April 2004

Chapter 4.   Oh, Oscar:

How to get your groove on at 77

It was one of the longest Saturdays ever: tutoring at 9, gig at noon, gig at 3:30, gig at 6. Whew. Tired still thinking about it. Tutoring at 9 was like pulling teeth; the gig at noon had an enlightened but incredibly long-winded keynote speaker that nixed the possibility of me selling CDs before I had to jet; the 3:30 gig didn’t even happen but I sat there for an hour before I had to make that decision. So imagine my face (and my feet, cuz you know the diva has been sporting stilettos since 11:30 AM) when I roll into my last gig of the night at 5:30.

Luckily a local radio station DJ named Bassman – a good friend of mine – was hosting. He always has good hugs and great conversation, so finally I’m chilling, relatively speaking. Normally, this moment right here would be the jump off for a rousing Indie Life about ‘never let ‘em see you sweat’ or ‘nobody cares that this is your 4^th gig of the day but you’ or, my personal favorite, ‘JaHipster pulls a brand new poem out her ying-yang and gets a standing ovation.’ But shut my mouth and call me a baby, cuz I done seen the light. And his name is Oscar Brown, Jr. 

I don’t have time to tell everything everyone should know about Oscar Brown, Jr., but his name is linked to his site so go check it out. Let me break down el importante: poet, actor, activist, singer and songwriter. And super-grown, i.e. he is 77 years old. I opened for him, took my shoes off, and expected to sit back and relax through his set until I could get downstairs and sell some CDs. Not.

That man wore me out. First of all, he brought energy into the room with him – I think most of it was in his smile. Second of all, his voice was killer silk and seasoned. The difference between those of us who know how to carry a tune and those of them that can ‘sang’ is knowing what to do with what God gave you – and he was working everything in everyway. Third, the brother was too smooth. I mean smooth. Was he wearing penny loafers? You know penny loafers slide across carpet and hardwood – and the man was straight gliding. And finally fourth – clearly not least – his lyrics were magnificent. Growness and revolution with a little jazz, soul and just damn funny all rolled into one. At 77 years old, he has been doing his thing for 50 years. Say what? Somebody smack me. I turned to Bassman and said: “Now, who in our generation do we want to see at 77?”

Hmph. We both shook our heads and said “Nobody.”

By ‘our generation,’ I mean those who have achieved mega or mid-level pop success playing now or playing the stuff we grew up on. I am not trying to see Jay-Z waddle across stage at 77 – and besides, he’s retired, right? Hip-hop hasn’t created a version of itself that won’t age-out before 40. I think we are going to do that – hip-hop is getting grown now – but we haven’t done it yet. Besides, half of our rappers need to decide to stop beefing and live to be 77… (yea. I went there. So what?) I would have nominated the moonwalkin’ man himself, Michael Jackson, but, even with criminal allegations and last two albums ignored, Michael is not the performer he used to be and he doesn’t seem to have any interest in re-inventing himself so that he can metamorphous into something we want to see at 77. Even he can’t swift-spin and sing soprano forever. Folks I grew up listening to that I would pay top dollar to see are James Brown, Earth Wind and Fire and Chaka Khan but *ahem* I said ‘our generation.’

That’s the kicker. That’s what Oscar Brown, Jr. helped to remind me of: I am trying to create timelessness, longevity and good music – all at the same time. I shy away from folks that say I am like Nikki and Sonia because they have been doing their thing since before I was born and still read to packed houses. It’s not about being good today; it’s about staying good into tomorrow. We’ve got to find that drive, that gift, that calling, that blessing. Say it with me people: I AM NOT A FAD! At least, I hope I’m not.

Part of what Oscar does that makes him worthy of sold out shows at 77 is speak the truth. He’s got some fun lyrics, but most of his stuff is no joke. Sure it’s smooth; of course it’s rhythmic; yea, you can probably make babies to a couple of those tunes and joke about the rest, but it’s all very real. Hence, he and his music are timeless because they are truth – be it politics or un-artificial relationships. Look at the list up there – James, EWF, Chaka - that is what they have in common: they tell the truth over a damn good bass line.

Sampling is all right, but at some point, if you like the sample that much, you’ll go and listen to the original. You don’t want to DO the sample; you want to BE the sample.

At this very moment hip-hop and neosoul are the people’s music – there is nothing to be ashamed of in that. But there’s not much new in it either, and folks in the know will always credit the original, not the remake. So where do we go from here? Doesn’t matter, as long as we go somewhere.

Yet, just as all hope was lost, I had two pivotal experiences that redeemed my faith in the concerts that I will want go see 50 years from now with people my age in it.

Experience number one was a live-via-satellite-feed concert. Experience number two was a loud happy hour debate. Ladies and Gentleman, there are at least two folk that I will want to see from our generation of music at age 77 and it is to them – not Oscar (though I am now a supa-fan!) – that I dedicate this issue of Indie Life. #1 is in the category of music we grew up to, and #2 is in the category of music we are creating right now.

#1: PRINCE. I am even going to pay to join his fan club. Have mercy. I can sing almost all his songs. I have albums that don’t have his name on it because he didn’t have a name at the time. And yes, I own a copy of The Rainbow Children. But I’m telling you, I just didn’t know. I had never seen that brother in concert. If you have not seen Prince perform, you have no idea. If you just saw that little joint with Beyonce on the awards or his Hall of Fame shindig, you are still rather clueless. I saw the satellite concert a week ago, got my Musicology CD and it has yet to come out of my CD player. I can’t even begin to describe – I think I’m gonna write a poem about it. If you know how I can pre-order a 20^th anniversary edition of Purple Rain, HOLLA!!! In the great Michael vs. Prince wars, I have been MJ all the way for 20 years. I now stand corrected. PRINCE RULES.

#2 Navasha Daya of Fertile Ground: As my favorite vociferous bar fly (Atif Saleem, CEO of Poetology) put it so aptly: “Have you seen Navasha? She floats, man. I’m telling you, she floats.” Um. Yeah. He’s not exaggerating that much. I get a real kick out of watching Navasha transform audiences that have never met her before. She is tall and elegant and beautifully regal. The audience is automatically in a ‘Oh. How sweet and refreshing’ mode. She brings spirit and truth like no other – she not only floats, she glows. The audience is then mesmerized and in a sort of trance state. Then the band gets into that first funky groove with the break in it and Navasha picks up something loud and percussive and she gets to shakin’ like her own personal earthquake. It doesn’t matter what she is wearing – which is always elegant and ornate and flowing, and the kind of stuff that rest of us would trip over just trying to walk, let alone dance and preach in – she will get down. The crowd, of course, goes wild. Even in this day of muted miracles and diluted deities, we know a spritual warrior soul sistah groove mama when we see one. And she can ‘sang.’

one

jh