Well, it doesn't happen that often, but somehow I managed to win the affection of a complete stranger in one of the most idyllic locales a sentimental gal like me could ever dream of--the gas station. Yes, plain ole unassuming me--glasses and ponytail in tow--stumbled upon being the apple of someone's eye while innocently pumping gas at the Chevron earlier this evening. Never mind he seemed borderline homeless and one or two 40-ounces shy of devolving into Fast Freddy. I managed to snag the heart of my purported Prince Charming, and for that I'm--well, disturbed.
It's a rare and peculiar occasion whenever I turn a head or two because I don't exactly go out of my way to draw attention to myself. If Drake's definition of fancy is getting your "nails done, hair done, everything did," then I guess I ain't fancy. I refuse to spend my money or time on that high-maintenance type of lifestyle, and my attire at the Chevron station couldn't have reflected this more plainly. I was as homely as it gets--complete with my "grandma sweater" and sneakers--going about my business in my usual meek-mannered way, getting my hands smelly and dirty from pumping gas into my eleven-year-old Civic. In short, the catch of all catches. (*?!?!?!*) I can't fathom what aspect of my dowdy appearance inspired him to try to hook up with me. But inspired he was, and try he did.
First he offered to pump my gas for me. When I politely declined, he then asked, "well can I have your number then?" How in God's name he made that leap in logic, I'll never know. But once he got onto that "7-digits" track, he just wouldn't let up. First he wanted my phone number. Then he wondered why I wouldn't give him my number and asked if it was because I had a boyfriend or husband. Then he said he'd give me his number. Then he said he'd give me the number of all his family members. Then he recited his number out loud for me and promised to answer his phone if I called. I swear with all this talk of phone numbers, I thought I'd temporarily wandered onto a New Edition video where this Chevron dude was singing all of Ricky Bell's lines.
He then moved on to a series of pick-up lines. In one, he asked for a quarter then yammered on about a song lyric or some "adage" his uncle used to say about what to do with a quarter when you saw the girl you love. (I know. I didn't get it either.) When he saw how unimpressed I was, he then upped the ante with the following: "If I could rearrange the alphabet, I'd put 'u' and 'i' ('you and I') together." Amusing (somewhat), but I couldn't help but notice the grammatical incorrectness of that quote/unquote joke.
Hm. I wonder if that marmish-type of response is the reason I don't attract very many men. Oh well. Since the "Chevron Freddies" of the world are the only men I seem capable of attracting, I'll keep "clapping my hands" with Cameo and "putting my hands up" with Beyonce. I'll be ah-ight.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Friday, January 28, 2011
That'll Do, Shills. That'll Do.
So education has really been making the headlines over the last six months, eh?
Last fall we were introduced to the "Waiting for Superman" documentary where charter school reformers were essentially lionized while teachers and their unions were demonized. In the midst of it all, we learned about Michelle Rhee, a Korean-American educator who was and still is championed as a savior of sorts, spreading the gospel of school and teacher reform from sea to shining sea. Heightening the fears of a failing public education system (as well as the belief in Asians' ability to get desired academic results), we were made aware of China's dominance on the PISA test scores, which only added fuel to the fire.
But then...
Soon afterwards, we started hearing lamentations in the media about how students are too stressed out and how we need to rise against the cultural tide of high-stakes competition and anxiety-riddled students as we witnessed the release of a documentary called "Race to Nowhere." And this "race to nowhere" zeitgeist wasn't a monopoly of American sensibilities. Apparently, even the over-achieving Chinese were expressing doubts about the limits of standardized testing (further evidenced by their glowing reception of the Indian version of "Race to Nowhere.")
But then...
Just when Americans seemed galvanized in a collective campaign to reduce stress and rally against high-stakes testing and competition in secondary education by participating in nationwide screenings of "Race to Nowhere" (even at Harvard), out of nowhere prowls this self-proclaimed "Tiger Mom," stirring up more confusion as she gloated about the superiority of Chinese parenting methods--methods that are completely antithetical to the ethos of the "Race to Nowhere" phenomenon yet seemingly justified by the Chinese students' PISA scores.
And now after several spins around the revolving door of public sentiment, I'm getting quite bored with the transparency and predictability of the PTB's formula. The elites must be having a field day, paying their media shills to unleash their strategically-timed, contradictory, and sensationalized news stories whose only purpose is to direct us (the profane) into adopting the herd behavior they've programmed for us. They command their "reporter collies" to steer us in one direction, nip at our heels to make us change course, then drive us into other uncharted territories, over again and over again, until we're finally fenced in right where they want us: dazed, confused, and hopeless.
The question is, where exactly do they want us? Do they want us to remain in this growing state of frenzy where we react to their strategic synchronizing of Asian faces with worrisome statistics so that we'll embrace charter schools, teaching-to-the-test, and slave-driving disguised as "tiger parenting?" Are we supposed to be herded into blaming teachers and parents for our students' mediocre academic performance, while ratcheting up the rote memorization practices that will produce androids and followers rather than the creative thinkers and leaders that will challenge the PTB and foil their plans for world domination? Or do the elites want the other extreme where we give up on pushing our students to excel and instead coddle to them, implementing ridiculous policies that obviate their need to think (critically and be leaders so that they can challenge the PTB, etc., etc.? Either way, the elites win and we drone.)
Which side of the pendulum swing are we supposed to be on? Or is the goal to not have us settle on any one solution, but to have those who've already taken sides dig their heels deeper into their polarized stances, while the rest of us undulate wildly back and forth, never finding a solution and never getting a clue? Yeah, I know. All of the above. Well, none for me thanks. I know the real answer lies somewhere in the middle and not at the extremes that they constantly herd us into choosing. I refuse to play the part of "unwitting pawn" in their game of Hegelian dialectic as they instruct their media "heelers" to "cast" and "come-bye" to the rest of our detriment.
Now if only enough of us would invoke our inner Farmer Hoggetts and tell these reporters to "stop working and return to handler," we might have a fighting chance at fixing this mess of a world we live in. Some may call me a dreamer but hey, it's apparently my nature to dream in my "imaginary world of happy people and happy endings." So I'll just keep following N'Dea's and Steve's advice and make it do what it do. Smoochez!
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Musings of a Hungry, but Patient Luddite
If patience is a virtue, then virtue overflows in the interim of replacing an out-of-order microwave with a newer one. During this interval, the 15-20 minute anticipation of retrieving heated food from the oven can seem agonizing, yet edifying.
Patience builds character. So does hunger. It heightens the level of appreciation when the desired outcome is finally experienced. The subdued flavors and inferior textures of food heated at rapid-fire speed in the microwave become more vibrant and have a superior consistency when heated more slowly in the oven. The loquacious sizzle of the savory steak, the subtle crispness of the macaroni's surface, the broccoli's "al dente" that necessitates thorough mastication yet easily gives way to the fork's tines. All of this makes for a livelier experience with food. And because the food is more "alive," so is the person consuming it.
Patience builds character. So does hunger. It heightens the level of appreciation when the desired outcome is finally experienced. The subdued flavors and inferior textures of food heated at rapid-fire speed in the microwave become more vibrant and have a superior consistency when heated more slowly in the oven. The loquacious sizzle of the savory steak, the subtle crispness of the macaroni's surface, the broccoli's "al dente" that necessitates thorough mastication yet easily gives way to the fork's tines. All of this makes for a livelier experience with food. And because the food is more "alive," so is the person consuming it.
These thoughts traverse my mind as I witness yet another worrisome news story about smart devices. As the latest announcement cheerfully informs smart phone owners about Starbucks' and other businesses' new pay-by-phone option, I'm befuddled at how willing people are to trust strangers to scan the contents of their phones. It astounds me how little privacy is valued in this society; for these same smart devices can reveal the geographic location of a person taking pictures. I worry and wonder why we make it easy for Big Brother to track our behavior, no matter what the circumstance may be. But I guess all of this worry over privacy is moot when the single-minded pursuit of everyone seems to be convenience at all costs.
Not that I'm above the desire for convenience. Many times I've narrowly escaped the captivity of temptation set out by the corporatocracy as it launches its envoys of gleaming technological trinkets boasting all the latest bells and whistles. It's no small feat avoiding the peer pressure as I witness everyone and their mom surf the Web at any given time or place. The allure is strongest during conferences--which, for me, amounts to 3-4 times a year--where navigating unknown neighborhoods and meeting up with colleagues is increasingly encumbered by my "less-than-smart" phone.
Not that I'm above the desire for convenience. Many times I've narrowly escaped the captivity of temptation set out by the corporatocracy as it launches its envoys of gleaming technological trinkets boasting all the latest bells and whistles. It's no small feat avoiding the peer pressure as I witness everyone and their mom surf the Web at any given time or place. The allure is strongest during conferences--which, for me, amounts to 3-4 times a year--where navigating unknown neighborhoods and meeting up with colleagues is increasingly encumbered by my "less-than-smart" phone.
But speed and convenience have a price. In the case of the microwave, the price is missing out on food's fullest gustatory potential. With technology the price, I fear, is far greater. And as the platoon of smart phones forges on, I grow alarmed at the bombardment of problems that seem to surface with these devices. Yet, I feel alone in my worry as I witness everyone else clamor for the latest features, upgrades, and applications. It's doubtful that any warnings about the permanent loss of privacy being an irreversible consequence of this smart technology--or any technology for that matter--will be heeded.
So at this point, I don't anticipate many people protesting when being watched by one's aps becomes a common occurrence. Not even if it evolves to the level of Kinect's face- and voice-recognition capabilities or if it feeds into the federally-mandated monitoring of private citizens--if it hasn't already. Nor do I expect an uproar from the citizenry when technology perfects the weaving of espionage capabilities with medicine. And sadly, I feel that people's laziness will not only preempt them from shunning mind-reading computers, it will drive them to pay top-dollar for pre-orders of these "technological advances" before they even hit the market.
My growing concern about privacy is compounded by a mounting awareness of the geopolitical consequences of our plowing through a never-ending succession of smart phone upgrades, including its contribution to the widening U.S. trade imbalance with China, its role in an increasing number of conflicts within the developing world, and the dirty reality of how smart devices are recycled.
My growing concern about privacy is compounded by a mounting awareness of the geopolitical consequences of our plowing through a never-ending succession of smart phone upgrades, including its contribution to the widening U.S. trade imbalance with China, its role in an increasing number of conflicts within the developing world, and the dirty reality of how smart devices are recycled.
I've always found the sound of sizzling grease to be appealing. Yet as I retrieve the crackling steak from the oven, I handle it with caution lest the overly-excited meat sends projectiles of oil onto my vulnerable, barenaked hands. Likewise, as others charge toward the crossfire of technology with its onslaught of consequences and marvel at the latest milestone in Apple aps, I'll take a cue from Thoreau and retreat to the enclave of more simplified living. Because when all is said and done, patience may be our only redemption from the blitzkrieg emanating from smart technology. And simplicity may the key to that deliverance.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Eye Contact with Crazy
I was waiting for the bus on the way home from school one day, and a woman--obviously off her rocker--walked in my general direction. I knew I shouldn't have looked her in the eye, but I went against my better judgment and did it anyway. I don't remember what my facial expression was exactly, but it must have worried her because the next thing I knew, her palms were on my forehead as she feverishly prayed to God to rebuke the Devil from me.
I was only a teenager at the time and was quite passive, so I kind of just stood there and took it, hoping the bus would hurry up and whisk me away from the line of sight of anyone who'd witnessed the incident. From then on, I made a vow never again to make eye contact with crazy because you just never know what kind of predicament you might land in as a result.
I've since extended this philosophy to other areas in my life, particularly when it comes to my professional development, and leadership has always topped that list of activities to avoid. Leadership is its own brand of crazy, placing the brave and willing in contact with some of the most extreme personalities known to man. A team leader trying to bring their project to fruition has to grapple with their team members' laziness, insecurities, testiness, and other B.S. In short, taking on leadership is a messy proposition. But so is dealing with the aftermath of someone else's slipshod leadership. Unfortunately, I've developed an interest in getting in on the decision-making process to right the many, many wrongs I've witnessed from other people's lapses in leadership.
In spite of my misgivings about leadership, I've somehow managed to stumble across a few leadership opportunities--which basically means I reluctantly agreed to take them on after lots of arm-twisting. To my surprise, those opportunities have largely been rewarding. There's no feeling like knowing of an unmet need and realizing you're in the position to meet it. I've felt so frustrated at not having the power to change things for the better and I know the only way to do anything about it is to lead in the effort.
Part of what has held me back from actively taking on leadership roles was that aforementioned passive disposition that let a complete stranger exorcize alleged demons from my forehead uninterrupted. I've since grown out of that passivity and have become quite vocal about my convictions. (Ahem. Hence the blog.) :)
Another thing that has held me back was self-doubt, believing I was too inadequate or incompetent to lead. But I've come to realize that a lot of leaders have MANY moments of inadequacy and incompetence. While not necessarily a detriment, it can be problematic if leaders don't realize or acknowledge their shortcomings or have any inclination to improve themselves. I know enough to know that a good leader should be aware not only of her strengths, but her weaknesses. I'm VERY aware of my weaknesses, so I just need some additional leadership experiences to turn those weaknesses into strengths.
A third reason for my hesitance to lead was my self-consciousness and my proclivity to feeling guilt at any perceived special treatment on my behalf. I've already had to prove (repeatedly) that I'm more than an affirmative action quota or a mere benefactor of someone else's favoritism. Yet the perception of my under-qualification still persists--at least, that's has been my hunch of late. I've let this self-consciousness get the better of me so much so that I passed up the opportunity to serve in a supervisory capacity. While I don't regret forfeiting the specific set of responsibilities of that position, I do regret letting the mere potential of someone's negative reaction prevent me from spreading my wings.
Well not anymore. I've already experienced the fulfillment of making positive changes and I can no longer let my insecurities and those of others hold me back. I'm even finding inspiration in some of the least likely places---whipping my hair while singing, "Don't let haters keep off my grind. Keep my head up I know I'll be fine. Keep fighting until I get there. When I'm down and I feel like giving up, I'll think again." Out of the mouth of babes and undeniably trite, yet truer words have never resonated so strongly with me. So, like Fantasia and I'm gonna start doin' me and letting people think what they want to think. (Love that song BTW.)
Not that the road ahead will be a cakewalk. There's a lot of work to do with little reward and few people willing to pitch in on the nitty gritty stuff. But if I'm to gain future opportunities to effect even greater change, I have to be willing to put in the elbow grease right now. Sure there will be moments when my inner E-40 compels me to snap at them, growling "money costs too much and I ain't got a dime; you need to pay me, or pay me no never mind. Trick!" But I'm sure my altruistic nature will overpower and suppress such undesirable outbursts. It will all work out fine (I hope).
So as I sit at the start of a new year and ponder the responsibilities I'll soon be taking on--roles like "Training Coordinator" and "Mentoring Committee Chair"--I look forward to the challenges that lie ahead and the opportunities to make a lasting change that will hopefully take my organization to the next level. And with this newfound willingness to look crazy in the eye--in the figurative sense at least--perhaps my inner demons of self-consciousness and self-doubt will eventually be exorcized once and for all.
Happy New Year and best wishes to anyone aiming to make their own "eye contact with crazy" in their neck of the woods!
I was only a teenager at the time and was quite passive, so I kind of just stood there and took it, hoping the bus would hurry up and whisk me away from the line of sight of anyone who'd witnessed the incident. From then on, I made a vow never again to make eye contact with crazy because you just never know what kind of predicament you might land in as a result.
I've since extended this philosophy to other areas in my life, particularly when it comes to my professional development, and leadership has always topped that list of activities to avoid. Leadership is its own brand of crazy, placing the brave and willing in contact with some of the most extreme personalities known to man. A team leader trying to bring their project to fruition has to grapple with their team members' laziness, insecurities, testiness, and other B.S. In short, taking on leadership is a messy proposition. But so is dealing with the aftermath of someone else's slipshod leadership. Unfortunately, I've developed an interest in getting in on the decision-making process to right the many, many wrongs I've witnessed from other people's lapses in leadership.
In spite of my misgivings about leadership, I've somehow managed to stumble across a few leadership opportunities--which basically means I reluctantly agreed to take them on after lots of arm-twisting. To my surprise, those opportunities have largely been rewarding. There's no feeling like knowing of an unmet need and realizing you're in the position to meet it. I've felt so frustrated at not having the power to change things for the better and I know the only way to do anything about it is to lead in the effort.
Part of what has held me back from actively taking on leadership roles was that aforementioned passive disposition that let a complete stranger exorcize alleged demons from my forehead uninterrupted. I've since grown out of that passivity and have become quite vocal about my convictions. (Ahem. Hence the blog.) :)
Another thing that has held me back was self-doubt, believing I was too inadequate or incompetent to lead. But I've come to realize that a lot of leaders have MANY moments of inadequacy and incompetence. While not necessarily a detriment, it can be problematic if leaders don't realize or acknowledge their shortcomings or have any inclination to improve themselves. I know enough to know that a good leader should be aware not only of her strengths, but her weaknesses. I'm VERY aware of my weaknesses, so I just need some additional leadership experiences to turn those weaknesses into strengths.
A third reason for my hesitance to lead was my self-consciousness and my proclivity to feeling guilt at any perceived special treatment on my behalf. I've already had to prove (repeatedly) that I'm more than an affirmative action quota or a mere benefactor of someone else's favoritism. Yet the perception of my under-qualification still persists--at least, that's has been my hunch of late. I've let this self-consciousness get the better of me so much so that I passed up the opportunity to serve in a supervisory capacity. While I don't regret forfeiting the specific set of responsibilities of that position, I do regret letting the mere potential of someone's negative reaction prevent me from spreading my wings.
Well not anymore. I've already experienced the fulfillment of making positive changes and I can no longer let my insecurities and those of others hold me back. I'm even finding inspiration in some of the least likely places---whipping my hair while singing, "Don't let haters keep off my grind. Keep my head up I know I'll be fine. Keep fighting until I get there. When I'm down and I feel like giving up, I'll think again." Out of the mouth of babes and undeniably trite, yet truer words have never resonated so strongly with me. So, like Fantasia and I'm gonna start doin' me and letting people think what they want to think. (Love that song BTW.)
Not that the road ahead will be a cakewalk. There's a lot of work to do with little reward and few people willing to pitch in on the nitty gritty stuff. But if I'm to gain future opportunities to effect even greater change, I have to be willing to put in the elbow grease right now. Sure there will be moments when my inner E-40 compels me to snap at them, growling "money costs too much and I ain't got a dime; you need to pay me, or pay me no never mind. Trick!" But I'm sure my altruistic nature will overpower and suppress such undesirable outbursts. It will all work out fine (I hope).
So as I sit at the start of a new year and ponder the responsibilities I'll soon be taking on--roles like "Training Coordinator" and "Mentoring Committee Chair"--I look forward to the challenges that lie ahead and the opportunities to make a lasting change that will hopefully take my organization to the next level. And with this newfound willingness to look crazy in the eye--in the figurative sense at least--perhaps my inner demons of self-consciousness and self-doubt will eventually be exorcized once and for all.
Happy New Year and best wishes to anyone aiming to make their own "eye contact with crazy" in their neck of the woods!
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Sweet Thing, You've Got Me Singing...
It sometimes takes a lot for me to like a song, especially if it has a strange hook or a goofy sound to it. I won't even give a song one listen if I can't take it seriously. That's how I used to feel about Teena Marie's "Ooo La La La." I could never get into that song, mainly because of the part where she sings "ooo la la la." It was just too weird and corny for me to give it--or the rest of the song--any merit.
I could never understand the popularity of "Ooo La La La." I remember my schoolmates singing it with such abandon and I just couldn't relate. Even when the Fugees did a remake of it with their hit "Fug-Gee-La," I was so against the original version, that their decision to do this prevented me from taking them seriously (at least not until "Killing Me Softly" came around). Yes, I was that diametrically opposed to the song. It just seemed, I don't know, beneath Teena to do something like that. With her body of work--including hard-hitting hits like "Square Biz," "Portuguese Love" (my personal favorite), and "I Need Your Lovin'"--"Ooo La La La" just seemed cheesy and so much less than the soulful sound I had come to expect of her.
And it takes a LOT for me to expect high-quality soulful music from a white artist. But Teena was no ordinary white artist. She was one of the few that could truly capture the essence, not only of soul music, but of the black culture inextricably linked with it. At the same time, she didn't exploit R&B culture or treat it like a commoditized item to be studied, mastered, and regurgitated like other artists of her persuasion. This is most demonstrated by the fact that in many instances, you could hear the "white girl" shining through loud and clear in much of her singing. But intertwined with those "vanilla child" sensibilities were the "chocolate" influences,
manifesting an effortless marbling that truly reflected her life.
I'd always figured she discovered black culture (including the music) as an adult, fell in love with it, became inspired by it, and created music within the framework of the black aesthetic as a natural progression. It wasn't until I read a recent news piece about her that I learned she was actually raised around black people. It's no wonder her personality, demeanor, and locution came off so authentically. She didn't model her sound and style off of any specific artist like many of the contrived "blue-eyed soul" artists do, and then have some marketing machine force-feed her down our throats. Her sound was uniquely her own and added to the rich fabric of R&B music rather than regurgitating a pale imitation of it. She had a genuine love for soul music and just let that love express itself naturally in her body of work. That authenticity--along with her skillful writing, singing, and musicianship--made fans of the genre gravitate towards her music without all the hype and PR peddling.
Every black fan of R&B music probably has their own list of white artists they'd consider truly and authentically soul singers/musicians. Everyone's overall list might vary, but I bet Teena would top most people's list as the epitome of "blue-eyed soul"--the standard-setter.
To give a sense of how "soulful" Teena was, picture the kind of white woman that would bring some bomb-ass potato salad to the neighborhood block party that would be all the rage--not that "German" stuff with the new potatoes and vinegar, but the good stuff with the mayo, mustard, hard-boiled eggs, and paprika! One minute you'd see her parting some child's hair with a jar of grease, barrettes, and ribbons nearby. The next, you'd see her leading the electric slide line, singing the lyrics to some obscure Funkadelic song, loud, strong, and pitch-perfect. Exhibiting the kind of behavior that would confuse all the newer black folks, having them falsely rationalize, "Oh, she must be Creole then. She Creole, right?" THAT was Teena!
There was just something genuine about her that made her easy to respect and treat as "one of our own." She wasn't one of those artists that hopped on the bandwagon of studying and imitating R&B music for the mere profit of it. And that type of artists is so dreadfully easy to spot. R&B music--at least up until the 2000's--was more than just music; it was an expression of the attitudes, personalities, and mannerisms of the artists producing the music. And a lot of that was a reflection of the black culture in which these artists were raised. Their formation as R&B singers/musicians incorporated the lifetime of experiences they'd had as members of the African-American community and it came through effortlessly and naturally in their music and mannerisms. This rich interconnection of cultural heritage, personal identity, and musical formation gets cheapened by the industry-manufactured "blue-eye soul" artists whose aping often reduces us and our mannerisms into caricatures.
Words cannot express the level of insult and irritation I've felt seeing these outsiders--some not even American, let alone African-American--get the hype, praise, recognition, and oftentimes preferential treatment over those who were raised and continue to live in the culture that inspired the music in the first place. Seeing these artists use "urban" music as a stepping stone to their intended careers of as pop artists, rock stars, or even actors--e.g. Pink, Mark Walberg, etc.--once the "Ooh-look!-A-white-person-who-can-sing/rap-like-a black-person!" fad dies down only adds insult to injury. So the fact that Teena always stayed true to R&B music makes her even more endearing to fans of the genre like myself.
Teena's biggest hit was "Lovergirl," which was probably one of her least R&B-sounding songs. She could have ridden the wave of success by altering her sound and style to retain the popular audience she'd garnered with that hit, but instead she went back to her R&B roots with follow-up albums that produced hits like "If I Were a Bell," "Still in Love," and, yours truly, "Ooo La La La." I actually could never get into these later songs; for me, the magic was in her earlier 80's tunes like "Behind the Groove," "Aladdin's Lamp," "Turnin' Me On," and "Now That I Have You." But even though her later songs were less appealing to me personally, I still respected her longevity and her ability to make hits that still resonated with her audience as a whole--and for decades after she debuted. Her body of work is nothing short of impressive, and for that main reason I am sorry to see her leave so soon and unexpectedly.
Teena was a genuinely talented artist who knew how to create a song--a soulful song--that really touched her fans. She is truly one of the few white artists I'd actually say made good R&B music--not good R&B music for a white person, but good R&B music PERIOD! She has my utmost respect, and so with her passing, I have now made it a point to listen to every song that is currently being played on the radio in her memory. As fate would have it, "Ooo La La La" is the one in the heaviest rotation nowadays. So instead of changing the station to avoid that corny "ooo la la la" riff, I'm leaving it on to play for the song's entire duration. And wouldn't you know it? The song has actually grown on me and has become an earworm of sorts, the kind that can only be satisfied by playing the song--over and over again. In other words, I can't get enough that song now--after all this time!
So Teena, Sweet Thing, you've finally won me over with this one. Without a doubt, you've got me singing "Ooo La La La" and other songs along with countless others who appreciate your musicianship and your dedication to the R&B genre. Rest in peace, Soul Sista.
I could never understand the popularity of "Ooo La La La." I remember my schoolmates singing it with such abandon and I just couldn't relate. Even when the Fugees did a remake of it with their hit "Fug-Gee-La," I was so against the original version, that their decision to do this prevented me from taking them seriously (at least not until "Killing Me Softly" came around). Yes, I was that diametrically opposed to the song. It just seemed, I don't know, beneath Teena to do something like that. With her body of work--including hard-hitting hits like "Square Biz," "Portuguese Love" (my personal favorite), and "I Need Your Lovin'"--"Ooo La La La" just seemed cheesy and so much less than the soulful sound I had come to expect of her.
And it takes a LOT for me to expect high-quality soulful music from a white artist. But Teena was no ordinary white artist. She was one of the few that could truly capture the essence, not only of soul music, but of the black culture inextricably linked with it. At the same time, she didn't exploit R&B culture or treat it like a commoditized item to be studied, mastered, and regurgitated like other artists of her persuasion. This is most demonstrated by the fact that in many instances, you could hear the "white girl" shining through loud and clear in much of her singing. But intertwined with those "vanilla child" sensibilities were the "chocolate" influences,
manifesting an effortless marbling that truly reflected her life.
I'd always figured she discovered black culture (including the music) as an adult, fell in love with it, became inspired by it, and created music within the framework of the black aesthetic as a natural progression. It wasn't until I read a recent news piece about her that I learned she was actually raised around black people. It's no wonder her personality, demeanor, and locution came off so authentically. She didn't model her sound and style off of any specific artist like many of the contrived "blue-eyed soul" artists do, and then have some marketing machine force-feed her down our throats. Her sound was uniquely her own and added to the rich fabric of R&B music rather than regurgitating a pale imitation of it. She had a genuine love for soul music and just let that love express itself naturally in her body of work. That authenticity--along with her skillful writing, singing, and musicianship--made fans of the genre gravitate towards her music without all the hype and PR peddling.
Every black fan of R&B music probably has their own list of white artists they'd consider truly and authentically soul singers/musicians. Everyone's overall list might vary, but I bet Teena would top most people's list as the epitome of "blue-eyed soul"--the standard-setter.
To give a sense of how "soulful" Teena was, picture the kind of white woman that would bring some bomb-ass potato salad to the neighborhood block party that would be all the rage--not that "German" stuff with the new potatoes and vinegar, but the good stuff with the mayo, mustard, hard-boiled eggs, and paprika! One minute you'd see her parting some child's hair with a jar of grease, barrettes, and ribbons nearby. The next, you'd see her leading the electric slide line, singing the lyrics to some obscure Funkadelic song, loud, strong, and pitch-perfect. Exhibiting the kind of behavior that would confuse all the newer black folks, having them falsely rationalize, "Oh, she must be Creole then. She Creole, right?" THAT was Teena!
There was just something genuine about her that made her easy to respect and treat as "one of our own." She wasn't one of those artists that hopped on the bandwagon of studying and imitating R&B music for the mere profit of it. And that type of artists is so dreadfully easy to spot. R&B music--at least up until the 2000's--was more than just music; it was an expression of the attitudes, personalities, and mannerisms of the artists producing the music. And a lot of that was a reflection of the black culture in which these artists were raised. Their formation as R&B singers/musicians incorporated the lifetime of experiences they'd had as members of the African-American community and it came through effortlessly and naturally in their music and mannerisms. This rich interconnection of cultural heritage, personal identity, and musical formation gets cheapened by the industry-manufactured "blue-eye soul" artists whose aping often reduces us and our mannerisms into caricatures.
Words cannot express the level of insult and irritation I've felt seeing these outsiders--some not even American, let alone African-American--get the hype, praise, recognition, and oftentimes preferential treatment over those who were raised and continue to live in the culture that inspired the music in the first place. Seeing these artists use "urban" music as a stepping stone to their intended careers of as pop artists, rock stars, or even actors--e.g. Pink, Mark Walberg, etc.--once the "Ooh-look!-A-white-person-who-can-sing/rap-like-a black-person!" fad dies down only adds insult to injury. So the fact that Teena always stayed true to R&B music makes her even more endearing to fans of the genre like myself.
Teena's biggest hit was "Lovergirl," which was probably one of her least R&B-sounding songs. She could have ridden the wave of success by altering her sound and style to retain the popular audience she'd garnered with that hit, but instead she went back to her R&B roots with follow-up albums that produced hits like "If I Were a Bell," "Still in Love," and, yours truly, "Ooo La La La." I actually could never get into these later songs; for me, the magic was in her earlier 80's tunes like "Behind the Groove," "Aladdin's Lamp," "Turnin' Me On," and "Now That I Have You." But even though her later songs were less appealing to me personally, I still respected her longevity and her ability to make hits that still resonated with her audience as a whole--and for decades after she debuted. Her body of work is nothing short of impressive, and for that main reason I am sorry to see her leave so soon and unexpectedly.
Teena was a genuinely talented artist who knew how to create a song--a soulful song--that really touched her fans. She is truly one of the few white artists I'd actually say made good R&B music--not good R&B music for a white person, but good R&B music PERIOD! She has my utmost respect, and so with her passing, I have now made it a point to listen to every song that is currently being played on the radio in her memory. As fate would have it, "Ooo La La La" is the one in the heaviest rotation nowadays. So instead of changing the station to avoid that corny "ooo la la la" riff, I'm leaving it on to play for the song's entire duration. And wouldn't you know it? The song has actually grown on me and has become an earworm of sorts, the kind that can only be satisfied by playing the song--over and over again. In other words, I can't get enough that song now--after all this time!
So Teena, Sweet Thing, you've finally won me over with this one. Without a doubt, you've got me singing "Ooo La La La" and other songs along with countless others who appreciate your musicianship and your dedication to the R&B genre. Rest in peace, Soul Sista.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Assez, Assez, ASSEZ!
In my profile, underneath "Favorite Music" is the phrase: "R&B before it died." I mean it partly in jest and partly not. In my opinion, R&B music, as I've come to know it, truly has died. With the exception of a few songs here and there ("Rude Boy," "Deuces," etc.), what constitutes today's R&B music has very little to do with the "rhythm and blues" sensibility that used to place it into a class by itself. For all intents and purposes, today's R&B is basically pop music sung by former R&B artists.
Music producers of today just don't seem to value the art of good instrumentation. They literally combine insipid riffs played from several synthesized instruments (bass #6, piano #22, etc.), throw in a basic drumbeat, and voila--a song has been produced! With such a lazy attitude towards the instrumentation, I won't even bother holding my breath for groundbreaking lyrics that inspire self-reflection and change. That pipe dream died somewhere between India Arie's "Video" and this nonsense.
Back in the late 90's Lauryn Hill told us "MC's ain't ready to take it to the Serengeti." Well, today's MC's seem even less ready than before. But to be honest, at the time that Lauryn opined this sentiment, I wasn't really ready to take it there either--at least, not in the sense of truly listening to her songs' Afrocentric themes and learning from them.
I wasn't ready to hear Lauryn speak about Menelik and the other African czars who kept it "civilized" in "Forgive Them Father." I literally couldn't hear her call to the "bredren" and "sistren", telling us to "come again" and elevate ourselves above the self-destructive, single-minded pursuit of "that thing." Likewise, I wasn't ready to take the journey with Speech to revisit the ghosts of our painful past to understand God's plan for us. I was among those who didn't know what Caron Wheeler meant when she told us to "follow good feeling through and let the superficial pass [us] by, living in the light." And I wasn't ready to chant with Les Nubians at the end of their song "Desolee," crying "Enough! Enough! Enough!" to all the people in developed nations who turn a blind eye to Africans' suffering.
Assez de faire semblant pour lui qui sait dit intelligent, ses geants sans sentiments. When Les Nubians first came onto the scene with "Makeda," I was ready for their French answer to the American-born R&B music genre. I was so ready that I spent a year learning French, just so that I could sing songs like "Sourire," "Princesses Nubiennes," "Bebela," and "Desolee" and learn the meaning of lyrics like the one heading this paragraph (which translates roughly to: "Enough pretense on the part of those who call themselves intelligent--giants without feelings").
I was heartened by Les Nubians' attempt to reach out to Americans in the African diaspora and share their stories from an Afro-French perspective. I appreciated their efforts to marry intricate beats and refined instrumentation with inspirational messages of Pan-Africanism, spirituality, and connection with their African roots. But while I was ready to appreciate all of this, I wasn't ready to really hear it. After translating the lyrics to "Desolee" along with "Demain," and comparing them to Les Nubians' only English-language track, "Sugar Cane," on their debut album, Princesses Nubiennes, I could recognize the connections among the different songs' tales of oppression, exploitation, and suffering in Sub-Saharan Africa, but I didn't take it seriously. I thought the subject matter was esoteric and something only people living in Africa (where Les Nubians were partly raised) or Pan-Africanists like Fugee and Soul II Soul alums would harp on. Basically, I was ignorant. I didn't realize that imperialism is alive and well today, even as we transition into 2011.
Embarrassingly, it took a mainstream publication like the New York Times to finally jolt me out of my (willfully?) ignorant stupor. In one of their recent articles, a reporter detailed how Malian farmers are being displaced by foreign investors whose only intentions are to till the land and produce food for their own countries. Raping and pillaging the Motherland is nothing new. I know this. I'm aware of the atrocities surrounding blood diamonds and other "conflict minerals," the rationale for fair trade, and the other casualties of developed countries' hegemonic pursuit of wealth and power. But I still couldn't help but be struck by this article, especially after reading the callous remarks of the Malian officials who said the foreign investors would actually make something useful and productive out of the arable land, despite the fact that most of the spoils would be exported out of the country. These officials had little to say about what would become of all the displaced rural inhabitants and their livelihoods.
I've heard of corrupt government officials in Africa who live high on the hog at the expense of their people, but something about the sentiments of the Malian officials in this article seemed to really affect me. After all this time, I finally get it. So along with the accounts of yesteryear detailing the corruption and oppression caused by Idi Amin and other African dictators, I now have this NYT article as a modern-day account to point to when I hear these lyrics in "Desolee" (translated):
Chaos organized by the law and its soldiers. Men and women condemned under oligarchic rule. They design their schemes and sinister plans, already lost before having the chance to effect positive change.
I wasn't ready to hear lyrics like these before, but I'm ready now. I'm ready to hear calls to arms like "Desolee," with its melodious lyrics harmonized over captivating instrumentation that commands your attention long enough for the words to sink in and resonate (sooner or later). I'm ready to groove AND learn what these crooning scholars have to say about the state of the world as they see it. But where are the Nubians, Lauryn's, and Speech's of today? Where are the songs that speak on today's stories of struggle and oppression? The refrain in "Desolee" ends with the following sobering truth: "Sorry to break it to you, but the powers that be know how substandard our living conditions are. They won't do anything about it, but they know that we're struggling and we'll always be struggling." Michael Jackson put it more simply by saying, "all I wanna say is that they don't really care about us." That was in 1995. Does anyone have anything to say in 2010?
In Lauryn Hill's song "Superstar," she challenged late-90's recording artists, saying "music is supposed to inspire, so how come we ain't gettin' no higher?" I wonder the same thing. Why aren't any of the mainstream acts trying to infuse any kind of wisdom, spirituality, or cultural pride into their music? It can't be that difficult. I'm not asking them to elevate themselves to the level of Lauryn who "sparred with stars and constellations, then came down for a little conversation." I just want something half-way inspiring. They can even be lazy about it and just slap a modern-day spin on the refrain from Sounds of Blackness' "Optimistic" (the one that goes "You can win as long as you keep your head to the sky." And, no, that rebellion-promoting "Whip My Hair" doesn't count either!)
As with my former, less enlightened state of mind back in the day, today's youth may not be ready to hear the intended messages in the lyrics of "conscious music," but you never know when and how those pearls of wisdom might blossom in the young listeners' minds and what kinds of calls to action they might one day inspire.
I'm so sick and tired of the vapid noise permeating the airwaves today--noise that doesn't elevate us, but debases us and makes us ignorant and soulless. As all of these thoughts run through my mind, the ending refrain of "Desolee" takes on a new meaning:
Assez, assez, assez de suffrance.
Assez, assez, assez de l'ignorance.
Assez, assez, assez de misere.
Assez de pouvoir.
Translated it means: Enough, enough, enough suffering. Enough, enough, enough, ignorance. Enough, enough, enough misery. Enough power.
Yes, to the people in power causing all the suffering and misery in the world and paying these "superstar" entertainers to make empty, meaningless music that distracts us and keep us ignorant of your organized chaos:
Enough, enough, ENOUGH!
Music producers of today just don't seem to value the art of good instrumentation. They literally combine insipid riffs played from several synthesized instruments (bass #6, piano #22, etc.), throw in a basic drumbeat, and voila--a song has been produced! With such a lazy attitude towards the instrumentation, I won't even bother holding my breath for groundbreaking lyrics that inspire self-reflection and change. That pipe dream died somewhere between India Arie's "Video" and this nonsense.
Back in the late 90's Lauryn Hill told us "MC's ain't ready to take it to the Serengeti." Well, today's MC's seem even less ready than before. But to be honest, at the time that Lauryn opined this sentiment, I wasn't really ready to take it there either--at least, not in the sense of truly listening to her songs' Afrocentric themes and learning from them.
I wasn't ready to hear Lauryn speak about Menelik and the other African czars who kept it "civilized" in "Forgive Them Father." I literally couldn't hear her call to the "bredren" and "sistren", telling us to "come again" and elevate ourselves above the self-destructive, single-minded pursuit of "that thing." Likewise, I wasn't ready to take the journey with Speech to revisit the ghosts of our painful past to understand God's plan for us. I was among those who didn't know what Caron Wheeler meant when she told us to "follow good feeling through and let the superficial pass [us] by, living in the light." And I wasn't ready to chant with Les Nubians at the end of their song "Desolee," crying "Enough! Enough! Enough!" to all the people in developed nations who turn a blind eye to Africans' suffering.
Assez de faire semblant pour lui qui sait dit intelligent, ses geants sans sentiments. When Les Nubians first came onto the scene with "Makeda," I was ready for their French answer to the American-born R&B music genre. I was so ready that I spent a year learning French, just so that I could sing songs like "Sourire," "Princesses Nubiennes," "Bebela," and "Desolee" and learn the meaning of lyrics like the one heading this paragraph (which translates roughly to: "Enough pretense on the part of those who call themselves intelligent--giants without feelings").
I was heartened by Les Nubians' attempt to reach out to Americans in the African diaspora and share their stories from an Afro-French perspective. I appreciated their efforts to marry intricate beats and refined instrumentation with inspirational messages of Pan-Africanism, spirituality, and connection with their African roots. But while I was ready to appreciate all of this, I wasn't ready to really hear it. After translating the lyrics to "Desolee" along with "Demain," and comparing them to Les Nubians' only English-language track, "Sugar Cane," on their debut album, Princesses Nubiennes, I could recognize the connections among the different songs' tales of oppression, exploitation, and suffering in Sub-Saharan Africa, but I didn't take it seriously. I thought the subject matter was esoteric and something only people living in Africa (where Les Nubians were partly raised) or Pan-Africanists like Fugee and Soul II Soul alums would harp on. Basically, I was ignorant. I didn't realize that imperialism is alive and well today, even as we transition into 2011.
Embarrassingly, it took a mainstream publication like the New York Times to finally jolt me out of my (willfully?) ignorant stupor. In one of their recent articles, a reporter detailed how Malian farmers are being displaced by foreign investors whose only intentions are to till the land and produce food for their own countries. Raping and pillaging the Motherland is nothing new. I know this. I'm aware of the atrocities surrounding blood diamonds and other "conflict minerals," the rationale for fair trade, and the other casualties of developed countries' hegemonic pursuit of wealth and power. But I still couldn't help but be struck by this article, especially after reading the callous remarks of the Malian officials who said the foreign investors would actually make something useful and productive out of the arable land, despite the fact that most of the spoils would be exported out of the country. These officials had little to say about what would become of all the displaced rural inhabitants and their livelihoods.
I've heard of corrupt government officials in Africa who live high on the hog at the expense of their people, but something about the sentiments of the Malian officials in this article seemed to really affect me. After all this time, I finally get it. So along with the accounts of yesteryear detailing the corruption and oppression caused by Idi Amin and other African dictators, I now have this NYT article as a modern-day account to point to when I hear these lyrics in "Desolee" (translated):Chaos organized by the law and its soldiers. Men and women condemned under oligarchic rule. They design their schemes and sinister plans, already lost before having the chance to effect positive change.
I wasn't ready to hear lyrics like these before, but I'm ready now. I'm ready to hear calls to arms like "Desolee," with its melodious lyrics harmonized over captivating instrumentation that commands your attention long enough for the words to sink in and resonate (sooner or later). I'm ready to groove AND learn what these crooning scholars have to say about the state of the world as they see it. But where are the Nubians, Lauryn's, and Speech's of today? Where are the songs that speak on today's stories of struggle and oppression? The refrain in "Desolee" ends with the following sobering truth: "Sorry to break it to you, but the powers that be know how substandard our living conditions are. They won't do anything about it, but they know that we're struggling and we'll always be struggling." Michael Jackson put it more simply by saying, "all I wanna say is that they don't really care about us." That was in 1995. Does anyone have anything to say in 2010?
In Lauryn Hill's song "Superstar," she challenged late-90's recording artists, saying "music is supposed to inspire, so how come we ain't gettin' no higher?" I wonder the same thing. Why aren't any of the mainstream acts trying to infuse any kind of wisdom, spirituality, or cultural pride into their music? It can't be that difficult. I'm not asking them to elevate themselves to the level of Lauryn who "sparred with stars and constellations, then came down for a little conversation." I just want something half-way inspiring. They can even be lazy about it and just slap a modern-day spin on the refrain from Sounds of Blackness' "Optimistic" (the one that goes "You can win as long as you keep your head to the sky." And, no, that rebellion-promoting "Whip My Hair" doesn't count either!)
As with my former, less enlightened state of mind back in the day, today's youth may not be ready to hear the intended messages in the lyrics of "conscious music," but you never know when and how those pearls of wisdom might blossom in the young listeners' minds and what kinds of calls to action they might one day inspire.
I'm so sick and tired of the vapid noise permeating the airwaves today--noise that doesn't elevate us, but debases us and makes us ignorant and soulless. As all of these thoughts run through my mind, the ending refrain of "Desolee" takes on a new meaning:
Assez, assez, assez de suffrance.
Assez, assez, assez de l'ignorance.
Assez, assez, assez de misere.
Assez de pouvoir.
Translated it means: Enough, enough, enough suffering. Enough, enough, enough, ignorance. Enough, enough, enough misery. Enough power.
Yes, to the people in power causing all the suffering and misery in the world and paying these "superstar" entertainers to make empty, meaningless music that distracts us and keep us ignorant of your organized chaos:
Enough, enough, ENOUGH!
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Video Games: Programming Executives to Be Followers
Apparently "action video games" make you smart, at least according to one NPR segment.
It turns out that non-gamers use the parietal cortex--an area specialized for visual-spatial processing--while gamers use the frontal cortex--an area specialized for higher cognitive functions like planning, attention, and multitasking. So basically, since the neural networks in the gamer brain's executive centers are being underutilized from a dearth of real-world strategic planning and complex decision-making, this area is being recruited and re-purposed to handle the quick, reactionary planning and decision-making involved in high-stakes mortal combat. In other words, young American brains are being rewired for virtual military training. And since video gaming apparently narrows the gender gap when it comes to performance on spatial cognition tests, little girls can be heartened to know that their future as military drone operators is just as secure as that of their male counterparts. (In my best Spice Girl accent: Geh-ole pahwah!)
This finding is nothing more than confirmation for the people pulling the strings that video games can be used reliably and successfully to program young, malleable brains and entrain our youth to follow orders in an increasingly desensitized context where they're less capable of questioning what they're doing (in the grand scheme of things) and why they're doing it in the first place. What's worse is that video games, in one study (cited in a NYT article), have been linked to increased inability to sleep, which could ultimately have a negative effect on a person's ability to develop a sense of self. All the more reason to use video games to ensure that our future drone operators are indoctrinated to conform to the status quo and follow orders!
The study cited in the NYT article suggests that gaming-induced sleep deprivation could lead to an inability to synthesize information, make connections between ideas, and set priorities. So while the NPR segment's producers are hailing video games' ability to "boost brain power," I'm wondering how much this alleged increase in cognition will serve the American citizenry when its time to make the real-world decisions that matter in the broader society? And since the area designed for executive cognitive processing is being re-purposed to focus on the narrow-minded pursuit of virtual combat, what other brain area(s) will be recruited to handle complex decision-making? Will it be the now underutilized parietal cortex? Some other area? No area at all (and thus no complex decisions being made by the citizenry? I'm sure the Powers that Be would LOVE that last scenario.)
When NPR begins the segment by telling parents to fret not, "video gaming may have real-world benefits for your child's developing brain," you have to wonder who will be at the receiving end of these "real-world benefits"? I already have my sneaking suspicions, but do enough of parents have even an inkling of a clue? Hell, do today's parents ever have a clue? Don't bet your civilian life on it. Our next crop of compliant precision fighters is well on its way.
It turns out that non-gamers use the parietal cortex--an area specialized for visual-spatial processing--while gamers use the frontal cortex--an area specialized for higher cognitive functions like planning, attention, and multitasking. So basically, since the neural networks in the gamer brain's executive centers are being underutilized from a dearth of real-world strategic planning and complex decision-making, this area is being recruited and re-purposed to handle the quick, reactionary planning and decision-making involved in high-stakes mortal combat. In other words, young American brains are being rewired for virtual military training. And since video gaming apparently narrows the gender gap when it comes to performance on spatial cognition tests, little girls can be heartened to know that their future as military drone operators is just as secure as that of their male counterparts. (In my best Spice Girl accent: Geh-ole pahwah!)
This finding is nothing more than confirmation for the people pulling the strings that video games can be used reliably and successfully to program young, malleable brains and entrain our youth to follow orders in an increasingly desensitized context where they're less capable of questioning what they're doing (in the grand scheme of things) and why they're doing it in the first place. What's worse is that video games, in one study (cited in a NYT article), have been linked to increased inability to sleep, which could ultimately have a negative effect on a person's ability to develop a sense of self. All the more reason to use video games to ensure that our future drone operators are indoctrinated to conform to the status quo and follow orders!
The study cited in the NYT article suggests that gaming-induced sleep deprivation could lead to an inability to synthesize information, make connections between ideas, and set priorities. So while the NPR segment's producers are hailing video games' ability to "boost brain power," I'm wondering how much this alleged increase in cognition will serve the American citizenry when its time to make the real-world decisions that matter in the broader society? And since the area designed for executive cognitive processing is being re-purposed to focus on the narrow-minded pursuit of virtual combat, what other brain area(s) will be recruited to handle complex decision-making? Will it be the now underutilized parietal cortex? Some other area? No area at all (and thus no complex decisions being made by the citizenry? I'm sure the Powers that Be would LOVE that last scenario.)
When NPR begins the segment by telling parents to fret not, "video gaming may have real-world benefits for your child's developing brain," you have to wonder who will be at the receiving end of these "real-world benefits"? I already have my sneaking suspicions, but do enough of parents have even an inkling of a clue? Hell, do today's parents ever have a clue? Don't bet your civilian life on it. Our next crop of compliant precision fighters is well on its way.
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