The Hip Hop Culture Center In Harlem» H2C2

MJB: Live And In Color

Natassia — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 18:39:43 +0000

By Michael A. Gonzales

In years past, when Mary J. Blige’s primary claim to fame was being known as the Queen of Hip-Hop Soul signed to Uptown Records, she wasn’t above cursing out writers, sniffing coke in nightclub bathrooms, or stumbling drunk through music industry parties. Yet, in the eighteen years since the release of her triple-platinum debut What’s the 411 in 1992, the former wild child who came of age in Yonkers during the 1980s golden years of crack and rap, has transformed.

Though she grew up to win nine Grammy Awards, to write (and co-write) countless hit songs, and to make duets with Jay-Z, Bono, George Michael Elton John and Trey Songz, she still struggles with abuse issues from her childhood and the self-inflicted sorrow she put herself through as an adult. From drink to drugs to abusive men, she’s been down that rock ‘n’ soul road. However, as can be heard on Stronger With Each Tear, her ninth studio album, Mary J. Blige is still striving for strength in her music as well as her life.

Reflecting back, 2009 was a very good year for Mary. Beginning with her televised performance covering Bill Wither’s classic “Lean on Me” at We Are One: The Obama Inaugural Celebration in February, she also co-starred in director Tyler Perry’s I Can Do Bad All By Myself alongside Academy Award nominee Taraji P. Henson, launched her charity Foundation for the Advancement of Women Now (FFAWN), and contributed “I Can See in Color” to the controversial film Precious: Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire.

“You can feel Mary creatively turning herself inside out on that song,” says Precious executive producer Lisa Cortes. “Her contribution to the film is a heartfelt song that elevates the emotion of the scene. It was obvious to me that Mary took her own pain and put it into her art.”

Recently Soul Summer lunched with Mary J. Blige over steak and potatoes as she talked about past accomplishments, future projects, and the soul of Nina Simone.

Soul Summer: People often talk about how today soul music is lacking something special. What is your take on R&B in 2010?

Mary J. Blige: I feel like there is some real talent in the younger generation, but they don’t get the attention they deserve. Like Christie Michelle—why can’t we hear her voice on Hot 97 more? Somebody like Monica can really blow, but we don’t hear her enough. For the guys, I’d have to say Trey Songz.

SS: Who are you listening to now?

MJB: Have you heard the new Sade single? [Mary whistles impressively] She is not playing around.

SS: What was it like performing at the Obama Inauguration?

MJB: There was a point when I got nervous, but I looked over at Michelle Obama and she was looking at me like, ‘Girl, you better sing that song. We’re your fans too.’ I just couldn’t believe where I was.

SS: And it was cold that day.

MJB: It was brick [laughs], but it felt so good. Words can’t even express what I was going through.

SS: It’s only been a year, but President Obama is already facing some harsh criticisms, even from Black folks.

MJB: I think it’s unfair, because what Obama really did for us as a people is to show us how to get it ourselves, to show us that we’re responsible for ourselves. When we all moved, he was elected. That’s how powerful we are. Now, we have to continue to move like that for us to be our own ruler.

SS: You sang the National Anthem at Yankee Stadium the night New York won the World Series.

MJB: You know, I was born in the Bronx, but had never been to a baseball game; that was my first. I kept thinking, Here is this little Bronx girl now a woman, singing at the World Series. I knew we were going to win. It was a no-brainer. I felt so good and proud to be a New Yorker that night.

SS: The last time I saw you live, you and Jay-Z were on the “Heart of the City” tour. Can you talk a little bit about your friendship?

MJB: My experience with Jay-Z has always been positive. He is a friend and a brother; you have to respect someone that smart. He’s just a a good dude, a stand-up guy.

SS: I remember when Jay-Z had that beef with R. Kelly during their “Best of Both Worlds” tour. Kelly walked off mid-show at Madison Square Garden in 2004 and you left your seat to go onstage and perform with Jay. To me, that was real friendship.

MJB: When I saw the R. Kelly thing blow up I thought to myself, Jay doesn’t deserve this. He’s strong, he would’ve stayed up there by himself, but I wanted to be there for him.

SS: On stage, you seem to go to a special place when you’re performing.

MJB: Not sure where singing takes me, I just know that sometimes I’m not there; I feel like I’m soaring in a spiritual place. At the same time, I’m being very real.

SS: How do you define real?

MJB: When you’re being honest with yourself then everything you do will come across as real—no matter who likes it.

SS: What is the word on the Nina Simone film project?

MJB: It had gone away and started fizzling, but Lions Gate is going to get involved and it looks like it’s going to happen. I’m not making an official announcement, but it looks good. [pauses] I’m going to go so hard with an acting coach to do this film justice if I get it.

SS: What is it about Nina Simone that attracts you?

MJB: She was what I was on the My Life album, very dark and hardcore. There is something special in her voice and those songs. She was manic-depressive, but also educated. She was on pills, smoked weed, but she wasn’t afraid of anything.

SS: Your song “I Can See in Color,” from the film Precious is wonderful, but there has been a lot of backlash against the movie. What is your take on that?

MJB: Many people don’t understand the honesty of Precious and it scares them; anytime people don’t understand something, they usually start judging it. It’s a heavy movie, so people are freaking out. The same way we might not have understood Monster with Charlize Theron, but you still gave the movie a chance.

SS: I saw you on the Today Show recently singing Christmas carols and between songs I was surprised that after all these years in front of the camera, you still look kind of nervous.

MJB: It’s true; I’m a shy person. Even when doing interviews I’m thinking, I hope I’m getting this right. So, sometimes I just want to crawl under the table until its time to start singing. [Mary laughs]

SS: Must make life difficult when people constantly want to take your picture in public.

[Writer’s Note: This interview took place hours before MJB allegedly soul-slapped her husband at the Stronger album release party, which was all over the internet the following day.]

MJB: People have so much easy access to everything. There is no such thing as privacy anymore. Everything is on YouTube or something, so don’t do nothing stupid, because it will be on YouTube tomorrow.

SS: But, no matter how shy you might be, you still maintain, dare I say, a realness in your music and your life.

MJB: I don’t know how to do anything else. Don’t think I haven’t tried being that person, but it didn’t work for me. If I had to act like that person people call a superstar, I would feel like a fraud.

SS: If you could go back in time, what would today’s Mary tell young Mary?

MJB: I would tell her to get all the education she can get from people who are trying to give it to you. Don’t take things so personal, just get all the information and don’t worry about anything else. Stop worrying, believe in yourself and have faith.

Curtis Mayfield and the Black Rock Connection

Natassia — Thu, 14 Jan 2010 16:05:50 +0000

With only a few days to go before the BRC Orchestra spends two nights performing the Civil Rights songbook of Curtis Mayfield, Michael Gonzales reflects on the quiet musical giant.

While Curtis Mayfield was always been considered one of the greatest soul voices to come out of Chicago, his guitar playing was often so understated that rock fans used to the dramatics of Jimmy Page, Prince or Carlos Santana might be weary to cite him as an influence. Yet, since the days when he was still strumming an acoustic while singing churchy sounding songs “It’s All Right” and “Amen” with the Impressions, his playing was an influence on dudes like Clapton, Beck and Steve Winwood.

Another fan of the Impressions (and of Curtis’ guitar playing) was Jimi Hendrix. According to Jimi Hendrix: In His Own Words (Omnibus Press, 1994), the voodoo chile rocker once said, “I like the Impressions…they’re some people that need to be really, really respected. See, these are classical composers. I don’t care what their music sounds like today, because today, as things are happening at that particular time, the people that’s in that particular time don’t really know the value of it until it dies off. But now people really have to start learning the value of things as they’re living today.”

Almost makes you wish brother Jimi could’ve lived long enough to see Curtis throwing down with wah-wah, feedback, fuzz and other electro-gadgets that caused strange music to erupt from the speakers. Tracks like “Billy Jack,” Kung Fu,” “Future Shock” and “Freddy’s Dead” captured a whole new level of racial angst and musical distortion in his grooves and licks.

Danny Chavis, lead guitarist for art funk band Apollo Heights, believes that young rock star wannabes could learn from the Mayfield songbook. “A lot of guitarists try to make the instrument too complex, but they should study Mayfield’s simplicity instead of seeing how many chords they can play.”

Citing Mayfield’s 1990 “Do Be Down” as a favorite, Chavis continues. “Nothing against the influence of the Bad Brains, but some players need to forget about the fastness of the punk rock ethos and explore the roots found in playing in a gospel style. To me, Jimi Hendrix was just Curtis Mayfield with the sound turned up.”

Says rock guitarist Honeychild Coleman, “As a musician, Curtis taught me to not be afraid to experiment with different non-traditional tunings, Curtis might not have been formally trained, but that never got in the way of him branching into other sonic areas or writing and producing music for other people.”

In my humble opinion, one of Mayfield’s brightest moments as a producer and songwriter was when he began working with pioneering black rockers Baby Huey & the Babysitters. Led by a 400-pound singer Baby Huey (naming himself after an oversized duck cartoon character, his government name was Jimmy Ramey), the group had began playing at a local club called the Thumbs Up (a tiny bar on Broadway just north of Diversey) in 1965.

“They started us off at one night a week, $5 each, and all we could drink. And everyone wants to know why I got to be an alcoholic,” keyboardist and trumpeter Deacon Jones writes in his self-published book 40 Years with Blues Legends.

Hired strictly as a cover band in the beginning, Jones recalled that Baby Huey, “…was kind of lazy when it came to learning new songs. I told him he had to know more songs if he was going to make it with any band. We learned, ‘Go, Gorilla, Go’, by the Ideals, and some Four Tops, James Brown, Stevie Wonder songs. The number one song we learned that always got the crowd going was Stevie Wonder’s ‘Uptight, Everything is Alright.’”

In addition to booze, Baby Huey was also dealing with heroin addiction. In Jones’ book, he describes how one morning he was pouring cereal in a bowl at Baby Huey’s place when the singer’s “drug kit” fell out of the Wheaties box.

As the group grew in stature and began drawing in large crowds, Baby Huey & the Babysitters became less about Motown covers and more about experimentation. Writer Bob Mehr explains: “As the hippie era flowered and styles changed, the Babysitters changed along with them. Gone were the satin baseball jackets and matching suits of the band’s early years; Huey began wearing African robes and grew out his Afro.

“The music took on a psychedelic hue,” Mehr continued, “and onstage Huey peppered the songs’ long instrumental breaks with lascivious raps ‘I’m Big Baby Huey, and I’m 400 pounds of soul. I’m like fried chicken, girls, I’m finger-lickin’ good!’ With these impromptu freestyle verses, Huey was developing what many see as an embryonic form of hip-hop.”

According to the Baby Huey’s former manager Marv Heiman, it was future superstar Donny Hathaway who first came by Thumbs Up to check out the group. “Donny came in and flipped over Huey. He brought Curtis the next night,” Heiman told the Chicago Reader in 2004. “Curtis saw him and said, ‘I wanna sign him. I wanna record him.’”

Unfortunately, a few months before their Mayfield produced debut The Baby Huey Story: The Living Legend was released in 1971, Huey had died from a drug overdose while staying at the Robert’s Motel on Chicago’s South Side. In retrospect, perhaps it was Baby Huey that Mayfield was thinking about when he later composed “Freddie’s Dead.”

Though the Baby Huey album wasn’t successful at the time of release, funky stand-out tracks “Hard Times,” “Mighty Mighty,” “One Dragon, Two Dragon” and “Listen to Me” would later be sampled by Biz Markie, A Tribe Called Quest, Black Moon, People Under the Stairs, Ghostface Killah, Diamond D., Big Daddy Kane and others.

Cultural critic Nelson George has said that Mayfield “owes a debt to Norman Whitfield production on ‘Cloud Nine’ (1968) for opening up

Black music and preparing Black audiences for more progressive directions.” Yet, I also believe that Curtis had simply been paying close attention to his rowdy protégés (though from listening to the album, I would guess they influenced each other equally) as well as to Sly & the Family Stone, Miles Davis and his musically radical Chicagoan neighbor Sun Ra.

After a tragic accident in 1990 paralyzed him for life, causing him to never play guitar again, Mayfield still managed be a forward musical thinker when he hired alternative soul diva Joi and funky hip-hop rocker Sleepy Brown to contribute their talents to his last album New World Order (1997) on Warner Brothers Records.

Although he sang the entire record one line at a time while propped-up in a hospital bed that had been

rolled into Curtom Studios in his new hometown of Atlanta, he never sounds fragile. “I had been a fan of Curtis’ since I was kid,” says Sleepy Brown, who co-produced the poignant track “Ms. Martha” with his Organized Noize crew. In fact, a few years before when the Atlanta based production team produced OutKast’s debut Southernplayalist – cadillacmuzik, the album was recorded at Curtom.

“Curtis worked so long and hard on that project. His bed was set-up in the basement of the studio. Sometimes he was in obvious pain, but he just worked through it. He was always asking us to criticize the work, so we could make it better.”

Joi Gilliam, who has worked with the Organized Noize crew on countless projects including her solo masterwork Amoeba Cleansing Syndrome (which has never been officially released), sang background on “Ms. Martha.” From her home in Atlanta, Joi says, “In a good sense, Curtis was real picky when it came to the material he would use. I was honored and excited to be asked to sing on the album, because Curtis had to give the thumbs up on every voice heard on that record. I knew a few singers who auctioned who had worked with other famous artists, but Curtis still turned them down.”

Although Curtis’ didn’t take home any trophies, New World Order was nominated for three Grammy Awards. Two years later, after being inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame as a soloist, Curtis Mayfield died on December 26, 1999. He was fifty seven-years-old.

Writer Michael A. Gonzales has written for Vibe, Essence and Stop Smiling. His cover story “Gangster Boogie,” on Curtis Mayfield and the making of the Super Fly soundtrack, appears in Wax Poetics #38. His Blackadelic Pop blog essay “White Boy Music” will be reprinted in Best African-American Essays 2010 edited by Gerald Early and Randall Kennedy (Random House). He currently lives in Brooklyn and writes essays for SoulSummer.com.

An Open Letter to Hip Hop

Natassia — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 20:40:34 +0000

From the Executive Director of the Hip Hop Culture Center in Harlem

On Nov 13th and 14th 2009, The Hip Hop Culture Center had the honor of hosting the Zulu Nations 35th Anniversary. In addition the worldwide phenomenon known as Hip Hop celebrated its 36th Birthday!

In these days of Fast Food rap music, it was dope to see The Zulu Nation serve up a healthy dose of that good old fashioned Hip Hop that was birthed in Da Bronx.

For the uninitiated you may ask yourself “What is a Zulu Anniversary about?” Well my mello let me pull your coat. Imagine if you can an event that’s part family reunion, part Hip Hop vendor bazaar, and a flashback party from Bronx River or the T-Connection. How do I know? I remember well that pre-record deal Hip Hop. Back in those glory days I was down with a crew called Touch of Class, Nice and Nasty M.C’s. Then cats called me Mexi-Ray, and I put some time in the business of yes, yes yall. I had a diddy back in 79 called The Ultimate Rap. Pumpkin, one of the best live Hip Hop drummers ever, blazed the track. So for me bumping into folks that I haven’t seen in years was a blessing. Shout out to Boston Road crew and 78 park.

Imagine seeing Black Spade members from the Jimmy Carter era in their colors reppin lovely. Picture Break dancers, of all ages, all nationalities getting it in, off of records in their pure form. I’m talking those beats that you just don’t hear on the radio. Joints like Mexican, Nautilus, Apache, Catch a Groove. Crate boys stand up. Visualize the 1 and 2’s being manipulated, scratched and cut on in ways that the good people from Technique and GLI never imagined when they were invented. Conjure in your mind the main players from the formative years of Hip Hop exchanging war stories, catching up enjoying fellowship, snapping, telling jokes all in PEACE. And yo…that was just Friday!

Now Saturday was all that and a bag of chips…

The people in the house and on stage was a Who’s Who of the Boom Bap, too many to mention. Feel free to peep the pictures on the link (http://picasaweb.google.com/h2c2culture/ZuluNation35thAnniversary#). My three favorite moments were…

Toney Tone setting up his Crazy On high powered sound system
Yoda telling someone, “Whatever Brother, that’s $30″
Trouble Funk on stage in all its Go-Go glory destroying the building, with Bambaataa doin a two step.

Bam, Zulu…Happy Anniversary. It’s because of organizations like yours that real Hip Hop will never die.

Best,

Curtis Sherrod

Executive Director

His Name is Craig McMullen

Natassia — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 18:45:27 +0000

By Michael A. Gonzales

You would think that a person who has their name misspelled as many times as I have would be more sensitive to getting other folk’s name right. However, when it comes to my new pal and unsung guitarist Craig McMullen, who played with Curtis Mayfield from 1970-1973, I keep mistakenly writing his surname as McCullen. What kind of writer would I be if I didn’t have an excuse. You see, ax-man extraordinaire McMullen and drummer Tyrone McCullen (Black men with Irish surnames) both played on my one of my favorite soundtracks Superfly. Yet, if you look at the under the Wikipeda entry, both of their surnames are listed as McCullen.

Of course, every journalist on the planet knows that Wikipeda is often wrong, but for some reason I keep getting surname dyslexia when it comes time to type out McMullen’s name. “I feel like I have some kind of mental block,” I told him yesterday after sending out a press release about my upcoming Wax Poetics article Gangster Boogie about the making of the Superfly soundtrack and I had messed up again. “But, don’t worry, I promise I won’t do it again.” Good naturedly, Craig simply laughed.

Introduced to Mayfield by Rufus drummer Andre Fisher in 1970, McMullen was invited to audition for the windy city soul man. “I owned all his records, so I already knew the material,” recalls McMullen. “Although Mayfield was still singing with the Impressions at the time, he was on the verge of going solo and McMullen was more than ready take that journey with him.

Along with drummer Tyrone McCullen, percussionist Master Henry Gibson, bassist Joseph “Lucky” Scott, the five group members travelled the world and recorded Curtis/Live in New York City’s the Bitter End in 1971. “Basically, Curtis was a nice guy,” says McMullen, who studied at Berklee College of Music and began his career playing avant-garde jazz. “We had a few ups and downs, but what family members don’t.”

Between the live album and Superfly, the team recorded Roots (1971), which one writer described as, ” a visionary album and landmark creation every bit as compelling and as far-reaching in its musical and extra-musical goals as Marvin Gaye’s contemporary What’s Going On.” From his home in Ohio, McMullen explains, “We all played on that album; Tyrone McCullen played drums on a few tracks too.

“Curtis was a great guitar player, so us playing together I always had to figure out ways of doing something different. When you’re a session musician, it’s expected that of you to play in more than one position so you don’t bump heads with the other guitar players.” In addition to the three year stint McMullen spent with Mayfield, where he perfected using wah-wah and fuzz in his work, he also played with Chairman of the Board, Aretha Franklin, The Sylvers, Bill Withers and Donna Summer.

“Being a studio musician, you got to think fast, because time is money. You have formulate your ideas quickly, because those who operate the quickest under pressure are considered the highlight studio players. If you want to be one, you got to act like one. Still, I played with Curtis the longest. His big saying was, ‘I want you to do your thing.’ And, I always tried to do my thing.”

Playing old soul detective back in September, I tracked McMullen down when I started writing Gangster Boogie and he was the very first interview that I conducted. In addition to being a dope guitar player, McMullen is also a natural born storyteller whose Superfly memories of recording that masterful album in Chicago and New York were sharp as a tack.

While there is not much footage of McMullen playing live, he can be seen in the Superfly scene where Mayfield and company performed the provocative “Pusherman” as main characters Priest and Eddie chill out while waiting for their coke connect. “That was the only track that Tyrone McCullen played on and the only one we recorded in New York City.” Thirty-seven years later, McMullen still thinks of the Superfly sessions as a special time. “I’ve played on a lot of albums, but Superfly was one of the best records I ever did. In fact, I think Superfly was one of the best records of all time.”

For more of Craig McMullen’s thoughts and observations on the making of the Superfly soundtrack, check out Gangster Boogie in Wax Poetics #38, on stands soon–Wax Poetics: http://www.waxpoetics.com

“Pusherman” Scene: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fxq2pCaW7Sk

Mayfield & McMullen on guitar, Midnight Special: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P3yQpzdIw5I

Alex Bugnon – keys .. Craig McMullen -gtr.. Norman Brown – gtr .. @ Columbus Jazz & Rib Fest .. July 2009

Michael Jackson: The Big Picture

Natassia — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 16:39:01 +0000

By Michael A. Gonzales

With the release of the much-anticipated Michael Jackson film This Is It coming on October 28, perhaps folks can finally step away from the television gossip programs and pay attention to what made the King of Pop special in the first place: brilliant songs combined with hypnotic performance skills.

Having last seen Jackson rock a screaming audience back in 1989 on the Bad tour, I still remember the blissful faces of the fans staring in awe and cheering as he cast a spell of pure showmanship. While it was obvious that Jackson put in hours of rehearsal, on stage his flow was effortless. Sliding from one step into another as the music built, Michael Jackson was enchanting and beautiful, electric and dangerous.

Yet, since his death this past June, Jackson’s aural brilliance and extraordinary body of work has been overshadowed by the singer’s bizarre life.

Beginning his career as front-boy/lead singer for the sibling group the Jackson 5, who came from the grimy hood of Gary, Indiana, it was not long before the adorable Michael became every little girl’s fantasy boyfriend. Throwing down on hypnotic Motown tracks like “ABC” (which Naughty By Nature sampled on their 1991 classic “O.P.P.”) and “Who’s Lovin’ You,” it did not take long for label honcho Berry Gordy to try to double his money by turning Michael into a solo star.

In the same way Gordy had pried Diana Ross away from The Supremes, he envisioned big things for a solo Michael. Though Poppa Jackson was against it, they reached a compromise: baby boy was allowed to record solo projects as long as he remained a part of the J5.

With the release of Got to Be There in the fall of 1971, Michael’s squeaky voiced remake of the 1958 Bobby Day song “Rockin’ Robin” soon dominated pop radio. Still, it was on M.J.’s version of Bill Withers “Ain’t No Sunshine” and Leon Ware’s “I Wanna Be Where You Are” that the record buying public heard hints of the heartbreaking tenderness that would be explored years later on songs “She’s Out of My Life” and “Liberian Girl.”

Unlike other performers who were content to show up, record their parts, and break out, Michael Jackson became “a sponge in the studio,” picking the brain of everyone from the songwriters and arrangers to Berry Gordy himself. While the label offered the brothers no creative freedom in choosing material or arrangements—one reason they left for Epic Records in 1976—Michael’s studio schooling would later help turn the curious child into a recording prodigy.

In 1972, the enduring innocence of “Ben” became the title track of Michael’s second solo outing. Used as the main theme for a horror flick of the same name, the single sold millions. If any other artist had sung an ode to a killer rat, it would’ve been ridiculous; but as with many of Michael’s experiments, he was able to turn the syrupy 1972 song into a number-one smash.

Although Jackson’s solo success predated the birth of hip-hop by a few years, the common thread that bounds the two was an obvious love for soul music. Michael covered Smokey Robinson’s “My Girl” and Sly Stone’s “Stand.” Nevertheless, like Marley Marl and tons of other rap producers, Jackson worshipped the icon that was James Brown. As a kid, little Michael studied Brown’s moves, grooves, and growls and carried those funky lessons from the stage to the studio.

While Motown put out four Michael Jackson solo albums, the last being Forever, Michael in 1975, it wasn’t until the release of Off the Wall four years later that the young star proved he had staying power. Michael had met Quincy Jones while working on the motion picture The Wiz and the creative cheimstry was undeniable. But though Jones had worked with major artists from Frank Sinatra to The Brothers Johnson, the young star had to fight with his new label Epic Records to get the producer involved with the project.

“Michael was crushed, but he was also very savvy when it came to business,” Jones told Newsweek. “It was one of his attributes that I think people underestimated. He’d been around the record business long enough with the Jackson 5 to know how to work record executives. He flatly told the label that I was doing the album.”

Of course the Jackson/Jones collaboration proved to be a match made in pop heaven. Their work together, from Off The Wall to Thriller to Bad, became one of the most successful musical marriages since Dionne Warwick met Burt Bacharach or Gamble & Huff hooked up with the O’Jays.

Allowed more creative freedom than on previous projects, Michael’s 1979 classic Off the Wall was an exciting fusion of hyper-disco (“Don’t Stop till You Get Enough,” “Working Day and Night”), brilliant balladry (“She’s Out of My Life,” “I Can’t Help It”) and smooth pop (“Rock With You,” “It’s the Falling in Love”).

Unlike the Motown albums—which were essentially wonderful singles like “In A Child’s Heart” or “Just A Little Bit of You” surrounded by filler—every track on Off the Wall was magical. “Michael was involved in the whole album,” says keyboardist Greg Phillinganes, who also played on Thriller and Dangerous. “Q is basically an overseer who runs the show without really running the show. The icing he adds to the cake can be the difference between a good tune and a great one.”

Although Thriller was the bigger-selling album, it’s should be obvious that the 10x platinum Off the Wall has had its own share of influence on contemporary superstars Justin Timberlake, Missy Elliott, The Neptunes and countless others.

“Michael’s vocabulary of grunts, squeals, hiccups, moans, and asides is a vivid reminder that he’s grown up,” wrote critic Robert Christgau in The Village Voice. Even though Quincy deservedly gets much of the credit for assisting Jackson’s transition from boy to man, it would be wrong to overlook the stellar songwriting and keyboard wizardry of former Heatwave member Rod Temperton.

A white soul man from England, Temperton penned the classic ballad “Always and Forever” and was recruited by Jones to be part of Off The Wall’s creative team that included Paul McCartney (who wrote “Girlfriend”), George Duke, David Foster, Larry Carlton and Louis Johnson. As on many Michael Jackson songs, the sessions were a rainbow coalition of top-rate talent.

As Jackson put it, “I don’t hire color, I hire competence.”

Temperton wrote the title track as well as “Rock With You,” and three years later the prolific songwriter wrote the spooky aural horror film that was “Thriller.” Though the song was originally called “Starlight,” Jones insisted on a new title.

“I went back to the hotel, wrote two or three hundred titles and came up with ‘Midnight Man,’” Temperton once said. “The next morning I woke up and I just said this word. Something in my head just said, ‘This is the title’. You could visualize it at the top of the Billboard charts. You could see the merchandising for this one word, how it jumped off the page as ‘Thriller.’”

At this point, it’s redundant to say that Thriller is the biggest-selling record of all time, but at the time no one could’ve predicted that the record would move over 20 million units worldwide. The only thing that was certain was that Michael Jackson was still hungry.

The pop fluff of the first single, “The Girl Is Mine”—another Paul McCartney collabo—gave no indication of the album’s greatness. Fans and critics alike hated the song—in retrospect it was like biting into a spoiled appetizer before being presented with a gourmet meal.

A few months later Thriller’s paranoid second single “Billie Jean” was released, and there was no looking back. Though it seems silly today, the video became the first clip from a Black pop artist to air on MTV. Besides teaming up with Quincy Jones, perhaps Jackson’s smartest collaboration was recruiting heavy metal guitar god Eddie Van Halen (who reportedly supplied his trademark solo free of charge) for the third single “Beat It.”

Of course, Michael would go on to become the biggest entertainer on Planet Pop, but there was no way he (or anybody else, for that matter) would ever top the success of Thriller. The follow-up, Bad, was a major success by all normal standards, generating five Billboard #1’s including the reflective “Man in the Mirror,” the cool streetwise title track, and the wild “Smooth Criminal.” Still, for whatever reason, Bad was the last project that Jones and Jackson worked on together.

Proving that he always had his ear to the streets, Michael Jackson surprised the world when he pulled in New Jack Swing mastermind Teddy Riley to helm the 1991 Dangerous album. Best known for his hybrid hip-hop/R&B productions for Big Daddy Kane, Heavy D & the Boyz (who had also recorded with Mike’s little sister Janet), and Bobby Brown, Teddy Riley was an Harlem native who had grown up admiring Jackson and was determined to prove himself as more than a R&B producer. He did just that on tracks like the funky “Jam” and “She Drives Me Wild,” but perhaps the flyest song on the entire album was “Remember the Time,” Jackson’s last true masterpiece.

Later on, there were memorable collaborations with R. Kelly and the Notorious B.I.G. And in 2001, Jackson’s last proper studio album, Invincible, featured the wonderful Rodney Jerkins–produced tracks “You Rock My World” and “Butterflies.”

Not long after Jackson’s death, it was announced that there might be over 100 unreleased tracks in Jackson’s vaults, and the footage from the rehearsal of his upcoming This is It concerts was discovered. In the wake of strange relatives pimping his spirit and countless folks lining up to share all sorts of sordid stories, a musical memorial like This Is It comes as a big relief to Michael’s true fans as well as those who have been so distracted by the complex public image that they’ve been unable to embrace his talent.

If This Is It lives up to its promise, this will be a fitting reminder of the artist who understood how to seduce from the stage while making every move special. Michael Jackson’s life might’ve been spiraling out of control, but on-stage the brother was always in control.

To read more stories by Michael A. Gonzales go to http://www.soulsummer.com/

93 Minutes With Corey Glover and Vernon Reid

Natassia — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 17:21:12 +0000

Twenty-one years after “Cult of Personality,” Living Colour has a new album, a few regrets, and no intention of ever wearing neon spandex again.

By Michael A. Gonzales

I haven’t been in this studio since my second-grade class took the NBC tour years ago,” blurts 51-year-old Living Colour guitarist and founder Vernon Reid. Onstage at Late Night With Jimmy Fallonafter a rehearsal, the group—best known for its soaring, catchy 1988 megahit “Cult of Personality” and a now long ago habit of wearing bright spandex—is back, still endeavoring to mix commercial pop and agitprop. Their new album, The Chair in the Doorway, features the single they just thrashed through, called “Behind the Sun.” It’s about Katrina. “Originally, Vernon and I started writing ‘Behind the Sun’ with ‘The World Is a Ghetto’ kind of theme,” singer Corey Glover, 44, says, referencing the classic War song about universal poverty. “But after my wife and I went to New Orleans earlier this year and witnessed firsthand how devastated that part of the country still is four years later, I felt compelled to change the lyrics.”

The new single was well received, but Fallon’s production crew and stagehands really came alive to the band’s rendition of “Cult of Personality.” Released the same year as landmark New York City soundtracks It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back (Public Enemy) and Daydream Nation (Sonic Youth), the song was in constant rotation on MTV, and made them stars. As it reaches its chaotic climax in the studio, everybody in the room begins excitedly clapping and cheering. The band smiles shyly, as though amazed by the crowd’s reaction to a song they’ve played for more than twenty years.

Reid and Glover met at a birthday party in Brooklyn in 1986. Glover was born and raised in Brooklyn and today lives in Harlem with his wife, a schoolteacher, and two sons. Reid was born in London to a Caribbean family and immigrated to Brooklyn when he was 2. He was given the Jimi Hendrix album Band of Gypsyswhile a student at Brooklyn Tech High School; he was also a Santana nut after first hearing “Black Magic Woman” on WNEW. These days, he lives on Staten Island with his dancer wife and 6-year-old daughter.

“We got in late last night from our gig in Dallas, and then I had to wake up early this morning and take my boys to school. I came straight to the studio from there,” Glover says backstage, before kicking off his green Pro-Keds for a nap. Reid comes in with a $20 bill someone gave him right out of an ATM. On the back, someone has written obama is a nazi along the borders. “Can you believe this?” he asks, feigning shock.

While rock-history books overflow with references to groups like Television, Talking Heads, Blondie, and the Ramones, little has been documented about pioneering black rock bands PBR Streetgang, 24-7 Spyz, Eye & I, Faith, and J.J. Jumpers, who performed at the same Lower East Side venues. But at the time, there was a scene, spearheaded by a nonprofit called the Black Rock Coalition, which Reid helped to start in 1985. “The price of real estate makes it impossible to repeat,” laments Reid, who spoke at CBGB owner Hilly Kristal’s memorial in 2007. “Nobody can afford just to open some little hole in the wall where bands can develop.”

Fiddling with a bottle of water, Reid twists off the cap and takes a sip. “Success is disruptive in ways that some people don’t understand,” he explains. “In the beginning, Living Colour was a local band fighting to get noticed, struggling to get a following, and battling record labels to take us seriously. But once all of that happened, we still weren’t prepared.” Living Colour split up in 1995 and reformed to tour again in 2001. “Before Living Colour broke up, there was a lot of pressure on us,” Reid says. “My first marriage was breaking up; Living Colour was touring, but communication within the band was spotty. The problem with men is, we don’t have a language for emotion. We’ll curse at each other but never really talk.”

Forty minutes after he drops off, Glover stirs awake. Stretching, he knocks over my cup of coffee. “Sorry about that, man,” he says.

“These days, Living Colour is on a family vibe, with Vernon as the big brother,” Glover says, laughing. “It used to be that Vernon and I were constantly fighting for attention. But we complement each other. Vernon is never going to be able to sing like me, and I’m never going to play guitar like him. After all this time, we finally realize how important it is just to be around one another.”

“Nights on Broadway” by Michael A. Gonzales

admin — Fri, 04 Sep 2009 19:00:00 +0000

Introduction

“Nights on Broadway” is a hip-hop story in every sense of the word. Not only does it take place in the world of graffiti during the years that Kool Herc and company were creating new sounds from old records, but it is also a remixed version of another story I wrote a few years ago. Entitled “The King of Broadway,” it originally ran on the provocative Afro-arts website Nat Creole.com in 2005.

Although the stories are relatively the same, the major difference was adding the blue-eyed soul element of the Bee Gee’s song “Nights on Broadway” to this New York tale of school kids in 1970s Harlem and Washington Heights. Growing-up in these same areas during that same period, the funky white boy groove was one of my favorite jams.

Hearing the track one night in a Brooklyn bar thirty years later, memories of former pop station WABC and school friends from St. Catherine of Genoa made me want to revisit my story. It was then that I decided to do a textual remix in the tradition Grandmaster Flash, Marley Marl, DJ Premier Rza and DJ Shadow—just to name a few.

Without a doubt, these master turntablists had been an influence on my writings as much as the countless writers, journalists and filmmakers I consume on a daily. In my mind, doing a cool remix of an existing story was a way of paying homage to the sonic scientists who introduced me to the concepts of Black futurism, deconstruction and the rhythmic power of noise. Though I am proud of both pieces, it is the remixed version that I prefer.

The beautiful illustrations for this story were done by the late Baltimore artist Larry Scott. A fellow Cancerian, we met at a coffee shop called Xandos, which was across the street from the Baltimore Museum of Art. Introduced by New Jack City screenwriter and former Harlem resident Barry Michael Cooper, who had relocated to B-more in the ‘80s, Scott and I became fast friends.

Art critic and curator Franklin Sirmans was one of the many folks turned out by Scott’s work. Reviewing the artist’s 2005 show “Evolution of Depression,” he wrote, “The drawings almost feel like he’s working 3-D constructing forms with the line. Then there’s the almost abstraction of the work. The thing that hooks me is the simplicity/complexity of the black and whites..they just look mad original and damn good.”

The same year, the alternative weekly The City Paper voted Scott the Best Visual Artists in Baltimore. A few months after his show, I asked Larry if he would be kind enough to add his visual brilliance to my story. Without hesitation, he promised to give me something in a few days.

Though Larry wasn’t of the hip-hop generation, having grown-up a fan of John Coltrane and Miles Davis, he had recently began listening to Tupac, Biggie and 50 Cent and using their gritty poetics to jump-off a new series called “Ready to Die…?”

Come the following Friday, when Larry told me to meet at the usual spot at six o’clock, I was shocked when he gave me an envelope containing twelve separate pen and ink drawings. Though not an art expert, I know what I like and Larry’s work had an effect on me. Like German-Expressionism, film noir and East Coast hip-hop, Scott’s work had a sense of urbane despair that embraced the decadence and danger of the city.

Studying his masterfully atmospheric drawings, I almost cried at the sheer perfection in which Scott captured the pain and joy, laughter and anguish of these characters. Flipping through the dozen related images, one could feel the power of Scott’s vision as he created his own flavor of be-bop/beat-box visualizations.

Although we often spoke of future collaborations, this was not to be. In November of 2007, after leaving the coffee shop portfolio in hand, Larry Scott suffered a fatal heart attack. His body was found sprawled on the sidewalk the following morning. A husband and father, Larry Scott was 50 years old. This remix is dedicated to him and the beauty of his work.

Nights on Broadway

by Michael A. Gonzales

Blamin’ it all on the nights on Broadway

Singin’ them sweet sounds

To that crazy, crazy town.

— The Bee Gees, “Nights on Broadway” (1975)

Gray clouds drifted overhead that cool autumn afternoon in 1978 when po-po (back then, called ‘pigs’ or ‘fuzz’) discovered my homeboy Blaze strange-fruit-swinging from a sagging oak tree. Below dangling Pro-Ked-footed feet, Blaze’s black graffiti sketchbook laid open in the dead grass. Swaying from the old tree inside stately Trinity Cemetery on 153rd, Blaze was still dressed in his shabby Catholic school uniform.

Hours earlier, me and the crew (C.C., Voodoo, and Smokey) had waited for Blaze at Jesus (unlike the son of God, the owner’s name was pronounced ‘hey-zeus’) Candy Store. In our minds, we were a combination of the Wild Bunch without horses, the Wild Ones without motorcycles, the Dirty Dozen without a war, and the Bee Gees without a record deal.

Still clad in our own Catholic boy monkey suits, the candy shop was our crew’s official hangout spot. Sloughing in front of the flashing lights of the Kiss pinball machine (years later I met Gene Simmons, moments after shaking his monster, in a record company bathroom), Smokey asked, “What’s taking Blaze so long?” After his long fingers flicked the flippers with the expertise of Elton John’s cinematic pinball wizard, Smoke finished speaking. “I’ve spent most of my quarters and I’m almost ready to roll. What’s takin’ that fool so long, anyway?”

“He had to finish a high school admission essay,” I answered. “Sister Marquez was helping him out.”

Next year, we would all be graduating from St. Catherine of Genoa’s, climbing aboard rickety subway cars and overcrowded buses. No longer would we saunter to school ranting about Good Times episodes, the Fonz jumping sharks, or Walt Frazier busting butts at Madison Square Garden.

Of course, we would still hang out, playing basketball at the Battlegrounds or sliding down to Riverside Drive in the summer months to check out local sensation DJ Dynamite.

Already, I had been accepted into Rice High School, Voodoo had planned on going to the badlands of George Washington High, and Smokey was drippling over to Cardinal Hayes to shoot hoops. Crazy about drawing pictures, both Blaze and C.C. had developed wildstyled portfolios to present at Art and Design.

If Blaze had lived long enough, future rap legends Slick Rick and Dana Dane would’ve been his classmates.

Being graffiti comrades, Blaze and C.C. often chilled in the scruffy Broadway and 145th Street station. The sullied white porcelain walls were a testament to their personal rebellion.

Caught-up in their own artistic desperado mindscape when they was painting (or, as they would say, ‘writing’), Blaze and C.C. existed in an alternate universe where supreme aerosol artists were royalty and the rest of the world were merely toys.

Dressed sharp in earth-toned sheepskins or Corderfield coats, straight-legged Lee jeans and stylish suede kicks, they trooped through the dank tunnel where the trains were laid-up. An underground train yard that extended from 145th Street to a 137th Street, the trains laid-up there after hours.

With Woolworth-stolen cans of Krylon, Red Devil, and Rustoleum, Blaze and C.C. avoided the 11,000 volts of the third rail as they crept through the tunnel. Once the duo was submerged in the semidarkness of the station, they boombox-blasted Blaze’s favorite songs by Kiss (”Beth”), Led Zeppelin (”Kashmir”), Queen (”Sombody to Love”), and the Bee Gees’ hypnotic “Nights on Broadway”.

Somewhere in Blaze’s polluted mind, he believed “Nights on Broadway” was influenced by the train track swagger of graff kings. Without a doubt, the blue-eyed funk of the Bee Gees inspired Blaze to greatness in his works. Like funky honkies Elton John wailing “Bennie and the Jets” and David Bowie’s majestic “Fame”, these Bee-boys had a ghetto pass as far as Blaze was concerned.

Afterwards, chilling at the overground 125th Street station, Blaze and C.C. sat on the splintered bench with a crew of writers. Holding boxy Kodak cameras, the graff crews snapped shots of the many multicolored pieces when the subway finally roared into the station: Sky High 149, PESO 131, STAN 153, MAG 151, LSD 3, Lee 163, Crash, KOOL AID 131, and countless others.

“You watch, one day I’m going to be one of the Kings of Broadway,” Blaze declared, as though his name be Barry Gibb.

Bro was always pumped with adrenaline after those bench sessions. “Brothers soon gonna be talking ’bout my style. I’m on some McFadden & Whitehead shit now,” he joked. Bugging out, Blaze stood-up and spun on his sneakers like a Soul Train dancer. “No stoppin’, no stoppin’, no stoppin’…no-stop-in!”

Everybody laughed. Sure, Blaze had his problems, but that crazy cat always had jokes.

* * *

Munching from a greasy bag of Wise chips at the candy shop, Voodoo Ray sniggered. “Maybe Sister Marquez wanted Blaze to do more than make up that test.” Sloppily, he sprayed moist crumbs onto the Space Invaders screen.

“Hey, have some respect,” Smokey snapped. “Don’t you know you can go to hell talking bad ’bout a nun.” For a stone cold player, Smokey acted more like a protective priest whenever anyone ranked about Sister Marquez.

Staring at Smokey with amused eyes, Voodoo remained silent. Everybody knew that Smoke had a short fuse, and it didn’t take much for him to go boom on your ass.

“You know Blaze could be anywhere,” I added, and everybody nodded. They knew it wasn’t weird for Blaze to drift away on a solo mission, his smooth Latino face lost in a crimson cloud of red spray paint vapors, hovering in front of a blank wall like a ghetto Picasso.

* * *

Blaze and I had known each other since the days when we both reeked of spilled milk and soiled diapers. Being his homeboy, I was well-versed in the sordid gospel of his family, the infamous Garcia clan. “I just get tired of all their shit,” he once confessed. “I wish I could get away from all the screaming and arguing. You know, do a Huckleberry move and just sail down the Hudson on a raft.”

On those few occasions when I still went up to Blaze’s sloppy sixth-floor apartment, angry Latina screams erupted through the closed door. Over the din of thunderous shouting, I cringed as Blaze’s parents argued over money and jealous allegations. Once Blaze’s bitter mom’s started ranting that was God punishing her, he would stuff his sack full of comic books and flee.

Silently we walked to a 153rd Street, towards Blaze’s sanctuary, the crumbling Trinity Cemetery. Constructed over a century ago, its grey stones sparkled under the sun’s glimmer. Wild ivy scaled the walls that surrounded the vast cemetery from Broadway to Amsterdam. A rusty wrought-iron design on top was supposed to keep the riffraff from climbing over.

Many evenings Blaze and I roamed around the ancient tombstones, throwing rocks at vicious squirrels and puffing potent Buddha Bless. We trooped past celestial cement angels, massive marble mausoleums and giant trees.

“Don’t you think this is kind of bugged?” I asked, as we strolled through the labyrinth of grassy paths. Carrying our hefty school bags, we looked for the perfect spot to park our butts. “Why you wanna hangout in a graveyard all the time is a mystery.”

“You sound like one of those punk kids from a Disney movie,” Blaze teased. “Don’t worry, I got a ghost repellent gun stashed in my bag,” he laughed, squatting next to one of decayed mausoleums.

“Yo, I’m not afraid. This is just weird.”

“Chill out,” he said, tossing a few new glossy covered comics in my lap. “It’s spookier in my house than it is in here.”

“Alright, sorry.” Instead of talking, we flipped through the four-color wonderlands of his newest comic books; a crew of new artists that included Vaughn Bode, Jim Steranko, Barry Smith, and Neal Adams had taken the graphics to a different level. Blaze studiously studied their styles and later incorporated visual bits into his own art.

Pulling his black sketchbook and a pack of magic markers out of his book bag, Blaze experimented with different (robotic bubbles, wildstyle characters) letter styles. The more weed we smoked, the more fantastic were the graffiti theories that tumbled from his tongue: “It’s all about style, you see.” Blaze passed me the sketchbook. “Brothers who don’t experiment just taking up space on the trains. Like homeboy Vulcan once told me once, ‘Style is the thing that separates the men from the toys.’ Maybe all that ordinary stuff was cool in the days of Taki 183, but I want to change the world.”

“You gonna pass that joint first?” I joked. Although I did my share of scribbling, for me writing on walls just wasn’t my thang. Unlike Blaze and C.C., I never yearned to be the king of nothing. “Yo, what’s up with that scrub Blax 178? Heard ya’ll had still had beef?” Not that anyone we knew ever saw that dude Blax 178, but for some reason he had started crossing out Blaze’s tags with his own infantile scrawl.

“That toy scared to surface,” Blaze laughed. “He crossed out another one of my pieces on the A train. Then he got nerve to put crowns over his name like he thinking he a king or something.”

“Smokey thinks he might be down with the Ballbusters,” I said, referring to the street gang that sometimes terrorized our hood.

“Man, that cat ain’t down with no Ballbusters,” he screamed. “Dude just trying to absorb fame off my name.” Blaze beat on his chest like Tarzan. “Can only be one king in this jungle, man. That’s me.”

* * *

Twilight approached, and the crew was bored hanging in the candy store. As the sun dimmed, lucky Smokey won another free game of pinball, but passed it off to a goofy kid wearing a Planet of the Apes T-shirt. “Maybe we should walk over to the school and see what the problem is,” I suggested.

“It’s freezing out here,” C.C. sneered, buttoning his sheepskin coat. It was almost four o’clock and darkness slowly spread across the dreary sky. Yet no matter how frosty it might have been outside, our hood still managed to sustain a festive flavor where hustlers lounged in gaudy rides, grandmothers dragged shopping carts, and corner boys shot dice against a tenement wall.

“Wait up a sec,” shouted Voodoo, stopping in front of the weed spot. His older brother Red had recently moved up in the world from a loose joint hustler to opening a black door storefront that specialized in uptown herbals. “We got that shit now,” Voodoo howled, running out of the store; even Smokey smiled in anticipation of taking a blast.

As we walked down the street smoking bud, a car sped past blasting the Bee Gees’ funky anthem of stalking in the maddening metropolis, “Nights on Broadway”. Hell, so what if they were bubblegum crooners, we was feeling that pale-faced trio.

Indeed, even before the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack aurally blew brothers away, me and Blaze was saying dumb stuff like, “When I get grown, I’m going to grow my beard like Barry Gibb”. To this day the funk of Arif Mardin’s production, Barry’s soaring falsetto (first introduced on this single) and the endearing lyrics (”…singin’ them sweet songs, to that crazy, crazy town”) still plays in my head, reminding me of that bleak evening.

It was C.C. who first spotted the police cruiser parked on the corner of 153rd Street. The red light atop the car rotated in its glass dome. “What’s going down now?” he wondered aloud, and flicked the joint into the gutter.

The deeper we walked into the block, overflowing with fat-bellied cops and a wagon from the coroner’s office, the more our world began to tilt like one of Smokey’s beloved pinball machines.

“Those are his friends!” screamed Mr. Mancini, the Italian janitor from St. Catherine. “Dese boys…dese boys are his friends.”

Staring at our bloodshot eyes, a baby-faced rookie ushered us through a blue barricade into a surreal circus of chatter and tears. Quietly, we moved through the muttering crowd.

It was then I saw the swinging silhouette of Blaze’s skinny body dangling from the tree. Instantly I vomited, splattering bile on my Pro-Ked sneakers. Smokey, C.C., and Voodoo stared as though trapped in a nightmare.

Blaze’s poppi, a distraught Miguel Garcia, held his wailing wife tightly. “My baby, my baby, my baby…”, she madly repeated. “Please God, please God, please God….” She broke away from her strong husband’s weakening arms and flung herself to the ground. Sister Marquez stood nearby, praying silently and clutching her rosary beads.

“Get these kids over to the side,” a gruff black detective snarled. “They don’t need to see this.”

Before we were led away from the rustic gates, a beautiful gold and black butterfly fluttered above Blaze’s head. Expanding its divine wings, the powdery dust on the butterfly seemed to glow. Indeed, if only for a moment it seemed as though Blaze had finally earned his crown. ”

All hail the King of Broadway,” I whispered, as the Bee Gees harmonized in my head.

THE END

Uptown native Michael A. Gonzales has published articles in Vibe, Essence, The Source, XXL, The Village Voice and New York magazine. His fiction has appeared in Bronx Biannual (edited by Miles Marshall Lewis), The Darker Mask: Heroes from the Shadows (edited by Gary Phillips and Christopher Chambers) and Tell-Tales 4: The Global Village (edited by Courttia Newland and Monique Roffey. He blogs at http://soulsummer.com/ and http://blackadelicpop.blogspot.com/.

For More Info On Larry Scott, go to:

http://www.citypaper.com/arts/story.asp?id=14840

http://www.citypaper.com/bob/story.asp?id=10894

http://www.citypaper.com/arts/story.asp?id=10064

http://juyc.info/youth/index.html

For the original mix go to:

http://www.natcreole.com/no4.htm#lit

Writer’s Photograph by Martha Cooper