Wednesday, April 15, 2009

What If Michelle Obama Was White?


from The Loop

What If Michelle Obama Were White?
by Crystal P. Smith

Barack Obama won the presidency by a landslide. The answer was clear — yes, America was ready for a black president. But how much different would things have been if Michelle Obama were white?

The family of a presidential hopeful, and his wife in particular, become a very important factor in whether a president will be elected. Voters tend to go for the total package and appearances matter. It's been proven that Americans usually pick the more handsome, taller candidate with the most attractive family. President Obama is no exception, which is why he and his family have garnered so much attention.

But what if Michelle Obama were white and, along with the idea of a black president, we had needed to accept an interracial union?

Read the Full Essay @

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Bakari Kitwana on John Hope Franklin


photo by DAWOUD BEY

from The Huffington Post

Did John Hope Franklin Want $100 Trillion For Blacks?
by Bakari Kitwana

Dr. John Hope Franklin, the wildly accomplished historian who documented Blacks’ place in the great American story, firmly believed in reparations — the idea that the descendants of slaves in the United States should be compensated for the centuries of free labor that enriched slaveowners and their descendants and the American empire. It is a fact overlooked by the recent flurry of mainstream media coverage commemorating his life work. (He died at the age of 94 late last month.) But it is no small detail.

Consider his response in 2007 to state legislators in North Carolina and Virginia who balked at apologies for slavery introduced by their peers. For him a mere verbal apology wasn’t enough.

Read the Fully Essay HERE

Does Hip-Hop Hate Women? Chatting Up Chrianna and Youth Culture


from NewsOne.com

PODCAST: Experts Rap About Chrianna & Youth Culture

As the world waits for Chris Brown to appear in court today to be arraigned on two felony charges connected to the dating violence incident with R & B singer Rihanna, NewsOne.com sat down with a handful of journalists, scholars and activist who have had their finger on the pulse of hip-hop generation’s gender wars for much of the last decade: Tracy Sharpley-Whiting (author, Pimps Up, Hos Down and director of Black Studies at Vanderbilt University), Joan Morgan (author of When Chickenheads Come Home to Roost), and Newsone’s own senior editor Bakari Kitwana (Underground Current and director of Rap Sessions). This was moderated by Mark Anthony Neal (Left of Black and author of New Blackman).

The debate got heated on all sides as the group challenged young fans and the mainstream media and prepared for the Does Hip-Hop Hate Women? townhall meeting this Thursday April 9 at Connecticut College.

Listen Here

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Why RUN D.M.C. Mattered



Originally Published at PopMatters.com (2002). Note that Run-DMC was not the first group to be inducted to the Rock Hall. The Hall did the right thing and made Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five the first rap act inducted.

Remembering the Kings of Rock
by Mark Anthony Neal

The memory is still quite vivid—I was the last one in the prom night limo, traveling across Queen Blvd. en route to the bridge (Throggs Neck) that was going to return me to my home in the Boogie-down. It was about 7am, my prom Shortie had been home in Brooklyn for at least a half-hour and we were dropping this Queens cat off (there were three couples in the limo) when I first heard the staccato opening and the words that would change the pop world: “two years ago a friend of mine / Asked me to say some MC rhymes / So I said this rhyme I’m about to say / The rhyme was deaf and it went this way.” It was 1983, I was 17, the radio station was the black-owned WBLS and the voice belonged to Joseph Simmons a.k.a. Run. When Run and his partner “DMC in the place to be” who went to “St. John University” dropped their two-sided 12-inch “It’s Like That/ Sucker M.C.’s” in March of 1983 they were the “new-school” of hip-hop. They jettisoned the stylistic excesses of Grand Master Flash and the Furious Five, Afrika Bambatta and the Soul Sonic Force and their artistic god-father Kurtis Blow and replaced them with the streamlined black fedora, colored Lee jeans, dukey gold-chains and unlaced shell-top Adidas that became their signature look for a decade.

For many folks, Run-DMC didn’t become a relevant pop act until they made their move to MTV, first with the video for “King of Rock” (1985) and then their crossover, star-making collaboration with Aerosmith on a remake of “Walk This Way.” It was in the brilliant video for “King of Rock” that the trio of Run, DMC, and hip-hop’s most visible DJ ever, Jam Master Jay, mocked the conservative undertones of Rock and Roll tradition, taking shots at Elvis (yes, please a little less conversation), Michael Jackson (who later sought them out to help validate him in the ‘hood) and The Beatles (though Chuck D would one up them on “Fight the Power” and Little Richard is still carrying the blood stained banner). Seventeen years after the release of “King of Rock” it is an accepted fact the group will become the first hip-hop act indicted in the Rock Hall, when they are eligible for induction in 2008. “King of Rock” helped Run-DMC transcend the ‘hood (truth be told the group’s hometown of Hollis, Queens was at worst lower middle-class) for the same reason Marley crossed over the decade before: the guitars, in this case courtesy of Eddie Martinez. At the behest of Rick Rubin, then the partner of Run’s brotha and current “race man” Russell, the group began to incorporate guitar riffs the year before (also courtesy of Martinez) on “Rock Box” which was the lead single from their first full-length disc Run-DMC (1984). In a world where most of the dominant hip-hop artists, like Kurtis Blow ("these are the breaks") and even Melle Mel still flowed mellifluously to upbeat party grooves, Run-DMC was “hard-core,” influencing contemporaries like Schoolly D and Just-Ice and first generation “new school” acts including Boogie Down Productions (KRS-One and Scott La Rock).

The collabo with Aerosmith on “Walk This Way” (which—along with the drug counseling—helped resurrect Aerosmith’s career) was really a no-brainer. The song had long been part of the hip-hop DJ canon, back when hip-hop was still plugged into lampposts in the hood (on the street the song was referred to as “Toys in the Attic” in reference to the 1975 album that the original version appeared on), but it was also the culmination of a concerted effort by the group’s management Rush Productions (or “Race Man, Inc.") to cross the group (and hip-hop) over to mainstream audiences with their featured roles in the fictional Russell Simmons biopic Krush Groove, their historic appearance at Live Aid (Run-DMC was among the few black acts at the concert which also featured Sade and the Teddy Pendergrass’s first post-accident stage appearance alongside Ashford and Simpson) and “Christmas in Hollis” (which samples Clarence Carter’s classic “Back Door Santa"), their contribution to the very first Very Special Christmas. With the success of Run-DMC’s third full-length disc Raising Hell (1986) and singles like “Walk This Way,” “It’s Tricky” (which slurred the buzz riff from The Knack’s “My Sharona"), and the damn-near insipid “You Be Illin’,” the group became a white frat-boy favorite and laid the early foundations of hip-hop’s mass appeal and Russell Simmons’s burgeoning urban style empire.

Most folks forget that “Walk This Way” wasn’t the first single from Raising Hell but rather the two-sided classic “My Adidas/Peter Piper” which the group recorded, no doubt, in response to already circulating charges that the group had sold out. “Peter Piper”—which samples the legendary “breaking bells” break (courtesy of Bob James “Take Me to the Mardis Gras)—took the group back to their (and hip-hop’s) humble beginnings at a time when hip-hop was all too concerned about being watered-down for mainstream consumption, a fact that was later realized with the success of (MC) Hammer and DJ Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince (who’s that?). “My Adidas” also responded to those “sell out” charges by celebrating quintessential mid-’80s B-boy style and cementing hip-hop’s relationship with the fashion industry by offering up the menacing black male bodies that hip-hop had largely been associated with as living mannequins for everybody from Bally (see Slick Rick’s “Ladi Dadi"), Gucci (Schoolly D: “looking at my Gucci it’s about that time") and of course Tommy Hilnigger (I mean Hilfiger). Run-DMC was so cognizant of how they were perceived in the ‘hood that they circulated the live “Here We Go” ("DMC and DJ Run, dum, diddy dum, diddy dum, dum, dum") to black radio in early 1985 to remind folks that they were hip-hop hard-core personified (I didn’t realize at the time that they were referencing the children’s classic Hands, Fingers, Thumbs until I read the book to my two-year-old daughter 15 years later).

By the time the group released the soundtrack-recording to the ill-fated film Tougher Than Leather in 1988, the group was all but dead to hard-core hip-hop fans (at this point still firmly located in the ‘hood, which is not the case anymore), though they still brought the hard-core style with the underrated (and in my mind brilliant) “Beats to the Rhyme.” By 1988 the first generation of the “new school” was firmly entrench as the genre was dominated by PE, KRS-One, Eric B and Rakim, NWA, LL Cool J (who had to answer to the ghetto hard-core himself after Walking Like a Panther) and upstarts like Big Daddy Kane, De La Soul and EPMD. 1988 also marked the beginning of hip-hop’s tenuous dance with black radio and R&B with folks like Rakim recording cameos for the likes of Jody Watley ("Friends") and the emergence of Teddy Riley’s signature New Jack Swing sound, which incorporated soft-core hip-hop rhythms with old-school Soul harmonies and created the first generation of hip-hop/R&B hybrids like Keith Sweat, Bobby Brown, Heavy D and the Boys, Guy and later Blackstreet (while killing the careers of Kane and Kool Moe Dee who inexplicably thought is was in their best interests to have Riley produce tracks for them). Though the Kings of Rock had moderate commercial success with the god-awful “Mary, Mary” (from Tougher Than Leather) their follow-up recording, Back From Hell (1990) (which included “The Ave.” the group’s first attempt at “social commentary” since Raising Hell‘s “Proud to be Black” and the early classics “It’s Like That” and “Hard Times") met with indifference, though it was arguably their strongest material since King of Rock.

When Run-DMC dropped Down with the King in 1993, they had finally accepted that they were hip-hop’s elder statesmen (along with Melle Mel, Grandmaster Flash, the Cold Crush Crew, Bambatta, Grand Wizard Theodore, and of course Kool Herc) and willingly gave up the reins to the hip-hop status quo. The single “Down with the King” was the group’s best single (in my humble opinion) since “King of Rock.” Produced by Pete Rock, who was in classic form at the time, the song celebrates the group’s legacy with cameos in the video from a virtually a who’s who in hip-hop including KRS-One, Das EFX, Redman and on-wax cameos by Pete Rock’s partner CL Smooth ("when they reminisce over you") who begins his own flow with a reference to “Sucker MCs” ("two years ago, a friend of mine") and reminds listeners that Run and DMC were “big time before Hammer got to touch it.” It’s all luv when CL concludes with the line “look ma, no shoe laces,” speaking for a whole generation of young black boys who rocked untied shell-top Adidas.

Bobby Womack Inducted into The Rock Hall of Fame


from The Root

Now that the last “soul man” has been honored by the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, he can finally put his demons behind him.


The Secrets of Bobby Womack
by Mark Anthony Neal

Mention the phrase “soul man,” and a litany of names runs through your mind: Otis Redding, James Brown, Wilson Pickett, Al Green, Isaac Hayes, Marvin Gaye, Jackie Wilson, Teddy Pendergrass and, of course, Sam Cooke. Even newbies like Anthony Hamilton and Jaheim are likely to make the cut, particularly for those who like their contemporary soul, down home and gritty.

For far too many, Bobby Womack is unfortunately an afterthought. But that should change with Womack’s induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame on April 4. Womack joins the ranks of many of the aforementioned legendary soul men including his late friend and mentor Sam Cooke.

At the height of soul music’s popularity in the 1960s and early 1970s, the male soul singer’s status rivaled that of his “race man” peer. The soul man icons of that era congealed grand narratives of tragedy—shot dead in a motel; shot dead by your father; shot dead in a game of Russian Roulette; killed in an airplane crash; scorched by a pot of boiling grits—wedded to even more complicated personal demons—physical abuse of wives and girlfriends; sexual assault of younger female artists; sex with underage girls.

So, at a time when Martin Luther King Jr. and others presented African Americans as the moral compass of American society, the soul man signified a noble and decidedly secular struggle against good and evil.

Bobby Womack’s path to the Hall of Fame is filled with such battles. Did God punish the singer for abandoning gospel music? Did Womack betray his mentor Sam Cooke by marrying his wife? In the end, was he “commercial” enough to crossover?

Read the Full Essay @

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Marvin Gaye @ 70


From the Archives...

I've written a great deal about Marvin Gaye, and on this, the 70th anniversary of his birth, I'm not sure I have much more to say. So I offer this piece from the archives, originally published at Africana.com

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Spiritual Sex: Marvin Gaye
By Mark Anthony Neal

Ask any of them. Ask any of the current crop of Chocolate Boy Wonders, who they listened to as up-and-coming shorties trying to get at the panties — with weak game and a soulful warble — there’s no doubt that Marvin Gaye will be the first name out of their mouths.

Not too long ago, in a British poll, respondents were asked to name their “soundtrack for sex” and two Marvin Gaye songs, “Sexual Healing” and “Let’s Get It On” topped the list.

First it’s that brief “wah, wah, wah, wah” intro by guitarist Melvin “Wah Wah” Ragin (bruh fo’ sure earned his rep) and then there’s Marvin, naked with emotion, “I’ve been really tryin’ baby/Tryin’ to hold back this feelin’ for so long…Let’s Get it On.” When the single “Let’s Get It On” dropped in June of 1973, black sexuality had never before been expressed so passionately and so brilliantly to mainstream audiences.

Though Marvin Gaye had long had the reputation of being Motown’s leading “love man,” it was with the release of Let’s Get It On 30 years ago, that the late Soul Man became synonymous with “blue light in the basement” sexuality. But “Let’s Get it On” was never a song just about sex (“getting’ it on”), but a song about the spirituality of the sex act — the proverbial sermon in the sheets.

This was a territory always hinted at in the gospel music of Sam Cooke (hell, there were woman who wanted to toss their panties up at the pulpit when he sang) and was later articulated in the music of his soulful sons, like Al Green (ya gotta hear his “Belle” to know what we talkin’ about here), Eddie Levert, and later Prince and R. Kelly.

These were the men who had voices given from the most high, but who lamented in song, the fact that they could only sing of the flesh. This was the crisis of spirituality, and at times sexuality, that has defined the “Soul Man”— that legendary figure, often tragic (would you like some hot grits with that Bible?) who is arguably just as influential, if not more so, than the “Race Man” (who no doubt in his hour of need, found a blue-lighted basement, filled with the sounds of the “Soul Man” to salve the pain of speaking for the race.)

As Teresa L. Reed notes in her important book The Holy Profane: Religion in Black Popular Music, the tragedies associated with some of these figures “tend to conjure images of the Robert Johnson legend. In exchange for their stardom, some would say, the Devil had come to collect his due.”

The first side of Let’s Get It On is essentially a suite of music that was largely written by Ed Townsend, who had written and produced for the likes of Etta James and Nat King Cole. The opening track, “Let’s Get it On,” in one of the landmarks of sound-recording technology from that era as three distinct Marvin Gaye voices (and at times a fourth, with his falsetto) were layered on top of each other creating a cascading, ethereal choir of Marvin Gaye, that as many witnesses may testify, comes as close to sonic orgasm, as a pop recording ever has.

Initially audiences were deprived of the song’s third verse, which was deleted for the single release. But the full version of the song was included on the album release and that verse was worth the price of admission alone as Gaye gleefully coos, “I know you know what I been dreaming of…(my body wants it, my body wants it, my body wants, my body wants it…).” And then there is the song’s climax, where Gaye just riffs “girl you give me good feelin’, something like sanctified.” Religious Sex.

According to Townsend, who had just returned from rehab for alcohol addiction at the time he was tapped to work with Gaye, “Let’s Get It On” was initially as an inspirational song — one intended to reflect his own desires to get on with life. (Linear notes Let’s Get It On Deluxe Edition)

There’s a demo version of the song on the Deluxe Edition of Let’s Get On (2001) that bears out this truth. But when Gaye finally laid down the vocals for the version of the song we know now, he had been smitten by 16 year-old Janis Hunter (mother of the actress and singer Nona Gaye), and the passion, energy, and improvised sensuality of the song was largely a tribute to her impact on Gaye, who turned 34 a week after laying down the song’s vocals. (This is where Gaye and R. Kelly are powerfully linked, but we ain’t goin’ there now)

Though “Let’s Get it On” is one of Marvin Gaye’s best known tracks, the songs that follow it on the side one suite of Let’s Get It On, including the extended riff of the lead single called “Keep Gettin' It On,” are arguably some of the most exquisite recordings of his career. The verses to “Please Stay (Once You Go Away)” prominently feature Gaye’s overdubbed vocals and essentially comprise two distinct songs — two totally different listening experiences — dependant on whether the listener is focused on his lead vocals or Gaye’s background “punch-ins.”

It remains a tribute to Gaye’s craftsmanship, that he was so concerned with the quality of the background vocals, an art that has been lost on this generation of artists, save Luther Vandross and Dave Hollister.

But it is the haunting and eerie “If I Should Die Tonight” that is the signature performance of the opening side of Let’s Get It On. Townsend’s simple opening lyrics, “Oh, if I should die tonight, though it be far before my time, I won’t die too blue, ‘cause I’ve known you” express a depth of romantic love that even the most sexual of pop songs barely hint at.

It would be hard to believe that Stevie Wonder and Prince did not have “If I Should Die Tonight” somewhere in their consciousnesses when they wrote their grand romantic opuses “As” and “Adore.” Townsend notes that initially Gaye couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea of loving a woman so much, that he could accept a premature death simply because he had known her in the biblical sense.

But after meeting Janis Hunter, Gaye purportedly told Townsend, “Get that tape. I can sing that son of a bitch now” (linear notes Let’s Get It On Deluxe Edition). In the initial mastering of Let’s Get It On, the final verse of “If I Should Die Tonight” was “accidentally” deleted. The original version of the song stood on its own for more than twenty years until, the deleted verse was re-inserted in a re-mastered CD of the recording in 1994.

The missing verse captures the depth of love, infatuation, passion and obsession that Gaye felt for Hunter, who he would later share a volatile four-year relationship and marriage with. It is hard to not imagine Gaye on his knees, damn-near driven to tears in the studio as he openly queries “How many eyes have seen their dreams? /How many arms have held their dreams? /How many hearts (oh, darling) have felt their world stand still?” only to respond, “Millions never, no never, never, never and millions never will.”

Ed Townsend was not involved on any of the tracks that appear on side two of Let’s Get It On and would only work once more with Gaye on the latter’s 1978 double-disc recording Here, My Dear (the recording was done in part to pay alimony to Anna Gordy Gaye, Gaye’s first wife and sister of Motown founder Berry Gordy, who incidentally was nearly twice Gaye’s age when they were married in the early 1960s.)

As hyper-sexual as the song “Let’s Get It On” seemed, side two’s “You Sure Love to Ball” (“ball” was slang for sex in the 1970s) took it to another level. Built around a smoothed-out Jazz groove (featuring the Detroit Hard-Bop heads known as “The Funk Brothers,” who were Motown’s house musicians. They are given tribute in the film Standing in the Shadows of Motown) the song opens with a women’s voice feigning orgasmic pleasure. This was straight-up adult music.

Anybody could dig “Let’s Get It On,” but “You Sure Love to Ball” was the song you broke out when you were “gettin' grown” (folks just slept on Cee Lo). Gaye later revisited the simulated orgasm that opened “You Sure Love to Ball” on his album I Want You (1975) and former Delphonics lead Major Harris had his only hit with “Love Won’t Let Me Wait,” which upped the ante on the strategy.

The remaining three cuts on side two, were all songs that Gaye conceived of at an earlier point in his career. The Doo-Wop inspired “Come Get to This,” “Distant Lover” and “Just To Keep You Satisfied” were all songs that Gaye initially recorded while working on the legendary What’s Going On (1971). Regarded as one of the most important protest recordings of all time, What’s Going On marked Gaye’s transition from Motown’s “Sepia Sinatra” (as Nelson George describes him in The Death of Rhythm and Blues) to “serious” artist.

In some regards Gaye’s travels from What’s Going On to Let’s Get It On mark his transition from protest to climax. The presence of these three What’s Going On era tracks on Let’s Get It On suggest that the transition was more seamless than most of us thought. Though the studio version of “Distant Lover” is fine in its own right, Gaye’s live version of the song, which was featured on his Marvin Gaye Live (1974) is arguably one of his best performances ever and one of the greatest live recordings in all of black pop, rivaled only by Bob Marley’s “No Woman, No Cry,” Earth, Wind and Fire’s “Reasons,” and Aretha Franklin’s “Amazing Grace.”

Ultimately though, it is Let’s Get It On’s closing track, “Just to Keep You Satisfied,” that makes the project, a recording that you have to listen to, thirty years after it’s release. Gaye’s first wife Ann Gordy Gaye is given writing credit on the song, largely on the basis that she was the inspiration for the song.

Men of Gaye’s generation were very familiar with the “Dear John” letters that war veterans received while serving abroad during World War II and the Korean conflict. “Just to Keep You Satisfied” was Gaye’s “Dear Anna” letter, where he essentially detailed the basis for their break-up and impending divorce. In a performance that is sparse and tragic, Gaye sings of wanting to keep his wife satisfied despite “all the jealousy, all the bitchin’ too.”

In one particularly poignant moment he admits that he’d “forget it all, once in bed with you.” What makes listening to “Just To Keep You Satisfied” such a bone-chilling experience is that Gaye performs the song largely in a falsetto voice and though he gets little credit for it, he was one of the great falsettos of his generation (Eddie Kendricks, Ted Mills, Smoky Robinson, Russell Thompkins, Jr, please take a bow).

What’s Going On was the most important recording of Marvin Gaye’s career and rightfully so. But none of Gaye’s recording was as heartfelt, both in his performance and in the lives of those who have listened to it, as his Let’s Get It On. This was a recording that got at the very spirit of the man that was Marvin Gaye and thirty years after its release, it remains in the very spirits of all those who have been touched by his genius.

Brooklyn's Finest: Big Daddy Kane


Film Short on the Legendary Big Daddy Kane!