Musical Inspirations

As I begin to fully embrace my inner singer/songwriter, I love exploring established artists who are innovating music in ways the industry and the consuming public are gushing over.   Here are some of my musical inspirations who I have been obsessing over for the last few months. Leave a comment and tell me how you feel about these artists, or share some of your own music inspirations!!

Janelle Monae: For some reason I feel a curious possessiveness over Janelle Monae because I met her before she became super-famous.  She was definitely big, but had not yet signed with Diddy.  I did a semester exchange program at Spelman College in Atlanta in 2007 and saw her perform at Clark Atlanta University; and I'll never forget that concert.  She moved like a sexy robotic elvis and wore a tuxedo with the most perfectly molded afro puff.  Her voice revealed clear classical training. After the concert, I remember shaking her hand, and she was maybe 5ft tall and looked like a beautiful black doll.  All I could do was smile and nod like a star-struck little girl.  Okay - let me get on with it.  I paid only a modicum of attention to her after this encounter as she climbed the charts and her music became more mainstream, but I never missed an opportunity to boisterously tell folks that I had met her way back when  - back before "Metropolis: Suite I" even dropped.

I saw her again this Summer at the AfroPunk Festival in Brooklyn, and she delivered the best concert that I have seen in my life.  No lie.  She performd her classic "Violet Stars Happy Hunting" and also some of her new songs, includig "Tightrope."  And she even performed a Jackson 5 Cover - "I Want You Back."  Her energy, passion, and committment on stage were unlike anything I had ever seen, and to top it off, she crowd surfed at the end! Ahh. After the concert I nerded out and watched as many videos and read as much as I could about this musical innovator.  I coudn't be more impressed.  She was born in Kansas City, Kansas to a poor, working class family but didn't let that defeat her. She left and studied music theater at the American Music and Dramatic Academy in New York City, and then picked up and moved down South to Atlanta for new music opportunities and inspiration (all before the age of 21).   In Atlanta, she founded her own label - the Wondaland Arts Society, to provide a space for creative like-minded artists - and set up shop around the Atlanta University Center (affectionately known as the AUC) before joining forces with Big Boi from Outkast.   From her interviews, I have determined that she is by far the most articulate and purposeful artist in the biz.  She wears the tuxedo when she is performing and in public as a salute to the working class people (including her family) who have to wear uniforms; she describes it as her own uniform.  Her afro is a symbol of an African aesthetic not often embraced.  And, her music captures a Sci-Fi/Funk world that I never knew was compatible with R&B/Soul/Pop.  I could go on, but lest I bore you, I'll stop by saying, Janelle Monae is an artist who is redefining the industry; her progressive vision, passion, and social consciousness are all qualities all should embrace.  Next time I meet her, I'll try to tell her as much.

Kimbra: My little sister introduced me to this incredible Kiwi (she is from New Zealand).  When I listen to her song "Plain Gold Rings" and she does her vocal run at the end, I am in awe and instantly envious.  Her style is genre-bending - a mix of pop, soul, jazz, and folk.  And, I basically love everything about her - her passionate vocals, her cute beat-boxing (shout out to my a cappella roots and Out of the Blue!), her quirky outfits, her iPad/midi-controller performances, her creative music videos i.e., "Settle Down" and "Somebody That I Used to Know" with Gotye.  What impresses me the most is her dedication - she has been singing and performing since she was atleast 10 years old.  And so she reminds me that talent takes time to cultivate; Rome wasn't built in a day.

John Legend: I reconnected with Mr. Legend last Spring every week (via satellite) as he lit the stage of the new ABC reality singing show "Duets."  His cool nature and raw criticism (contrasted with some of the other judges' empty flattery of contestants) really resonated with me.

But, beyond his unapologetic honesty, dashing good looks, buttery tenor vocals, and innovative musical style, the reason he really inspires me is that he took a risk in following his passions - leaving a career as a management consultant at Boston Consulting Group.  So - you can be a business-minded, corporate type and an artist??!!  And, to think all of that talent could have been suffocating in Corporate America!  Perhaps I am destined to follow in his path..

I'm Back!

I’m backkk!!! Okay, I know what you’re thinking. How the heck do you write a few blog posts and disappear for two years without even so much as a goodbye? I’ll tell you how! IT'S CALLED LAW SCHOOL. I wish someone had warned me. Beyond the countless hours of reading and anxiety-ridden verbal jousting matches with professors who test how well you read by unexpectedly calling on you in class, there is this other element of law school that really tested the bounds of my social tolerance. Law school is like HIGH SCHOOL PART II. Let me paint a picture of the social experiment that I have been subjected to for the last year and a half.

At first, just like in high school, everybody wanted to get to know everybody else:

Random Law Student: “Hi—I’m X. What’s your name?”

Me: “I’m Shimite”

Awkward Pause

Random Law Student: “So, where did you go to undergrad?” (This is code for—“Are you worthy of being my friend?”)

After the first couple of months of traveling around together in the same classes in the same building, clicks start to develop and people stop smiling. You have your friends, but you never see them because everyone is so busy studying all of the time. When you do see them, the flurry of pleasantries becomes second-nature. The following “conversation” transpires about five times per day with varying people and lasts approximately ten seconds:

Me: “Hey—omg I never see you!”

Fake Law School Friend: “Yea—omg we need to catch up!”

Me: “Yea seriously! Oh I’m late for class—see ya!”

We also have lockers where we stuff our 10 pound law books (which by the way cost approximately $150-$200 a piece).

We have “popular kids” who spend more time trying to network for their future political aspirations than going to class or reading (not that doing well in law school is about going to class). Then, we have the “losers” aka “gunners” who nobody likes because they raise their hand too much in lecture, carry all their books in their book-bags so they look hunchback, and sprint through the halls when they are 2 minutes late. And finally, we have the “panickers” who relish in transmitting their fear and anxiety about exams and grades from the inner depths of their over-achieving brains, to you.

Crazy Law Student: “Omg I’m freaking out—omg omg”

Me: “Why?”

Crazy Law Student: “Omg I haven’t finished my outline and it’s like 1 month before finals!”

Me: “Oh—I haven’t started…uh oh..”

But I can’t forget the very venerable and accomplished law professor, who pretends that he (or she) doesn’t recognize you when you are riding the elevator together or passing each other on campus, even though you are one of 3 black kids in the entire class. Really? Don’t worry, Professor X I forgive you because you are so stuck in your world of academia you forget to come down to earth and live amongst the common man and his real-world problems.

But, alas, I am not going to make this post entirely about the woes of law school, because there has in fact been one amazing realization that I have come to since I began this journey. Law school and lawyers for that matter are “stressy” by training and by nature, and I need an outlet to remain sane. For me, music and singing has been my repose and saving grace.

Over the last year, I have been working with my boyfriend who is a corporate soldier by day and music producer by night, and making wonderful music together (not that kind!). The first project is to be released in the next month, and my debut album is in the works. So-who says I can’t do and have it all?!!

Please stay tuned as I track my evolution to lawyer-songstress!!

Hidden Gems

Don’t you just love when you discover hidden jems?  I mean, those unexpected but deliciously arbitrary gifts of goodness that have been bestowed upon you, for no particular reason that you can think of?  It’s kind of like when you find a crinkled $10 bill in your jean pocket, which has most likely endured atleast one cycle in the washing machine; or when you discover your favorite Mac lip gloss which you lost two years ago, hidden under the driver’s seat of your Infiniti; or when the office downstairs has food leftover from a meeting and decides to pass on the catered turkey-sandwich lunches to you and your colleagues.  Never mind that you skipped breakfast that morning and were just about to order a sub from the local deli shop.  Life is funny like that; it surprises you when you least expect it. 

A few weeks ago, I was helping to plan the Leadership Institute’s 5^th annual Women of Color Conference for Attorneys in Atlanta, and there was a particular book called Friends and Lovers in Black and White, that we were placing inside the program totes in addition to the other conference materials.  It was written by one of the panelists—Altomease Rucker Kennedy—who spoke about the nuances of opening up your own practice.  I managed to secure my copy early on. (Unfortunately, we ran out of books so there was a sort of guessing game to determine which bags had the coveted book, and which bags left something to be desired).

Now, if I tell you that I am a serial book-starter, rather than book reader, you may not believe me, but I cannot count the number of interesting—even fascinating books that I have begun, only to be captivated by the next, before I even reached chapter 5.  I guess I treat my books like I treat my men—try them out, then save them for later!  Well, I picked up this book and could not put it down.  That didn’t end up being too much of a problem, because it was the weekend and I could afford the extra hours of leisure reading. 

The reason that Mrs. Kennedy’s book Friends and Lovers in Black and White snuggled its way into my bed, onto my bookshelf, and now onto my blog is worth exploring.  It is a coming of age novel, for a generation of women—both black and white—who went to college in the 1960s, during a historical period where our country was divided over race and the Vietnam War.  Yet, the three protagonists experience unity, friendship, love, and success, in a boundless and timeless way.  They lived a generation ago, and yet I found that much of the storyline resonated with me.  

Leslie Cohen, the blond-haired, wealthy, Jewish country-club darling from Scarsdale, New York, stands tall as the epitome of the Goucher College woman and perhaps the all-American—

beautiful, intelligent, and well-liked by males and females alike.  (I definitely knew girls like that growing up, whom I envied from afar).  Paige Wyatt is the quintessential tie-die wearing bra-less hippie, who rejects her “old money” heritage from Greenwich Conneticut, and has worked relentlessly to cultivate her own rebellious identity as distinguished from her family and particularly her father.  And finally, Jennifer Madison is the middle class black “sista” hailing from Detroit with a brazen tongue and a cautious curiosity, who has embarked upon a journey into the Goucher abyss, as one of only eight other black girls who has dared to participate in the integration revolution. 

For Jennifer, race is always salient.  And her racial consciousness is continuously juxtaposed with the oblivion and naiveté of her best friend and roommate Leslie, though she is certainly open and in fact eager to learn.  Paige, on the other hand represents a very different sort of white person—the kind who is fascinated by the fight for justice, but has only witnessed struggle from above—perched atop a place of comfort and privilege.

The story centers on the various men (and women) which the characters engage with on romantic levels, beginning in college and spanning through their early professional careers.  And, in Leslie’s search for passion and commitment, Paige’s quest for stability, and Jennifer’s journey for the successful BMIS (an acronym which stands for Black man in a suit), they meet disappointment, pain, and finally reach a point of satisfaction which could only have come from the wisdom of time and support from their friends and family.

This book is incredibly timely.  Fast-forward forty years and here we are, in a post-integration society, living in black and white.  Now, however, it is most often by choice, rather than through any sort of de jure segregation (although the institutionalized patterns of residential segregation, often lead to educational segregation in public schools and financial constraints further crystallize this trend into higher education and beyond—I hear another blog calling!!).  For me, I have all too frequently been the token, just as Jennifer was, beginning in elementary school and continuing through college.  Attending law school this fall will not likely prove any different.  At the same time, most of my social outlets have been overwhelmingly negro-ish, (shout out to the 2010 Census!) in particular Church, the extra-curricular and professional organizations that I participate in, the parties that I frequent, my friend circles, and most notably my boyfriends. 

No one is knocking the beauty and power behind the black community, and the kindred spirit, which emanates from a room full of those with common shared experiences.  But if I take one thing from Mrs. Kennedy’s book, it is to remain open to a diversity of experiences, regardless of what society is “ready to accept.”  The ideal BMIS might garner societal affirmation and all of the approving nods of the Church women, but at what cost? Fidelity? Commitment? Passion? 

It very well may have taken a lesson from the past to propel me into the future, in terms of my relationships.  Black and white is a thing of the past; we are in an age of shades of gray, and I for one won’t be left behind as an unfortunate relic of the good ole’ times, gathering dust.  Who’s with me?  

Thanks to Mrs. Kennedy for her gem of timeless wisdom.  I will apply. 

You Don't Look Nigerian

“I didn’t know you were Nigerian…you don’t look Nigerian.”  I get it all of the time…at least a couple of times a week depending on how often I drop the N-bomb. I am certainly not surprised.  I am a first generation African-American in the truest sense. I was born and grew up in this country, but both my parents immigrated to the United States about 25 years ago, from Nigeria.  I eat fufu and okra or ogbono stew, gari, moy moy, acara balls, puff puff, plantain, suya, jeloff rice, and goat meat.  Egusi stew anyone? Mmmm. 

But my mannerisms are distinctly American.  I speak with no accent, I have no distinguishing tribal marks, and my features aren’t prototypically “African”.  Okay, let’s pause for the cause.  What does it mean to look “African” or West African in particular.  Its certainly not the dark skin or wide nose—all West Africans don’t look like Seal, who is half Nigerian half Brazilian, or Djimon Hounsou, who is from our neighboring country Benin (I love him, by the way).  Some look like the sultry songstress Sade (though she is of mixed Nigerian and British descent) or like actor Chiwetel Ejofor (he plays the black scientist who helps save the world in the recent film 2012). 

Most people imagine there are stark physical contrasts between Blacks in this country and the West Africans you might meet walking the streets of Lagos, Nigeria or Dakar, Senegal or Accra, Ghana.  However of the more than 10 million slaves transported to the Americas during the trans-Atlantic slave trade, over 54% came from the West African regions of Nigeria, Benin, Togo, Ghana, Ivory Coast, Equatorial Guinea, Senegal, and Cameroon.  In other words, people should stop being shocked to find Africans that don’t look “African” and vice versa—Black Americans that do look “African” (ahem Don Cheadle ahem Wesley Snipes ahem Whoopi in The Color Purple).  

We all do it—myself included—falling victim to our proclivity towards stereotypes and generalizations about other people. But how many exceptions to the rule must we encounter before we debunk this misinformed categorization?          

For my fellow first-generation Nigerian-Americans, who straddle the line of dual identities and have realized the beauty in reclaiming your heritage, this blog is for you!!  And for those of who are perhaps remiss and may have forgotten what’s so remarkably unique about Nigerian culture, allow me to take the next 2 minutes of your time to remind you.

We are a passionate people.  Where two or more are gathered, expect voices to be raised a decibel, and the conversation to be peppered by a healthy dose of exclamations such as “Chi-ne-ke!”, “Kai!”, “O-jo-we-o!” “Eh ya!”, and “Ah ah!”.  Nobody panic. Your cousin just got an A on her Biology test.

“Wait, there’s a parable for that!” Calling on the much cited Apple slogan for the I-phone, “There’s an app for that!” as my Grandma will attest—for any situation which you encounter, there will be a corresponding parable with varying relevance to your predicament. Did you hear the one about the young girl and the stew she was supposed to cook? What about the old man and the pot of gold. No? Me neither...

You must REBUKE the devil’s hand! When receiving anything from someone—food, money, a rolled up piece of paper just fished out of the trashcan covered in dust particles—take it with your right hand.  Reach out your left and risk immediate censure and any accompanying pain which will come from the slap you will undoubtedly be delivered. Bosam! You will learn young grasshopper…you will learn.

When we dance we make it rain! Start bumping that 2Face, P-Square, 9ice, D’banj, Femi, or Fela (for the old folks hehe), and you better get ready to either break-it-down, or grab some naira/dollars. 

You better believe after our last family gathering I pocketed those $20 in ones and went to Victoria Secret to buy some of that lotion on sale. That 5 for $20 sounded like an excellent Christmas gift package, but before I knew it I had purchased $70 worth of shimmer lip gloss, seduction lotion, vanilla body butter, and honey melon scrub.  Hey, atleast I got a ‘free’ pink Vicky Secret tote bag!!

Obviously Nigerian men don’t watch the Super-bowl, because it’s all about throwin’ back Guinness and Heineken! Budweiser who??  And as for me, Ill take a glass of muscato please thank you.  

Don’t forget the good, the bad, and the ugly! Apparently, Nigerian parents have never heard of child protective services because corporal punishment is always the preferred method of child rearing.  Who ever heard of a switch? Try the much more convenient mop stick or pounding yam spoon (well its more like a slab of wood than a spoon) or the cord of the iron…Don’t worry they aren’t picky with the instruments of discipline. Line up!  And if your parents are tired of exerting force on you—how about just raising both hands straight above your head (indefinitely).  Does it burn????? Well maybe you should have thought of that before you talked back!

All these quirks, traditions, and customs make up what is so incredible about Nigerian culture.  There is a steadfast pride, which will defend to the death outside criticisms of our great country, underlying a keen insight, wisdom, and consciousness of a brilliant people who independently and collectively philosophize about exactly “What’s wrong with Nigeria.” (Shameless plug for Andrew Young’s documentary.)   So Nigeria—for all the good, the bad, and the ugly, I still rep my hood hard-body (New York slang slipped in there).  I just got one question for you. Where you from? East-Side!! Imo State!! 

I’ll be in Nigeria to bring in the 2010 New Year, and I will be dancing hard so Naija better make it rain on me!  Palm wine anyone?  Look out for my next blog/rant when I get back from the motherland.  I really have to go though, my show is coming on Africa Magic in an hour, and I got to find out whether Chinyere and Arinze’s daughters are still running the streets of Abuja wild, drinking beer and gallivanting around or shackin’ up with Yoruba men!!

 

Lets hear it for New York, New York, New York!!

More than a theme for this Jay-Z/Alicia Keyes recent collabo hip hop anthem, which boasts that “The Big Apple” is one of the greatest places to live on the planet, NYC does indeed live up to its incredibly inflated egoic reputation. Take it from a native Atlantan, who has not grown up with the indoctrination of New York City, as the so-called center of the world. I am always inspired when I go to NYC and so I took the illustrious occasion of the anniversary of my 23rd year on this earth to travel back up to good ole’ New York City.

The vibrant city pumps life into its restless residents, much like two jumper cables can deliver a jolt of electricity powerful enough to start a lifeless vehicle. The constant flow and interchange of money, energy, enthusiasm, and dare I say even a modicum of craziness, is what keeps this city the number one destination for tourism in the world, as well as the prized possession of its overzealous native New Yorkers, residing in boroughs like Harlem, Brooklyn, Queens, Lower East Side, and Long Island. Break down the fictional melting pot of New York, and you are likely to find delineable enclaves of culturally rich Jamaicans and Trinidadians in Flatbush; the coquettish latin flavor of Dominicans in Washington Heights; trendy, artsy hipsters in Williamsburg and LES or “lower east side”; and, over-worked, over-paid, and over-valued banker-types in the Upper West Side of Manhattan. No-where else in the world do you get such a colorful array of identities—culture, fashion, personality, and style—co-existing in such a brilliant manner.

In lieu of lacing this blog with a potpourri of outsider observations, however, I might mention some specific experiences that I had on my trip to NYC just last weekend, to celebrate my birthday, which have solidified my affinity for the Empire State.

The saturation of clubs, restaurants, and lounges on every avenue and street never leaves one wanting for a cool place to chill, or a hot place to party like it’s the new millennium! LES, Alphabet City, count me in!

Friday:

Have you ever had a basil cocktail? It is a cool, refreshing, basil infused vodka beverage which I was uniquely served at Stanton Social bar http://thestantonsocial.com/ on the occasion of starting my birthday weekend off right! Props to the hot bartenders, with mad skills (witness my New York dialect emerging after just one weekend. Its contagious!).

Saturday:

Babel Hookah bar http://www.babelnyc.com/ Saturday night was a cozy space, and the air was singed with strawberry, raspberry, and other flavored tobaccos, which intermingled nicely with the Brazilian/hip hop music and eclectic crowd. From there, we meandered just one block up the street to Lava gina (ohhh yes they did)—another lounge which played an excellent mix of African music (shout out to my Naija brother on the turntables!) and hip hop. The night ended at 4:00am, when I gleefully skipped out of China 1 http://www.china1nyc.com/, on a birthday high, and subsequently enjoyed a lukewarm glazed Dunkin Donut and a juicy Falafel topped with onions, tomatoes and tahini sauce, before hopping on the F train off of Houston. Where else can you get a juicy tahini filled falafel at 4:00 in the morning??

Sunday:

Props to the Sunburnt Cow http://www.thesunburntcow.com/ which delivered brunch and round after round of delectable mimosas for a reasonable price of $18.00, enabling me to reach an optimal state of inebriation on Sunday afternoon at 2:00pm. Later that evening, after a walk in Tompkins Square Park and a round of shrimp tempura sushi rolls, I was slurping down a frozen sugary strawberry margarita and devouring shrimp tacos with salsa and guacamole at Benny's Burritos http://www.blockheads.com/, while having a debate on the subjugation of Asian women, societal conditioning of gender roles, and the implications of one of the largest and most influential entities in the world—the Rothschild banking family. I always meet interesting people and have wonderfully random and spontaneous intellectual conversations when I am in NYC, and this trip was no exception!

Monday:

And on my last evening, The Coffee Shop at Union Square (don’t be fooled by its generic name), was anything but a simple coffee shop, with its loungey (yes I made that word up) black leather chairs and hip, attractive servers--shout out to that olive skinned, dark-curly haired piece of Mediterranean goodness who was working on Monday night!

Speaking of hot Mediterranean men, not only does NYC have an over-abundance of nightlife outlets, the men are entirely too attractive and charming to resist! All my single ladies, make it a personal priority to take a trip to New York if you want to see how real men treat women. Ill leave it at that ;).

Truly truly, what made my NY experience, as always, was the connections that I made with both old friends, new friends, and even strangers. Ex: the random girl who bummed a cig from my friend and began to share her emotional trials and tribulations about her imminent divorce. She was stalling...avoiding going home to face her own desperate reality. Another incredible moment with a complete stranger came on my last night, when I was waiting for a friend for an hour at the McDonalds at Times Square, and an older man came up to me with eyes glossed over as if he was prepared to shed a tear at the thought of my pathetic situation. He asked "Are you okay?" And I began to reassure him that I was not on the verge of suicidal depression, and the reason I was dozing in and out of consciousness at the top floor of this particular McDonalds Restaurant was because of sheer boredom--certainly not so interesting or dramatic a reason as what he thought. His sympathy and compassion stayed with me.

Now the city certainly has a few drawbacks and faults:

• Piles of garbage bags line avenues, much like the chrysanthemums peppered throughout my Grandma’s garden.

• Big-ass bold rats dashing across the subway rails and around street corners are about as common as the squirrels that live in my attic.

• A one-person $1200/month apartment, might resemble Kimmora Lee’s walk-in closet, smell like moldy clothes that you forgot to take out of the washer, and have lovely vintage features such as layers of peeling paint, cracked tiles and creaking wooden floors glazed with thin layers of grit.

• And let us never forget the unrelenting reminder of the hardship of life in the city, with the dread-headed beggars who bang their cups, beseeching sympathy from apathetic riders on the subway trains, and the immensely talented and perpetually homeless musicians on the street corners and in the parks.

But even when I think of the juxtaposition of the gluttonous consumerism and sheer poverty, which co-exists in NYC, I am inspired—and even prompted to act. The New Yorker’s is a can-do spirit, and if nothing else, I will take that attitude and apply it to my life back at home. In fact, my trip and my extraordinarily ambitious friends (you know who you are) have inspired me to start a long-overdue blog. But it doesn’t stop there! Tune in for more on how I am bringing my New York state of mind, back to the dirty dirty ATL baby. And to be sure, I will be strutting across the broad avenues and streets of The Big Apple again, as soon as my bank account bounces back!