotus. But neither of those albums had the immediacy, or focus of this film score. It’s a mean, brooding set. Industrial, just like all of Trent Reznor’s stuff. And surprisingly, it stands on its own, no movie required. Makes you want NIN to get back together with all deliberate speed.

Standout tracks: "In Motion"

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

Ok Go - "Of The Blue Colour of the Sky"
It may be easy to forget, but it’s hard not to dance to this collection.

Gary Clark Jr. – The Gary Clark Jr. LP
The Black Keys WISH they could make blues this good. (Hat tip to Matt Siller for helping me discover this one.)

Let Them Call Us Nigger

2010-03-21T01:08:00.004-04:00

It's easy, on the eve of sweeping health care reform, to be caught up in this grand idea of "change". But I'm more amazed by those things in our politics that have managed to stay the same.

My parents never really talked about the Civil Rights Movement. My father, at that point in his life, was a grown, working man -- taking care of his family and keeping his job kept him from the front lines. My mother was still living at home with her parents, and even though she lived in Birmingham, AL, she wasn't allowed to march. She told me how her mother and father feared for her safety, and told the occasional story of Blacks in Birmingham being arrested, accosted, and more.

In spite of my parents' general reticence when it came to the Movement, I found out rather quickly growing up that during that tumultuous time of change, being called a "nigger" was commonplace -- it often occurred before or during a beating. But for the most part, I grew up in a world where no bigot would call me that to my face.

Or so I thought. Today, Congressman John Lewis, former Civil Rights activist, was called "nigger" by Tea Party protesters as he walked to the Capitol for final meetings before tomorrow's historic vote. Another Congressman, openly gay Barney Frank, was called a "faggot" by some of the protesters. And several anti-Semitic slurs have been left for Jewish Democrats in the halls of Congress over the last few weeks.

The protesters engaging in this bigotry say they are storming the Capitol to fight against socialized health care.

Let's be honest. A lot of them are just looking for any excuse to to call Black people niggers, gay people fags, and leave notes with swastikas on them for Jews.

Any protester mad enough about health care to act in that manner is mad about more than health care. In the same way "states' rights" activists who fought against extending civil rights weren't just mad about "states' rights". They just really, really didn't like Black people.

While it's harder today to be as openly hateful as the folks who beat and ridiculed Blacks and Civil Rights protesters, some of the same hate my parents witnessed in the 60's and before lingers today.

And I'm convinced, that no matter what the issue, be it health care, or immigration reform, or who knows what else, bigots will find a way to be bigots. They will tell us all otherwise and find some catchy euphemisms to mask their hate, but they really won't be able to hide it. Hate is hate. Hate lingers. Hate mutates. But it never completely goes away.

One of my favorite Bible verses, and one of the few I still remember, says this:

"The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun." Ecclesiastes 1:9

Tonight, it's remarkably fitting for the way I feel. I see this hate that lingers, and it upsets me. But I realize that as constant as some hate may be, change is bigger, and better, and it is constant, too.

Those protesters might hold vigil on the Capitol steps a few nights more, but as she always does, America will inch closer and closer towards a more just society with more expansive rights and protections for all of her citizens.

So let them call us niggers. Let them call us fags. Let them call us kikes. Just as there is nothing new under the sun, bigots will always find something to shout about. But change is not new, either. And change always wins.

Note to Obama: Watch "Mean Girls"

2010-01-30T22:42:00.006-05:00

Seeing Obama and Republicans duke it out in the same room last Friday reminded me of those final scenes in "Mean Girls," when Tina Fey makes everyone sit in the gym until they get over "The Book." The only thing missing was Obama trust-falling into Eric Cantor's arms.

It was quite the sight. Obama on Republican turf, at their annual retreat, fully engaging the folks that made his first year hell. Talking in public to the ones he's said were unwilling to work with him behind closed doors.

In true "Mean Girls" fashion, both sides revealed they weren't as horrible as the other thought. And there was no "Regina" character -- someone so bad that they actually deserved all the hate. But I do see some parallels between Lindsay Lohan's character, named Cady Heron, and our President himself.

In "Mean Girls," Cady Heron is the young, attravtice protagonist, with African roots. Obama? Young, attractive protaganist (at least for some). African roots? Check.

In "Mean Girls," Cady Heron has the opportunity to infiltrate the upper circles of her high school's elaborate hierarchy of popularity. Obama came to Washington to infiltrate an entrenched, gridlocked political elite. Both had high hopes for their missions.

To accomplish her goals, Heron went undercover, becoming the meanest of the mean girls she wanted to bring down. On the other hand, Obama, in his first year, sought to compromise with the Republicans he said he came to Washington to undo. Heron, in the end, couldn't make it work. Obama, a year in, hasn't done so either.

Washington, DC of course, is not a movie. (Congress isn't pretty enough for Hollywood.) But Tina Fey's "Mean Girls" script might offer some lessons for Obama and the Hill going forward.

For one, talking is good. To each other. On neutral ground. In the open. It won't make everything better. But it will make your enemy seem at least a little more like a friend. And that is often a good thing.

And for Obama, his "Mean Girls" lesson is to just be who he really is. Lindsay Lohan's character ultimately couldn't hack it as a Mean Girl -- it just wasn't her. She was meant to be a mathlete. Barack Obama, it seems, isn't a master of the Senate, no LBJ. But that kind of makes sense -- he didn't even stay in Congress long enough to let the new paint job dry in his Senate office.

He needs to be himself, the guy we liked on the campaign. The one out there talking to everybody, at ease explaining complex ideas, or reaffirming age-old beliefs. We didn't elect him to make back door deals with the House and Senate. We voted for him to be our new great communicator, the one who might be able to talk us all towards a better reality.

It seems he's gotten the point. David Plouffe, campaign mastermind, was brought back to the White House after the Dems lost Kennedy's (or "the people's") Senate seat. Since then, Obama's changed his approach and adopted a new "direct engagement" model. I hope it works. And if Tina Fey's script has any prescience, I think it will.

In "Mean Girls," once everyone started talking, life at the high school moved towards a better normal. Not perfect, but workable. One hopes Obama can help accomplish the same thing in our nation's politics, trust falls not included.

On "Negro-Gate" 2010

2010-01-11T16:33:00.002-05:00

I’m not usually one to defend Harry Reid. He’s ineffective and a horrible Senate Majority Leader. (AND he has really bad posture.) But in light of “Negro-Gate” 2010, I’ve felt the need to come to his rescue, at least as much as this one, lowly blog will allow.

I’m sure you’ve read about it by now. Mark Halperin’s new Campaign-2008 gossip-blog masquerading as a book details Harry Reid’s rather awkward words on race. He said that Barack Obama’s light skin and lack of a “Negro-dialect” made him more electable. Since the book’s release, the GOP has been calling for Reid’s departure from his seat as Senate Majority Leader.

My defense, after the jump...

I think a reaction that harsh is too much. We have to understand Reid’s words in context. While the word “Negro” might not be as PC as some like, it should not be thought of as a slur, particularly in the way Reid used it. Keep this in mind: There's been a move from using the word “colored” to “Negro” to “Black,” and now to “African-American” to describe the descendants of African slaves in America. At times, each of these words were the preferred term of Black people, as evidenced by the existence of organizations like the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP), and the United Negro College Fund (UNCF), both founded and maintained by African-Americans.

“Negro” may be out of date, but it is definitely not the same as calling me a N!&&@

Secondly, an honest discussion about politics in the United States will acknowledge that Reid’s sentiment was true. It IS easier for a light-skinned Black person who speaks “well” to get ahead – not just in politics, but in the corporate world and so many other spheres. America’s light-skinned preference is well documented and studied.

But the worst part of all of this is to compare Reid’s words to those of former Senate Majority Leader Trent Lott, when he supported Strom Thurmond’s segregationist bid for the Presidency. After those remarks, and Lott’s incredibly awful BET interview asking us for forgiveness, he was forced to step down. (Yes, Trent Lott really did go on BET News. At least he didn’t bring collard greens and corn bread as penance…)

Lynne Cheney and other Republicans are saying that Dems who wanted Lott out are hypocritical when they don’t demand Reid’s ouster. But Reid was really denouncing close-minded Americans who might look for any excuse to not vote for a Black man. On the other hand, Trent Lott was actively supporting segregation, which he had done several times before. And lest we forget, Harry Reid was actually a big, early, and powerful supporter of our nation’s first Black president.

When I see folks like Lynn Cheney yelling about “hypocrisy” at the top of their lungs, what I really hear are Republicans implying that Reid got a pass just because he has Black friends. That’s not the case. Reid gets a pass because what he said was more about the bigotry of voters, not about his racism towards any Black politicians. He doesn’t get a pass just because he’s cool with the CBC. But my bigger question for the GOP as a whole is this -- why don’t YOU have more Black friends? (Michael Steele, alone, is not enough.) It might look a little better if the folks making your case were a little more diverse.

My Top 25 Singles of 2009

2010-01-02T21:51:00.004-05:00

A few days late, and a bit over-thought. Nevertheless, I still hope Rolling Stone's reading...

***These are in no particular order***

SONGS OF THE YEAR

"Pretty Girls" -- Wale and Gucci Mane
This track smells like a house party. The hook sounds like your friend who's drank too much warbling some obscure mid-90's soul jam at a divey karaoke bar. The drums sound like your favorite street drummers. The synths are lazily punctuated, and the lyrics smoothly slither out of their authors' mouth. The entire song feels a little tipsy. Even down to the part where Wale tells all the ugly girls to be quiet...

"Uprising" -- Muse
I hear this song and think of acned middle schoolers planning a Dungeons and Dragons revolt. Paranoia, mind control, revolution, flag-raising -- it could be the perfect theme song for an ABC miniseries about aliens coming to quietly overtake Earth via a complicit government. Oh wait, it is.

Click here for the other 23...

Chalie Boy -- "On My Momma (I Look Good)"
It's seldom the South gets any dirtier than this. With the sound of a sped-up, hyped-out Big Mo, Chalie Boy makes this year's self-congratulatory anthem. The usual boasting, bragging and brand-name dropping annoys me, but when Chalie rap/sings it, and punctuates it with churchy soul growls, it just feels right. And the way he says "On My Momma," you just know he means business. And yes, it's spelled "Chalie" Boy...

Mary Mary - God In Me
Mary Mary consistently makes contemporary gospel music with the production quality of contemporary R&B. And when you hear this song, you really can't tell which of those two genres it falls into -- which might be the point. The best gospel crossovers are the ones you don't even know are talking about God (think Switchfoot). Besides having the ability to inspire you with club-friendly grooves and an uplifting message, it's also just good to hear an R&B song without AutoTune these days.

"Blame It" -- Jamie Foxx
Artists like Jamie Foxx don't have to make songs like this one. He can really sing, and play the keys as well -- he could write an introspective ballad or something, and at least lay off the AutoTune. But sometimes it takes someone as musically gifted as Foxx to make a song as base as "Blame It" actually work. It's completely silly, even down to the strange, strange video. But for what it is, it's close to flawless: the club banger you rock out to all night, and still end up humming the next morning.

"Party In The USA" -- Miley Cyrus
Miley Cyrus, in her own right, might have absolutely no redeeming qualities. But her production team makes minor miracles on a regular basis. Exhibit A: "Party In The USA." Sparse, catchy, and effervescent, the song works, even if you know it's completely contrived. The lyrics name-drop Jay-Z, and Cyrus admits she's never even heard a Jay-Z song. Oh well, we're all still "nodding our heads like, Yeah." Teen pop was never supposed to be real anyway.

"I'm Good" -- Clipse
The 2000s, if anything, were an all-out war between the two greatest hip-hop producers of their day: Timbaland and Pharell. I dare say Pharell won. Timbo may have ended up with more hits, more ubiquity, even more money. But as he became formulaic and overexposed, Pharell kept getting better. "I'm Good" is another winner from the producer, and honestly, the Clipse's rhymes on the song are secondary to the breathing synths and steady snare. Who needs vocals on a track this good?

"Sweet Dreams" -- Beyonce
Any of Beyonce's singles could make my top 25 cut this year, but the one that really should have hit radio, ironically called "Radio," wasn't even released. We're forced to settle with "Sweet Dreams," which really isn't settling at all. It's an amazing Jim Jones track, and in the song, we hear why Beyonce's still on top -- she actually grows as an artist. She's replaced the dramatic, winding melisma of her early, Destiny's Child days with a subdued, controlled and technically adept singing style. She stopped warbling and hollering and just started singing the songs, more simply, more gracefully. Beyonce's grown into herself, and it sounds really good. Rihanna, Lady GaGa, please take notes.

"It's Only You, Pt. 2" -- Salem
Hands down, the most exciting, polished, and memorable song I've heard this year -- even if I did find it in a Volvo commercial. Salem is the best Swedish import you've never heard of. A well established jazz/pop crooner overseas (and even in Canada), most of the US has yet to discover his absolute genius. And that is not an understatement. Listen to this song, and then prepare to play it non-stop for a week. And then check out his EP of the same name. I promise you'll like it. Really I do.

Phoenix -- 1901
Another song from a commercial makes the cut. I sincerely hope that automakers start releasing their own iTunes playlists in 2010. Phoenix is like the sound of bubble gum and skinny jeans and walk signs at busy crosswalks on a warm day -- inviting, if ephemeral. The entire album felt a little too much like this single, which is why it didn't make that list. But 1901 is a treat. Thanks for the heads-up, Cadillac.

"I Know You want Me" -- Pitbull
Spanglish-Euro-poppy-techn

o-dance-hip-hop is fun. Really fun. And Pitbull's growl is surprisingly addictive. I've been told this song is played in Zumba classes all over the country. I may need to start checking said classes out.

Duck Sauce -- "aNYway"
Watch the YouTube video for this single, which isn't yet available for purchase in the States, and be amazed. But don't be confused. Duck Sauce is actually two DJs, Armand Van Helden and A-TRAK. The vocals for "aNYway" come from an obscure R&B song called "I Can Do It [Anyway You Want]" from Final Edition. Wherever it's from, it's a mix made in house music heaven, and clearly, heaven doesn't live in the US just yet. Damn you iTunes...

"Paparrazi" -- Lady Gaga
I refuse to fawn over Lady GaGa. But I will respect a good song. Paparrazi is that, if nothing else. What makes it stand out for me, compared to all of GaGa's other singles, is its understatement, save for the out of place spoken word/rap in the middle. Songs like Bad Romance and Love Game and Poker Face were too outsized to really be appreciated. But here, GaGa slows down, breathes, and tells a story. The pyrotechnics are put away long enough for her songwriting to shine. And it works.

Grizzly Bear -- "Two Weeks"
For me, the album wasn't worth the hype. Art rock never really caught on with me. But this song meanders its way to classic.

"Empire State Of Mind" -- Jay-Z and Alicia Keys
Did we even need Jay-Z on this song? For once, Alicia Keys habit of screaming her words fit the song perfectly. This is a hook that deserves to be bellowed. It swallows you whole and spins you around and before you know it, you can't stop singing along. Some call it New York' new anthem. I won't go that far, but I will admit that, for me, it was Ms. Key's post-"No One" redemption.

Mario, Gucci Mane and Sean Garrett -- "Break Up"
Bangladesh is a weird guy. He produced "Break Up", as well as Lil Wayne's 2008 uber-smash, "A Milli, and the womanly sequel, Beyonce's "Diva" These three songs are completely unlike anything you've ever heard before, as is "Break Up." With all three of them, Bangladesh's booming bass drum makes three tracks with the tempo of a ballad wallop hard enough to make you go hyphy. And on "Break Up" particularly, the artist actually sings. It's an added treat and the perfect ending to this trio of Bangladesh's new brand of crazy.

"Turn My Swag On" -- Souljah Boy
You don't know how many times I've have literally "hopped up out the bed" to this song and danced around my room for more than just a few minutes. No matter what you say about Souljah Boy (Tell 'Em), we all have to admit that he makes songs we never listen to just once. The track on this single is monstrous, demanding the volume be turned all the way up. And Souljah's out-of-tune sing-song flow lets any and everyone join in. Whether they fess up to it or not...

"Rockin That Thing" -- The Dream
Over the last few years, R&B has stealthily sped itself up, techno-fied, and gone a little bit Euro. But as the rest of the genre went off to a rave, The Dream stayed right where he wanted, in a mid-tempo wonderland. His style is completely relaxed, entirely modern R&B. Even if the smashes he's written for others (Rihanna's "Umbrella" and Beyonce's "Single Ladies) are anything but chill, "Rockin' That Thing" feels completely relaxed, like the weekend before you have to go back to school, when it's not as hot as it was in July, and all you have to do is roll down the windows in your car and drive a little slower, because you're in no rush to get anywhere.

"Daylight" -- Matt & Kim
Perfected Hipster-dom. In song.

The Sa-Ra Creative Partners -- "Space Fruit" (ft. Debi Nova)
This is the cosmic sequel to "The Boy From Ipanema", scat singing and all. It's lush and intricate and beautifully executed. Unfortunately, the album this single comes from doesn't live up to the hype this track inspires.

Calvin Harris -- "The Rain"
Calvin Harris is yet another import America is turning its head to. More people need to hear his music. This is the lead track from his latest album, which receieved massive play on my earphones this year. Harris' production channels Prince, the Basement Jaxx, 80's synth-pop, all at the same time. This track builds, and by the end of it, you end up pumping your fist in the air like an extra from "Jersey Shore." The saxophone solo doesn't hurt either.

Kid Cudi -- "Day and Night"
I remember hearing this single for the first time and being blown away, becoming more anxious than I should have been for the complete album's release. I was let down. "Day and Night" was the only saving grace on Kid Cudi's absolutely dismal debut. And quite a saving grace it was. Who didn't dance along to thi at some point in 2009? But in the words of Tyra, "We're were rooting for you (Cudi)! We were all rooting for you." This single set up the biggest let-down of year, that let-down being Cudi's debut. "Lonely stoner", please sit down.

Chester French -- "Sleep"
I still don't get why more people don't know about Chester French. They're the like the trendy offspring of the Beach Boys, only they've traded the beach for the Ivy League. These Harvard-trained crooners made a debut with flashes of brilliance, one of them being "Sleep." It's a simple premise -- this guy needs more shut-eye, and he writes a song about it. But the execution is flawless. Sweepingly orchestrated, all the bells and whistles make the song soar. The vocals have just a tinge of youthful, preppy revolt and the last minute or so goes off on a Miles Davis tangent. This is brave music.

Passion Pit -- "Little Secrets"
You'll either love the lead singer's yelping falsetto or hate it. You'll either love the children s choir's backing vocals or hate them. You'll either love the bubbly, poppy production or hate it. I love all of these things. And the entire album sounds this good.

"Fire Bomb" -- Rihanna
Most will look back on Rihanna's 2009 and only see what she was wearing. Post-Chris Brown she vamped it up -- the clothes fell off as Rihanna shed all vestiges of victimhood. But the bigger, albeit underlying story, is the maturation of her music. Her vocals still leave something to be desired, but her latest album is a gem. I'm sure she didn't write it, but "Fire Bomb," is one of the smartest ballads I've heard in a while. When you first hear it, you don't really understand what she's talking about, but around the fourth listen, you realize she's singing about an ex, and the revenge she's about to exact on him. She's driving a gunshot-riddled, burning car into the home of a former lover. All while exclaiming, "I just want to set you on fire, so I don't have to burn alone." As she warns once again, "All the lovers need to clear the road," you slowly realize that Rihanna is a lot more pained, and introspective, than we ever thought.

Betty, I know you’re reading this…

2009-12-21T17:06:00.004-05:00

Betty’s my aunt. She’s there for me, almost like a second mother. But when she got on Facebook recently, and sent me a friend request, I politely rejected, and felt a little guilty afterward.

My dilemma is one shared by countless of other young folks these days. As more of our parents and relatives discover Web 2.0, we face some hard choices. Do we let them see what our friends see: the tacky photos, the Facebook rants, the overt sarcasm, the general lack of respect for some institutions and ideas they still hold dear? Or do we make our selves virtual bipolars, balkanizing our two (or more) personas and the online communities they inhabit?

I didn’t have the luxury of making that choice. My family, through the general, good-natured gossipy-ness of my dear mother, has discovered my blog -- you know, the one where I call myself an Angry Black Man…

click here for the rest...

I tried to keep it at least a bit semi-anonymous. But word got out. A family friend showed my Mom an on-air segment I did a month or two ago, where the name of my blog was mentioned in my introduction. And then it began. One of my aunts back home read a few touching entries to her, and of course she called all the fam to let them know. At church, she started telling the congregation to read my stuff online. “Go online and look for angry Black man! Look for angry Black man!” she’d proudly declare near the altar in the sanctuary as members exchanged post-service pleasantries. Not quite what I was going for…

Anywho, Aunt Betty, the one family member most likely to say exactly what she’s feeling about whatever it is I’m doing, was informed of the blog by Mommy dearest. And it gave me a little sinking feeling in my stomach. Sam, Version 2.0, had been discovered. I braced myself for the phone calls and e-mails:

“You listen to rap music?”

“You’re not going to church every Sunday?”

“You drink – ALCOHOL?!”

It’s not like I lie to loved ones back home about this. I just don’t make it a topic of discussion. I leave those kind of things to Facebook, and my blog. And I wanted to keep that world far away from what you could call a “San Antonio” Sam.

I constantly read online about people discovering just how crazy folks they know are, through their Facebook or MySpace, random inappropriate wall posts and NSFW photos. These situations make for a good story, but I don’t really think that’s the case for most.

The reaction, or lack thereof, to my online musings has been eye-opening, in that it’s been entirely unlike the ones I read about. There’ve been no fireworks – at all. No one’s called. No one’s written. And no one’s told me they’re upset (even if they are). My Aunt Betty and my mother actually had a thoughtful discussion recently about a pretty personal post I wrote over a year ago about my father’s death. And I think my Mom appreciates being able to find out about where I stand politically without the two of us having to shout about the merits of Barack Obama on the way to church. It seems like my family and loved ones, in seeing more of me online, haven’t reprimanded -- they’ve instead quietly let me be myself.

Of course, I don’t know if I’ll ever talk about any of this with some of my family. I’m sure Betty might read this soon enough, but she might not ever bring it up. And that’s ok. Sometimes the best conversations, especially online, are typed soliloquies.

***Correction: My Aunt Donna let Betty know about the blog, even before my mother did. I'm so late...***

Barack Obama Doesn't Care About Black People?

2009-12-07T18:03:00.010-05:00

The Congressional Black Caucus thinks so. As well as a steadily increasing group of Black and liberal press. Almost a year into his historic presidency, our first Black president has come under fire from some -- for being a little too “post-racial.”

The charges against Obama are mounting. The CBC recently skipped an important committee vote to increase regulation of the financial industry, saying that the Obama administration wasn’t doing enough to address the financial crisis’s disproportionate damage to the nation’s Black community. They’ve also criticized Obama and Co. for dragging their feet in addressing lingering health care disparities for African-Americans as Congressional debate over major health reform continues.

Liberal commentators have come out swinging as well.

Click here to read the rest...

The New York Time’s Charles Blow detailed the new administration’s silence as more examples of “overt racism,” hate crimes, and economic disaster brought on by the financial crisis continue to plague Black America. Blow reported Blacks’ optimism that Obama’s presidency would shift America’s racial tide is dimming, and negative portrayals of Black men like Plaxico Burress, Chris Brown, Henry Louis Gates, Jr. and even Tiger Woods (yes, he’s Black), have shown that old stereotypes still linger, even as a picture perfect, and Black, first family plays with the First Dog and lights the National Christmas tree.

As America gears up for the Copenhagen climate talks, it’s pretty a much a given that a binding resolution to address global climate change won’t happen, leading some to conclude that Obama’s concern for poor minorities throughout the world, who academics believe are hurt the most by the effect of greenhouse gases, is minimal.

And a September expose from Naomi Klein in Harper’s details perhaps Obama’s biggest abandonment of policy that addresses lingering racial inequality. Under his leadership, the US recently skipped the United Nations Durban Review Conference on Racism, Racial Discrimination, Xenophobia, and Related Intolerance. Yes, our first Black president skipped an international conference meant to address racism.

Klein says that while the administration cited alleged anti-Israel bias as the reason it skipped (Klein thinks that was all smoke and mirrors), America’s Black and Civil Rights leadership were outraged, as work from the NAACP and the Congressional Black Caucus to ensure no anti-Semitism would be tolerated, and that as many parties could be present as possible, ended up being worthless.

The conference was supposed to be a continuation of the original Durban conference’s appeal to the world to own up to the lingering effect of the Trans-Atlantic slave trade, and accept the responsibility of wealthy nations to help poor countries and oppressed minorities throughout the world, and African Americans and sub-Saharan Africa in particular, which continue to suffer as an effect of the slave trade and colonialism. In the article, a human rights expert said that Obama’s post-racial appeal just didn’t sit with the idea of that kind of dialogue on race: “You can’t be colorblind and go to a racism conference.”

All these events, taken as a whole, leave Barack Obama’s perhaps most supportive constituency, African-Americans (who still give Obama a near 90% approval rating), perplexed, if not angry.

And while I am dismayed by Obama’s current record on race, I can’t say that I’m surprised by it.

Since the days of the primaries, I’ve wondered what a President of color could actually do for people of color. The confines of America’s racialized politics put strict limitations on how far Obama could go on race, since before his campaign even started.

For me, the Sotomayor example nails home the idea that when a liberal minority pursues race-conscious policy or decisions, it’s almost conspiratorial, as if all the colored people are hatching a secret plan to ‘take back” the country from the white folks. When a White liberal pursues the same outcome, it’s altruistic to supporters, and for opponents, it’s still not nearly as bad as a face of color doing it.

Case in point: Sonia Sotomayor was pilloried to no end for her decision in Ricci v. DeStefano, aka the New Haven firefighter case. She decided that a firefighter exam for promotion that resulted in no Blacks passing was unfair, and that the test be thrown out. She was not the only one to reach this decision, but she was a minority who reached that decision.

Minority firefighters in the case and elsewhere have argued that their white counterparts have much more access to the institutional knowledge that allows them to better prepare for these tests as more of their friends and families have been firefighters before. And Blacks in New Haven scored flying colors on the oral exam – but that counted far less in the final tally to determine promotion. Also, others had ruled that the New Haven test was unfair, and they were urged to consider a new evaluation method.

So, Sotomayor decided with a lot of other people, many of whom were White, but the reaction to her choice was vitriolic, much more impassioned than the reaction to Whites who support affirmative action policies. All of that anger wasn’t just because she took that stance. A lot of it was because she took that stance as a person of color. For many Americans who continue to see race relations through an “Us v. Them”, tribal, territorial prism with a zero-sum outcome, Sotomayor and her stance was a threat, much more so because of who she is. In the same vein, people like Rush Limbaugh have charged that Obama’s push for health care reform and a public option is an underhanded attempt at reparations for Black people. Glenn Beck has argued that calling a Cambridge police officer’s arrest of a Black Harvard professor in his own home “stupid” was actually a display of his “deep-seated hatred of White culture.” For some, minority action on issues of race is an act of war on what they see as the great battlefield called race.

And so Obama, forced to survive in this environment, almost has to go the way of silence. He’s advocated what many public policy analysts have called a “race neutral” policy on just about all of his policy. While our last Democrat president got to have a national summit on race (PR stunt, perhaps, and the jury’s still out on the effect of his welfare reform), Obama feels he will be able to do nothing of the sort. He counters to those dismayed by this approach that whatever is done to help all of health care or all of the economy will be an extra help to people who are hurt the most by it: minorities.

But folks on the other side argue that job training alone isn’t enough for an unemployed Black man with a criminal record trying to get a second chance. For them, health care reform needs more than just a public option when minorities throughout the country don’t just have unequal access to health care -- they actually don’t live close enough to medical facilities to go to them frequently. Because the experience of minorities in America is so unique, they need a unique strategy, and special assistance from a President who is symbolically poised to do something about it.

But I’m not sure I agree with that idea. The belief that Barack Obama, as a president, owes something more on the race front than a white president, just because he is Black, isn’t one that sits well with me. And it isn’t fair to Obama. And many take umbrage with the suggestion that Blacks have a special set of needs that need to be addressed distinctly from other groups.

Whatever I feel, what these disgruntled factions will do to get Obama in line is unknown. We can assume that Blacks and liberals won’t all of sudden defect to the GOP if Barack doesn’t address all of their needs. But do we really want it to get to that?

As we move further and further into the uncharted territory of this administration, for many of Obama’s staunchest supporters, their unrealized dreams of a now distant inauguration bite at their heels, as they keep racing for “Change.” Only now, more and more of those very people are wondering -- when it comes to that change, is Barack Obama really the one they can believe in? Or his he limited by the very change he represents?

The Slow And Painful Death Of Kanye West

2009-12-03T10:57:00.005-05:00

Last night, the 2010 Grammy nominations were announced. The awards show continued to reward popularity over merit, evidence that the two have become increasingly mutually exclusive in the music world, or just showcasing what hacks the Grammy folks are.

Either way, I finished the Grammy noms concert special pretty irate. Yes, they had an hour-long concert special, just to prove how worthless the real show, two months away, would be.

Click title for the rest...

While the Grammy love awarded Taylor Swift, eight nods including Album, Record and Rong of the year (typo and it stays), was expected post Kanye-Gate, it was still revolting. Let’s be honest, Taylor Swift may be cute, and she may be the perfect victim, as shown in America’s mawkish rush to her defense after Kanye West stormed her VMA acceptance speech. But cute as she may be, she is mediocre. Her songs and her voice are bland, and she’s not that creative. And she’s definitely not worthy of an Album of the Year nomination, given the stellar works of Maxwell, Phoenix, U2, Kanye West and so many others over the past eligibility season.

I see in the coronation of Swift the end of merit in popular music. The quality of your product is secondary to your ability to sell it. Most of the Album of the Year contenders put out albums that were insanely popular and well-marketed, but none of them were universally thought to actually be, well, good. Beyonce released monster single after monster single from I Am... Sasha Fierce, but the album as a whole was disjointed and contrived. The Dave Matthews band put out another album with great ambience, but it lacked anything you’ll actually remember a few months from now. The Black Eyed Peas latest work was as silly and corny as all of their previous stuff, and I’ve already told you how I feel about Taylor Swift. Lady Gaga’s album, was utterly ubiquitous, yes, but extremely formulaic, and ultimately a flash in the pan. (No, she is NOT the new Madonna.)

That leaves us to the man the Grammy’s snubbed this year, Mr. West. His latest album, whether you like it or not, was visionary and groundbreaking. I have conflicted views about the work, but I understand his point thoughout the disc, and when FloRida’s lastest is up for Best Rap Album while 808’s and Heartbreak is not, you know something’s not right.

As nominations were submitted, those in the know said the mention of Kanye West to anyone on the committee prompted frowns and immediate scorn, all because of the Taylor Swift debacle. Gone was a reliance on the quality of Kanye’s work, or the lack thereof in Swift’s. The Grammy’s were exacting revenge, for a crime that wasn’t even criminal. Let’s face it -- celebrities get drunk and say stupid things, and it WAS the VMA’s, more variety show than awards ceremony.

So we end this decade with Kanye having released four of the most influential and progressive rap records of the decade. Probably the best quartet of albums, pound for pound, of any major artist of the last decade. His first three records were shut out of winning Album of the Year, when many thought at least two, if not all three should have won. And this year, the Grammy snub is even greater.

As music critics across the globe begin to sum up the last ten years in music, we are in great danger of forgetting the genius of West’s work, all because of one foolish stunt. His story is a highpoint in this decade of music. He saved hip-hop with The College Dropout, and brought an attention to detail, true musical curiosity and ingenuity back to a genre that sorely lacked it. VMA outburst or not, he deserves recognition for that, just as Tiger Woods is a great golfer whether he cheats or not. Just as Amy Winehouse’s Black To Black was stellar, whether she’s a crackhead or not. But instead of celebrating some of the best music to come out of the last decade, Kanye West’s one final chapter might make us forget the overarching genius of his entire book.

And in the meantime, a sheepishly cute 19 year old with a guitar and little else keeps us wrapped around her finger.

I’m off to sulk.

The Popeye's Conspiracy

2009-10-28T12:59:00.014-04:00

There's a Popeye's at 14th and N. Sometimes, on the walk home from work, I pass it. The smell of deep-fried chicken, flour and fat almost incapacitates me, every time.

I've written about this love of Popeye's before -- it lives on. And while I try to resist, a few weeks ago, Popeye's called my name every so sweetly, with its bright lights and Cajun spices. And I responded. I was gonna have a two piece basket with dirty rice and a biscuit. And there was nothing anyone could do to stop me.

Click the title for the rest

I walked in. It was almost closing time, so staff was milling about, cleaning, putting chairs away. This made the wait for the chicken a bit longer, but I knew it would be worth it. There was another guy there getting his deep-fried fix, too. A middle-aged Black man, well-dressed. I could see him as someone's cool uncle, or a DC city bureaucrat. Something relatively substantial.

Once we both got our food (with extra honey for the biscuits), one of the employees dropped his mop, reached for the key in his oversized apron and unlocked the door from the inside to let us out.

And that's where things turned left.

Happy-uncle/DC-employee-chicken-lover-man stopped me.

"Excuse me, son, can I talk to you?"

I went into defense mode. I'm not at all scared of strangers in DC. I've just had my fill of people you'd never suspect asking you for change, Metro fare, or your attendance at whatever rally/festival/event they're planning. My chicken was getting cold. I was not the one for dawdling.

"Yes?" I replied, with exasperation.

"Did you notice that in there?!"

"No. What?"

"There were NO Black folks working in that Popeye's!"

"Ohhhh…"

"They're exploiting us!"

And the tirade began. To this guy, Popeye's Chicken, frequented SO often by people of the Negroid persuasion, was engaging in criminal behavior by not having a staff that looked just like the customers. And to him, the fact most of the employee's working in that Popeye's that night were Latino made it even worse.

To this guy, it was a conspiracy.

"They're taking our jobs! Pretty soon, we ain't gonna have nothing left!"

I just smiled, nodded and prayed this wouldn't get any worse. Chicken man finally got the message and let me leave. I was shook.

It was like I had just gotten into a run-in with Uncle Ruckus from a bad rerun of The Boondocks.

What was this guy saying?! Arguing for Black folks holding on to low-wage, dead-end jobs with employers that give our communities heart attacks, strokes and diabetes on a regular basis is like an ex-slave railing against abolitionists because they took away his fancy, expensive chains.

And blaming Latinos for taking these jobs is just an argument that tries to make the exploited the exploiters.

In all honesty, I am hard-pressed to recall EVER hearing such coonery in my life. It would make Michael Steele turn over in the casket he sleeps in every night.

For a bit, I thought I had to do something to address this insanity, this modern-day slave mentality. It made me want to get Bill Cosby on the phone with the quickness.

But, when it was all said and done, I just had to laugh about it. Some crazy just needs to be crazy by itself. Some minds refuse to be changed. And not every dumb idea deserves activism.

Ultimately, it's a lesson learned. I should probably stay away from Popeye's. (High-blood pressure is no joke, and I really don't want to see Chicken man ever again.) And I should better understand that for some folks, liberation itself is the enemy. For better or worse, we won't get free until we choose to be.

From The NSABM
(BTW: Posts like these can get lonely. Leave a comment to keep it company.)

In Other News...

2009-10-09T15:54:00.003-04:00

As Obama took to the podium in the White House Rose Garden to accept his Nobel Prize, a visibly intoxicated Kanye West rushed the stage, snatching the mike, proclaiming: “I’mma let you finish Mr. President, but I just gotta say, Bono had one of the best years for peace of all time. OF ALL TIME!”

Being "Authentically" Black

2009-10-08T16:20:00.007-04:00

Yesterday, the New York Times told us that First Lady Michelle Obama has some White ancestry. Michelle's family story, one in which a Black women slave has the children of a white male (usually a slaveholder), is actually a common one. But I'm sure more than a few people heard the news and had to step back and ponder. Wasn't Obama the one with the White in him? Michelle's from the South Side of Chicago!

Reading the story, and some of the follow-up dialogue on the Times website made me think about the way I see my ancestry -- and my Blackness.

Click the title for the rest

I think I'm Black -- really, really black. 110%. Quintessentially, American-ly, slave descendant, Civil Rights marching, negro spiritual and lively church service Black. I never allowed myself to flirt with the idea of a mixed heritage.

I remember having a conversation with a friend in graduate school. His mother is Latina, his father White. We were talking about race, and I told him, rather emphatically, how happy I was to not have any White blood in my body.

Only now do I see how inconsiderate, hateful and delusional that statement was.

But that was the space I occupied at the time. In another situation, having a random, casual conversation with about five or six people about facial characteristics (of all things), a friend told me that I had "White" facial features. I almost left the table. And I stewed about it for days, examining myself in the mirror, squeezing my nostrils together, sucking in my lips, pushing down on my cheek bones.

I've never really tried to process why I feel/felt so strongly about being "authentically" -- purely -- Black. I talk about race often, but usually in the context of how non-Blacks see Blackness. I never really stopped to think about how I see myself.

The Times piece made me start that dialogue. It's definitely not over yet. But I've come to at least one conclusion.

For me, part of maintaining "pure" Blackness meant that I never had to entertain the idea that I, or anyone in my ancestry, ever benefited from White privilege.

It wasn't a way for me to constantly claim victimhood -- it was a way for me to completely disassociate myself from any part of our racialized society that was on the wrong side of the issue. Never could you call me one of the oppressors, or think of me as someone who unfairly benefited from a racial hierarchy in which Blacks were on the bottom of the heap for hundreds of years.

No. I, Sam Sanders, was "pure" Black. I was above the fray. Untainted. Better than.

Clearly that's wrong. I would harshly decry that same mindset in a White person. (And write about it ad infinitum.)

What's even worse than this mindset, (which I'm moving away from), is the visual reality of my own family.

My father was light-skinned. His hair was wavy. It is very likely that a slave master's blood seeped through his veins, and therefore my own. Clinging to my idea of "pure" Blackness wasn't just wrong -- given who my father is, it was a fairy tale.

It's always interesting to see what people hate in others. Often, it's a part of them, too. I saw myself as a crusader against monolithic characterizations of race and denials of its complexity. But when I really thought about it, I realized I was perpetuating mindsets I set out to vanquish.

So, I'm putting it all out there. The craziness of some of my personal beliefs, the internal grappling over these issues, the flaws in my logic. All of it.

Because I think that while I'll probably never have race quite figured out, I will at some point be at peace with it. Enough to clearly see myself through it. Maybe not in the way I imagined, but perhaps in a way better than I thought it could be.

GOP: Grinchy Old Party

2009-09-30T13:10:00.008-04:00

There are some things sacrosanct in US politics. Barbeque, grandmothers, the flag. And the Olympics. They're just things we all agree are good, inviolable, quintessentially American.

Then cometh the Republicans. They've criticized Barack Obama for daring to go to Copenhagen to lobby on behalf of Chicago's bid for the 2016 Olympic Games.

When suggesting that the First Lady should handle the pitch herself, Steele said, "…the goal should be creating not job opportunities seven years from now, but today." Oh, I get it. Because we won't need jobs seven years from now. At all…

Click the title for the rest...

Steele continued. “If [healthcare] is that important, Mr. President, then stay home and get it done.” I doubt he meant that. The GOP has been complaining for months now that our President and that pesky federal government should keep their hands off healthcare. And now, when Obama might have his mind elsewhere, even if only for a few hours, the Republicans feign disgust.

Other heads of state, including Vladimir Putin and Tony Blair, lobbied forcefully -- and successfully -- for the Olympics to come to their backyards. The other contenders for the 2016 games are sending their heads of state and monarchs as well. When Blair was lobbying for the Games, I remember seeing dozens of "London 2012" signs all over the Foggy City during a study abroad trip. Pushing for the Olympics is not only commonplace -- it actually works. As Robert Gibbs retorted, would Steele rather see Madrid get the Olympics?

It's not like our dear Michael is new to this twisted logic This is the guy, who, single-handedly, in one interview, railed against government healthcare while arguing for the preservation of Medicare, while at the same time saying it’s a horrible damaged system, but nevertheless, he was going to protect it, by keeping other people from enjoying the same benefits.

This is the same guy who vociferously declared that race would not at all affect him in is criticism of our first African-American president. And then said Obama was wrong in pushing NY Governor David Paterson to not seek reelection, all because of race. "I found that to be stunning that the White House would send word to one of only two black governors in the country not to run for reelection," said Steele. Like Steele really cares about David, or Black people for that matter. Don't get me started…

But enough about Michael. Other prominent Republicans are doing a good job of turning on the crazy as well. Enter Peggy Noonan. The former Reagan speechwriter, current Wall Street Journal commentator, and newly minted Kennedy School IOP Fellow (SO glad I graduated when I did), said of the President's recent media blitz on Sunday morning talk shows, "I think the media environment allows a modern leader to be something subtly damaging, and that is boorish."

Boorish. Humbly and calmly making your case without yelling and crying is somehow more "boorish," than the party she defends, which supports crackpot claims of kill-Granny death panels, and remains silent when their supporters carry loaded guns to Presidential town halls.

It continues. Jon Kyl, the pro-life, Republican Arizona senator, argued against making maternity care required coverage under health insurance policies, on the grounds that since he didn't need it himself, he shouldn't have to pay for it. The ever-sharp Michigan senator Debbie Stabenow shot back with a well-placed "your mom." That a pro-life Republican would argue against maternity care, which saves the lives of thousands of mothers and children, on the grounds that HE doesn't need it, isn't just sexist -- it's hypocritical.

Ultimately, it seems Republicans will never be satisfied with anything Obama and the Democrats do, and they'll keep using insufficient logic to defend their animosity. Therefore, from this point forward, I will refer to the GOP, collectively, as "The Grinch That Stole The Olympics." I can see the screenplay writing itself now…

Taylor Swift > Rihanna

2009-09-15T16:48:00.014-04:00

I'll be the first to mimic our President's words and call Kanye West a jack@$s for what he did to Taylor Swift at the VMAs Sunday. As a self-proclaimed Kanye West fanatic, (I even began referring to myself as "Kanyo East" in grad school, seriously), I cringed when I saw the tape.

The outcry was harsh, but ultimately deserved, but when compared to the last awards show fiasco America experienced, Rihanna and Chris Brown before the Grammys, the lack of an equally universal condemnation of Chris Brown is troubling.

Click title for the rest...

I know that, for the most part, we all deplored what Brown did to Rihanna. And ultimately, I hope, his career will be ruined because of it. But there was a portion of folks who asked what Rihanna did to deserve it, or whether or not she provoked him, or if she was lying. Sadly, people most likely to say those kinds of things after Chrihanna-gate broke were disproportionately young.

The New York Times' Charles Blow chronicles in detail the alarming figures surrounding America's youth and violence in their romantic relationships. And a Boston Herald survey found that almost half of teens asked felt that Rihanna was to blame for the assault.

In light of these numbers, and the vile stuff I read about Rihanna in various blogs and comment walls after her beating, I kinda feel like we've all gotten more upset by Kanye grabbing Taylor's mic than by Chris Brown almost snatching away Rihanna's life.

Let me be clear, I don't, AT ALL, think this is about race. I will repeat: THIS IS NOT ABOUT RACE. I'm not suggesting that we cared less about Rihanna because she's Black.

I am suggesting we cared less about Rihanna because we still don't care enough about domestic violence. And for some of us, the public embarrassment of Taylor Swift was more important to us, (and maybe less out of the ordinary for us), than what many considered the "private" or "personal" issue of Brown's attack on Rihanna.

We too often in this country make domestic abuse a silent issue. It's "none of our business." We "don't know all that's going on." Etc, etc, etc.

That's wrong. And it's got to stop. Not just for Rihanna, but for the countless number of women, and girls and boys and even men, who are victims of domestic violence every minute.

Just because Rihanna wasn't beat on a VMA stage doesn't make her bruises any less painful, or our ambivalent response any less disgusting. Seeing how we all jumped to Taylor's defense after the Kanye debacle, I know, or at least hope we can do better the next time we see domestic abuse. Whether it be on TV, next door, or even closer to home than we'd like to admit.

Eric Holder, Mojo-Thief

2009-09-08T17:47:00.015-04:00

I keep imagining a strange political scenario. It's got US Attorney General Eric Holder and Barack Obama, dressed to the nines as they always are, huddled in some back room of the White House, exchanging daps and pleasantries.

Motown's playing in the background. And I swear, Obama's smoking a cig.

But all is not well. I'm witnessing a transferal of power. Barack Obama is giving away his mojo, bequeathing his progressive bona fides to Mr. Holder himself.

Since the start of the Obama administration, I've been more and more impressed with Eric Holder, and increasingly disappointed with Barack Obama. Our President has waffled on torture, backed down on a health insurance public option, and kind of forgotten that gay people even exist. He's been quiet on HIV/AIDS and Sudan. And he just Jeremiah-Wright-ed Van Jones.

Holder on the other hand, is investigating the detainee torture of the Bush era. He gave a controversial speech during Black History Month urging America to have an honest discussion about race. He spoke out in favor of an assault weapons ban. He did the right thing in the Ted Stevens case. He's been pretty much unabashed in kicking up dust and setting things straight.

Where Obama's slowly losing his mojo, Holder seems to be hitting his stride.

Yeah, I know that everything Holder does is a part of the Obama administration's agenda, but I still feel like our AG is running rip shod while our Commander in Chief is kinda running scared.

I wonder if this is all pre-meditated. What if Obama knew everything couldn't be as good as the campaign? What if he saw his centrism coming? What if he's living vicariously through his Attorney General?

What if there can only be one Black, amazingly-dressed, gifted, progressive Superman in DC at once?

I don't know, but I sure hope not.

What if the Cop had been a Wise Latina?

2009-07-24T07:47:00.003-04:00

The White Cambridge police officer who arrested renowned Black Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates, Jr. last week used to teach a course for officers called “Racial Profiling” and is a police academy expert on cultural diversity. Seriously…

Seems like the course isn’t working.

Even President Obama acknowledges that the evidence supporting the existence of racial profiling throughout the country is strong, as police forces throughout the nation argue that they are doing their best to combat the practice. But when a diversity coach ends up a primary in the biggest racial profiling case of the last few years, you know something’s not right.

Diversity training isn’t enough to stop profiling. Because teaching diversity to often nearly monolithic police forces is like trying to teach kids how to swim without a pool. The tools aren’t there to support the theory. To say that you can “teach” diversity to law enforcement agencies that overwhelmingly lack that very quality is a sham.

We know that law enforcement agencies in America have historically lacked diversity, even as they serve communities that continue to become majority-minority. And we know that part of the way to combat the subliminal bias that often leads to racial profiling is to hire a force of all shades and have officers who have had several positive interactions with people of color, either on the force or in their personal lives.

What would have happened if the police officer called to Gates’ home were Black, or Latina, or a woman? It’s very likely that subliminal bias affected the Officer Jim Crowley’s interaction with Gates as well as Gates’ interaction with Crowley. The cop saw an angry Black man. Gates saw a racist White, male cop. How much of the situation could have been de-escalated if the cop better reflected the diversity of a changing American landscape?

What’s upsetting is that as we now come realize even more how important diversity is in our law enforcement agencies, particularly our police forces, we’ve seen conservatives argue over the last few weeks, during the Sonia Sotomayor Supreme Court nomination hearings, that efforts of municipalities to make their fire departments more diverse are wrong. Even as a New York judge recently found racial bias in New York Firefighter exams.

Something’s got to give. The Gates story is one all too common, only for most Black males that end up in run-ins with police officers, the end result isn’t primetime news coverage and dropped charges; often it’s a bullet.

The Henry Louis Gates case serves as a reminder to us all. Even in this age of Obama, race still matters. Inequality still exists. And diversity still must be actively pursued. Gates probably summed it up best himself, saying in an interview shortly after his arrest, “The only black people who truly live in a post-racial world in America all live in a very nice house on 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.”

On Wise Latina Judges

2009-07-14T20:46:00.003-04:00

I got to DC Monday. Since unpacking the big yellow moving truck, I’ve been tempted to go down to the Hill and to sneak into the Senate confirmation hearings for potential Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor.

Much has been made of her nomination, particularly some comments she’s made in the past. Some Republicans, Newt, Rush and the like, have taken to calling her racist because of them. The most incendiary comment, at least to that ilk, was Sotomayor’s statement that a wise Latina judge might make a better decision than a White male judge, by virtue of her life experience.

Although articulated crudely, the assertion has some merit under closer inspection. The idea that life experience influences decision-making is definitely one that we all can agree with. And that experiences not that well-represented on the Supreme Court, like those of women, minorities, those who speak English as a second language, etc., should be welcomed there is something I wholeheartedly embrace.

But Senate Republicans have taken to accusing Sotomayor of succumbing to “biases and prejudices” because of her race. In their eyes, her being a Latina means her vision is clouded by pro-immigrant sentiment, angry fist-raising activism, quota-loving White hate, and maybe even a dash of arroz con pollo.

This reasoning is flawed. By questioning Sotomayor’s ability to see the law clearly because of her race, and not questioning other judges, many of them White (and male), these Republicans subtly imply that the only way be inherently unswayed by bias is to be White. To them, if you’re a minority (or a woman), there’s a constant risk that your race or gender will unduly influence you, sway you to be “unfair,” to be an activist instead of an umpire. Ultimately, to them, being a minority means being unable to control our dark, otherworldy passions. Being intellectually inferior and in constant need of supervision.

That type of thought is racist. Not Sotomayor.

All judges are influenced by their backgrounds. John Robert’s privileged life has led him to constantly rule in favor of wealth and corporate interests. Clarence Thomas’s youth as a dark-skinned Black man in a color-conscious South affected him as well. And I’m actually elated that someone like Sotomayor, whose life has been affected by her climb from poverty to the Ivy League, who is an example of minority success, and who happens to be a very wise Latina judge, might make it to the nation's top court.

For the bullies in the Senate who seek to hold up Sotomayor’s confirmation, bias is only there when you’re a minority who doesn’t agree with them. When Senate Republicans play this game: only questioning the intentions of those they don’t agree with, particularly when they’re women of color, the only “bias and prejudice” they put on display is their own.

On Prayer

2009-05-19T12:44:00.002-04:00

I'm praying today. For a job. Not one of those kind, humble, "I'll accept whatever you allow, Lord" kind of prayers, the ones you could easily see in your aunt's living room, stitched on a cute piece of cloth, with praying hands next to the text, in a tiny picture frame, on her bookshelf, which always has more knicknaks on it than books.

No, this is different. Not an ambivalent prayer of reserved hope. No "If I win or if I lose" pretense. I'm desperate. This prayer is blunt. "Lord, I know you hear me. I need this job. For real. Help a brutha out. LET'S DO THIS." This prayer is straight Old Testament.

Back home, in San Antonio, Catholic nuns used to pray for the Spurs to win the NBA Championship. Really. It would be on the news. I'm not quite there yet. No praying for my fellow applicants to miss their flights to DC, or fumble over their words in the interview, or mysteriously lose their voice.

I just need to be better than them.

I've stopped wondering if I'm devout enough to pray. Did I drink too much this week to ask God a favor? Haven't been to church in a while; does that void my entreaty? I've looked upon flat-screen TVs and shiny new MacBooks with lust in my heart. Does this mean my supplications will fall on deaf ears?

I'd like to think they won't. But even if God's grown tired of my prayers, they still help me out. Prayer focuses my requests, letting me know what I really desire. It helps me separate the wants from the needs, winnows the stuff worth fighting for away from the "what the hell were you thinking!" foolishness I often delude myself with. Prayer shames me into working for those true goals myself, because, of course, the Lord helps those who help themselves.

So yes, I'm praying. To God, and in a way, to myself. Not gently, not quietly, without pretense. I'm praying. And waiting to see how it all turns out.

The Change We Voted For

2009-05-16T21:17:00.005-04:00

Barack Obama seems to like making Republicans happy. Over the last few days, he’s agreed to continue Bush-era military tribunals, refused to release photos of detainee abuse by US hands, kept quiet as Nancy Pelosi gets raked over the coals about when or when she didn’t know about US-sanctioned water boarding, and appointed a Republican, the governor of Utah in fact, to be ambassador to China.

These are all things the GOP likes. And seeing Republican pundits praise Obama’s decisions on TV is strange. A few weeks ago, the guy was a socialist. Now he’s exercising sound judgment.

I suppose this falls under Obama’s definition of post-partisan politics. He’s not liberal. He’s not conservative. He’s smart. A pragmatist. Constantly searching for consensus.

That’s admirable. And it helps us all remember that Obama is not just the President of the people who voted for him. But I’m troubled by his slow and steady watering-down of campaign promises.

I could care less about the new China ambassador, or the fate of Nancy Pelosi (she’s quite the fighter; she will survive). I can even understand the rationale to keep the photos under wraps. But these bigger questions of torture and due process deserve better.

Guantanamo was supposed to be closed by now. We were supposed to get to the root of why torture took place, who did it, and ensure it never happened again, even if that meant some prosecutions. We were supposed to welcome in a transparent government, one that wouldn’t just have a 100-days Flickr photo stream, but would be honest about the country all the time, even if that meant the photos in question didn’t show us in our most positive light.

While the presidency is different than a campaign, we’re all kind of expecting Barack Obama to be different than any other President. He’s really intimated that from Day 1.

By voting for “Change,” we thought we were voting for “Better.”

I’m not giving him a big fat fail yet. But I want him to go back and look at his speech he made the day he announced his run for the Presidency or his words when he denounced the Iraq war, or his performances during the Presidential debates. That Barack Obama seemed more resolute. In how he saw the world, in what was right and wrong, in his duty to bring integrity back to the White House.

That’s what I voted for. And that’s what I want.

On Oprah

2009-05-07T23:50:00.003-04:00

Oprah’s hocking KFC. And I’m not sure how I feel about it.

I got an e-mail from my Aunt Betty this week, and I was one of multiple recipients. The message contained details and a link to a coupon for KFC chicken, downloadable only from Oprah’s website and available only for a day.

I was amused and slightly ashamed upon seeing the note. That my aunt took some KFC that seriously humored me. That my family and I were in anyway perpetuating a stereotype, (you know: Black folks and fried chicken), left me a bit ambivalent about the whole experience.

Luckily, the chicken was grilled. And after telling this story to several friends at school, I found out I was not the only one on the receiving end of an Oprah’s favorite edible things e-mail.

The fun didn’t stop there, though. Today at my internship, I pulled sound clips of Oprah’s interview with Elizabeth Edwards, wife of disgraced cheater and former Presidential candidate John Edwards. It was an awkward discussion, with Oprah at one point pressing Elizabeth on whether or not the mistresses’ baby was John’s, and Elizabeth responding that the baby didn’t look like her others. It was all a little too Lil’ John for me.

So, Oprah, in light of these two events, I have to ask you: What the HELL is going on? You’re selling KFC on air and asking folks whose baby it is, Maury Povich style. When did Harpo productions get hood?

I’m just sayin. A few weeks ago you were on your show with home footage telling viewers your hair ain’t a weave. Seriously. I’m shaking my head.

Let’s get right, Ms. O. You just helped elect a President. You’re a billionaire. You own lots and lots and lots of stuff. I want to love you. Really I do. And if I’ll allow anyone to test the bounds of Blackness, hood-ness and a lot of other things, it’s you. But all this tomfoolery gets a big, resounding “NO.”

Go make another movie. Start another book club. Get someone else elected. But please, no more chicken, hair weaves and baby-mama drama. We love you, so we owe you this intervention.

Dick Cheney is a gangsta rapper

2009-03-25T02:18:00.002-04:00

Dick Cheney is a gangsta rapper. Because he’s beefing.

Beefing (from urbandictionary.com)- Disputatious or holding malice against someone. Ja Rule and 50 Cent have been beefing over b#l!$h*t.

Yes. Beefing. For years, it was just what rappers did. 50 Cent is famous for it. Picking petty fights with other rappers, like Ja Rule or Fat Joe, to boost his album sales. Threatening to retire from rap if Kanye West outsold him in their first week in stores. (Kanye won, and we still have to tolerate Mr. Five-Dime.)

Yes. Beefing. Dick Cheney does it, too. You’ve seen him on TV over the last few weeks, with that Mr. Burns smirk, that slightly senile death-rasp, that shiny dome reminiscent of the maniacal rat character from Animaniacs (The Brain, from “Pinky and the Brain”).

Mr. Cheney is back. And he’s angry. According to him, Obama and Co. are ruining America, handing it over to the terrorists, practically letting Osama Bin Laden into your children’s bedrooms at night. He’s starting stuff with the new C-in-C. He’s beefing. But instead of trying to up his numbers, he’s trying to create a legacy.

Little does he know that this method seldom works. 50 Cent’s best sales weren’t generated through feuding, but when everyone was enamored with the fact he was shot nine times. The biggest beef of the last decade, between Nas and Jay-Z, was squashed. 50 and Kanye, who were at loggerheads, now respect each other’s work. Beefing is so five years ago…

But I doubt Dick Cheney cares. Unlike the publicity-driven beef of the hip-hop world, I think Dick really means it. Hip-hop beef is for show. Dick, on the other hand, is a real OG. I mean, this is the guy who shot someone in the face, with a hunting rifle, and then had the victim apologize, for getting shot.

Yeah. Dick Cheney. A true thug. Beefing with the best of them. But instead of boosting his legacy, his equivalent of amazing first week Billboard numbers, he just seems petty. Right now, the biggest beef in the hip-hop world is between Souljah Boy and (Lil) Bow Wow. That says something; small, irrelevant caricatures of people employ these tactics.

Nevertheless, it’s fun to watch. Whether you love or hate him, Dick Cheney is American politics’ best mad rapper. ODB meets Eminem, topped off with a little of Snoop Dogg’s whisper-soft flow. Wrong in every way, but immensely entertaining.

So, keep it up Mr. Cheney. Someone’s listening. Actually, I am. And I almost admire your thug swagger. Your indefatigable irrationality is officially gangsta. But just like I’d never buy a 50 Cent record, I’ll never really take you seriously. Beefing is old news, and Dick, you are, too.

We Forgave Each Other Quietly

2009-03-11T11:19:00.001-04:00

We forgave each other quietly. The din of all our feuding forgotten. While death exacerbates family strife, illness of loved ones makes kinfolk forget why they ever fought.

Our aunt was sick, and he saved her. Her two closest relatives, my brother Ruben and I were there for her, but he much more than I. She had a stroke and he got her to the hospital, signed all of he paperwork, sat with her as she slept. If he weren’t there, she would have died.

After it happened, I called him. I was nervous. We were approaching seven years of silence. I didn’t know if he would answer. Or if I would even stay on the phone long enough for it to ring.

It did. He picked up. I asked, “How’s Alta?” and we spoke about her, her health, her life. Not us, or our petty differences, or the grudges we still held onto.

When I made it back home, I saw him. I was waiting in our Aunt’s room. She was sleeping and her calmness covered the hospital room, the slow beep of the machinery a metronome to all the music playing in my head.

And then he walked in. My brother. I stood. He smiled. We shook hands and spoke as if the last seven years never happened. That’s how it was for my next few days in Texas. Forgiveness through willful forgetting.

Days later, as he drove me to the airport to return to school, we reached the full scale of our reconciliation. Riffing on politics, Rush Limbaugh and toll roads and earmarks, we allowed the wackiness of current events to push aside the dysfunction in our own relationship. Strangely, the sin of modern politics helped us wash away the transgressions of our past.

And as we approached the airport, I realized all was made right. No need for a tearful ceremony, or a loud, showy celebration. No big bang of absolution. Neither of use ever needed to say, “I’m sorry.” Our reunion was a slow, paced evolution.

I left that morning at peace. I had my brother back. Our family was restored. We forgave each other quietly. And that was enough.

One post away

2009-02-27T19:40:00.000-05:00

I’m in Atlanta. On a layover. Headed to Texas. A family member is in the hospital. Another was hospitalized last month. It’s been a sad time for my family. I really don’t want to think about the hard choices we’ll have to make once we all assess the weight of what’s been happening.

Needless to say, it was not a fun travel day. Seeing the reunions of healthy, able-bodied families in the terminals. Watching children run down aisles without a care, without even knowing how blessed they are to have their health. Wondering if anybody else was having a bad day like me. No fun at all.

Of course, as most people my age, the first thing I did, upon leaving the plane and beginning my wait for the next, was hop online. The fee was worth it. I needed to connect. I checked my g-mail and then logged on to Facebook. Seeing that I had received an FB wall post on my iPhone before leaving Boston cheered me up, and seeing my network in Atlanta is doing more of the same. I got a poke. Someone invited me to a group. Then a friend chatted with me. For a bit, I forgot to be sad.

That’s the beauty of Facebook, and a host of other social media. The warmth of an online embrace. The weight of a Facebook friend’s hand on your e-shoulder, or at least their finger in your side as they poke you. It’s refreshing. It’s quietly beautiful. It’s necessary.

So, thanks Facebook, and g-chat and every other bit of social networking my friends use to cheer me up, even when they don’t know I’m sad. I smiled after logging on. And as sad, or needy as it sounds, I’m officially one wall post away from having a great day.

Grammys, We’re just not that into you

2009-02-10T11:00:00.003-05:00

I blocked out 3+ hours of time. Left the library early. Grabbed dinner and plopped down in front of the TV. Put homework and e-mails aside. To watch the Grammys. I was excited. MIA might go into labor on stage. Lil Wayne might actually show up for a scheduled performance. I might finally start to understand all the fuss about Allison Kraus and Robert Plant’s album. I was hyped.

Then the show started. I knew it was going badly when Justin Timberlake tried outsinging Al Green on “Let’s Stay Together.” Al Green is a legend. JT is a pop star with newly found Black super-friends, as Toure put it. Justin Timberlake, you just can’t do the soul-yelp. It won’t work.

Then I realized that Boyz II Men was forced to sing BACKUP. By the time the Jonas Brothers were onstage with Stevie Wonder, all hope was gone. The Grammys had gone the route of cheesy collabo, often of the Ebony and Ivory variety. Unless you were Kid Rock, in which case you got the stage all to yourself, and had a whole three or four minutes to convince America that you actually had some modicum of talent. (Note to Kid Rock: you don’t).

To make matters worse, the awards were given away all nilly-willy. J-Hud, I love you, and I feel for you. But there’s no way you had the best R&B album of the past year. Al Green and Raphael Saadiq made two stellar throwback classics. Your CD had potential, but it wasn’t visionary, or even that cohesive.

Coldplay robbed Jason Mraz for song of the year. MIA’s “Paper Planes” should have gotten a lot more Grammy love. And Jazmine Sullivan would so beat Adele, best new artist winner, in a sing-off.

Whatevs. The Grammys have become a kind of glorified American Music Awards. No critical credibility, just an excuse to watch a night full of really rando performances.

At least I got to see Whitney Houston, back in all of her strange, damn-Bobby-messed-me-up glory. Without singing a note, she had more excitement in her strangely-placed salute to Clive Davis than most of the performers that night, especially Kanye and Estelle in their electric-tin-foil getups, and Katy Perry with her “I think I’m relevant, really” swag.

Grammys 09. You let me down. And took three hours of my life, that I’ll never, ever get back. I want to hate you, but part of watching a trainwreck is blaming yourself for continuing to watch, not the trainwreck for being the horrible mess that it is.

Dear Procrastination

2009-02-02T02:57:00.000-05:00

Dear Procrastination,

It’s hard to write this. We’ve been such good friends for so long; I never saw myself sending you a break-up note. Of course I could only write; telling you in person would be impossible as you’d just keep putting off a face-to-face meeting. You’re so good at avoiding things…

But, to the point, we’re over. You’re wreaking havoc on my sleep routine. I let Politico.com, the special post-Super Bowl “Office” episode and random musings about my roommate’s age (he turned 40 today), keep me from important work, because of you. It’s now 2:35 AM, and my to-do list is only halfway checked through. That I’m writing this instead of doing homework is a testament to your power.

Over the years, you’ve convinced me that all of my shoes had to be polished before I started on my last term paper of undergrad, even my Crocs. You told me to just mail the credit card payment the next day—my FICO score thanks you for that. You said oil changes are something you get to when you feel like it. They’re really not…

Yeah. You kinda had it out for me.

I like you. Really I do. You give me bragging rights. I can go to school and boast about the all-nighter I just pulled, how many Red Bulls I ran through, how tortuous staying up that long was. You give me an air of flippant defiance, reckless bravado, unconcerned machismo.

But I’m leaving you. Not in an Oprah-Steadman, “the-relationship-is-over-but-we-still-live-together” kind of way, but really leaving you. Tina and Ike leaving. Jesse McCartney hit-single leaving. George Bush on January, 20th 2009 leaving.

Goodbye Procrastination. Good. Bye.

I’d tell you to go to Hell, but you’d just find some way to avoid the trip.

Because I Have To Write Something

2009-01-26T00:29:00.000-05:00

I need to write something. It’s been a month since I’ve posted. In that month, I’ve taken a class that has made me cry. I got a new roommate. And my President is now Black. Here are my top five observations of the last month, well really the last week, Inaug Style:

1. Fur coats are not dead! The inauguration proved it. I have never seen so many full-length minks with matching hats in my life. Not even in your worst Blaxploitation film. Who would have known that church ladies were so pimpin…

2. DC is quite possibly the best city ever. Ben’s Chili Bowl, beautiful subway stops with the clock telling you how long you have to wait, and snow that doesn’t stick to the ground. I’m in love.

3. Rick Warren is creepy. Why did he say Malia and Sasha’s name with such gusto???

4. Will.I.Am makes earworms. I can’t get “It’s a New Day” out of my head. Well, that and U2’s “City of Blinding Lights.”

5. Aretha is wrong for that hat. Yes she is. I don’t care about the "legend" status. If the hat was the bow, and she were the present, she’d have to be returned. I’m in need of one Inauguration-vocalist gift receipt…

My new year's resolution is to write more than one post a week. Stay tuned!

My Top 5 Albums of 2008

2008-12-31T11:06:00.000-05:00

Please comment freely. And don't hate me because I broke the rules. Erykah Badu made my top album AND top singles list. That's ok, though. She IS Erykah Badu...

1. Al Green – “Lay It Down”

Remember when you were a kid and you’d wake up late at night, walk outside your door, and see your parents secretly slow-dancing to one of their favorite old school records? This is that record. I can’t say enough about this CD. I usually find myself bored with old-school R&B, but Al Green’s throwback-swag on this disc is timeless AND current. I absolutely love it. His voice has never sounded better. Questlove and James Poyser’s production is subdued and beautifully layered. Anthony Hamilton, Corrine Bailey Rae and John Legend are great additions. I first heard tracks from this album at a block party in the New Orleans neighborhood I worked for this summer. The amazing R&B, REAL R&B, matched with the images of beautiful people of all shapes, ages, sizes and colors dancing, eating, laughing and singing brought a tear to my eye. Good music animates the best moments of our lives, brings joy to our timeless traditions, and enriches our bonds with those we love. This is good music. Good, happy, beautiful soul music.

2. Robyn – “Robyn”

This is the album Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Beyonce or Rihanna would make if they were real artists, unafraid to take risks, unconsumed by image and convention. But they’re scared. Robyn’s not, thank goodness. This is Euro-pop with a heart, dance music with a brain. I could listen to every song on this disc 10 times in a row, every day. I’ve played “Robyn” more than I’d like to admit and every listen makes me admire her even more. On one track she’ll sound like Fergie (with actual skill), and then she’ll remind me of Garbage and Shirley Manson. My favorite track though, is the Janet Jackson, “If” era “Eclipse.” The haunting, sparse, distorted production and Robyn’s weak, vulnerable voice capture the very essence of Robyn. Delicate and ballsy, all at the same time. Go Robyn.

3. Q-Tip – “The Renaissance”

“What good is an ear if a Q-Tip isn’t in it?” Truer words may have never been spoken. This is my favorite rap CD of the year. It’s cosmically brilliant, with introspective lyrics, Q-Tips unstoppable, underrated flow and a cohesive vision. That Q produced every track except one further confirms his genius. A few of the songs are forgettable, or annoying, like “Won’t Trade” and “Good Thing,” but the sheer awesomeness of tracks like “I Believe (with D’Angelo!!!),” “Gettin’ Up,” and “Shaka,” and really EVERY other track on the CD make up for it. Q-Tip has always been one of my faves. I remember banging “Amplified” on the school bus for like a year back in high school. And I still play “Vivrant Thing” at every party I throw. Why? Because Q-Tip’s the man. A statesman of the rap game. A seasoned pro. The realness. And he just keeps getting better.

4. Raphael Saadiq – The Way I See It

In case you forgot how great of a producer Rapheal Saadiq is, pick up “The Way I See It” and prepare to be amazed. How he managed to make a CD that sounds like a Civil Rights movement documentary without sounding derivative or forced astounds me. On my 20th consecutive listen of “100 Yard Dash,” it all began to make sense. Old-School is the new New-School. Throwback is so hot right now. And Rapheal is the leader of the movement. His cornball, akward voice fits so well over these tracks you feel like you’re in a Motown or Stax studio every time you hear it. Cadillac Records ain’t got nothin’ on this… This was my feel good CD of the year. Well, this one AND “Lay It Down.” Almost makes me forgive Raphael for breaking up Tony, Toni, Tone.

5. Erykah Badu – “New Amerykah, Pt. 1 (4th World War)

If “Children of Men” had a hip-hop soundtrack, this would be it. This disc is grimy, dark, rough around the edges, at times menacing. It’s the album you play when you get tired of all the glossiness on the radio, all the Auto-Tune and slick production. This is the CD youplay when you want to keep it real. Erykah’s lyrics bare her soul on this CD, and the beats have never fitted her personality and words so well. A truly awe-inspiring disc. I almost put Santogold or Kanye above this one, but then I heard “The Healer,” and had to quit trippin. Hip-hop’s not dead. It just slowly became R&B.

Honorable Mentions –

N.E.R.D. – “Seeing Sounds”
Mindless lyrics, but the best hip-hop/rock/pop hybrid beats The Neptunes could muster. Which is good enough for me.

Kanye West – “808s and Heartbreaks”
I wanted to have this in my Top 5. Really I did. But I realized that if I did, I’d only be doing it because he’s Kanye West. This was an amazing album, visionary and groundbreaking, but Ye was lazy with this one. I’m not mad at the out-there-ness of the tracks. I’m mad at the unfinished nature of them. The beats on “Graduation” were great not just because they were awesome samples, hooks and tracks, but because the production was so tight, polished, and finished. 808s feels rushed, not seamless. It’s a concept album, and a really good one at that. But even concepts deserve their fair share of due diligence.. Still a great product, just too unfinished to be in the top 5. Better luck next time, Mr. West.

My Top 20 Singles of the Year

2008-12-27T20:53:00.000-05:00

Sam’s Top 20 Singles of the Year – In No Particular Order

-Kings of Leon – “Use Somebody”
The lead singer’s voice sounds like barbequed cheese grits, topped with cracklin gravy and homemade chili. Top his Southern gravely goodness with U2 style guitar rock and you end up with something resembling deep-fried Dixie Coldplay. A sumptuous, greasy eargasm.
-Usher ft. Young Jeezy – “Love In This Club”
Usher’s best song. EVER. Hands down. Syurpy techno synths wrap themselves around the cheapest, tawdriest lyrics you’ve ever been proud to dance to. Usher sings us into a frenzy offering ladies the chance to do it on the bar. Jeezy says it going down on aisle three and you’re grinding to all of this with no shame. Pop’s never been this freaky. And Usher’s never been this good.
-M.I.A. – “Paper Planes”
Abrasive, in your face production. A hook that includes simulated gunshots. MIA’s teenage-ish delinquent voice. It’s got to be winner. 3rd world democracy sure sounds good.
-Lil’ Wayne – “A Milli”
The most remixed song in hip-hop history, allegedly. A beat so simple as to make it genius. Lyrics so abstract some are calling Wayne the newest dada artist. The song you love but don’t know why. My favorite rap track of the year. Lil’ Wayne is an f-ing genius.
-Estelle ft. Kanye West – “American Boy”
I have a problem with Kanye West saying he produced this track when he totally ripped it from Will.I.Am. This song is “Impatient,” just slowed down and with Estelle’s vocals. Which works very well. Everything about it is flirty and light. It’s sexy in the way summer dresses and orchids are. And Estelle reminds me of Lauryn Hill.
-T.I. and Jay-Z ft. Kanye West and Lil’ Wayne – “Swagga Like Us”
This track reaffirmed my belief in Kanye’s production and Jay-Z’s amazing hit-making capability. “Hooo-u-va-uh-uh” made this song a hit. Admit it. And does anyone know what Jay says after that? “Dippin, dippin rovers, sipping, sipping soda??”
-MGMT- Electric Feel
One of the underground bands of the year, MGMT is a rock band with a soul. This track is lazy and lush, the vocals flippant in their delivery. It’s like David Bowie and Mick Jagger made babies and those babies made the best indie song of the year.
-Sam Sparrow – “Black and Gold”
This song made me think more than any other this year. If you listen closely to the lyrics, it’s all about the existence of God. Sparrow sings of creation, and evolution. The stars and night sky are the “Black and Gold” of the title. Sparrow says, “If you’re not even here, I don’t wanna be either. I wanna be next to you. Black and Gold, Black and Gold, Black and Gold…” That’s some deep stuff. I heard this song and then I prayed. Seriously.
-Young Jeezy ft. Kanye West – “Put On”
Every year needs a rep-your-city song, and this one was it. A sinister beat, with Jeezy’s unmistakable radio-friendly flow, and our first introduction to Auto-Tuned Kanye. I saw this performed by West live this summer in New Orleans, and witnessed how much stadium status this song has. Hip-hop’s the new rock. “Put On” is evidence.
-Erykah Badu – “Honey”
Why hadn’t 9th Wonder and Erykah Badu worked together before this song? Their retro production with her New Soul is the perfect combination. The album’s good too. Neo-soul’s making a comeback. Although we’re still waiting on D’Angelo to rise from the dead…
-Noel Gourdin – “The River”
“The River” reminds me of family reunions and long church services. It’s one of those songs that makes you happy. About being from the South. About being Black. About memories. Until D’Angelo makes his return, this will tide me over.
-Coldplay – “Lovers in Japan”
I’m always a fanatic about at least one song from every Coldplay album. Previously, it was “Trouble,” “God Put A Smile Upon Your Face,” and “Fix You.” “Lovers in Japan” is my obligatory I-heart-Coldplay single for this CD. It always happens, without fail…
-Rihanna – “Take A Bow”
One day Rihanna and Beyonce will engage in a battle royale. And Rihanna will win. Not because she’s the best performer or vocalist. But because she (and the team of producers and songwriters behind her) make hits. “Take a Bow” is a hit. Ne-Yo’s lyrics are corny yet endearing. The Stargate beat is familiar and warm, even if it sounds a bit empty. I sometimes wonder if Rihanna sold her soul to every radio station in the country. She sweats hits, breathes them, craps them. I’m very impressed.
-Solange – “Sand Castle Disco”
The lyrics suck. The video’s corny. But for some reason I like it. I NEVER thought Solange would make one of my year end lists. Never as long as I live. But I have a thing for throwback tracks. And doo-wop vocals. So I just couldn’t say no.
-Lloyd & Lil’ Wayne – “Girls Around the World”
I’m utterly convinced that Lil’ Wayne would make a song with Tom Jones if asked. “Girls Around the World” has to be the 5,000th song the little troll’s been featured on. I have to give it to him, he picked well. Lloyd’s roachy voice actually sounds good this time, and the beat is killer. It almost makes me forgive him for that Omarion baby hair.
-Young Jeezy ft. Nas – “My President (Is Black)”
This single makes the cut, for obvious reasons. Obama y’all
-T.I. ft. Rihanna – “Live Your Life”
Let’s face it, no one’s listening to this song because of T.I. I said it once and I’ll say it again: Rihanna makes hits! Ay-ay, Ay-ay, Ay-ay
-Beyonce- “Single Ladies”
When I first heard this song, I thought it was just “Get Me Bodied” part II. I thought it would get no airplay and expected “If I Were a Boy” to be the big single. Then I saw the Single Ladies video, and the hundreds of knock-offs on You-Tube. And then I realized Bey created a movement, singing a song only she could. You hear this one and you know only she could do it. Making a track this sparse a hit takes skill. And making my roommate learn the dance is the sign of a true talent. All bow at the temple of Be-Yahweh. Jay, thanks for putting a ring on it.
-Vampire Weekend- “Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa”
These guys are the Strokes of 2008. Critical darlings, with sparse album sales to show for it. Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa is unlike anything I’ve heard in the last 5 years. African pop mashed up with preppy school-boy vocals. Cutesy chords with Rugrats-style keyboards. Shout-outs to United Colors of Benetton. Quite possibly the most avant-garde single on my list this year.
-Jason Mraz- “I’m Yours”
One of the best songwriters of this generation. Without a hit album to his name. It’s a shame. Songs like “I’m Yours” are the ones you take road trips to, or play at the end of really good romantic comedies, or hear played as the first dance at a wedding. It’s a song that you AND your parents can love, that a capella groups will be covering for decades. I heart Jason Mraz.

(Note: Songs from my top 5 albums of the year can't make my top singles list. So don't think I've totally forgotten about Q-Tip, Robyn and others. The album list is coming soon.)

Am I Not My Hair?

2008-12-19T21:12:00.000-05:00

Haircuts are a serious thing. I get one about every two to three weeks. Barbershops are secular churches, pit stops on our journeys through life. For a lot of us, in any given year, we end up in barber’s chairs more than places of worship.

My haircuts define me in some ways. My low-cut Caesar is conventional, non-threatening. Although not like clockwork, the intervals between my cuts are pretty similar, showing how I live my life—on a central rhythm, but not bound to it.

I tried to grow my hair out a bit this summer, after a breakup. I couldn’t hack it; it just wasn’t me. And even through this defiant phase, I was still in the barber’s chair every week or so, getting an edge-up, keeping my rebellion well coifed.

When I think of the people I admire, I realize their haircuts define them as well. Kanye West, for his first two albums, had a straightforward cut, the same you’d see on just about 80% of Black men his age throughout the country. Especially during his College Dropout days, when he was still a hip-hop everyman, his hair showed us just how much like us he was. And that’s what he was going for at that time. The ambivalent youth, chasing fame instead of degrees, mocking his own conspicuous consumption, speaking to issues we all could relate to, like family, dreams of wealth, feelings of inadequacy. The College Dropout was everybody’s banger, and Kanye’s haircut was a visual embodiment of this universality.

By the time 808s and Heartbreak was released earlier this year, though, things had changed. West’s hair became unkempt, avant garde. He had stopped the obligatory edging-up every two weeks. He had changed. No longer like us, the hair, just like the album, highlighted the general screw-you attitude present in his work. Forget going to a barber, this guy had some real stuff on his plate. Death, breakups, and more were embodied in a cut that was sad and dissident at the same time, just like the new album.

Barack Obama’s hair tells you who he is, too. The traditional Caesar, no overly sharp edges, no lines, I don’t even think he tapers up the back. And his edge-up schedule is impeccable. He’s probably in a barber’s chair once a week. This is classic Barack—trying hard to be palatable, with a haircut no one can say a bad thing about, paying so much attention to detail as to keep it lined up incessantly. The haircut is soothingly innocuous and detailed to a tee—that’s Barack Obama.

During the presidential campaign, Hillary Clinton kept a tight cut, no free flowing curls or wisps of blond tendrils around her neck. Her cut was serious, and it never, ever changed. It was what she was going for: strength, steadiness, and a bit of masculinity. After she left the campaign, she grew it out a little, and in the relaxed style, you finally saw Hillary exhale. As she grew into her hair, she came into her own.

What about Blagojevich? The crooked governor selling Senate spots like seats at a charity fundraiser. His hair scares me. I feel he doesn’t go to a barber at all. And the dye-job’s horrendous. This too, reveals a bit of Blago. Any man who can’t consult a decent barber is one who refuses to heed good advice. And anyone who would rock that do is clearly very out of touch. A man without a good barber might be a man without a soul.

Youth

2008-12-16T13:21:00.000-05:00

I’m kind of a slob. I might not look like it outside of my apartment, as I tend to dress neatly. But I am.

My apartment’s a wreck. My roommate’s not the cleanest either, so it’s doubly bad. The deal is he takes out the garbage and I wash the dishes. He finally took out the trash, which took at least half an hour. I in turn, had to empty the sink.

There were so many dishes, in and around the kitchen, and strewn throughout the house, I decided to innovate. I thoroughly scrubbed down the bathtub with enough chemicals to slough off the skin inside your nostrils and washed the dishes there, yes, in the tub. I wanted every single dish to soak in hot, soapy water, for a LONG time, and the kitchen sink just wasn’t big enough.

An hour later, the dishes were clean, as was the bathtub, and I had a new story to tell.

I’ll probably never do this again. Next year, I’ll have a real job, a roommate who’s actually a working professional (no offense, Aasim), and I’ll have to maintain a modicum of adult-ness.

But for now, I’ll relish in my youth and all its carefree ways. I like being young, being a student, being unfettered, impulsive, silly. I can still act goofy on Facebook and get away with it. I answer to nothing but my academic deadlines and my ever-pressing social responsibilities. The only person I absolutely have to call is my mother. The only thing I absolutely have to do is take a final or write a paper every now and again.

I’m free. Cause I’m 24. And American youth culture is increasingly defined by people my age, twenty-somethings, putting off adulthood for as long as they possible can. It makes folks like me go to grad school instead of getting a job. Or just stay home with their parents. Or at least keep asking them for money. Or make life just like undergrad for as long as humanly possible.

I like this life. But it ends come graduation. And I guess I’m ready for it. I already know how to innovate. Anyone with the ingenuity to make a bathtub a kitchen sink can make it in the real world. With a little help from Mom, and a never-ending over-dependence on Facebook, I will grow up. And I’ll even get an apartment with a dishwasher one day.

A Retraction of Sorts...

2008-12-16T01:16:00.000-05:00

I had a rough time deciding to post my last entry, "Bonobos and Barack." I knew it would be inflammatory. And I even questioned some of the logic it presented in hindsight.

I think the sentiment I was trying to convey could have been better expressed with an example other than Bonobos. Although I still feel that a certain "watering-down" of Black culture took place in this election, I don't think that Bonobos had anything to do with it, or should in any way be associated with it.

That being said, I think the previous post outlines the rather rudimentary conception of race I hold. One of the biggest developments of the 2008 election was its upending of traditional notions of race (and gender). So, by even declaring a watering-down of Black culture, am I in fact just pointing out how outdated my views of Black culture really are?

Who knows? I go back and forth on this one often. But in even examining myself, and what kind of pants I wear, I'm not that "traditionally" Black either, if we're talking Fubu, Sean John and Mark Ecko. Today, I wore some Aldo driving shoes, Guess fitted jeans, a Polo oxford button up, Banana Republic sweater and brown courdory BR blazer. That's pretty vanilla (or "white-bread") to some.

Ultimately, it's difficult to balance some of the things we see as intrinsic to Black culture without seeming sterotypical and closeminded. The same desire to hold on to this percieved Black culture makes me celebrate soul food, Gospel music and so much more, but also keeps me from seeing that Bonobos can be worn by Blacks and Whites alike, that this "watering-down" I complain of might just be a true reflection of the diversity of the Black experience, and that no race needs race police.

So, I'm over it. I am not the singular defender of "Black" culture. Neither am I the determinant of what makes a clothing brand "vanilla" or not. Matter of fact, I pledge that my next 5 posts won't talk about the 08 election OR its aftermath. They'll actually be happy, irreverent, quirky, off-color gems of Sam-ness.

I'm sure that's what you all have wanted anyway...

Bonobos and Barack

2008-12-12T00:16:00.000-05:00

Bonobos.com, makers of "awesome fitting trousers," most of which cost well over $100, have a pant they call the Obama. That got me to thinking…

Had Bonobos, a brand that seems pretty White-bread, embraced a bit of Black culture by naming one of their pants after our nation's first Black President? Or did it all just mean that Barack had become White-bread enough to fit in to Bonobo's marketing strategy?

I tend to agree with the latter. Throughout this election, I've been struck with this gnawing feeling that Blackness itself hasn't been welcomed into the mainstream this election. Rather, a certain kind of innocuous Blackness has had to convince the mainstream it's worth inclusion.

To me, Barack Obama's election doesn't mean that everyone now wants to be Black. It actually signifies that much of America now thinks everyone, including Black folks, have the potential to be White.

It feels like only one side's been doing all of the work. Black culture underwent a sort of makeover, and a larger American culture got to sit on a judges panel at the end of it all and spare us from elimination.

I don't mean this for every non-Black person in America. Countless friends, and youth across America have allowed this election to be transformational for them, to change the way they see race and Blackness in America. I honestly believe that most of America has allowed this election to challenge some deep-seated stereotypes and move them forward on race relations. But for many folks, Barack remains an exception to a culture they still aren't comfortable with.

Here's my theory. A little less than half of the country would never vote for a Democrat, and a small fraction of those would never vote for a Black man. (Some of these folks who would never vote for a Black man could be Democrats as well) Another portion of the country would only vote for the Democrat, and for a lot of them the fact that he was Black was an extra treat, its symbolism was historic, and it made them feel good about themselves to see that they were part of such a needed change in America's troubled racial history.

Then there's the sliver of Americans left, who were undecided. Who Barack Obama fought mercilessly for in the general election. To some of them, Barack's race was a liability. Unchecked, his Blackness was unknown, perhaps even threatening. It was for these voters Barack had a convention video that almost screamed, "LOOK! I was raised by White people." It was for these voters the media kept stressing the fact that Barack went to Harvard, trying their hardest to prove that a Black man was actually smart enough to run the country. It was for these voters Oprah told Diddy and Jay-Z to quiet down, even skip the inauguration, because their association with Barack would hurt his chances with these mainstream voters.

That's what worries me. Instead of asking America to embrace Blackness in all of its many-splendored glory, we spent this election trying to convince that little sliver of America how vanilla we could really be.

It's not that I'm mad about it. I know it had to be that way. Michelle Obama could have never rocked an Afro. Barack could have never marched with Al Sharpton over the Sean Bell tragedy.

Part of any election is convincing the mainstream that you're totally harmless. But I'm extra sensitive to this tradition this time around, because my race comes into play. And at the end of the day, I want America to know that this transformational election might have ultimately been more transformative for Black people than for the cautious mainstream we struggled so hard to convince.

Maybe that much hasn't changed. If most of suburbia stills feels weirded out at the prospect of their sons and daughters having an interracial romance, or having a Black family move in across the street, we might not have come as far as we'd hoped. If social networks haven't changed, if new discussions haven't started, if old norms haven't been shattered, we still have work to do.

And if countless non-Black voters have ended this election with no new Black friends, and an election night party full of only Bonobos wearers, we have a long way to go.

Transcendance

2008-12-02T14:18:00.000-05:00

As this monumental year ends, pundits are rushing to name the political story of the year. I’m sure some will say that story was the end of identity politics, signified by the rise of Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton. To many, their success signifies the conclusion of race and gender as limiting factors in American politics. Their making it means that group-based, identity politics are no longer relevant, or at least not as relevant as they used to be. America is finally accepting that minorities and women can represent all of America, just as competently and thoroughly as White men.

It’s such a happy ending, isn’t it? But upon further examination, the Obama and Clinton sagas don’t at all signify the end of race and gender politics. In fact, they might represent its resurgence, although in a manner different than before.

More than in any other election, race and gender have been major topics of discussion. New norms were set, new discussions held. We analyzed, almost incessantly, what Barack’s race and Hillary’s gender meant to their candidacies. We discussed what these historic milestones meant for the country, who would or wouldn’t vote for whom based on the candidates’ gender or skin color. Media outlets diversified their staffs and punditries to ensure that coverage of this new political landscape at least seemed more representative. Voters were asked repeatedly if they felt comfortable voting for someone who’s Black, or a woman. Race and gender mattered in this election.

If race and gender didn’t matter, Barack’s Philadelphia address wouldn’t have been such a hit, or even needed at all. Hillary’s campaign wouldn’t have been bolstered in its final months by her energized feminist support. If race didn’t mater, Barack’s victory wouldn’t have been the euphoric lovefest the media has made it. If gender didn’t mater, Hillary Clinton wouldn’t have formed a sisterhood of traveling pants suits. Barack wouldn’t have summoned the ethos of Martin Luther King as much as he did. This entire election wouldn’t have been as big a deal as it was.

Race and gender mattered in this election. And that’s ok. Because it increased Black voter turnout by incredible margins. Because it reenergized a new wave of feminism. Because it started so many needed discussion on race, gender and representation.

It’s ok, because instead of dividing us further as it sometimes has in the past, race and gender reinstated themselves into the public square in a way that they haven’t before. Now, we haven’t gotten past race and gender, but we’re starting to make our peace with it.

The goal should have never been to totally forget about race and gender, but to be ok with it. Not to ignore it, but to refuse to let it limit us, and the political choices we make. I think we’re getting to that point. To the place where race and gender aren’t invisible (they can’t be), but manageable. Where those issues haven’t completely gone away, but where we can understand them more completely. We always see race and gender; the point is to ultimately see past it.

As Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama held their national security press conference yesterday, I felt as if we had come closer to that goal. We saw our new generation of American leadership not as tokens, but as the best and brightest in their fields, and who happened to be a woman and a Black man. We saw their Blackness, their womanhood, and it no longer alarmed us. They were two leaders, complete, confident in their own skin, aware of their symbolism, but ultimately unfazed by it. At least for a moment, they were transcendent.

That’s how it should be. That’s the story of the year.

Album Review: Kanye West, "808's and Heartbreaks"

2008-11-24T10:40:00.001-05:00

Kanye West’s 808’s and Heartbreak is like the perfect drunk dial—melancholy, sloppily introspective, and surprisingly sophisticated.

Kanye, a man drunk on his success, and further inebriated, although in an all-together different way, by the death of his mother and end of his engagement, has a lot to get off of his chest.

It sounds good. It’s darker than any of his previous works, even Late Registration. And yes, he actually sings on just about the whole thing. But his use of Auto-Tune isn’t cheeky, popping and ready for Top 40 radio like T-Pain’s is. The Auto-Tune, for Kanye, vocally exemplifies a spiritual distortion commercial and critical success, death, and a bad breakup have brought him. If he just rapped like he always does, you wouldn’t get how messed up he really is now. The whole point of a drunk dial, at least this one, is to let the listener know you’re not well, or that you miss them, or that you don’t give a damn what they think.

Kanye does all of these things on “Heartbreak.” On Coldest Winter, he sings, “Memories made in the coldest winter. Goodbye my friend, I wont never love again. Never again.” On “Welcome to Heartbreak” he remarks, “Chased the good-life, all my life long,
Look back on my life, all my life gone, where did I go wrong?” This is some real stuff…

He sticks it to hip-hop and pop culture convention, even more than he did on Graduation. This record is more emo-techno, or hip-hop suicide than radio hit, old-soul sampling Kanye of years past. And that’s the big point. Kanye’s changed, and so has his music. And he couldn’t care less what the critics say.

There are a few disappointments, though. “Heartless” is a boring track. The keyboards on “Amazing” sound cheap. And “Love Lockdown” still gets on my last nerve. But this album is a winner. It’s complete in its emotional coherence, brilliant in its departure from Kanye-as-usual, and introspectively melancholy in lyrics that are at times Ye’s best.

Mr. West has done it again, but not in the way we expected. Instead of being the life of the party, he’s the guy in the back of the room, the sad drunk who voices his demons once the party’s stopped. “808’s and Heartbreaks” is that man’s drunk dial, imperfect, but extremely real, and without knowing it, simply stunning.

Grade: A-

Here's to the Team

2008-11-16T22:13:00.000-05:00

It was funny. The day after the election, when a lot of my White friends would greet me with a warm “Congratulations!” Then I thought about it. Really, it was like White people saw Black people as some kind of sports team, with Barack Obama as our quarterback and the election our political Super Bowl.

Whatever. It’s still funny. And revealing, too. While in this situation I wasn’t upset, (I think Blacks, as a collective, cohesive unit, ARE proud of Barack), it shows the propensity non-Blacks have to lump us into one. One group, one set of ideas, one belief system, one way of life.

From the outside looking in, it might make sense. Seemingly, we Black folks have our own music, food, styles of dress, speech, and even our own secret handshakes, societies and religious traditions. Maybe we really are different.

But that’s not my question to answer. While I believe that there are distinct aspects of Black culture that are almost universally shared by Black people, it doesn’t mean we’re all doing the same thing, believing the same thing, or even all getting along.

This problem of others seeing all Blacks as one can be pervasive. I see two current examples. There’s the chance that the election of Barack Obama has convinced many Americans that if one Black person can become President, the playing field for all Blacks must finally be level. There’s the lingering fallout from the passage of California’s Prop 8. Gay activists are blaming the proposition’s passage on Blacks, as 70% of African-Americans in CA voted for the measure. (That logic’s flawed though. Other “groups” voted for the measure in much larger numbers than Blacks. Why aren’t those blaming Black folks not going after the ones who fought for the proposition in the first place? Or actually addressing homophobia in the Black community? Or the exclusion of Blacks from true involvement in the gay rights movement?)

I’m not sure what to do about this. Perhaps, ultimately Prop 8 and Barack Obama will allow us to really talk about the intricacies of the Black experience and the heterogeneity present in our communities. Some Blacks are progressive, some are not. Just because we all vote for one person doesn’t mean we all believe the same thing. These are things we assume without question about White people. Blacks should be allowed the same luxury, even if a lot of us like soul food.

So, I hope the dialogue continues, or even really begins. Ultimately, I think it will. Barack’s election has opened up countless conversations on race in America; Prop 8 might do the same thing. And it’s quite likely that every Black person people talk to will have something all their own to say. This team of Blackness is pretty deep.

Big Country

2008-11-03T01:16:00.000-05:00

Hours before the election we’ve been waiting years for, I realize that for all the talk, from McCain, the “Maverick” bi-partisan, and Obama, the purple-state, post-racial uniter, this country is still very polarized.

Neither of them has yet come through on their promises. They haven’t yet brought this country together, or reached beyond party lines. We’re actually angrier than ever. Lots of Barack supporters still think anyone voting for McCain is either bigoted, greedily rich or an uneducated redneck. I’m sure many McCain backers deem Obama voters elitist, socialist, or race-baiters.

Snippets of political discussion I catch in my neighborhood, at my school, and online in various forums are more venomous, charged and combative than ever. The day after the election, just about half the country will be fighting mad, no matter who wins.

I can’t blame Obama, (or even McCain, for that matter) totally in this situation. They’re playing a game in which the rules were set decades ago. To garner votes, fears need to be exploited, stereotypes fed, differences magnified. It’s just the way things are.

But in reality, it’s not the way it has to be. I did a mental tally of all my good friends who are either voting for John McCain or have serious problems with Barack Obama’s candidacy, people I should seemingly loath. They’re actually good people who are very intelligent, reasonable, kind, and who love their country. They include:

-A classmate working on African development and poverty relief
-A college professor supportive of several minority causes at my undergraduate institution
-A law student who balances her evangelical Christianity with service to her Latina community
-My mother

These are people I trust, admire and love. They’re good people, and their vote or political ideas should not define them.

If you think about it, I’m sure you all know some people who aren’t voting for your guy who are still pretty amazing. They’re just as committed, concerned and caring as you are. And they’re just as American.

Once all of this is over, John McCain or Barack Obama will have to start the tedious process of attempting to bring this country together. I will wholeheartedly support them in this effort. It will require us to lose this undying need to place Americans into groups: Starbucks people v. Dunkin Donuts people, beer drinkers v. wine drinkers, red staters v. blue staters, hockey moms v. single moms, “real” Americans v… everybody else.

It will require us to stop yelling, stop grandstanding, stop wearing our partisan blinders.

It will require us to grow up, speak up, and sometimes, just shut up.

For me, this process began yesterday in church. As the pastor came to the mic to pray before his sermon, he spent a few minutes talking about the election. He urged us to remember that our political discourse should always remain cordial, that whoever wins the presidency will need our prayer and support, and at least our constructive criticism. He refused to endorse a candidate and then began to pray. For John McCain, and Barack Obama, and Sarah Palin, and Joe Biden and even George Bush.

And then he prayed for this country and this world. I looked across the congregation and at that point, I could care less which box these multicolored, multiracial hands were checking Tuesday. All I knew was that we were all in this thing together. Working, praying, believing together. Their hands raised together. Raised for help. Raised for strength. Raised for guidance. Just like mine.

I left church with my belief in civility restored, my commitment to an elevated discourse renewed. It felt good. It felt American.

I’m not asking us all to go to a Pentecostal church next Sunday and pray for unity. But I am hoping that we use the traditions we hold dear, the institutions we revere, and whatever else we need to bring ourselves together, push past our differences and remember that America is bigger than any one person’s party, vote or ideology.

America is big enough for us all.

Barack and Co. - Get OUT of my G-mail…

2008-10-26T17:46:00.000-04:00

We’re days away from the most important election of our lifetimes (or so they say), and every few hours, someone tied to the DNC and/or Barack Obama is bombarding my e-mail inbox. If it’s not Howard Dean, or Bill, or Hillary, or Michelle, or one of the Davids from Barack’s campaign, or Joe or even Barack himself, it’s someone. Someone asking for just a little more time, or money, or asking me to throw one more party, or go to New Hampshire for the weekend.

-“Drive for Change”
-“Work for Change”
-“Call for Change”
-“Skip school a few weeks for change”
-“Get a second mortgage for change”

Etc, etc, etc.

I’ve had it. Just a little bit. I mean, I know the stakes are high. And we all know how we Democrats have the amazing ability to “snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.”

But it’s getting kinda crazy out here. I can’t walk to class without being chased by at least 3 young Obama supporters with clipboards outside of Au Bon Pain. My classmates start e-mail chains urging me to drop everything- class, extracurricular, and jobs- to go to a swing state. One in particular accosted me via G-Chat for about a week, trying to get me to go to Ohio. The only thing worse than staying with strangers in Ohio, working 12-16 hour days is knowing that your work back home is waiting for you, and the rent is still due for that apartment you aren’t even occupying…

I wonder what an Obama win means for all of this unwanted outreach. Do the canvassers go away? Do the e-mails stop? Can I finally stop feeling guilty for just being a student, and not a full-fledged campaign organizer?

Who knows? I won’t be mad either way. The e-mails aren’t that bad and I’m honestly elated that people my age are actually excited about a cause greater than themselves or their newest gadgets. For all the complaining, this barrage is symbolic of true change.

So keep it up. You might even get a little more money out of me. And I’ll probably phone bank before this whole thing is said and done.

So yeah, I’m really not mad at all. Although I’m STILL waiting on my limited edition Obama/Biden car magnet…

Video of the Week

2008-10-25T18:33:00.000-04:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qq8Uc5BFogE

Atonement

2008-10-19T21:43:00.001-04:00

I watched the new Oliver Stone movie last night, “W.” It was underwhelming…

But what stuck with me upon leaving the movie was Bush’s story of redemption. Before religious conversion, he was a reckless, feckless, spoiled child of privilege. A snooty frat boy with no work ethic and an alcohol problem, who couldn’t even hold down a summer job. He hated his life, his father and his own failures.

But after becoming a “born-again” evangelical Christian, everything changed. All was forgiven. His life-turned around. He ran for office, and won. Eventually, God called him to be our President…

This story of atonement is a political archetype Americans hold dear. Bratty youths have some life-changing experience that forces them to realize the errors of their way and ask for forgiveness from their selves, their Gods, or their country. After this, they become successful public servants, committed to country and the public good.

It happened to John McCain as well. He, too lived a life of wealth and ease, coasting on the legacy of his decorated military lineage. And just like Bush, McCain had a moment of atonement. Only not in a South Texas church, but in a Vietnamese war prison. His seven years in captivity gave him the time to atone for past sins, learn to love his country, and commit to a life of service and duty higher than before.

These two stories of atonement help the American public not only forgive McCain and Bush their wealth and the political trappings it brought the two of them, but they also humanize them to “ordinary” Americans. Having a politician who has fallen, gotten back up, and learned from the errors of his ways makes him human, more like the rest of us. If the goal is to be someone everyone can see themselves in, someone you want to share a drink with, these atonement stories help.

I was thinking about it, and realized that Barack Obama doesn’t have a similar story. Although he details his youthful indiscretions in depth in his first book (indiscretions which pale in comparison to Bush’s and McCain’s), he never apologizes for them, and he doesn’t have too. They were sins of youth that time, not the American public, needed to forgive.

Bar a little youthful experimentation, Barack has lived a life free of shameful behavior. Actually, his personal story is pretty exemplary. There’s no “Come to Jesus” moment to prove that he’s a sinner just like us. He was a kid who made it from food stamps to Harvard, who worked as a community organizer passing up quick corporate law money. He’s really smart, really good and is pretty much the son every parent would love to have.

While I, and many others love this, I think some voters are turned off by someone they see as so pious, as unfair as that is. He doesn’t need to be forgiven, and that only plays into a story line that makes Barack Obama uppity, presumptuous, elite and out of touch. It doesn’t help that he’s a Black man with more book smarts and money than most White people in this country…

While this is wrong, it’s just the way it is. Instead of embracing political figures who are somehow or another better than us, we subconsciously shun them, because they aren’t as flawed as we’d like. Clinging to these outdated archetypes of atonement, or hyper-masculinity or Christian redemption might keep us from seeing that excellence comes in many forms, reading from many different scripts.

I’m hopeful that Barack, and even Hillary will begin to challenge the outdated character frames we expect to see in our political figures. As much as Barack bucks the fallen and forgiven leader model, Hillary challenges the idea of President-as-father-figure, a notion perhaps most exemplified by Ronald Reagan.

One day, I hope that we see politicians who are better than us and feel safer, knowing that the best and brightest are our leaders. I hope that we one day lose the need to measure our leaders by subtle tests of masculinity, toughness and Christian faith.

When endorsing Obama today, Colin Powell said of allegations of Barack being a Muslim, (which were direct attempts to appeal to an archetype of President as strong Christian leader), “What does it matter?” To so many other pointless questions we ask our leaders, and unneeded expectations we hang around their necks, hopefully one day, those exact words will be our stock answer.

The End Of The World As We Know It

2008-10-09T10:26:00.000-04:00

I went to an Institute of Politics event this week. It was a small dinner, featuring a New York Times columnist, Matt Bai, who recently wrote an article on Barack Obama and the future (or end) of Black politics. Here’s the link:

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/10/magazine/10politics-t.html

In the article, and at the IOP event, Matt spoke of the intricacies of Black politics, generational divides, where we’re headed, and more. He was well informed and thoughtful.

He’s White.

He mentioned that so often, stories like the one he covered, race stories, are relegated to Black reporters. He’s right. It was a little weird, but also refreshing to see someone other than the usual become an “authority” on something race-related.

At the event, I asked the first audience question, after Michael Dukakis, guest of honor, got a word in. My query was taken seriously, and I got to engage in somewhat of a debate with Bai for a few minutes. I felt pretty smart…

As the Q&A session went on, the woman to my right, a professor of mine last year, an older White lady who was a power player in the Clinton era, working in the White House for many years, offered to get me a cup of coffee. When I offered to get it myself, she refused.

She got me the coffee, and it felt awkward. I the young (Black) guy, being served by the older White lady. 50 years ago, I’d probably be the guy in the suit and apron bringing refreshments to this crowd. 50 years ago, very few White academics would spend this much time delving into serious issues concerning Black politics. 50 years ago, I probably wouldn’t have gotten to feel like a budding public intellectual, going back and forth with a New York Times columnist, at a private Harvard University dinner.

But here I was. Listening to a White guy tell me all about Black politics, and watching an old White lady serve me coffee, remarking, “No problem, honey,” as she brought the cup of joe to my seat. And me, the young Black guy, flexing my mental muscles in a dance of the minds.

Times have changed. This election proves it. And as I sat drinking my coffee, reflecting on all of this, getting to the bottom of the cup where all the sugar was, I realized that this new “racially transcendent” world we’re living in might have a lot in common with that cup of coffee.

Both only get sweeter.

Church

2008-10-06T12:25:00.001-04:00

I went to church yesterday. This is a big deal for me.

Since coming to Cambridge for school, I can count on two hands the number of times I’ve attended Sunday morning service.

It’s not that I’m not “religious”… I grew up in the Pentecostal/Apostolic tradition. I’m a self-described evangelical. My mother was our church organist. I played the saxophone at service since I was 12. Back home, at one point I was in church 3 or 4 times a week.

And now this. I guess one could call me a backslider.

I enjoyed Union Baptist this past Sunday, in spite of their 9am start time. AndFor about two hours, I forgot. Forgot about the election, forgot about social and academic responsibilities, forgot about pop culture, and the music charts, and which op-eds I had yet to read, or what Forum event I needed to pencil into my calendar.

I remembered my family and saw them, in my mind’s eye, sitting in the pews with me. I remembered the music. From back home, the hymns, the gospel songs, the voices. I remembered how it feels to be centered, calm and re-energized. I remembered why I need to go to church.

Not to reinforce any dogma, or convince myself that I’m any better than anyone else. Not even to keep up appearances. I need to go to church because I need to recharge, recommit, re-up. I need God to help me do that.

So, I’ll be at church again next Sunday. 9am and all. You’ll know where to find me. Just look for the guy in the back pew, kind of all there but not really. Finding himself. Soaking it all in, to wash everything else away.

He Must Win

2008-09-22T14:55:00.001-04:00

Coming back to school this year, a lot of people asked whether I’d be voting for Barack Obama this November. My unwavering support of Hillary Clinton during a nasty primary season seemed to convince folks that I might jump ship.

I feel the need to clarify why I am strongly supporting Barack Obama, from the perspective of one Hillary-loving, self-described “not so angry” Black man.

Why I’m supporting Barack:

-Because change is good.
-Because the Iraq war was, is and always will be wrong
-Because the fundamentals of our economy are NOT strong
-Because I’m not uppity either
-Because community organizing is real
-Because we’re not a nation of whiners, we’re a nation in need
-Because if Hillary can, so can I
-Because the Republican Party’s tacky, racial campaigning must stop
-Because Oprah said so
-Because one day, my children will see themselves in Barack Obama
-Because every now and then, I do, too.
-Because liberal, progressive, left and Democrat are not dirty words
-Because education, health care and rescue from natural disaster are rights
-Because I want my President to be smarter than I am
-Because John McCain isn’t pro-choice
-Because Sarah Palin isn’t either
-Because Joe Biden stutters just like me
-Because my grandchildren will be reading Barack’s race speech in school one day
-Because Michelle Obama reminds me of Jackie O. and my mother, all at the same time
-Because I don’t want to be left standing on the wrong side of history
-Because hope is real
-Because the world is watching

That’s it, in a nutshell. I support Barack Obama, progressive ideals, and an end to the gross mismanagement of our federal government. I believe in the inspiration Obama’s win can give to our youth, our nation and the world. I understand that Barack Obama is paving the way for a new crop of politician and a new kind of voter. I understand that I’m watching history.

Barack Obama must win.

Who's the Elitist?

2008-09-21T22:06:00.000-04:00

Barack Obama and family own one car. John McCain and family own 13.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2008/09/21/mccain-owns-13-cars-obama_n_128047.html

Who's the elitist?

My Ideal White House-more to come later

2008-09-16T23:43:00.000-04:00

President: Rep. Artur Davis (AL-7)

Vice President: Michelle Obama

Secretary of Defense: Joe Biden

Secretary of Education: Michelle Rhee

Secretary of Health and Human Services: Hillary Clinton

Press Secretary: Bill Maher

Whoopi is my homegirl

2008-09-16T11:24:00.000-04:00

Why did it take the women of “The View” to do what the mainstream media should have been doing for months? Watching Whoopi and Joy grill John McCain was satisfying, yet saddening, because only they would do it, not the “real” news establishments, who have been asleep at the wheel, or just caught with an updo and lipstick. Here’s the footage.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xyQpmN-nH64

Kudos to Whoopi for tearing that whole “strict constructionist” Constitutional interpretation argument to shreds. If we strictly construct that document, I’m still 3/5 in shackles and women still can’t vote.

To “The View,” I say thanks. To MSNBC, CNN and Fox, I say learn from “America’s Breakfast Table.”

Let’s see what happens next. I’m waiting for Regis and Kelly to jump on Sarah Palin…

Watching/Winning the Fight

2008-09-11T23:12:00.001-04:00

One of my Facebook friends posted a note today. The most memorable line was this: “Turn of your cable news.”

I read it and cringed. It was noble, yes. The idea that the pundits are wrong, that all the fluff and distractions really don’t matter. That Barack Obama can and will win this thing, regardless of lipstick on pigs, or who puts country first, or what Joe Biden says.

But I know this is not the case. Because “Turn off your cable news” is exactly what I heard before Hillary lost the Dem nomination, from Terry McAuliffe.

At a small IOP event last school year, Terry met with a small group of Kennedy School Hillary supporters and told us the same thing. Hillary can win! The press has got it all wrong. Who cares what thy say?

Well, I care what they say, because whether we like it or not, the press, for better or worse, are opinion leaders. They knew Hillary was out of the race, and they might know a few things that the Obama campaign is not yet willing to accept. People actually take Lou Dobbs, and Pat Buchanan and McCain surrogates seriously. So we should be watching the news, and figuring out why McCain is doing a better job there than we are.

Being insular will not win this election, no matter how noble we think it is. Turning our eyes away from the fight doesn’t make the fight stop—it only speeds up the loss.

My 9/11 post

2008-09-11T11:19:00.001-04:00

It’s seven years later, and I still remember exactly where I was on 9/11.

I was a senior in high school, and that morning we were on the field for marching band practice. I was on a podium near an imagined 35 yard line, fulfilling my drum major duties, flapping my arms in front of a rather unmotivated group of musicians.

One of the clarinet players went in for a bathroom break and came out with the bad news. The severity of it all didn’t hit us at that point, though. We kept on playing.

In the rest of my classes that day, and that week, we pulled TV’s in front of us and watched and cried and prayed as our country, and our world changed before our eyes.

The afternoon of September 11th, our teachers told us to go straight home, avoid public places and stay with our families. Instead, I went to Best Buy. Jay-Z’s new album, “The Blueprint,” a classic, was released that day. It went on to sell over half a million units in that first week of release, and was the 1st Billboard #1 album in the post-9/11 era.

That was my 9/11, capped by both ends with music, on the marching band field, and in an album I still hold dear, and which to a certain extent, defines hip-hop, and a bit of America for me. I can still hum through our marching show, and recite to you my favorite lines from The Blueprint. For me, that music has never stopped.

On 9/11, my marching band kept on playing, and that afternoon, by purchasing the new Jay-Z disc, I kept on listening, to an art form that encapsulates my American experience, all of the love, the rage, the ambivalence, the pride, and even the dysfunction.

I see, in an America seven years later, that we’ve all kept on, in our own ways. Our unique American way of life may have changed, but it has not been given away. We’ve kept on, kept loving, kept praying, kept believing, kept working, striving, giving, kept living. And on this day, I thank my country for reaching towards its best ideals after those towers fell, and hope that we keep doing so, for generations to come. Because just like the music never stopped, neither did we, and as sweet as any song can be, so is this, our American story.

What ifs

2008-09-04T10:17:00.001-04:00

So I’ve seen most of Sarah Palin’s convention speech. She was… good, I guess. But I was left asking myself a lot of questions.

-What if Barack made a speech this negative, derisive and divisive?
-What if one of Barack’s children got pregnant?
-What if Barack’s running mate’s second to last job was mayor of a town of 9,000?
-What if Barack had only met his running mate once before he selected him or her?

I feel that a pick as risky as Sarah Palin and all the drama around it couldn’t happen in the DNC. In the same way that Barack couldn’t forget or mangle the names of countries and get away with it, or hire lobbyists and get a pass, or have a wife with past drug addiction problems. Just think what the press would do to Michelle if she had done what Cindy has.

Besides the hypocrisy of the press in not scrutinizing John McCain and Co. seriously, I’m also mad at the RNC for their hypocrisy. Teen pregnancy is an issue that Republicans for years have been reluctant to meet head on with innovative social programming. They blame mothers, strip them of benefits and allow them to enter into a life of poverty and shame.

But when Sarah’s daughter, Bristol became pregnant, these same political operatives embraced the news as something commonplace, that should not be an issue, and urged that Bristol receive all the help she needs. Are they saying the same kind words to inner-city teens grappling with the same issues, with mothers who aren’t running for VP?

I’m anxious to see John McCain tonight, and I wonder if he’ll impress me at all. I’m very doubtful. But it will be interesting to watch more of this convention- I’m currently counting all the Black people in the convention hall. I’ve gotten up to three…

Love that Chicken From Popeye's

2008-09-01T23:11:00.000-04:00

I spent the summer in New Orleans. Needless to say, I ate a lot of stuff that probably wasn’t that good for me. Deep fried seafood, heavy sauces, creole seasonings full of sodium and more.

Perhaps the most memorable of my New Orleans eating experiences took at Popeye’s Chicken. That’s right. Popeye’s Chicken. I’ve eaten Popeye’s before, but this summer, one was right down the street from my house. If you walked on my front porch around 10:30am, you could smell them cooking the chicken, something that truly brightened this brother’s day.

One night, I was headed home, a bit after 11pm. I wanted Popeye’s, and while driving I was hoping, wishing and praying that they were still open. As I wrapped my pick-up truck around the drive-through menu in the back, the menu lights were off. Bad sign. I didn’t give up hope though. I approached the window, and smiled. They were still there. Trying to get rid of extra chicken before they shut down.

“How ‘bout I give you 6 pieces of chicken for the price of 2? And a large side of dirty rice for the small price?” said the attendant. “Yes! Why thank you!” I responded. She had made my day, my week.

As I waited for them to bag up my cholesterol-fest, Rihanna’s “Take a Bow” played on 93.3. And while sitting in the car listening to Ne-Yo’s lyrics (But it’s over now…) I felt guilty.

I should not BE eating Popeye’s Chicken, not as obsessively or frequently as I do. The relationship has to end. Rihanna was right. It has to be over. Coming back to the fast-food desert that is Harvard Square will be helpful, but I’ll still have to make a concerted effort.

It’s harder I think, for Black people to give up soul food and Popeye’s. Because for a lot of us, eating healthy is really acting White. Arugula and turkey bacon just don’t scream, “I’m Black and I’m proud.” And that’s unfair.

With parts of the country now banning fast-food establishments, I wonder more and more about how Americans, particularly Americans of color, will deal with obesity and food issues that are increasingly plaguing our community. Concerns over paternalism, choice and double standards puzzle me. And I realize that I can’t at all blame obese people for what is really a disease.

If I’m young, educated, and financially able to shop at Whole Foods, I have absolutely no excuse for the weekly run’s I make to Central Square for my Wendy’s fix. And I definitely can’t blame anyone for wanting a patty melt over a veggie burger, or some ham hock greens over some spring mix.

So where does that put me? I still have no answers to the problem and this gnawing guilt at my personal eating habits. I know I’ve vowed to do better, but I’m sure the next IHOP run is right around the corner. But next time, I promise to ask for whole-wheat toast, no butter. One step at a time…

Jamaican Swagger

2008-08-16T16:34:00.000-04:00

I got all nostalgic last night. Sitting in Balcony Bar on Magazine St. in New Orleans watching the Olympics, I witnessed the brilliance of Jamaican track and field. Those dudes can run. I wanted to be in summer track camp again, showing off my new spikes.

Congrats to Usain Bolt, winner of the men's 100M. He was def on his A-game, letting his stride slip towards the end of the race, becuase he was so far in the lead. Arms out, bathing in the glory of his win, he slowed down a little, relaxed a bit, gloated. It was a sight to behold.

Between him and Cullen Jones showing us that Black people really can swim, the Olympics have been a good past few days. And Michael Phelps is doing it big as well, I suppose.

Go USA. Go World.

Photo of the Week-Obama in Hawaii

2008-08-15T00:43:00.000-04:00

NO ONE can hate on this. Do the damn thing Barack... I might just forgive you for the non-stop text messaging

American-ness

2008-08-12T22:19:00.001-04:00

I went home this past weekend. Back to balmy, sticky San Antonio, land of never-ending highways and homemade tortillas. It was great getting to see my mother and all of the folks at church.

While at home, I was able to make my mom and aunt some jambalaya and actually sit through “Welcome Home, Roscoe Jenkins,” AND “Meet the Browns.” I don’t know how I did it…

So, Sunday morning, getting ready for church, I’m watching CNN Late Edition, with Wolf-man Blitzer. Sens. Carl Levin (D-MI) and John Cornyn (R-TX) are on the air, debating Iraqi oil profits. The argument/line of questioning is: Does Iraq, in light of a recent budget surplus brought on by increased oil revenue, now have a responsibility to pay for its own reconstruction and actually pay us BACK for the reconstruction work we’ve already done for them?

WTF

That we could even think of making the Iraqi people pay to rebuild what we tore apart, and that two US senators would entertain the idea blew me away. How dare we actually blame Iraq for not having the capacity to clean up the mess we made in their country. In my eyes, no matter how long it takes, or how long it costs, whether or not you think we should be there or not, to leave Iraq in a worse state than we found it is criminal.

It’s bad enough to destroy a sovereign nation. But to blame them for their own calamity, and hold them responsible for repairing what we ruined is a display of our worst attributes.

I will, from this point forward, call these displays of ridiculous hubris, self-righteousness, hypocrisy and other generally unsavory characteristics, American-ness.

Some examples of American-ness:

-Enslaving a people for hundreds of years, segregating them once they’re free, refusing to educate them, and then blaming them for not “catching up” with the wider population soon enough.

-Building an entire population of immigrants throughout American history, displacing indigenous people for centuries, then restricting new immigration, saying it’s “un-American.”

-Supporting an American energy consumption level 32 times the per capita level of developing nations, promoting this Western over-done lifestyle to the rest of the world, and refusing to moderate consumption unless other poorer countries do so first/simultaneously.

I really don’t feel like going on right now.

Don’t get me wrong. When it comes to my country, I’m ride or die. I love this place. But I just felt the need to call Lady Liberty out, at least for this post.

Obsequious...or Uppity

2008-08-04T16:27:00.000-04:00

I’m having a day. My truck had a blowout last Thursday and I’m STILL waiting on a replacement, which will probably cost me over 200 dollars. For one tire. I’m having major issues with a rental car company I’ve been dealing with. Been on the phone and e-mailing about it ALL morning.

One of my favorite coworkers is going through medical issues that scared the entire office and saddened our day. I missed a trip home last weekend and my homesickness has now reached previously unmatched heights. And it’s not even 5pm yet.

I’m having a bad day, but I keep telling myself, throughout all of this drama I’m dealing with, “Don’t go off, Sam. Don’t lose it. Don’t be a stereotype!” I don’t know if it’s just because of my personality, or something more, like my race and gender, that I can’t be angry.

I don’t get to yell at the phone operator. I don’t get to be disgusted at being asked to do more than what my job requires. I can’t complain when I’m not treated fairly. I can’t express too much emotion when people close to me are having major shit go down in their lives.

It’s the curse of Blackness. Our joy is called tomfoolery. Our anger or dissatisfaction is interpreted as violent rage. I remember in high school, when a group of Black students would congregate in the courtyard during lunch we’d always be told to “break it up” when we were only conversing. White students never had to break up their sometimes-larger groups. A classmate of mine recently wrote that at her job, if she’s not smiling, she’s always thought to be angry, not just content, or quiet, or thoughtful—but angry.

What’s the f-ing deal? I feel like I have to constantly temper my emotions because I’m Black, and a Black man at that. I’m too jovial, too happy, to accommodating. Part of this is just me, but part of it is my reaction to a society that will never give me the leeway it does someone not of my race.

I see this same vicious cycle play out in the Presidential race. Barack is never allowed to lose his cool. But John McCain’s notorious temper tantrums have seemingly never cost him a vote.

What’s worse is, if I ever do express disdain, or act as if I dare deserve some sort of privilege my position or education allows, I’m wrong for that, too. How dare Sam actually have a bad day at work?! How dare Barack Obama actually give a good speech and have a crowd show up for it?! They’re so presumptuous (uppity)!

What to do, what to do…

I’m either the angry Black man or the Negro stepping out of his place. Maybe one day I’ll just be Sam. Until then, I won’t be smiling.

My McCain List

2008-07-30T12:40:00.000-04:00

It’s time to post again. I know; it’s been over a week.

I’ve decided that I need to change things up a bit. I write about Barack Obama ENTIRELY way too much and I can only do the “Chicken Soup for the Young Urban Professional’s Soul”-type post once a month.

So, what shall I say? That’s pithy, current, interesting, etc.

Why I’m so over John McCain

1. Pakistan does not border Iraq
2. John McCain thinks Iranian deaths make for good jokes.
3. John McCain called Cindy McCaine a trollop and a cunt. No lie
4. John McCain can’t complain about Barack’s globetrotting when he spent the last month traipsing around Latin/South America
5. John McCain didn’t vote for MLK’s national holiday
6. John McCain was MIA after Katrina, appearing on the Conan O’Brien show and sharing birthday cake with George W. Bush
7. It’s not about the surge, it’s about the entire war, and how we should NEVER have been
there
8. John McCain would totally screw up the Supreme Court
9. John McCain has never given or received a “terrorist first jab” in his life.
10. And finally, as my roommate says, John McCain looks like Darth Vader with the mask off.

Like Father, Like Son

2008-07-20T22:34:00.000-04:00

I remember the day my parents became human. Before that day, they were what all parents are to their children, something other than real people, whether villain or superhero. Incapable of ever really getting it, or having valid emotions, or of deserving a break.

My father became gravely ill with kidney failure right after my senior year of high school. Soon afterwards, my mother had a stroke that paralyzed her entire right side. In December of 2002, my father was in ICU, on a respirator, near death. We wanted my mother to see my father one last time. So, a few other family members and I rented a wheelchair accessible van and took my mother from her nursing home to my father’s hospital bed.

I remember it vividly, my mother, fragile, a broken woman, in a housedress and a head wrap, going to see the man she loved for the last time. My father, with wires running to and fro over his body, an oxygen mask over his face, and his wiry hands bound to the side of his bed to prevent him from pulling his mask off while he floated in and out of consciousness.

As we wheeled my mother into the room, she began to sing. Her wheelchair at the side of his bed, she grabbed his bound hand and sang to him. The room fell quiet. It was then that I finally saw my parents for themselves, instead of giving them a meaning derived only from my existence. At that moment, in that hospital room, they were just two people who managed to stay in love for a long time and managed to raise two well-adjusted Black men in an age where that wasn’t expected. They weren’t Momma and Daddy anymore—they were Regina and R.A.

My father died early the next morning. And since his death, I’ve continued to see him not just as my father, but as the amazing man that he was.

A zoo trip for local kids in New Orleans I coordinated this past Friday reminded me of all I love about him. I’ll admit that I’m pretty good with kids, but at points on the trip, my patience was tested.

Before we even departed from the zoo in our large charter bus, I was chasing children. “Don’t climb that!” “No, no, stay OFF the street!” These kids definitely tired me out by the end of the day.

They made a fountain their wading pool, which was cute, but after 5 minutes of that, and the wet clothes that followed, I had to be bad cop and usher them towards dry ground. This did not go over well. The kids I chaperoned directly got hungry before lunch, and when I bought them a small snack before they ate later, they promptly began to fight over who got what. My most memorable part of the day was reprimanding one of our children for going absolute bonkers at the rock climb near the giraffes. “Byroneka, I’ve already told you ONCE to get down from there!!!”

My moments of exasperation with the kids Friday stood in direct contrast to my father’s Job-like patience. He could sit in a quiet room for hours and be content. He never got upset when my brother, or my mother, or I made him late. He rarely yelled and I can count on one had the number of times I ever saw him lose his cool.

Getting home from the zoo, I remembered all of this and thought about how much I want to be just half the man my father was. I love him and his memory, and even in his absence, he is my biggest role model.

It took me a long time to see that his silence was not awkward, but virtuous, his slow methodical patterns not outdated, but timeless. He was never aloof—he was only thoughtfully soaking it all in, the calm center of the storm that my family could sometimes be.

I pray, hope, and wish everyday that I will exhibit my father’s composure.

I’m writing this because I never want to forget those qualities about my father that I hold dear. And I hope that the next time you talk to those who raised you that you say you love them, not for being your parents, but for simply being the amazing people they are. No matter what beef is there, or what hard feelings exist. Because at some point, in all of our lives, all we wanted was to be just like them.

Why I'm proud of the New Yorker and happy Miss USA fell

2008-07-14T23:38:00.000-04:00

I’m sure you’ve seen the photo by now. The New Yorker cover with Barack in a turban, Michelle with an Afro, machine gun, and fatigues, an American flag burning in the Oval Office, and an Osama Bin Laden bust watching it all go down. It’s pretty stark imagery—and I love it.

Many have claimed that the New Yorker’s most recent attempt at satire went too far, just wasn’t good enough, was racist/offensive/un-PC, or shouldn’t have been published at all. I think it should have.

We know that the New Yorker is not the National Review, and the previous pieces they’ve written on the Obamas have been more than flattering. So we can safely assume that this was meant not to demonize the Obamas, but to satire those who actually think the imagery depicted in the cover could somehow, even just a little bit, be true.

Claims that this is just ammo for the right wing don’t really hold water for me. The right wing needs no more help to assail the Obamas, with Rush Limbaugh singing about Barack, “The Magic Negro,” e-mail forwards declaring him a Muslim, and other conservative figures making all efforts to utter Mr. Obama’s middle name whenever possible.

What bothers me with this overdone political correctness surrounding the photo is that it only continues to marginalize marginalized groups. When we constantly limit what can or can’t be said about American politicians because of their race, we make discussion of these figures so clumsy or so restricted that we just avoid it all together, making these groups even more out-of-mainstream. Eventually, we have to accept that Black political equality might mean being allowed to talk the same amount of shit about Black folks running for office as you do about White folks.

If anything, press coverage of Barack Obama, compared to Hillary or George W. has been light. Cartoon depictions of our current President always seem to make him look less than human. The last photo I saw of Barack had a halo around his head…

This news cycle’s second most popular story concerned Miss USA and her fall at the Miss Universe pageant. It, as well, made me happy. Miss USA, a beautiful Black woman, was getting made fun of for doing the same thing last year’s crown winner did (falling down in front of the world) without any respect or reference to her race. For all intents and purposes, with this news story, race didn’t matter. Isn’t that what we all want?

So doesn’t Barack’s New Yorker cover, in a way, signify the same thing?

Firsts

2008-07-07T22:40:00.000-04:00

We live in an era of Black firsts. This past weekend, Will Smith became the first actor, Black or otherwise, to lead 8 straight films to $100mil+ grosses. We all watched Venus and Serena become the first sister pair since the Watson sisters in 1884 to face off in the Wimbledon finals. I wrote a week ago about Jay-Z being the first hip-hop headliner of the legendary Glastonbury music festival. And of course, Barack Obama is the first African-American presidential nominee of a major national party.

I guess it’s a good time to be Black.

I’m sure we all can remember running down the list of notable Black firsts all through the month of February every year. It’s a source of pride to list these accomplishments. But I got to thinking, what about the firsts we’re not proud of?

Will Smith might be the first Black Scientologist of record. What about that first?

Condoleezza Rice, first Black Female Secretary of State, is still sticking by a failed Iraq policy, actually saying recently that she’s “proud” of invading Iraq. R. Kelley just became the first man to sell 12 million records in the span of time between a child porn/statutory rape conviction and his acquittal five years later.

It seems to me that the problem with firsts for any marginalized group in America is that eventually, the incorporation of that minority culture into that of the “majority” includes the incorporation of some elements of this majority culture that many minorities disapprove of.

Basically, it seems like getting in the door is nice. But once we’re in the room, might there be some things there we really don’t enjoy?

Nevertheless, I’ll keep my running tab of Black firsts going, waiting patiently for the first Black celebutante to show her ill-na-na to the paparazzi, Britney Spears style, or for Denzel Washington to play the bongos naked, or for Will Smith to demolish Oprah’s couch. I guess then, we’ll have really arrived.

"Wonderwall" is my JAM!

2008-07-01T17:10:00.000-04:00

Jay-Z just renewed my eternal love affair with hip-hop. He played Glastonbury, a UK music festival that up until last weekend was only a rock outfit.

When it was announced that the Jigga-Man would be headlining, a few folks had some words. Oasis lead singer Noel Gallagher said hip-hop shouldn’t be allowed at the legendary festival, only “guitar music.”

Gallagher: “…I’m not having hip-hop at Glastonbury. It’s wrong.”

Wow…this from a guy who hasn’t been relevant in 10 years.

Anyway, Jay did his thing, rocking a crowd of over 140,000. And to prove who was really running shit, he came out on stage mock-playing lead guitar to Oasis’s super-hit, “Wonderwall.” This humorous, irreverent intro gave way to a 40-minute performance full of hits, an amazing live band, and his new spouse Beyonce hand-waving in the crowd.

Jay-Z made me proud. Too many people say that hip-hop isn’t real anymore, that it’s lost it’s spark. I’ll admit that top-40 radio has gotten a bit contrived, but the soul of hip-hop is alive and well. Some of the most creative voices in music over the past few years have come from directly from hip-hop, like Kanye and Lupe Fiasco, or out of R&B (Amy Winehouse), or a mash-up of hip-hop, rock and God knows what else (MIA and TV on the Radio).

Hip-hop is American music’s lifeblood. In the era of a dying music industry, only a hip-hop artist like Lil’ Wayne could sell over a mil in a week. Only hip-hop could have every man, woman and child in the country doing the “Supaman.” Only hip-hop captures the energy of a changing American, actually a world landscape. Jay-Z proved that last weekend. And that f-ing rocks.

God Bless America

2008-06-27T23:35:00.001-04:00

I help facilitate youth and senior programming in the Broadmoor section of New Orleans as part of my summer internship. Part of this includes attending all meetings, of
Broadmoor’s own seniors group, “Broadmoor Young at Heart.”

Their weekly ritual is extremely touching, meetings beginning with a poignant mixture of song and prayer. Members amble in, some on walkers, others on canes, each of them walking with the slow, almost regal gate those who’ve lived long enough to merit respect just for living deserve. One of the ladies present proceeds to set out miniature US flags all over the tables in the room, a small corner one in an old community center not too far from my office.

Pleasantries are exchanged. Then they begin. One member leads a heartfelt invocation, then they all join in with the Lord’s prayer. Next they turn slightly to face the flag hanging on the wall and recite the National Anthem. Then, and this always beings a tear to my eye, they sing the Star Spangled Banner, some with the words on old, tattered, folded papers held close to their spectacled eyes. Their soft, thin voices crackle over the words, and they hesitantly rely on the other members to get through the entire song. It moves me.

After this they sing a song of friendship, and then move on to a review of the minutes and new business, but this doesn’t matter. What I’m touched by is the imagery of the display of patriotism by these old Black men and women in this city the nation seems to have abandoned.

Most of these seniors were victims of legal segregation, not far removed from sharecropping, or even slavery, who grew up being considered something less than human, and saw their city wash away as outsiders blamed the calamity on New Orlean’s sin, or the stupidity of people “not choosing to leave.” More than any other group of people I could think of, old Black people, particularly these old Black people, have a reason to refrain from singing the National Anthem.

Yet they love this country. And that amazes me. I marvel in wonder at the capacity for forgiveness, redemption and caring Black people in this country have. I’ve spoken before of a forward-looking love of America. Not loving it for its history, muddied with brutality, subjugation and greed. Not loving it for what it is—a nation not sure what to do as it fearfully and grudgingly stands on the cusp of a paradigm-shifiting diversity in population, and perhaps even representation. But for what it can be—a nation with an unparalleled capacity for growth, success, goodness.

The way I see it, those seniors love this country like you would a bad son or daughter. You don’t love your child because he or she’s bad, but because he’s yours, and because tomorrow may very well be better than the last. And like a parent’s love for a child, theirs for this country is unconditional. That excites me to no end.

In my head I hear them singing right now, and I am emotional all over again.

Long Ago, and Far Away

2008-06-27T23:08:00.000-04:00

Remember when Black people actually LIKED Bill Clinton???

Vote for Jesus!!!

2008-06-26T21:33:00.000-04:00

So, I'm in Wal-Mart today. (That's right. Here's one left-wing, progressive, liberal youngster NOT afraid to support the Wally-World. I said it.)

I'm walking down the never-ending aisles of Sam Walton Land and I pass the poster section. My eye immediately stops upon seeing the poster on display. It's Barack Obama, in his Rolling Stone cover photo. You know, the one of him looking quit stoic, Napoleon-ish almost. There's this bright, glowing light, like a halo, behind him. It's quite an image and it captures the Jesus-complex that has for so long surrounded this candidate and this campaign.

That it's a poster for sale to hang on one's wall, like that of a teen pop-star or sports icon, is a bit disturbing. It shows that, Barack, for all intents and purposes, has become a pop star. He's no longer a politician. He's a movement, a cultural touchstone. If you watched the BET Awards, you saw all the gaudy, over-sized lettered, blinged-out Barack '08 shirts on display. It's really just too much for me...

Anyway, I'm kinda disturbed. I think a lot of voters are voting for Barack for all of the Rolling Stone cover reasons. The hipness, popularity, rock star appeal, and hysteria surrounding this man. I think a lot of people aren't even voting for the man--they're voting for the myth, the hype, the sexiness of it all. Who cares about policy differences when you're guy has halos behind his head?

Don't get me wrong, in a head to head match up, I WANT Obama to beat McCain, really I do. I just would rather our politicians occupy the realm of politicians, not pop-culture Messiahs.

Colin Powell to endorse Barack Obama

2008-06-26T21:22:00.000-04:00

Light-skinned brothas unite...

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/1554812/Powell-ready-to-jump-on-Obama-bandwagon.html

http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2008/06/26/politics/animal/main4213128.shtml

Throwback of the Day...

2008-06-24T14:50:00.000-04:00

D'Angelo is the S#!T. In case ya'll forgot.

I'm listening to his "Voodoo" CD today. When it came out, I literally played it non-stop for a year. I'm not lying when I say it's one of the best albums I've ever heard in my life.

I'll tell you why.

Firstly, it's coherent. You feel one mood throughout the entire disc--weed-induced, sexaholic, slippery bliss. It's utterly amazing. No random mash-up of disparate super-produced tracks. No hyper talk-boxed vocals, bhangra beats or samples. It's pure, singular-minded and unadulterated.

Secondly, it's lazily irreverent. The vocal delivery is almost rubato, most of the tracks are meandering midtempos, the vocal layering is indirect and almost incoherent. The hour plus completely disregards the three and a half minute radio-friendly song format. Verses flow into extended instrumental solos, which flow into long breaks, or interludes, or mini-songs.

On top of all this greatness, the backing band is amazing, the soul of Curtis Mayfield and Prince is palpable and D'Angelo has the smoothest voice this side of the neo-soul movement.

I hate to speak in absolutes, but with this one, I must. D'Angelo's Voodoo is the best true post-Motown/Stevie Wonder-era R&B album. Period.

In the presence of this greatness, I can't help but be dismayed with the current state of "R&B." Crossover appeal has stripped the genre of its originality, its creativity, its roots. Catchy hooks, and rap/sung collabos have taken the place of the true musicianship that R&B used to have. Ultimately, Timbaland did to R&B what the Matrix did to pop-rock--diluted it, mass-produced it, warped it beyond recognition to fit the tastes of the masses.

I'm tired of R&B songs that everyone and their Momma can sing along to, because they all know the words, because it's all over top-40 radio and the video's number one on TRL, with some artificially blond Black girl shaking her bajigglies on a soundstage. That's why I'm reveling in the genius of D'Angelo today. Because instead of wallowing in some ubiquitous mega-hook, I get to sit in the lap of songs which don't even let me decipher half their lyrics.

Sing It, Jeff

2008-06-23T18:00:00.000-04:00

I’m sitting in a tiny non-profit office in the heart of New Orleans, at a conference table strewn with flyers and newspapers, in an office too small for it, on my laptop, listening to Jeff Buckley and reading Real Clear Politics. I’m sad.

My girl lost. Everyone who knows me knows how staunch a supporter of her I was, and to some extent, still am. As crazy as many think it sounds, I believed in her, and thought she would make a wonderful President. I liked the fact that she was a woman unafraid to be political, even “calculating.” She’s a politician’s politician, and that’s really what I think politicians should be.

But it’s over now. Barack won, and I congratulate him, his family, and his campaign. He beat the odds and did what no one a year ago thought he could. I’m perplexed, though. Just about every Black person I know, save all the middle aged Black women in my immediate family, have hailed Barack’s clinching of the nomination as the greatest thing since Emancipation, or the Civil Rights Act. I can’t be mad at them. This IS a historic moment.

As I walk the streets of this city, meeting residents with whom I’ll be working with over the next few months, Black New Orleanians exhibit a euphoric joy for the man who has become their favorite son. They love him, and will love him no matter what. The bumper stickers, yard signs, and home-made airbrushed t-shirts speak to an allegiance that is more than just political; it’s visceral, deep-seated, lasting.

But our fist Black presidential nominee has been distancing himself from his Black heritage for some time now, refusing to fundraise for the Congressional Black Caucus, disowning his pastor of 20 years, refusing to speak at Tavis Smiley’s State of the Black Union and the National Black Mayor’s Convention Annual Conference. His speeches to the Black community aren’t as inspiring as they used to be, now sounding now a bit too similar to Bill Cosby’s pathetic “take responsibility, quit naming your babies Shaquondala” speeches. This candidate, who owes a lot of his success to the undying support of the Black community, and an innate desire of many Democrats to use his nomination to right some racial wrongs, has forgotten, to some extent, his continuing responsibility to the Black community that holds him so dear.

I know some of this is a necessity for a Black candidate to gain traction in a majority-White electorate, but I’m upset. Most Blacks I know are excited about Barack’s nomination primarily because of its symbolism, not its substance. Blacks I know aren’t excited about Barack because of what he’ll do, but are excited about him because of who and where he is. I’ve always argued that Hillary’s domestic social policy was better, on par, for Black America than Barack’s, and I still think that’s the case. But the appeal of a Black face in a White House always has more appeal that some boring policy differences.

I’m also upset that our first “post-racial” nomination fight has been anything but. The media, as with most things, has royally f-ed this one up. What should have been a serious media-led national discussion of race turned out to be George Stephanopoulos asking if Obama’s “coolness” was tied to his Blackness, to Rush Limbaugh making a song called “Barack the Magic Negro,” and bloggers across the nation comparing Michelle Obama to Omarosa.

This boundary-breaking election for women became instead a female-hating bash-fest for media talking-heads. Chris Matthews said Hillary’s only where she is because Bill cheated. Maureen Dowd still calls her the “ice queen.” No one got to call Barack a nigger, but it was almost fun to hear Hillary called a bitch. An MSNBC commentator said Hillary was pimping Chelsey out, and the list goes on…

I’m upset. The joy I should have had at this amazing time of two “firsts” has been overshadowed by what I see as this country’s just not getting it. The American media AND American public have not yet had a serious, productive discussion about race and gender in America, or White guilt, or entitlement, or even Black manifestations of those two emotions. We have yet to talk about the gendered way we discuss politics in this country, or the racist way we discuss gender. We have yet to really comprehend how much of an opportunity we blew over the last few months.

Yeah, I’m pissed. And as “Lover You Should Have Come Over” continues to play on my I-Tunes, the lyrics make me even more depressed. Jeff’s singing:

“Sometimes a man gets carried away, when he feels like he should be having his fun…”

That’s me right now. When I should be heralding what some see as a new Civil Rights Movement, I’m bitching. Not just because my candidate lost, but because breaking through these barriers that have stood so long only shows us how many more must be shattered.