I was born in love. Marilou
and Poochie game me all that they could. And let the genetics fall where they
now remain. We lived, in a house full of other people. There, they raised us to
love God, be kind to others, and get good grades. Remember that time I told you
about my Mom and how she felt about partial credit?
Many of my childhood memories
are not only marked by my spiritual, social and academic educations, but also
my musical ones. I have specific memories of music, of songs, of artists, that
have literally been with me since the first cord was played. En Vogue’ing in
front of the living room mirror to Hold On. Crooning about the way love didn’t
go for me as Brian McKnight sang the hooks. And air guitar (pre
guitar hero)
to Atomic Dawg like none other could do. Like really though. That song came on
at a party when I was in graduate school and didn’t know much about NPHC
organizations. Needless to say, I had a situation on the skating rink floor. #LessonLearned
#TheyCameForMeThough #IWasntReady
#ButIWasHellaHypeThough
#NobodyWasSupposedToBeThereButThem
…and life was good. Then I
went away. Away from the genetic fount of my birth. The musical cradle of life.
Wondering around Westwood with a sony discman attempting to reconnect me to
sounds hundreds of miles away.
The
Calling:
Enter Dianne
I took
a Jazz course at UCLA #BruinBests because science majors need electives
that do not involve cadaver sections, test tubes, formaldehyde and electrons.
We also need to see people not adorned in white lab coats reading
unintelligible chemistry equations on graphing paper. It’s kind of a thing
there. They want you to have an education formed with many shapes of
something…. #WellRounded
#theGeometryOfAcademia
…and I
love music, so it wasn’t a hard sale. What was? The $25.00 ticket price to go
see this lady sing some songs about this lady she “remembered” named Sarah.
Back then, $25.00 was a lot of money, and quite frankly, if you remembered her
already, what is my purpose?
To be
adopted. I was there to meet my musical mom. Dianne Reeves.
She
will never know the change in me that day. How I sat in that
super-close-for-only-$25-row and listed to her sing life into a generation who
could not fathom the essence, let alone life or personage of Sarah Vaughn. I
answered her calling.
I just gotta
testify... Dianne Reeves saved my musical life. I have listened to the music from that day in
just about every state (emotional
and geographical)
that I have lived in. Calming like I imagine my mother’s voice was as I swam
about her uterus. Inspirational as my parent’s hopes for my future. And almost
as loving as my Daddie’s smile.
This
summer, I got an email from SF Jazz about an upcoming performance. It was a
member’s only concert #MembershipHasItsPrivileges. I
did not even think about whether or not I had the cash, the time, the resources
or the energy to traverse the summer heat and schlep my remains from one end of
the Bay Area to the other. I logged onto the website. Bought the closest ticket
(which
was in basically the last row) and went back to work. It was not until
the day of the concert that I realized that I would see my musical mom again.
She
hasn’t aged a single bit. Her voice was like the first day we met. And she
loved only me in every minute of that show. The vibrant outfit only enhanced
the vibrations of her voice in that perfectly designed place. And though she
will never know, the profound impact she has made on my life. The fact that she
will never know in this moment of professional confusion, sadness and despair
that I would recall her reminder about the amazing grace that saved our lives,
is just every single thing.
I
literally had the best day this past summer at SF Jazz, all by myself listening
to her remember Sarah, remember me.
The
Mourning:
Exit Joe
I got
a musical pops too. His name is Joe. Papa Joe doesn’t say much, at least not
with his mouth. He recites monologues with 10 fingers and each key in front of
him. We weren’t looking for each other. If anything we were being our
introspective selves. Papa Joe minding the business of the CD Rom drive in the
computer, me listening to the newly made mix CD from the CD Rom drives in the
Sunset computer lab (compiled
from all the CDs I owned).
Both of us in our own notes.
Then
my double A batteries decided I didn’t need to be great. I took my headphone
jack out of my CD discman and put it into the computer. Only Sho-nuff Shona
left her CD inside. Their CD rather. Joe Sample & Lalah Hathaway. I literally
got sick. A fever actually. And it was a lovely way to burn.
The
parts of the CD that compelled me most, were the ones in which Lalah stepped
aside. Now don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love her. Actually got a chance to
see her perform this summer (in the front row!) in
Oakland, so um, I’m winning. But something about the music. I honestly believe
that every musician means a specific thing, has an identified feeling, is
saying a particular thing as they play. The beauty is that we can interpret it
to mean whatever we believe it to mean, because that’s there gift to us.
And
Papa Joe was explaining that to me. The beauty of a father’s wisdom is that
they hold on to it until the very moment they know you need it. Patiently.
Watching you develop. Seeing you grow. Basking in every achievement. Aching at
your sadness. Urging to fix your unseen wounds. Then, when the time is right,
giving you a forehead kiss of wisdom to get you through. Though that time your life was low.
Papa
Joe knew that as much as I loved, appreciated, respected and adored music, I
did not understand what it was. Music is a gift. Sure we interpret music
through our lens, emotions, joys, and pains, but it is created with purpose. It
is not made to be this amorphous thing here for our shaping. It’s already done.
It’s already whole. It’s already complete. Sometimes, you need only listen. And
that be all there is.
But we children of
great men know that our fathers won’t be here forever. …and when they are gone, their songs, their genetic compositions, will
live on…
Even knowing we never prepare for their departure. It always happens so
unexpected, and definitely too soon. Papa Joe left me silently this summer. In
that moment I almost did what I tend to do when something so devastating
happens to me. Retreat to silence. I listen to my loss echo through my mind. #becausemyworldturnedblue
But I listened to a new album
that’s been in my iPod queue for a while. Just like Papa Joe would have wanted.
I am thankful for many things.
I am indebted to others. Like Marilou and Poochie. Though I haven’t been as
careful with the precious life they have given me, I made it mine, if nothing
else. That is a debt I will remain outstanding. In every definition of the
word.
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