In an age when it's nothing to carry a grudge against the waiter for bringing the wrong salad dressing it is hard to conceive of the personal wherewithal mustered by Nelson Mandela to subvert the memory of his oppression. And then to subsequently lead his people, and the rest of the world, out of the travesty of apartheid.
Yet here we are, safely tucked away in a world that opted out of a full scale South African race war by disemboweling centuries old racism. And I am not talking about outmaneuvering that bullshit racism practiced in America. South African racism was the gold standard for subjugating an entire majority of people with a viciousness that in hindsight seems like a lie somebody told to besmirch the humanity of the Boers.
Mr. Mandela took full advantage of the freedom that 27 years of incarceration afforded him in order to become the myth. And at the end of those 27 years fully embodying that myth to take on the role of leader and statesman with no more apparent effort than it takes to walk out to the curb for the morning paper. He became the liberator of his people and graciously carried that weight for the rest of his life.
But even if you are always outnumbered always outgunned, you can still claim the victory. The trick is to have another token in your pocket so that you can play again.
Glozell, girl you need to quit, you could have been the featured video for the day but you don't have embedding enabled. So we will just have to go with my motto.
Make my funk the P-Funk
I want my funk uncut
Make my funk the P-Funk
I wants to get funked up
I want the bomb I want the P-Funk
Don't want my funk stepped on
Make my funk the P-Funk
Before I take it home
I love the lie and lie the love
A-Hangin' on, with push and shove
Possession is the motivation
that is hangin' up the God-damn nation
Looks like we always end up in a rut (everybody now!)
Tryin' to make it real — compared to what? C'mon baby!
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over—
Like a syrupy sweet?
A busy week, so we did not have an opportunity to note the death of a jazz giant. Let us now rectify that by acknowledging the passing of Cedar Walton.
I didn't really hear about his passing so much as I noticed much more of his music being broadcast in rapid succession. I heard more Cedar Walton music in the space of an hour than you normally hear in a full week and I just suddenly came to an uh oh moment. Nobody had to say a word. But then again, what more fitting way for word of the passing of an intuitive jazz musician to spread.
Cedar Walton was not well known outside jazz circles, but inside the circle he was a giant. As a pianist composer, he was known for infectious boppish tunes. I always heard great similarity between the music of Cedar Walton and the music of Horace Silver.
Cedar Walton led the music the way I want it to go and he will be missed. I'm sure many were influenced by his music and will take up the charge that Mr. Walton so ably led for many years.
Jurors should take due care to exercise this right vigorously.
At the conclusion of serving on a high profile jury it is easy to confuse the final convulsions of that service with your personal 15 minutes of fame.
It is not.
It is easy to confuse the deference afforded a sitting jury with actual power.
It is not.
Your illusion of power is over and you were never in control, any more than a child who decided to go on a skittles run, any more than an ignorant misguided fool authorized only by the authority that flows from a loaded gun who decided to get out of his vehicle to body check a young boy that didn't look right.
At the conclusion of your jury service you have the right to not be accosted by members of society regarding your service. On the other hand, shouldn't society have the right to not be accosted by jury members as well.
Further efforts to explore the inner deliberations of a disbanded jury is nothing more than pornography and can only sow heartbreak and regret.
For the love of God, all of you please STFU and disappear back into your mundane lives.
You want to know what is really racists about this country?
That it allows a panel full of white people to go on national TV talking about having to talk to your black children about getting pulled over by the cops and what it means to be black and oh how hard it is to be black in America and what we need to do about it with nary a nigger in sight and nobody seems to think there is anything wrong with this picture.
I mean come on, were there simply not enough black people to go around to all the TV talk shows or did white folks really think they could appropriately speak to black condition.
If you really want to do something about racism in this country give the microphone to black people and then shut up and listen.
Everyone who was silent while they were passing and renewing the Patriot Act is now cordially invited to STFU.
However there may be a bright side to this thing. Since the government has all of this data, maybe they could make themselves useful and do something about all of the spammers and bootleg telemarketers who have figured out how to scam the do not call list.
Now that's something that might be worth losing some liberty over.
The world is a less musical place in the absence of one of the greatest and most underrated jazz pianist. Mr. Mulgrew Miller departed this life last week and somehow I missed it.
I briefly heard one station make mention of a tribute to Grew, but in the haste of a busy workaday world I dismissed it as nothing more than folks starting to wake up to his greatness. Maybe, subconsciously I knew what they meant and I just wasn't ready to process it. Sadly, I must now acknowledge that Mr. Miller has passed from this life and no amount of self deception will change that. This blog would not be worthy of its namesake if we did not pause to acknowledge the passing of this great jazz lion.
I cannot tell you technically what it is that makes Mulgrew Miller such an enjoyable purveyor of this music but the proof is always in the listening. His playing had the uncanny ability to consistently remain sonically in the background while simultaneously always being front and center. Upon discovering that he was the pianist on a particular piece of music (and he was the pianist on quite a lot of jazz) my reaction would always be of course he is, who else could it have been. He made it sound easy but no one else has perfected that sound. He was almost single handedly leading the charge in finding the new sound of contemporary jazz piano and for me was the definition of what modern jazz should be. No disrespect to the many fine jazz musicians of the world. There are many great jazz piano players but there was only one Mulgrew Miller. And now he is gone.
Do yourself a favor and familiarize yourself with his music both as a leader and as a prolific sideman. You will actually hear what many other jazz piano players are trying to do.
The jazz community has two consistent and enduring tendencies that I have observed while indulging in this music. One is to have really great one syllable nick names for the best players; Satch, Byrd, Diz, Monk to name a few. And the second tendency is that we gain full appreciation for the great ones only after they have made their mark on the music and permanently layed out.
I think Grew can be added to the list on both counts. I hope I am around long enough to see Grew get his full measure of appreciation.
So let me understand this. Every underpaid rent a cop is fully and duly authorized to bust a cap in your ass if, in his sole discretion, he doesn't like the way you are behaving. And while there might be some extra paperwork involved, nobody will say shit about it unless there is a video of it.
But let a brother try to draw a bead on your ass sneaking home for the holidays and its an outrage.
People hand in hand
Have I lived to see the milk and honey land ?
Where hate's a dream and love forever stands
Or is this a vision in my mind ?
The law was never passed
But somehow all men feel they're truly free at last
Have we really gone this far through space and time
Or is this a vision in my mind ?
I'm not one who makes believe
I know that leaves are green
They only change to brown when autumn comes around
I know just what I say
Today's not yesterday
And all things have an ending
But what I'd like to know
Is could a place like this exist so beautiful
Or do we have to find our wings and fly away
To the vision in our mind ?
I'm not one who makes believes
I know that leaves are green
They only change to brown when autumn comes around
I know just what I say
Today's not yesterday
And all things have an ending
But what I'd like to know
Is could a place like this exist so beautiful
Or do we have to take our wings and fly away
To the vision in our minds ?