My Black Grrrl Matrix

Damn I know it's been a minute. Okay six months, but who's counting! I had to take a time-out and unplug from this crazy, super desensitizing, often confusing, often exhausting, manic matrix in which we live and work.

As many of you know or have heard my dad passed away. Cornelius "Kurt" Moore-- my hero and inspiration transitioned in March of this year. I felt his loss in everything I did or saw. Tasted it in everything I consumed and breathed. It was beyond hard and so I took the advice of so many of my friends who told me to, "be gentle with yourself and be still."

Back in April though, around my birthday, I thought it was high time I resume my life. Get back to what I was doing before ish hit the fan-- blogging, marketing, hanging, dating, but thangs had changed. I had changed and it hit me like a fire hydrant that is suddenly opened. Intense yet invigorating. I gotta find my way all over again. A new way. Around that time I discovered this wonderful quote by Rilke:

Have patience with everything unresolved in your heart
and try to love the questions themselves...
Don't search for the answers,
which could not be given to you now,
because you would not be able to live them.
And the point is, to live everything.
Live the questions now.
Perhaps then, someday far in the future,
you will gradually, without even noticing it,
live your way into the answer.

And so now I'm living the questions of my life. The unanswerables around death. The inexplicables of the US healthcare system. The whys of a failed, yet most heartfelt relationship. It's hard at first not to search for the answers, but in the end it is much easier.

So for 6 months I cocooned myself in a Black Grrrl Matrix of relaxation, solitude, sisterhood and communion. Now it may sound like I was all up under the covers but I hung out... well sometimes.

Like in March I went to Vibe/ Vibe Vixen's supa dupa big issue party at Cipriani's in Chelsea and like many "industry" parties nowadays it was overbooked and I spent a good 30 minutes at the rope trying to get in. But this was my first time being behind the rope with the likes of Def Jammers Kevin Liles, Lyor Cohen, Baby Phat publicist BJ Coleman, Rocsi from 106 & Park, Zab Judah and two NY Knickerbockers. It was ghetto... err urban pandemonium out there. BJ was threatening to punch several key Vibe editorial & sales execs in the mouth if he didn't get in at once. He screamed, "Baby Phat pays for Vixen. If it weren't for Baby Phat there would be no Vixen. Our ads are why you can afford to have this party"... yada, yada, yada. Everyone in the know, figured that BJ ain't said nothing but a word. There were some pounds and an occasional, "You betta work BJ" hollered out. Meanwhile those folks at Cipriani's just looked at us like we were monkeys in the zoo fighting over a fruit loop. At one point they even closed their big gold and black iron doors right in our faces, but minutes later they were reopened to let Lyor, Kevin and I think that was Dougie Fresh inside. I can't believe how much I remember of this evening. I guess I do cause of all the high-class drama and how I regretted for weeks not taking out my phone and videoing it for all y'all to see. Next time. For the record, BJ got in and no one got smacked; Rocsi went in for like 2 minutes and came stomping out w/ mad tude because they wouldn't allow her plus one in (and that was her co-host Terence); Zab and the Knick playas never got in and yeah I never got in either. Me and my girl Alison had a drink at sorry as$ 40/40. I mean there were only like 3 other people in the spot. Yikes, Oh what a night!

On April 10th, my birthday, before having sushi with the grrrls I actually went to audition for Essence's 30 Dates in 30 Days. Unfortunately I had to break out though before my one-on-one interview. What I remember though most about that experience is how freaking taken aback I was to see sooooooo many fly single sisters. I mean there were hundreds of young Black women there filling out applications and taking polaroids and they were serious too. High heels, sequins, and the weaves were crazy tight, of course! I had on my red Nikes and a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Clearly I wasn't ready. Well I was, that's me, but I guess I wasn't ready to take that whole process of auditioning for a date so seriously. I even saw a sister up in there with her very young daughter! But hey clearly she was on a mission and probably couldn't find childcare so she did what she had to do. It was a scene no doubt with Maxwell's "Urban Hang Suite" playing in the background and everything! Now that I see what this was all about I am so glad I opted for spicy tuna rolls over discussing what I would wear on a first date. Having the date broadcast online and having the essence dotcom community choose the man, the location and the "outfit" for my date(um, I stopped wearing outfits when I outgrew the pre-teen dept at Gimbels) is more than a notion. It takes the pressure off? Yeah right. Now you gotta worry about the haters outfitting you in some hootchie gear for a date on some Circle Line cruise. Now that's stressful.

Music, Music, Music. Music was all up in the Black Grrrl Matrix. I listened to so much Imani Uzuri especially Love Story, Sun Moon Child and her cover of Nina Simone's Fodder. When I finally got a chance to see her live in August at Smooch Cafe it was nothing less than amazing! When she started singing You Are The One I couldn't hold it in and cried the tears I was too angry to cry back in the spring. What a release. We had church that night for sure. Imani was calling folks on stage to sing with her-- Mikel, Eisa and damn everyone could sing too! I love the power of good music when it takes you there.

I also went to see Meshell NdegeOcello at the Highline Ballroom. That was a weird show. Not one of my favorites. I heard that she had just played Atlanta and somewhere else and had some issues with audience members taking flash photos (she has epilepsy) and throwing water bottles on stage. I guess she was still dealing with the backlash from all that and just gave us what she could. Of course back at home, in my Matrix, her Bitter and Plantation Lullabies was on continuously on blast. I haven't heard her new record yet but I should have something to say about it by next week.

In May I gotta chance to check out Lorna Simpson's exhibit at the Whitney. I've seen a lot of various pieces in a number of settings but this was the first time seeing so much of her body of work in one setting. I especially love her work that fuses words and phrases with images. My fave is probably "Waterbearer." It's like her visual riff on society and race and gender. Definitely feeling her works that feature wigs, weaves and other types of Black hair pieces and extensions. They are witty, funny, and moving. Oh yeah her cityscapes especially of Madison Square Park is totally different than anything I've ever seen her do, but still provocative like her other works but in a more cerebral soft way. I wish I could remember more (I do however remember not liking her video installations too much) but alas it was 4 months ago. It's so sad that I can remember the details of BJ going berserk but I can't remember more of Lorna's brilliance. MTV is frying my brain! Sorry.

I have so much more tell you. There's the trip I just took to South Africa, Botswana and France. There are these cool organizations for young Black women that I've been checking out (WEEN & My Sister's Keeper). And oh yeah there is crazy Black Grrrl music to review and discuss (MeShell, Jill Scott, Latifah, Keyshia Cole, Chaka Khan, Santogold-- who just opened for Bjork at Madison Square Garden this past Monday!).

So yeah I'm back. Plugged-in and ready to write, to explore, to see what's happening outside my cocoon. Ready to realize some more dreams, to be a mentor, to be more of an activist. To be an editor, an author, a mother and a lover. I'm ready y'all. So let's go!

Maybe The Greatest Show On Earth

So Ringlin thinks he's got the greatest show on earth? Well after last night's spectacular offering by Imani Uzuri at Joe's Pub to celebrate the release of her long-awaited debut record, Her Holy Water: A Black Girl's Rock Opera, I'm not sure if the clowns still have it. This was the best show I've seen by far this year! EVERYBODY in that muhfuh was in total agreement with me. Just ask Todd Wilson, Greg Tate, Freedome Bradley, Kim Knox, DJ Rehka, Melissa Thornton or the 70 or so other heads there.

Imani started singing the title song "Her Holy Water" from behind the curtain and hit the stage singing like her very life depended on each melody. She didn't waste time riffing and wailing and giving over-the-top American Idol styled endings, instead she told you stories about her grandma in North Carolina where it was about church, family and making the best outta the lil bit you had; and also how she thought she was so ugly after cutting her hair into a short natural fro until these sisters exclaimed how she was giving them Grace Jones and how that was the day she knew she was a diva. Her sense of humor was dead-on. The band's timing was ill, sick, infirmed, whatever the heck you wanna call it, they killed!

I know I've said it before, but Imani has a beautiful, throaty deep alto that rises into this incandescent soprano shrill and make no mistake she knows how to use every bit of her God-given talent . At one point last night, Imani, dressed in hot pink, was on her knees singing Ishi (pron. E-She)-- a song about a Native American who died and whose bones were assumed by a US museum and how his people, his tribe had to fight for his bones. She chanted Ishii over and over again-- Iiii-shiiii, Iiiiiii-shi-- going from a mournful lament to a high pitched battle cry. It was goose-bump riveting. My comrade Todd looked over at me and said "whoa, she's taken it to different level tonight." And indeed she did. And just when you thought it was all about revolution, politics and God, homegrrrl starts bluesily singing "wet cootchie" and goes into a raunchy, crazy humorous riff about the power of the punany. Well I guess now that I think about it, I've never heard anyone at Joe's Pub or any NYC venue sing so reverently about wet cootchie. Although we wouldn't mind, Maxwell never treads that deeply or explicitly and since we are talking reverently R. Kelly and all of hiphop is eliminated. So I guess that is pretty revolutionary and yeah God was all up in there in that joint. From beginning to end, the show last night was 70 minutes of unadulterated Black grrrl fire-water. It burned, but it healed and we loved every minute of it. Like Greg Tate says in the liner notes of her CD (which we all got copies of): "Dig: the only way you're ever going to figure out Imani Uzuri's music is if you surrender to her beckon and call, her weep and wail, her songs and screams, her tears and dreams, her melodies and metamorphosis. You'll likely turn into some hella-fierce and lovely kind of Other thang yourself."

Hot Grrrls, Cool Music - KELIS, IMANI, JOI & AMEL

Last Sunday as usual I was amped to watch my favorite TV program—CBS Sunday Morning. On this particular Sunday their resident music expert, Bill Flanagan, was giving viewers his picks for best new songwriters:

Musical styles come and go but no matter what year it is, there are always new singers/songwriters baring their souls and, if they are good at their job, ours, too.

Knowing that Hot Grrrls are skrate killing it on the musical front here lately, I was so disappointed that (again) Bill’s picks were all Wonder Bread white and folk and mellow--Beth Orton, Jenny Lewis with the Watson Twins, Rhett Miller and Mason Jennings. Where was the diversity? Are the only folks baring their souls from Midwestern and Southern suburbs, Seattle coffee shops and England? I think not. So as a rebuttal and as a form of affirmation for all theHotness Grrrls the world over, here are my picks for this year’s freshest singers and songwriters— Kalifly style:

New York-based (by way of North Carolina, Indiana and the Bay Area) singer-songwriter Imani Uzuri is releasing her debut solo album, HER HOLY WATER: A Black Girl's Rock Opera this summer. Having seen her perform a gazillion times, I know this joint is going to be the unadulterated hotness. Sun Moon Child is more than a song, it is a summoning of all forces beautiful, righteous and unafraid. And talk about someone baring her soul, Imani’s Love Story is dripping with the bloody matter of a heart that’s been broken but can’t stop beating for the promise of new love.

Kelis is finally back with a new album and a funky fly coif. Her lead off single, Bossy, is straight gullilicious. Featuring Too Short and a virgin tight beat, Kelis looks like she may be doling out a whole new bag of tricks on her next album and will give us more than one great song about lovin lactose.

Having just separated from Gipp--her husband of many years, Joi’s new album is brimming with the disappointment, pain and wistfulness of a woman still in love, but far from being down an out. The title track, Tennessee Slim Is The Bomb couldn’t be more in the socket of Joi’s groove— it’s sexy, playful and funky. On Gravity when she sings “gravity makes me wanna fly away” and states staunchly that “the rap game done stole my man away,” you know this former Star Kitty has become a cat who realizes her manicured claws not only can catch rats, but they can claw you out from under the deepest reaches of heartache.

I had a chance to finally check out Bebek-- a Philly-based band fronted by Lynn Murphy-Michalopoulos (a comrade of mine from college and former Gypsy Melody vocalist). I’m really digging their album especially the cut 807 Dub.

India.Arie also has a new hairstyle and she’s singing about it in her new single.

We already know about the quirky fierceness of Alice Smith and Macy Gray who both have albums dropping this summer.

MeShell NdegeOcello is taking a departure from the jazz of her last joint as she dips her bass down into the deepness of dub and reggae. Grrrls, this is going to be some real baby makin music!

And I schooled y’all years ago on Amel Larrieux’s gift for songwriting. She’s dropping her new joint any day and the single, Weary, is classic Amel—smart, graceful and full of soul.

There may be a lot of female singers and songwriters, but there’s still a lack of women producing beats. Why is that?

Well that’s my roundup of hot grrrls, cool music. Hopefully Alexis and the crew behind Central Park’s Summer Stage will have better picks than the folks at Sunday Morning.

For Colored Grrrls

Without even realizing it, I woke up this morning feeling like I've somehow gotten off track with my life, career, writing. Well maybe not off-track as much as meandering too much along the way. I know what I want to do but have been so damn over analytical about how to get there that I’ve lost focused almost entirely. Anyway this morning I awoke with the kind of sharpness and clarity that knocks you out of bed, onto your knees and then on to the computer where I wrote the words I am a Black Woman Journalist. What does this mean exactly? So many things. Too many to discuss now and in this space, but right now for me it means that I need to be SERIOUS about the business of writing about the beauty, complexity, simplicity and madness that generates from, envelopes throughout and blesses the lives of grrrls like me. This awakening is probably a result of a few experiences I’ve recently encountered.

The first was this absolutely dope performance by Imani Uzuri of Her Holy Water: A Black Girl’s Rock Opera on the 14th. She sang songs with lines like “I’m a diamond in the sky/ I’m a Black woman;” Had the greatest commentary in between songs like: “Carrie from Sex & The City may have rocked Manolo Blahniks but my shoes are $5.99 from Payless and guess what, my life is epic too” or my favorite: “You know all of us came from a Black woman and it seems like most of you are trying to get back up in one!” Imani said afterwards that the naming of her opera as being specifically a Black Girl’s version was the recognition on her part that she was always being classified as being a Black Girl first—before artist, before singer, before musician, so in line with that, she has embraced the identity as a form of resistance, pride and in tribute to past works like For Colored Girls, which had the same impact for Ntozake Shange.

The second revelation occurred in Harlem while at Iman’s (official) Day of Beauty event at Hue Man Bookstore. Iman, who is stunning in person, was there with the official proclamation (signed by the mayor himself) in hand. She signed copies of her book while her make-up artists gave free makeovers. So there were a gang of folks in the place and besides Iman, the other big draw was the unveiling of a mural featuring the photos of Black & Latina girls mainly from the neighborhood. Well oddly enough this mural, which was supposed to be huge, was tiny--small enough to fit on my bathroom wall. I was stunned as I had been one of the sisters that came out to be photographed that weekend before and I know that there were atleast 55 girls that day alone so I know over the course of three days the 100 or so photos I saw could not have been representational of all who came out to pose. And sure nuff, as I stood there looking at the mural I would say no less than 20 sisters walked up to the collage of photos and stared and then with utter disappointment said things like, “I wonder why I didn’t make the cut” or why was I left out and she put on” pointing to one of the many light skinned girls featured. I asked the woman in charge what happened to the supposed grandiose mural and she said that there was a snafu and this wasn’t what was originally planned but this is what they got.

After noticing that my photo too had not been one of the lucky ones selected for the muralita, I decided to hang-out and observe and what I saw surprised me. I was moved, fascinated by the responses of people. Women, and I mean grown a*s Black women were slightly pissed, but mostly so, so sad that their face was not among the images on display. I didn’t realize that these mamas I see walking down 1-2-5 had such sensitive and fragile levels of self-esteem. Many seemed to get over the disappointment though by getting a makeover. I had to ask myself how damaging was this so-called Day of Beauty becoming? Right when these sisters felt like they had fallen short of qualifying for the Beauty Mural they were enticed by free make-up and makeovers. What the hell kinda message is that sending out to the Uptown Girls that were pinpointed for this event? So you're Black and ugly, but don't fret cause make-up makes you beautiful!?

And speaking of makeover jobs, the third incident that brought me back to the middle was the brouhaha over the Vanity Fair cover featuring Beyonce where this was alleged. To me she looks just as light as she does on the cover of Essence (but that shot was a lil’ out of focus so I could be wrong). She's a fair skinned chica, whatever!

That's so not important in the larger scope of things. That scope being there hasn’t been a Black woman on a VF cover for over 10 years. Now that my friend is insane! We are sorta missing the point by just focusing on the airbrushing issue. If VF feels that we are only significant every decade or so, then eff them! Why are there no boycotts to not buy the damn mag at all? Where's our motivation to do something powerful with our dollar?

The last thing that led to my current moment of clarity was an Images of Women in Pop Culture panel sponsored by NOW held last Thursday. Jean Kilbourne’s award-winning documentary “Killing Us Softly,” was shown and it was really interesting-- despite the footage being so old, the themes were still relevant. When the panel began and the grrrls on the panel introduced themselves their seemed to be this tension mounting on the dais-- a tension that I’ve seen so many times before at events just like this. The panelists selected for these types of feminist joints are so clichéd. The white women are usually over the top liberal lesbians with something to prove and the Black women always seem annoyed, angry and tired. Just as I start packing it up to leave, this white woman runs up to the stage and takes a seat on the panel. She introduced herself and made everyone laugh and really turned the panel around. Her name was Wendy Shanker and she's the bomb. Her shtick is centered on being a fat women but she was relatable to all the women in the audience because she was insightful, witty and humorous with her commentary. It made me realize how fricking academic and staid issues around beauty and self-esteem are and have been. How we need to maybe get rid of the word feminism and replace it with fatty gal, I&I, theHotness or something else that doesn’t cling to ivory towers, but resonates in the hood with colored grrrls who like Popeye’s, their long nails painted hot pink, their hair cornrowed on an angle and who need to know they are diamonds in the sky and that they look fine without a pound of makeup on their skin.

Yes, I am a Black Woman Journalist!