The Loud Librarian

I. Miles

Punk would have been his first choice
But most days, he settled for jazz fusion
Mind you, it wouldn't be your smooth easy listening
No, the incarnation he favored was electric Miles
Live-Evil era Miles to be precise
Pip squeaks of funk, a bitches' brew of sonic chaos
Untethered dissonance that destabilized the unwary listener
Barely a minute after they'd entered the library
Check the startled looks of the patrons - priceless

It was not what you'd expect, distorted, unsettling
Very far from what you'd expect given the setting
But this was what you got when it was his shift
On duty at the front desk, he controlled the playlist
Not your garden variety background inoffensive music,
No, at its most friendly, the riffs would place you On The Corner
Or a journey into free rhythmic abstraction, taken to Pangea
Unmoored, with little recognizable features, frankly disconcerting
Pugilistic in intent, the music, it demanded active listening
At such times, you were apt to be left completely disoriented
Wishing for the relative aural safety of A Tribute to Jack Johnson

Electric Miles then, and only occasionally Electronic Miles
No Kind of Blue modalities, no stately Sketches of Spain
No First Quintet bop stylings, no Second Quintet excursions
The library's soundscape became full of challenges
You'd wonder why you kept re-reading that page of the article
Strangely uneasy, enervated and somehow provoked by the music
And as for the microfiche, you'd inevitably lose concentration

The middle schoolers mostly gave up on doing their homework
Best just to decompress or browse the aisles during those hours
The other librarians would exchange looks of concern
The mantle of reverence had been punctured if not shredded
Nervous energy, the wall of sound evoked the shape of dread
Missing, the customary hushed tones of the library
It hearkened to Sly Stone, There's a Riot Goin' On

But we are creatures that avoid conflict, striving simians
So no one confronted him or made any demands for silence
Discreetly and strategically placed, a box of ear plugs was often to be found
Near the display of staff recommendations at the entrance
Passive aggressive too, posters and vinyl, The Birth of the Cool
Sorcerer, Someday My Prince Will Come - Frances on the cover smiling at you
Ascenseur Pour L'échafaud, the iconic Miles projects, Miles Ahead too.
And it became institutionalized and part of the practice
Buyer beware, know what you're getting into
The loud librarian ruled on Tuesday afternoons

II. Method

If organized chaos was his soundtrack
Manufactured serendipity was his methodology
Walking the aisles searching for opportunity
Where a blanket of serenity would normally greet you as you entered
The diffident and deferential queries you expected:
"Is there anything I could help you with?"
No, the loud librarian would approach you head on
"Have you seen this? Over here we have a new exhibit"

And, well, you would often forget what you had been looking for,
The reason you'd come to the library in the first place
He had sized you up as you entered and unerringly tailored the offbeat material
He always gave you something that you didn't know that you needed
Redirecting you, changing the perspective, oblique viewpoints
The connective tissue he saw was inspired direction

So, despite the inevitable naysayers at his aural eccentricity
Despite the chatter and slanted anecdotes he imparted
After a few encounters he garnered a following
Aficionados would leave the library synapses firing

Many a research project would be revitalized
Science fair projects became baroque surprises
No mundane experiments with baking soda
Newton's experiments in alchemy became prime subject matter
The histories of the maroons in Suriname and Guyana
Speculation on elements of continuity within the Akan diaspora
Suddenly Fabian Socialists entered classroom discussion
At the dinner table, parents would now face new contentions
Their curious offspring now questioning state legitimacy
Back from the bibliothèque devotees of oral histories

III. Billie

Come the winter solstice, the soundtrack changed
Tuesday heartbreak became troubled Thursday
A shift change, the director rearranged the schedule
And Thursdays were known to feature a tough crew
Gathered as they were in dueling conference rooms
The first group considered stamps, the Philatelic Society
Altogether conventional, they researched political histories
But the seeds of conflict were sown by the Psychedelic Society
He couldn't help it - simply couldn't contain his curiosity
About what strange things could be going on in their meetings
A fractious lot, not responding to any of his queries
From what he could make out after examining their marginalia,
Their focus was ostensibly on matters mind-altering and minor arcana
They were reluctant to reveal the substance of their "happenings"
But he was not at all impressed with their take on bioprospecting
Their single minded focus on ancient herbal remedies
Commerce instead of the application of indigenous knowledge

And so we all started to listen to Billie Holiday
The Lady in Satin album mostly, autumnal Lady Day
Pathos in the voice, wracked by too much living
Thoroughly wrought with experience, witness the mannered phrasing
Off kilter, her way with a ballad, the lush strings backing
And loud, crucially you could hear every bent note
Trace the curvature of her deliberate voicing
As if caressing the microphone, the breath control, halting
The immediacy in the lyrics was striking, but it tended to take a toll
By the time Glad to be Unhappy came on, you'd be thoroughly wrecked

After a few months, he decided to quit, it was time to move on
Another town across the country would require his intervention
He planned out the soundtrack of his last Thursday afternoon
He played The End of a Love Affair it seemed on repeat
Careful observers would realize that it was all seven takes
Variations on a theme, as ever, she preempted the beat
The strings mournful, her voice increasingly emotional
The psychedelics were in distress as they walked out the door
The blues of wist and melancholy, no one could stand it anymore.
Billie. You're killing us, this is too much to bear
How many times can we hear The End of a Love Affair?
Finally smiling, for the encore, he switched to Portishead
He hummed along to Sour Times during his exit interview

The Loud Librarian, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Inamorata by Miles Davis
• The End of a Love Affair by Billie Holiday
• Sour Times by Portishead

File under: culture, observation, perception, life, music, obsession, whimsy, Small Things, poetry, toli

Writing log: November 24, 2022

A DJ's Duty

Seeing friends in the East Coast digging out from their winter storm put me in mind of the Nor'easter of 1995 when I did an 18 hour stint DJing on WHRB in the basement of Memorial Hall. A duty of care, I didn't want to shut the radio station down.

It all started so innocently, I was set to do the Street Beat hip hop show from 4 to 6 pm on Saturday. I showed up 90 minutes early, having paid no attention to the weather forecast. Albeit I did notice a few flakes of snow as I exited the shuttle bus with my crate of records. Who knew?

Almost immediately, I got the sense that something was up. As I poked my head in the studio, the DJ who was on air signaled to me and pointedly asked me if I wanted to go on early. I didn't know any better and so said "Sure, why not" and ran to pick out a few more records from our stacks.

The Street Beat credo, if there was one, was simply that we didn't play commercial stuff. If you did play a club banger, it had to be a rare white label remix. The founders of The Source magazine were Street Beat alums. We had standards. We did vinyl. We mixed. We were underground.

I had my work cut out because I hadn't been keeping up with the latest releases so I was half expecting some irate caller from Roxbury complaining about the lack of Ed O.G. & Da Bulldogs. Anyway, I started my set off with Dip Dip Divin' by Justin Warfield and got more esoteric from there.

At 5 pm, I got a call that the next DJ wasn't going to be able to make it for the 6 pm show. Hey, I thought, more airtime and, well, I wanted to play some soul. The Boston hip hop audience is unusually demanding whereas the soul crew are far more forgiving. I threw on Rainbow by Shinehead.

Anyway 6 pm came and I switched to spinning club classics. Grooving really, everything was beat-matched; not a bad mix. I was feeling it and getting lots of requests. Callers did mention that the snow was really coming down but my music was giving them soul comfort.

I suddenly realized that I was getting hungry. Ah right, I'd missed dinner. But, well, I could pass by the Hong Kong at 8 pm and grab something. The red leather furniture of the restaurant, the ambiance of disrepute and the strangely comforting food. Salivating. Bruce Lee would approve

Of course, I'd forgotten Francis Bacon's adage:

Hope is a good breakfast, but it is a bad supper.

7:45 pm came and the next DJ hadn't shown up. I went to the front door and saw a pile of snow. It was coming down hard. Blizzard conditions really. I checked the schedule but didn't see a phone number or who to call for backup. Ooooh trouble.

I decided to not just put on a cd, it's a point of pride to always be mixing vinyl. So I dug more records from the vault and I mixed, blended and matched beats.

8 pm came.

For You To Love was our quiet storm show. DJ Zik had heavy boots to fill but I thought I'd be up to the task for the next two hours. Where his signature was the titular Luther Vandross song, I went with Crying Overtime by Alexander O'Neal, the king of ad libs.

10 pm came. I now had to read a Public Service Announcement, something about a storm advisory, how you should avoid leaving home if at all possible. As I read the script, the penny dropped. Stay off the roads. No wonder no one was coming to give me relief.

Midnight came. No replacement. I continued with a set of torch songs. Again it would have been easy to throw on an Isaac Hayes half hour lament but that would feel too much like cheating. I dug deep: Luther Ingram, The O'Jays, Eddie Kendricks etc.

2 am. Despair set in.

Burning Spear came to my rescue (Mi gi dem was the joint). I turned to roots reggae. Then decided to explore the falsetto singers in reggae. The phone calls to the studio blew up at this point. I must have struck a nerve.

Also: scavenging around the studios, I managed to find a Twix bar. I didn't query its vintage, I just ate it up. Where there's a snack gap...

4 am. This was getting ridiculous. UK soul then - I put on Loose Ends, Omar, Mica Paris and some acid jazz, Young Disciples, Galliano, Jamiroquai. Also I started to think of drastic measures...

When you comped, you had to learn how to turn the station on and off. FCC regulations or something. But no one really paid attention to that part of the training. I certainly couldn't remember how to turn the station on if I came in cold in the morning. In any case, who ever heard of shutting it down?

I grew up in newsrooms and the BBC World Service formed the backdrop of my teenage years. Dead air was anathema to me. I wasn't going to be the one to let the side down. So I kept spinning, running back and forth to pull more records. Mixing on the turntable decks always, I refused to play cds.

At 6 am the woman who normally did the Sunday gospel show called apologetically to say that she couldn't make it, commiserating about the snow drifts, danger and all that jazz. Sigh...

I threw on some divas. Aretha, Brenda, Mavis, Chaka and Rachelle Ferrell. Know what I mean?

8 am came, and it seemed as if relief beckoned. Some poor soul called and said that he hoped to be there soon to do the folk show. The storm had abated somewhat. I started playing songs that mentioned Heaven. Bebe and CeCe Winans, Miles Jaye and so forth.

9 am and the guy hadn't showed up. I was tempted to Shut 'em down c/o Public Enemy - the Pete Rock Remix of course (still the best remix of all time).

I cheated and decided to throw on Freedom Suite by The Young Disciples. A good 15 minutes of respite. Isaac Hayes's By the time I get to Phoenix was another option considered (18:45 minutes for those in the know) but I couldn't find Hot Buttered Soul in the stacks.

10:15 am. He arrived. Another human being in the flesh. He said that it was rough outside. Of course he needed some time to pull some records together for his set but by this stage I didn't care anymore, blending and beat matching almost like an automaton.

I couldn't find Keep the Beat by Eric B & Rakim so I closed my set out with And the beat goes on by The Whispers. I was fully committed to the task.

The studio was an almighty mess when I handed over and I started reshelving the hundreds of records I'd pulled and deliberated over. 18 hours worth. It was tough going.

I walked back to the dorm through the 14 inches of snow with my crate of records. No shuttle bus obviously. I didn't have boots on, no gloves and, well, I wasn't appropriately dressed. It was a long, treacherous walk but, at length, I made it to the Quad. The Cabot House dining room was just opening for brunch.

...

There's no moral to the story, just the abiding memory of holding down the fort in that basement, at one with the music and the radio audience.

DJs may be a strange breed but we have a keen sense of duty.

- The basement entrance to the old WHRB studios

A DJ's Duty, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note. Some of what I played that weekend (spotify version)

• The Basement by Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth
• Dip Dip Divin' by Justin Warfield
• Rainbow by Shinehead
• Got To Keep On by The Cookie Crew
• Last Night a DJ saved my Life by Indeep
• Mi gi dem by Burning Spear
• Burrup by Nardo Ranks
• Shut em down (Pete Rock mix) by Public Enemy
• Can't Stop a Man by Beres Hammond
• Crying overtime by Alexander O'Neal
• I get the job done by Big Daddy Kane
• And the beat goes on by The Whispers

Bonus beats: a tape of a Club Classics set I did circa 1993 that I digitized when I found time during the early covidious lockdowns


File under: music, obsession, memory, humour, life, youth, culture, observation, perception, WHRB, whimsy, Social Living, toli

Writing log: January 5, 2022

Caribbean Queen by Billy Ocean - One Track Mind

I'm dating myself, but the easiest way to get me to make a fool of myself is to play Caribbean Queen by Billy Ocean. It's like kryptonite to me. By the time the chorus comes around, I'm no longer acting, I have become an actual fool.

I mean Michael Jackson and Prince especially made major moves that year but Billy Ocean essentially won 1984 with just that song. The rest of the album was a bonus.

I just can't resist the groove, it makes me happy, I want to dance, I want to sing (loudly), and act the fool. They say Dionysus was a Greek god but the scribes out of discretion didn't disclose his infatuation with the siren song of a Caribbean queen.

I'm pretty sure Liberian Girl was MJ's belated response to homie for stealing his thunder, despite what the biographers may say. The gloved one with the golden voice always knew a winner (see lifting the synths from 1999).

Incidentally, many sincere apologies to the women I've stepped to while singing that song or variations of it - I'm an equal opportunity prospective lover, and, as I've said, I'm a fool.

The song is so versatile that, not to disclose too much, I've sang of African queens, Nigerian girls, Ghanaian ladies, various European duchesses and American queens and more, not to mention many a real life Caribbean queen.

Musical flirtation must be an occupational hazard of womanhood and it's all for the good. I've found that on occasion, some do get caught up in the rapture of a song so infectious. And even when deflected, the song breaks it down gently.

Now of course there's a long tradition of such celebratory songs. Frankie Beverly and Maze gave us Southern Girl. Earlier, Lou Perez gave us Caribbean Woman, his charanga ode to that fine Caribbean woman. They know what's up.

But to return to the song, give me the extended version. At the very least, you need the seven minute version, a radio edit wouldn't do with something so exuberant.

Even after the insistent anouncement of the opening bars (you have to signal your intentions in these things), the song takes its time to get the the point and lets the saxophone lay down the law to start things off.

There's something quite unhurried yet insistent about the groove, propelled by the synth basslines. It's a pulsing pace yet it still manages to be langorous, as if to savor the dance. Caribbean Queen is a dancefloor anthem, feelgood in four on the floor rhythms.

Start with the voice. The warmth in Billy Ocean's singing just invites you into the conversation. To my ears, there's a lilting hint of Gregory Isaacs and the velvet touch of Dennis Edwards in the voicing.

The honesty also disarms:

"I was in search of a good time
Just running my game
Love was the furthest,
Furthest from my mind"

The kicker comes from the parentheses in the title: No more love on the run. This is about being captured.

With spare lyrics, the scene sets up the drama of the relationship but he makes you wait by doing two verses and bridges, so building up the tension that the chorus is a release. But, just as soon as we're released, the groove settles back down to enjoy the dance.

The drop in the middle, and the build up, also play their part making you savor each element. The bass gets it due, the drum beats and then the synths do their bit. It's like the Soul Makossa breakdown in Wanna Be Startin' Something. By the time the chorus comes back around you want to start singing it again.

The guitar riffs. the sound effects, Keith Diamond's keyboard, synthesizer and production are inspired and really shine here but it's the saxophone solo by Jeff Smith just puts things over the top.

Infectious thy name is Caribbean Queen.

The initial release in Europe was titled European Queen but didn't get traction. Canny marketing forced a new title and Caribbean Queen struck a nerve. I've also heard an African Queen version.

Surveying the 1984 music scene, most would hand it to Prince, you can hardly argue with When Doves Cry and the Purple Rain album and movie, let alone The Time, Sheila E and Appolonia 6. It was his year in music and pop culture.

But there were others too. I mean Cherrelle (courtesy of Jam and Lewis) dropped I Didn't Mean To Turn You On, Dennis Edwards and Seidah Garret had the almighty duet Don't Look any Further.

The S.O.S. Band's Just the Way You Like It album heated up the dancefloor. And even in the midst of all this, Sade's Diamond Life had been released and Smooth Operators were moving

A digression: Billy Ocean would win the 1985 Grammy award for Best Male R&B Vocal Performance for Caribbean Queen. But the other nominees that year were quite mistaken. Namely, let's be frank, The Woman In Red is hardly prime Stevie Wonder.

And to pick on the thread, the Grammys have never really rewarded the soul music that moved the masses. Unforgiveably, James Brown didn't get anything after Papa's Got a Brand New Bag until Living in America in 1987.

Sexual Healing is an all-time jam but the Academy barely acknowledged Marvin Gaye's transcendent 1970s run of albums that changed music.

Teddy Riley's only Grammy was for engineering Dangerous in 1993. How are such things possible?

Anyway, the point is that Stevie Wonder kept getting sentimental votes in honor of his Seventies's streak.

It was even harder to square Stevie winning the next year 1986 for In Square Circle when Alexander O'Neal wasn't even nominated.

The same thing goes for 1996 when there was Brown Sugar by D'Angelo or say I Hate U by Prince. For Your Love is a effortless ballad from Stevie but come on, really?

In any case, the fact remains that Caribbean Queen stopped both Prince and Stevie Wonder in the charts that year which is saying something about what it means to black culture.

The song affects me the way its almost contemporaneous Somebody Else's Guy by Joycelyn Brown does - shower song fodder. I Can't Wait by Nu Shooz would disconcert me in a similar manner a couple of years later.

So anyway, catch me singing along with Billy Ocean: Caribbean Queen (No More Love on the Run). Meet me on the dancefloor.

Queens, a playlist

A few more songs in the vein of Billy Ocean's opus. (spotify version)

• Caribbean Queen (No More Love on the Run) by Billy Ocean
  The masterpiece
• Southern Girl by Rahzel and Erykah Badu
  Beat box meats Dallas princess
• Soul Sista by Bilal
  Raphael Saadiq's slinky production never fails
• Brotha by Angie Stone
• Southern Girl by Maze featuring Frankie Beverly
• Liberian Girl by Michael Jackson
• Soul Sister by Dexter Gordon
• The Girl from Ipanema by Stan Getz & João & Astrud Gilberto
  
• Taurus Woman by The Subterraneans
  Mystical acid jazz that never gets old
• Black Magic Woman by Dennis Brown
  Rather than Santana's involved electricity of the same title, I prefer the crown prince of reggae's musings on his muse
• Caribbean Woman by Lou Perez
  The blueprint
• Caribbean Queen (Extended Mix) by Billy Ocean
  Forgive me if I'm dancing

See previously: Janet Jackson and the importance of bubblegum and Baby me by Chaka Khan

This note is part of a series: One Track Mind

File under: music, soul, nostalgia, review, appreciation, culture, virtuosity, youth, dance, voice, groove, observation, perception, One Track Mind, toli

Writing log: April 28, 2024

The Synthetic Shadows of Marvin Huxley

Apropos simulations and simulacra... I am catnip for the blues and, for the past few weeks, have been simmering in a thick stew of female blues singers - because, well, that's what one can do these days... Which leads me to the curious case of Marvin Huxley.

Or should I italicize "Marvin Huxley", a music producer who, like me, is enamored of 1930's Delta style blues and has now, at length (and perhaps controversially augmented with AI), delivered an album-length blues fascinator, Shadows of the South

Branded as an "Independent Lo-fi Blues and Jazz Funk Music producer" from Adelaide, Australia, I see and hear what gets him off, it's an aesthetic I am deeply sympathetic with. It's also an aesthetic just out of an uncanny valley, leaving me deeply conflicted.

My introduction to Marvin Huxley was Suits Stitched in Shadows and Lies, which was somehow recommended by YouTube after I'd exhausted my go-to playlists of Etta James, Big Mama Thornton and Memphis Minnie. And, well, listen for yourself.

(Putting aside the visuals - which were a later discovery and par for the course in this our generative timeline), I didn't know where to start with the music, I was confounded.

Then, one click later, there was A Dollar's Worth of Skin, which was similarly disconcerting to the ear. Synthesis, compression, homage at once, and fruit of a strange alchemy.

Then, there were also the earlier experiments, say Goodbye America Blues, which is more evidently artificial with its vocal sampling of an unknown singer and filtered guitar. Still, I kept listening, eventually casting the effort as a blues fascinator despite the synthetic content.

Sidenote: The Sister-in-law has written at length about the real thing. We should all listen to them. The emotional labor and the craft:
Blues Mamas and Broadway Belters: Black Women, Voice, and the Musical Stage (Refiguring American Music) #CiteBlackWomen

In any case, here is an album that is soaked in this aesthetic, devoted even. A studio creation, perhaps, but it is a creation nevertheless. A high-tech creation of lo-fi blues.

Or more precisely, it is a recreation from someone "who loves trying to recreate those old sounds using vintage style instruments, samples, compressors and effects". Homage and chimera, then.

When I read "The guitar recording was degraded to evoke the brittle warmth of a 1930s field recording", I couldn't help but think of Pete Rock or DJ Shadow crate-digging and similarly jacking for beats.

Or say Q-Tip on the needle drop.

There's a racial angle perhaps (or a cultural appropriation take, some might say), but I won't venture in that direction, only the music matters to me.

Still, who gets to write "a love letter to the lost ghosts of American blues music"? Not for nothing do many bluesmen sing that Blues is a Feeling. (see Lightnin' Hopkins, for example)

And in a year where the movie Sinners has dominated the cultural zeitgeist, it is worth asking whether you can have a Delta blues revival, with full-on lyrics, gritty vocals and all, that is synthetic rather than authentic.

(Sidenote: to that point, Buddy Guy's new album Ain't done with the blues is also out)

Still, the music nerd in me wants to deconstruct the work. Where do the voices in Shadows of the South come from? What studio trickery was used? What equipment? Or, perhaps more tellingly, what prompts were crafted, if some of it is indeed AI-infused?

But then, stepping back, I also want to ask: who made the field recordings that we all venerate? Who was documenting the blues back then? Who was promoting it? And who now basks in the sounds of earthy blues?

But that's me. I can listen to a blues mama merely humming for hours on end. Further, the stakes are low. To add or not to add to the playlist, that is the question.

It seems to me that the visuals highlight the artifice and perhaps even detract from the music they are intended to support. At the same time, they do underscore the mood and point to the story of the clever lyrics. Also: they are great conversation pieces.

(A reminder that my favorite video accompanying a Funkadelic song is a juxtaposition with a Russ Meyer film, You Scared the Lovin' Outta Me by Funkadelic)

But I wonder what Marvin Huxley would come up with, with say a Lizz Wright in the flesh, after hours in the recording booth. Or maybe, to push the racial angle, what would a project with Alice Russell on vocals sound like in comparison?

In the same vein, one wonders if people want to listen to the blues or if blues-adjacent or blues-influenced will suffice. Certainly in these streaming days, there are many for which the simulacra will suffice as background music. Reserving the experience of the real thing for live settings. One wonders...

Anyway, the album is not all fetishized retro action. The rest features more modern beats, albeit still blues-inflected on the surface, even when veering into trip-hop territory. That growl in the vocals is a constant, and those guitar licks. Sounds of nostalgia.

I can see the twinkle in the eye as the album was released. But who knows how it will be received? I do know that this listener was left chasing shadows tying to decipher this conversation piece. Let me know what you think.

Shadows of the South by Marvin Huxley

The album on YouTube (spotify version) and a few highlights. For the first three, I suggest a blind listen before venturing to the videos.

• Suits Stitched in Shadows and Lies
• A Dollar's Worth of Skin
• Goodbye America Blues
• Sunday Prayes and Monday Chains
• Silver spoons and broken backs
• Shadows of the south
  The title track sounds more modern than the rest of the album.

P.S. Hey Marvin, tell me more about the makings of this album.

P.P.S. Pardon the title of this piece, I'm a sucker for such things.

This note is part of a series, One Track Mind. See previously: Baby Me by Chaka Khan, Paul Laurence, Soul Man

File under: music, review, aesthetic, authenticity, blues, nostalgia, race, Creative Process, appreciation, culture, observation, perception, technology, AI, One Track Mind, toli

Writing log: September 1, 2025

Paul Laurence, Soul Man

Soul man, Paul Laurence, is more known as a producer and keyboardist than for his solo efforts. I always found it surprising that he didn't break out given his impeccable bonafides. The keyboard and bass-driven funk. Propulsive boogie dance music even when mellow. Even the ballads groove.

An interesting Rhythm & Blues column by Nelson George in Billboard 1985 discusses the roots of Paul Laurence's dilemma. Long story short: timing is everything.

1985 was Paul Laurence's triumphant year. Having written Rock Me Tonight For Old Times Sake for Freddie Jackson, he'd essentially assured himself a Grammy and a firm place in the black music pantheon. Entire careers never reach such heights.

By then, he'd paid his dues writing for the likes of Melba Moore and Evelyn Champagne King. The success of Rock me Tonight meant he'd finally get his shot at his solo debut album, Haven't You Heard. Only, then, for the first single, She's Not A Sleaze to stall on radio play.

Why, then, was She's Not a Sleaze not a greater hit?

It features both Freddie Jackson and Lilo Thomas on vocals having fun over an infectious beat. Sonically, it sounds like an SOS Band joint guaranteeed to fill dancefloors. What happened here? Why would Nelson George call Paul Laurence a 'victim of circumstance'?

The pull quote: "'Sleaze'-y lyrics create a problem for Paul Laurence". In a sign of the times, a few musical directors - browbeaten by the scrutiny of the Parents Music Resource Center, misintepreted an innocuous lyric, "They called her Loose Lucy", and pulled the track from airplay.

As Paul Laurence rightly noted at the time:

"Guys like Prince have made a fortune out of suggestiveness, saying things on record I would never say. Yet because of the fallout, I and other artists, are going to take the weight".

And yes, even as The Purple One smiled his way through those years and never looked back, Paul Laurence was, indeed, collateral damage.

He was not wrong. Darling Nikki, and perhaps Erotic City, the previous year, famously aroused Tipper Gore causing the furore that lead to those explicit content stickers you still see on cd covers or the Scarlett E letter on your streaming services. Moral panics and such prompted by Prince.

But perhaps the damage wasn't so bad. The royalty checks he started cashing from Rock me Tonight were very real. The For Old Times Sake guaranteeed nostalgia. You don't always win everything in the creative arts. And as a palate cleanser, he then produced Putting A Rush On Me for Stephanie Mills.

Furthermore, he also topped that by taking Prince's Do me Baby and produced Meli'sa Morgan's cover version and album of the same. He wasn't resting on his laurels and, in tipping his hat to Prince, proved that game recognizes game.

1985 was before Nelson George would turn to calling the music that made his fame Rhythm and Bull. It was a time when he actually paid close attention to that strand of musicianship. Perhaps it was the shenanigans of the record companies that irked him rather than the music...

Also note Nelson George's scoop in his column: "Janet Jackson is recording part of her next album in Minneapolis with Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis"

Paul Laurence's craft is immense; his is a solid body of work. Evelyn Champagne King, Melba Moore, Freddie Jackson, Meli'sa Morgan, Kashif, Howard Johnson, Keith Washington... Legends like George Benson, Smokey Robinson, Stephanie Mills.

And when it was the dawn of the New Jack Swing era, he came hard, I Ain't Wit It remains one of my favorite swingbeat joints. The album title, however, does say it all however; it would be his second, and last, solo album: Underexposed.

In later years, he would continue writing for Freddie Jackson and others, producing much of the same quality. So Fine by Howard Johnson would be an exemplar. Along with Kashif he would blaze a trail in the vein of soul music with the songcraft, always tailoring things for the artists he produced.

And he's still bringing heat these days (see No Matter How You Rock It featuring Vincent Matthew). Again, however, that track was lost in our covidious lockdown. Foiled by the pandemic, a victim of circumstance once again.

In a sense, Paul Laurence could be considered in the same mold as Leon Ware, a legend more renowned for his production (and gifts to the like of Marvin Gaye) than for his solo releases even though those are no less excellent.

{And perhaps like Leon Ware, the singers he produced were better vocalists than him. Although I'd counter that I quite like when he deploys his falsetto - and I'm an aficionado of falsettos)

To conclude, Paul Laurence is not exactly unsung, but he was certainly underexposed. As a soul man who lives and breathes music, he deserves all the plaudits. He's also a minor victim of circumstance, perhaps, in terms of fame, but then timing is everything.

Paul Laurence, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note, a poor man's discography. Sadly I can't see any music videos so you'll just have to soak in the sounds of Paul Laurence. (a less comprehensive spotify version)


This note is part of a series, One Track Mind. See previously: Baby Me by Chaka Khan

File under: music, soul, appreciation, review, culture, observation, perception, adoption, One Track Mind, toli

Writing log: June 4, 2025

Drama, a Playlist

The type of song that hits the sweet spot of drama and dysfunction. The subject matter may be petty and sometimes trifling, but the lyrics are sung with verve and, tellingly, the song always strikes a nerve. You can't look most of these singers in the eye such are the stories they tell.

I give you Drama, a playlist (YouTube / Spotify version)

• I Feel Like Breaking up Somebody's Home by Ann Peebles
  
  I'm genuinely scared of Ann Peebles, she really is to be feared. Her mixture of ferocity and vulnerability will disarm the most hardened of hearts. And Memphis soul never hurt so bad (that voice, Willie Mitchell's production! Those horns!)
   
   
• If That's Your Boyfriend (He Wasn't Last Night) by Meshell NdegeOcello
  
  Talk about petty. She'll take what she feels is hers and taunt you in the morning. Sexy and attention grabbing, she doesn't care. "Call me what you like", she sings. It may hurt, but those are the breaks; you learn as much on the playground.
   
• Who is he (and what is he to you)? by Bill Withers
  
  Well, is the jealousy justified? Was the look innocent? "When you cleared your throat, was that your cue?" Soul's premier storyteller paints a picture of suspicion with restraint and economy.
   
• The Rain by Oran "Juice" Jones
  
  Cinematic storytelling, he gets down to the sweet business of betrayal. The legendary breakdown is most quoted part of the song but the silky soul setup and refrain make it worth the payoff. "I saw you (and him) / walking in rain / you were holding hands and I'll / never be the same"
   
• Me and Mrs Jones by Billy Paul
  
  The apotheosis of Philly soul is this classic tale of adultery. The poet laureate of human weakness is not ashamed about the "thing" they've got going on. This is grown folks business, matters of the heart must be attended to.
   
• Don't Explain by Billie Holiday
  
  Lady Day shushes the scoundrel she's in love with. "Skip that lipstick, don't explain". The terseness of wounded feeling. Note the slight pause before she sings "right or wrong don't matter". The effort hurts. Talk about battered women syndrome.
   
• If loving you is wrong I don't want to be right by Millie Jackson
  
  I prefer Millie's version of Luther Ingram's opus of longing. The Caught up album is choc full of drama, and with the reversal of perspective, she found the formula that made her reputation: the conflicted soul.
   
• The Rap by Millie Jackson
  
  But then, unrepentant, she added The Rap, a monologue where she revels in being the other woman, outlining the subversive pleasures in wearing the scarlet letter. And society's disapproval can hardly hold a candle to the excitement of the affair.
   
• Yu-ma / Go away little boy by Marlena Shaw
  
  Relationships aren't easy by any measure. When your man quits his job, you can certainly understand why a diva like Gwen Guthrie would sing "Ain't nothing going on but the rent". Here, on the other hand, Marlena Shaw holds court, "Go away little boy", she sings. And how she sings. But, one wonders, does she really mean it?
   
• Creepin' by Stevie Wonder
  
  The departure here is not of betrayal but of sweet obsession. By inclination, our greatest songwriter was more uplifting and personal in his writing. He simply can't get her out of his mind. And the chorus does the same duty as an earworm.
   
• Woman to Woman by Shirley Brown
  
  Dysfunction laid bare, the phone call with the other woman. The song that spawned dozens of answer records. The back and forth with Barbara Mason and others made this the definitive talking piece. The rarefied heights of drama.
   
• Hope she cheats on you (with a basketball player) by Marsha Ambrosius
  
  Bitter, petty, and endowed with a highly specific vindictiveness. Cross her at your peril. If this is what the reaction is like when she's "just a little bitter", god help you. A woman scorned, she sets a new standard for righteous fury.
   

• Down here in hell (with you) by Van Hunt
  
  Genius songwriting. I mean "What would I do if we were perfect? / Where would I go for disappointment?" is hard to top. Messy and complicated. A strange relationship for the ages
   
• Creepin' by Luther Vandross
  
  By this stage, Luther was showing off. First doing the definitive cover of Brenda Russell's If only for one night then outdoing Stevie Wonder, no less, on the very next song. And check out the call and response with Darlene Love on background vocals. Creepin'
   
• Next lifetime by Erykah Badu
  
  The heart desires, but practicalities arise. Timing is everything. Dilemmas of the "awkward situation". In life as in her art, Erykah Badu's entanglements are legendary. Call her the Elizabeth Taylor of the hip hop world, the best rappers were all moths to her flame.
   
• She's got papers on me by Richard "Dimples" Fields
  
  The classic tall tale of the conflicted cad. Dimples's soft voice is perfectly pitched, the voice of a the set-upon. Then Betty Wright walks in on him hearing him pine for someone else and lays down the law. Yes, she's got papers on him. And rightly so!
   
• I Hate U by Prince
  
  Prince goes all-in and even takes it to the courtroom, a funny prosecution of heartfelt jealousy. The breakdown is worth the wait. There's a remix with Eric Leed's flute that leavens the bitterness of the original somewhat. Also: that guitar solo at the end...
   
• You know I'm no good by Amy Winehouse
  
  Confessing upfront her fickleness, she's the very definition of trouble. Guilty as charged, yet you still can't resist the pleasures and turmoil she promises. She's a diva. Well, what did you expect?
   
• Tyrone by Erykah Badu
  
  The reaction of the crowd the first time they heard this song live overwhelms. This was manna for the Essence crowd. Erykah took it to the streets. She's done with you. Surely you know who to call
   
• The girl is mine by Michael Jackson
  
  "Michael, we're not going to fight"
  "Paul, I think I told you, I'm a lover not a fighter."
  
  Even if you thought that the song was syrupy or that MJ had lost his mind, you couldn't help imagining the spectacle
   
• Busted by The Isley Brothers
  
  You really can't avoid R Kelly when it comes to musical drama and this production of Ronald Isley is the prototype for the later Trapped in the closet series. Aimed straight at the chitlin circuit.
   
• I don't want to do wrong by Gladys Knight & the Pips
  
  Decisions decisions. The secret sauce lies in the call and response. The tension in the blues, the interplay with the Pips. "I just can't help myself"
   
• You could have had me, Baby by Esther Phillips
  
  From an album titled Black-Eyed Blues which announces just how problematic things will be. Like Etta James, her subject matter is trouble, love and loathing. The album closes with Tangle in your Lifeline which says it all as far as dysfunction goes.
   
• I am your woman. She is your wife by Barbara Mason
  
  Why do people do this to themselves? Infidelity is an inherently unstable affair (pun intended) but Barbara fully embraces it. "You want your cake and eat it too". Consider also "From his woman to you", her answer record to Shirley Brown's Woman to woman.
   

• Jolene by Dolly Parton
  
  Taking matters into her own hands, begging Jolene to "please don't take my man / even if you can". That she manages to sell the idea that she, Dolly Parton, would play second fiddle to anyone is testament to her ear for drama
   
• After the pain by Betty Wright
  
  She still loves him despite everything. The soundtrack of rationalization. She actually sings "Don't blame Mr. Charlie, Mr. Charlie is just a man. And he's doing the best he can". I mean, we need an intervention here, come on.
   
• If loving you is wrong I don't want to do right by Luther Ingram
  
  1972 was a good year for adultery. Sounding the same theme as Me and Mrs Jones, Luther is not willing to compromise for anything, for she means that much to him. All obligations, vows and responsibilities be damned.
   
• You can have him by Nancy Wilson
  
  Some say Nina Simone, but I go with Nancy Wilson's interpretation of Irving Berlin's song. The delusion is strong with this one. Regret is all, I don't even believe the words for one second. She's stuck on him
   
• The other woman by Nina Simone
  
  Minimalist storytelling, four verses that trace the now familiar arc of disappointment. The bridge?

  And when her old man comes to call
  He'll find her waiting like a lonesome queen
  'Cause when she's by his side
  It's such a change from old routine

• Clean Up Woman by Betty Wright
  
  Featuring the immortal break beat, her's is the cautionary tale of "making it easy for the clean up woman". It's an odd perspective really and quite reactionary too: regret and the blame game for dumping the man.
   
• In My Bed by Dru Hill
  
  Goldilocks and the Three Bears revisited, Sisqó and company made the most of the ubiquity of this club classic. Even today, dance floors fill up immediately at the bass line. "Somebody's sleeping in my bed". Let the bump and grind begin. Drama
   
• Shaniqua by Oran Juice Jones
  
  She turned him out. The player persona couldn't stand contact with this fly girl. Shaniqua got him whooped, turned him into a square and put his pimp days behind him, By the end, The Juice even admits he's "straighter than six o'clock". Big Daddy Kane sympathizes with him.
  
  I just discovered that he actually shot a video back in 1990, albeit it's the edited version of the song, without Kane's rap (Kane does make an appearance in the video). Still, who knew?
   
• The Boy is Mine by Monica and Brandy
  
  The ménage-a-trois here is trifling, the stakes are not so high. One wonders if the titular boy is even worth fighting over. The vocal performances are the real battle in this case. Fighting words, perhaps, but I prefer Monica, she has a little spite in her approach. Brandy is all sugar.
   
• Sh*t Damn, Motherf*cker by D'Angelo
  
  It starts with "Why are you sleepin' with my woman?" and devolves from there. Caught, busted. The sound of jealous rage is the old favorite trope of the blues, revived here for the hip-hop age. The last line is genius
   
• Saved by the Bell by Roy C
  
  A very knowing comic masterpiece, a tall tale about the goings on in Infidelity, Georgia. The Wife would complain when I used to play this song in front of the kids. I demurred, the humour is universal even if racy. Effortless storytelling.
   
• Just be good to me by The S.O.S. Band
  
  The things we do for love, the things we'll put up with. I'll end with this vintage Jam and Lewis soul concoction. Problematic lyrics. Drama:

  People always talking 'bout reputation
  I don't care about your other girls
  Just be good to me

  And so forth.
   

Drama, a playlist (YouTube / Spotify version)


See previously: Love, a playlist

File under: music, storytelling, appreciation, culture, observation, perception, humour, relationships, life, humour, obsession, whimsy, Comfort Suite, toli

Writing log: March 28, 2024

Love and Death

The slightly stilted language, as if through a veil of translation
The rhythm and cadences came from a different place
Performing with a twinkle in the eye, full of hints and allusion
The marked confidence, the groove, we've got our own thing

Speaking of heaven, but not hell
Singing of love, but not hate
Trickster tales that leave you in the lurch
But, crucially, clear-eyed about death

...

Laments and celebrations walk hand in hand
And comfort lies in the company you walk with
The hidden realms one passes on the journey
The dreamy truths revealed along the way
Hold tight, for friends will one day sway off the road
And, at the tail-end of the journey, your traveling companion will be your shadow


After seeing Ebo Taylor perform at age 89

Love and Death, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Heaven by Ebo Taylor
• Love and death by Ebo Taylor
• Atwer Abroba by Ebo Taylor
• Kwaku Ananse by The Apyaga Showband
• Aba Yaa by Ebo Taylor
• Bue me by Pat Thomas and Ebo Taylor
• Amponsah by Pat Thomas and Ebo Taylor
• Ohiani Sua Efir by Ebo Taylor
• What is life? by Ebo Taylor
• Love and death by Ebo Taylor and Uhuru-Yenzu

I caught Ebo Taylor and Pat Thomas on the former's farewell tour in Austin on May Day 2025. Then aged 89, he relied on his very capable 6 piece band (helmed by two of his sons) to do the heavy lifting. Ageless afro-funk grooves, nasty keyboards and the horns. Pat Thomas's voice too, still had that honey-coated baritone and the vocal range that could hit the high notes that would excite you. They still had it, they still had that ineffable style that emerged fully-formed in their Seventies heyday. Heaven for this exiled soul.

Bonus beats: I captured a few snippets of their live performance with my cell phone: Heaven , Love and Death and Kwaku Ananse, some mellow highlife Ene Nyame A Mensuro, encore

File under: music, appreciation, Ghana, virtuosity, Ebo Taylor, Africa, highlife, funk, afrobeat, culture, observation, perception, review, poetry, toli

Writing log: May 2, 2025

You Voted For This (And Other Songs)

Elections don't make for great subject matter for music (or art in general). They are typically uneventful in most countries. And most would rather sing about love, conflict, loss or betrayal. Audiences don't favor the banal when escapism, gossip, or spicy takes are available.

Still, there is a certain strain of art that emerges when elections are contentious, or if the personalities involved are striking in some way. The loss may hurt more, the win might be long overdue, or against all odds, the results might be shocking...

Joy, shock, upheaval or outrage rightly deserve an artistic response. In contrast, the poet of the quotidian lives in considered penury, envious of her more successful peers.

Hands down, the greatest artistic reaction to an election is B-movie by Gil Scott Heron. It starts with the immortal line "Mandate, my ass", and goes on from deconstructing Ronald Reagan's 1980 election to painting a pointillist portrait of a nostalgia-ridden USA (said nostalgia endures).

Beyond the biting poetry, set to that militaristic bassline, the performance benefits from its panoramic scope that moves beyond Skippy's loss, and RayGun's ascension, to a cold-eyed assessment of the wider culture.

(His band would soon be renamed the Selective Amnesia Express.)

The song, B-movie, like the earlier Winter in America, continues to resonate due to the range of his ambition and careful economy of the execution. The sparse musical arrangement is just the icing on the cake.

The prescient lyrics, of course, diagnosed, at length, Bush 2004 and Trump's MAGA appeal:

The idea concerns the fact that this country wants nostalgia
They want to go back as far as they can - even if it's only as far as last week
Not to face now or tomorrow, but to face backwards

But if B-movie is sui generis, what about the more routine reactions? Sticking to music and what is available on YouTube music, and focusing on the USA, I give you a representative playlist of twenty songs that cover the past twenty years. As usual, I have a few thoughts (call them liner notes)...

• You Voted For This, a playlist (YouTube, Spotify)

The most recent reaction songs started right after the November 2024 US election. The most typical response contains the expected mix of disgust, I told you so, you've made your bed, now lie in it, this is your mess etc. In short, schadenfreude, anger and fear prevail.

While I understand the impulse and there's certainly the urge to react, politics remains a contact sport. One wonders: what is the intent of all this sound and fury? What is the underlying theory of change?

Anger may motivate to wrath while disappointment often leads to depression and disengagement. Perhaps the idea is that even though writing in righteous anger, or singing the blues, may not change the world, their palliative relief is very welcome. Perhaps we should look elsewhere for change.

(But perhaps I'm not the wisest person to opine on such matters, after all I've written 5,000 words on an html button, 7,000 words on a taxonomy useful idiots, and even 9,000 words on a bookmarked tag. What change did I drive?)

Every act of creation should be celebrated. Moving on...

The most impressive finding comes from the aptly-named band, Friends of USAID. Newly-formed in 2025, they fully embrace the satirical mantle. Opening this playlist is the just-released I Voted For This. A delicate duo, melding male and female voices, they add sweet insult to injury

Calm delivery, sample lyrics:

My cousin's kid caught the measles - I guess that's kinda sad
But at least she won't have to learn how slavery was bad
The crops are dying, the aid is gone, but I don't care 'bout that
At least I don't have to speak Mexican and hear 'bout them eating cats

The inspired band name highlights the Doge cuts that have decimated the mission of the eponymous agency. The artwork of the 15 singles they have released this year accentuate the effect. As do the songs themselves sample titles: Thoughts and Prayers, inc, Reverse Robin Hood (The Tariff Two-Step).

I hope that, like Randy Rainbow, they commit to the bit and continue to release more music. They have an album's worth of material already. We could all do with more biting satire to leaven the next few years.

More typical in the 2025 crop is You Voted For This Fool by Lazy Radiographer which reeks with disgust. The chorus: "You chose the fire / Now feel the cost / Watch freedom burn / While you praise the boss"

This Is What You Voted For (I Hope You're Happy) by After Everything continues in the vein of anger and outrage. It's rock-infused so less restrained. Lyric: "Sooner or later they'll come for you and you'll be the next in line". Bleach is the cover of their last album title A-Jax Everywhere

Is This What You Voted For? by Rhett Sawyer is more earnest and conciliatory, seeking to question and start a conversation. He's a country musician worried about his country and reels a litany of problems starting with "a land of the lost, locked up and poor", and carrying on from there

Cory Legendre is all bitterness in You Get What You Voted For - off his album, We Tried To Tell You (cover with Putin and Musk and a sitting Trump). Albeit looking at vote counts in the recent election, I'd hope the b-side would address those who didn't vote.

Lopkerjo has fully signed up with the resistance and has Nobody Voted For This, the titular track of his furious album... Still, methinks that Liz Cheney Hero of Integrity is where I step off (I would have added a question mark to that song title at the very least, but your mileage may vary).

Late in 2024, Me & Melancholy wounded by Trump's victory released We Never Voted For This. Working fast but protesting too much, I think. Who is the We he is talking about? I would rather point him in the direction of Antibalas's 2010 album, Who is this America Dem Speak of Today?

YaBoi Dirty is more philosophical with Who You Voted For. His is more a plague o' both your houses missive. The kind of demoralized outlook that would lower voter turnout - and perhaps that is the point of his intervention. Politicians are crooks, spokesmen for the rich etc...

Stepping back to 2022, we have part of Ben Frank's standup comedy routine which is riffing on political hypocrisy with This Is What You Voted For. The private sexual mores versus the public severe prudity. Cynicism about the bonafides of leaders.

Turn to hip-hop also in 2022, Mr Trumptastic released You Voted For Jb You Must Be Smoking Dope. He'd had enough of a whole year of Joe Biden's presidency and was looking forward to Trump's rightful return. One wonders if he'll have more to say for the current moment.

in 2021, Art Neuro, more punk than rock, chimed in with This Is The Stuff You Voted For taken from his Sadistic Ineptitude album. Not quite mellifluous, his is a rather acidic take.

Preaching reconciliation in 2021, JCAR93 weighs in with Come Together (Even If You Voted For Trump), trap rap noodling. I suspect The Beatles were more artistically successful being all sugary and omitting the snark.

In 2020 from England, we have If You Voted For This Then You Are Part Of The Problem by Dannydangerously, his grime flow is less outraged at Boris Johnson's shenanigans than of his countrymen's continued voting for the Tories. England was then the new epicenter of the covid pandemic.

In 2015, Me Time released You Voted For This. Again punk-inflected, and furious about the GOP's assault (presumably under Bush) on gun control, the EPA, bloody wars, corporate cronyism.

"Thank God we chose to back the GOP / The world is a wasteland / It's piles of grass, ash and sand"

Also in 2015, The Walking Toxins chime in with You Voted For Them. Angry at a fascist state that dropped the bomb (unclear whether it was Obama drones or Bush shock and awe that drew their ire). Like the music they produce here, they are not happy campers.

In 2012, Zygsville sound bewildered in Who Voted for This, a nice uptempo joint that one can do a line dance to. More musically interesting with some nice guitar licks. Giving the date of the release, I suspect Barack Obama wasn't his favorite but the lyrics are rather ambiguous consequently the song has legs.

In 2008, Beatnik Turtle whistles his acute observations on buyer's remorse, describing how the new guy becomes "the incumbent, he's got the peoples mandate, but he's passing wacky laws now, showing all his flaws and he's the guy that everyone hates. And all of a sudden nobody voted for this guy"

The humourous point is well taken about how partisans turn quiet when those they put in power screw the pooch. And, quite likely, this year we'll be repeating the observers are worried mantra.

Stylistically, then, the songs are mostly country, rock and punk, perhaps because I stuck to the Anglosphere. It's not easy listening as the singers are trying to provoke a reaction. Where we have hip-hop, the political commentary is a sideshow, braggadocio is a necessity in that form.

I do think that the songs with songs that broaden the perspective will likely endure but I appreciate the lesser works as fodder for the time capsule, cultural artifacts for later historians mining the zeitgeist of these trying times. I hope we make it to the other side.


Bonus beats: Your Mess by Omar, timeless soul, and an extract from Black Wax the film that featured a live performance by Gil Scott Heron of B-movie

• You Voted For This, a playlist (Youtube, Spotify)

File under: USA, England, election, humour, satire, music, review, culture, observation, perception, Creative Process, hatchet job, Buyer's Remorse, Observers are worried, toli

Writing log: May 4, 2025

Running Away

The lyrics in the songs always mentioned running away. Flight, escape, danger in its many variations. Embedded in the outlook, punctuating the very choruses was a sense of precarity. And yet these were not dirges, these were not laments. They'd long made their peace with the world as they'd found it, nay, they were comfortable even if clear-eyed about this existence.

And they watched.

Running away, heading for the hills and the rocky terrain. Running away, heading for higher ground, for those parts that only those close to these lands would know. The caverns where they could hide, holding their breath, stifling all sounds, covering the mouths of the infants.

And they waited.

Holes in the ground, the entrances disguised, dark caverns where the ancestors were said to have sought shelter from previous predators. At most a dozen could fit in the largest ones so you had to be prepared to seek out other spots, ever calculating as you ran up over the rocks how many had already made it, and if you would be able to use this particular refuge.

Oftentimes it was a gamble.

To enter the hiding places, you crouched, crawled and wriggled. The earth would envelop you, surround you with its embrace. You could expect to taste the slightly acidic crumbs as you pushed your way in, to smell the faint trace of clay. The earth would resist the touch, implacable and stern, until it would yield all of a sudden, plunging you forward into the void of the cavern.

You hoped, you wished for a soft landing.

You had to be methodical even in the heat of the moment, deliberate even as the senses were heightened by the danger. First, to dislodge the covering by pulling at the right spot, the intricate branch structure that only careful hands could pry open, and then to preserve its camouflage so that it would appear undisturbed to the raiders in pursuit. The architecture of escape, the provisional sanctuary.

And they prayed.

No matter how many times they had practiced, no matter how many warnings, no matter how many songs they had sung, no matter how much advance notice they'd garnered, they knew that there would be something lost, that there would be someone lost. It was the nature of life in those times. Something, someone would be snatched from you. Pieces of yourself dispersed, shredded away, leaving only the memories.

And they wept.

Farmers and pastoralists, they never had a standing army. Millet and maize in small fields, custodians of the northern territories, eking out enough to support the clan, to trade some guinea fowl and kola nuts, to enjoy the gifts of the earth, to husband it. This patch of land on the lower Sahel was unforgiving but it was theirs.

And they stayed.

But, at length, there had to be some edge they could wield to surprise the raiders. Running away might ensure survival for many, but more was needed. They taught the youth about all the plants and their uses. Those they ate, those they treated with as part of aromatic bitters, those with properties that were prized, their nighttime potency recounted, astringency debated, and medicinal effectiveness evaluated. And once they proved adept and facile with the identification of the flora, they would learn about what in extremis could be used in the poisoned arrows that were always reluctantly fashioned. Weary, wary, reluctant but necessary.

And so they studied.

The elements of survival were well known. Swift recall, preparation, decisiveness under threat, knowledge of topology, and luck. For the gods were capricious. Even the fleetest of foot, the strongest, and the most agile could be brought low and fall prey to the human hyena that roamed the lands. And Babatu's men were implacable and determined trackers. Tears would be for nought when in their grip. Best to fight when caught, to resist with all one's heart. But, above all, to flee when attacked, to live to see another day, to rebuild and restore when these interlopers would leave, for they would surely leave as these lands only yielded bodies to them.

And they ran away.

Taboo. A famous dirge recounted how one of the twins was unable to stay silent, a hard demand of a toddler, let alone in the darkness of the cavern. Their position having been given away, tough decisions had to be made. Father and the one would give themselves up hours later, when it became clear that this set of raiders would wait them out, they were a patient lot. Mother and the other twin would retreat further into the second chamber, deep in the dank bowels of the earth and stay for three days. It was hard to breathe, it was hard to stay silent and still, and there was only one gourd of water and the few nuts hidden in the fold of her cloth. They clanged to each other, charged with the burden of loss, of memory, of survival. Pieces of themselves lost for good. But they lived to tell the tale, to recover possession of the land.

And they survived.

Strangers have come into our land
Raiders have come for our bodies
Take heed, my brother, and run, run away
Caution, my sister, and run, run away
For we will all, someday, be turned into sand
And all that will remain is our story

Running Away, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note. (spotify version)

• Running Away by Roy Ayers
• Running Away by Bob Marley
• Kunta Kinte Dub by The Revolutionaries
• Man in the Hills by Burning Spear
• Hiding by Breakestra
• Slavery Days by Burning Spear
• Kunta Kinte by Horace Andy
• Man in the Hills (live) by Burning Spear
• Hiding (Quantic mix) by Breakestra
• Kunta Kinte by Mad Professor

Further reading:

• Raids and Refuge - The Bulsa in Babatu's Slave Wars by Franz Kröger
• Slavery, Memory and Orality by Emmanuel Saboro
• Wounds of our Past by Emmanuel Saboro

A later discovery: Beyond Elmina: The Slave Trade in Northern Ghana by Joachim Jack Agamba mined similar terrain to great effect.

Next: Near the Weeping Trees

This note is part of the Things Fall Apart series. Do let me know what banner might be appropriate.

File under: slavery, Bulsa, Ghana, Africa, culture, memory, music, history, observation, perception, fear, dislocation, escape, griots, Things Fall Apart, poetry, toli

Writing log. July 24, 2022