Sunday, March 20, 2011
(Photo courtesy of Brent Calkin and Timo Langer)
It is one thing to know what war is like from a distance. As an American civilian, it’s hard enough watching or reading about the destruction of other countries or listening to stories about people who return from battle with parts of themselves left behind. But imagine if you were a child growing up in Iraq, with little to no possessions and the only memories you have are of loved ones who were killed by nuclear weapons. The one thing that all children have in common, regardless of their circumstances, is their imagination. The First Movie, a new documentary by Mark Cousins, will remind us all of that simple fact.
If you like what you're reading so far, please find the full article here at Society HAE: http://www.societyhae.com/profiles/blogs/the-first-movie
(Posted by Team SHAE @ SXSW on March 18, 2011 at 1:00am)
(Art used courtesy of http://elevatethemovie.com)
Anne Buford makes her directorial debut with the film Elevate, a story that chronicles the lives of four Senegalese teens (Assane, Dethie, Byago and Aziz) with dreams of not only becoming NBA basketball stars, but more importantly, to improve the quality of life for those closest to them. On the surface, all of these men would appear to be any recruiter’s dream come true—they are all nearly seven feet tall with the exception of Byago who stands at 6’ 3”. And just like their native Wolof language, which contains a mixture of both Arabic and French, these men have many different layers to them. And thankfully, Buford’s camera work doesn’t interfere and allows them to share their unique stories—in their own words.
If you like what you're reading so far, please find the full article here at Society HAE: http://www.societyhae.com/profiles/blogs/elevate-1
(Posted by Team SHAE @ SXSW on March 16, 2011 at 6:30am)
Vikram Gandhi as Sri Kumaré. (Photo courtesy of Kahlil Hudson and Daniel Leeb)
Do spiritual leaders really exist? Well, it depends on who you ask. While some are quick to recommend their personal healers and shamans who promise life changing results, others will often shun the idea and simply say “hogwash” and dismiss these “healers” as nothing but con artists who prey on the vulnerable. I’m stuck in the middle. Though I love the notion that people can find inspiration in something (or someone) to keep going during tough times (e.g., Under the Tuscan Sun, Eat, Pray Love), that person or thing just helps you to tap into an inner strength that was inside the whole time. In the film Kumaré, director Vikram Gandhi embarks on a unique journey in order to examine the role of spiritual healers—by actually becoming one.
If you like what you're reading so far, please find the full article here at Society HAE: http://www.societyhae.com/profiles/blogs/kumare-1
(Posted by Team SHAE @ SXSW on March 15, 2011 at 4:00am)
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
P-Funk legend Garry "Starchild" Shider performing "Atomic Dog" at BB Kings back in 2008. I was fortunate to see this legendary guitarist live.
He will be missed!!!
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Not the usual topic of choice for my blogsite, but the sport of boxing has always fascinated me. Violent and barbaric, yes. But no other sport combines science and art quite like boxing. Don't believe me? Well, see one of its finest examples for yourself:
"Rumble in the Jungle," the now infamous 1974 bout in Zaire (now Democratic Republic of the Congo) between then undefeated Heavyweight champion George Foreman (40-0)* and the challenger, the great Muhammad Ali (44-2)*. (*Professional boxing record at time of the fight.)
Ali is 7 years older than Foreman and many thought that he, the greatest fighter in this professional sport, was no match for the young Foreman, who in the previous year knocked down Joe Frazier and forced Howard Cosell to yell those infamous words: "Down Goes Frazier! Down Goes Frazier! Down Goes Frazier!"
In that fight, Ali invented the "rope-a-dope" style, which simply put allowed Ali to take Foreman's hard-hitting punches while lying on the ropes. This tired Foreman out and Ali, also seemingly tired, caught a second wind, hitting Foreman with huge haymakers and body blows. And then that wonderful "one-two" combination and "Down goes Foreman!!!" The young Foreman was just defeated by an "older" Muhammad Ali. Perhaps his classic mantra was actually true: "HE floated like a butterfly and HE 'stung' like a bee." It was a brilliant phenomenon that perhaps only the gods themselves can explain.
This fight occurred nearly 40 years ago--before I was born. But this classic bout came to mind after watching yesterday's Welterweight bout, Mayweather vs. Mosley, on HBO PPV. What a waste of $55.
First, let's point out the comparisons between "Mosley & Mayweather" and "Ali & Foreman": In both fights, the difference in age between the opponents was roughly 6-7 years. Both Ali and "Sugar" Shane Mosley were considered the underdogs in their match-ups. In the height of his career, Foreman was viewed as a "patriotic Uncle Tom" for he never took the political stance that Muhammad Ali has outside of the ring. Floyd Mayweater, Jr. puts on a minstrel show in every episode of "24/7" that he appears on: dancing around, highlighting his enormous wealth (although he did FINALLY touch on his tax problems in recent episodes of "24/7") and worst of all, teaching his children those same materialistic, shallow views on life.
Just like Muhammad Ali in 1974, "Sugar" Shane Mosley was supposed to show America a depiction of a black man rarely seen today--especially in boxing. One that has dignity, one that stands for honor, one who doesn't have to rely on the pomp and frills of materialism the way that Mayweather does (and perhaps even Foreman--although I did own the "Foreman grill" at one point during graduate school). Like Ali, Mosley should have stood victorious, to show boxing fans that you can win without necessarily having flash and $$ power like Mayweather.
Unfortunately, that lesson did not come across. In Round Two, Mosley made the cocky Mayweather buckle just a bit after hitting him with hard hooks and body shots, which could have knocked him (and his enormous ego) out for good. However, he perhaps used too much momentum in the earlier rounds and just wasn't able to find his rhythm again. Mayweather, the little lecherous snake that he is, preyed on Mosley's momentary weakness and in short, won the fight. I never watched Round 12, the fight's final round. I prayed, which I never do, for a miraculous hard-hitting knockout to come from Mosley, but his punches just didn't have any steam left in them. My prayers were never answered.
Although Mosley was not victorious in this fight, he will join the company of greats like Ali, Joe Louis and now, he will now become the third "Sugar" in boxing history, along with Ray Robinson and Ray Leonard.
Floyd Mayweater, Jr., on the other hand, repeatedly says that he does not fight for legacy, but he fights for a paycheck. What his youthful ignorance fails to realize is that his blatant materialism and his self-proclamations of his greatness (that he's better than Ali, Joe Louis, etc.) are all a part of the mark that he wants to leave in the sport. If that's not a "new millennium minstrel show," then what is it?
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Tonight, I was riding the elevator in a older Chelsea building. Nothing special about that. I rarely look at the people who surround me on a crowded elevator, especially during "rush hour"--all I can think about is getting home on the subway in one piece. This night, of all nights, would prove to be different.
There were three people (including myself) waiting for the elevator to arrive: me, the "suit," and the man wearing a t-shirt. I remembered the t-shirt more than the suit. Not because I prefer cotton over polyester (which I do) but mainly because the man wearing the t-shirt was holding three shopping bags, including one which may have contained his dinner for the night.
When the elevator arrived, the suit walked on first (chivalry is dying) then I assume that the t-shirt will follow the suit. Instead, he motions over to me and insists that I walk on first (but not dead yet). The suit quickly hits "4," I stretched out from the back of the elevator to reach "8," and the t-shirt hits "7."
As we're slowly bumping up floor by floor, the t-shirt turns to the suit and says, "Wow, that is some strong, flavorful gum there." The suit laughs. I give a smirk on the outside, but I laugh hysterically in my head. "It's strawberry and lime," the suit replies to the t-shirt. "It really does smell like sugar-coated strawberries," I think to myself.
We arrive at "4" and the suit quickly leaves the elevator with great relief. Once the door closes, the t-shirt turns to me and says, "Boy, that was some strong gum, huh?"
"I can still smell it all over," I respond. I looked at him again after saying it. Despite the scruffy beard and the dark-framed eye wear, I recognized that face. I knew that I was familiar with that toothy grin and the spiky hair--despite its grey, near-white state. And then images of "the big suit" and the "Once In A Lifetime" video popped into my head. "This is David Byrne!! I'm sure of it!!" thinking to myself.
I never received confirmation of his "true" identity (didn't want to scare the man). Once the elevator made it to "7," we parted ways. "Have a good night," he says. "You do the same." And that's it.
Perhaps I should have said something "more real" to him. I wish I had told him that I was a writer or that I loved his music for years or asked about a Talking Heads reunion. I wish I could have talked more about the music that inspired him growing up and asked him what he thinks about the music industry today. But then I thought, just like me, he's also looking forward to enjoying his shopping bag filled with groceries, trying to put an end to another long day.
David Byrne, if you're out there and happen to read this, thank you for your music--and for proving that chivalry is not dead.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Erykah Badu's New Amerykah Part Two (Return of the Ankh) is a return to the roots that helped make her a star. With producers like ?uestlove (The Roots), James Poyser, and the late, great J Dilla, her latest effort is reminiscent of her 1997 debut, Baduizm, for it combines melodic flourishes, clever sampling (a combined reworking of both Sylvia Striplin and Notorious B.I.G. classics on "Turn Me Away (Get MuNNY)," and most importantly, live instrumentation. Badu's gifts as a vocalist doesn't lie in her ability to "sound pretty" or hold long, high notes like some of her contemporaries. She completely understands what her voice can actually do (with her playful "heys" and "ye-yos") and her ability to manipulate sounds, by combining inspired touches of Roy Ayers, Fela Kuti, and Dr. Dre throughout the album, is what makes her stand out from the rest. And the standout track on this album may also be her most personal, "Window Seat." She bares her soul on "Window Seat" (and bares all in the track's music video). It's a internal struggle between her desire to be just plain old "Erica Wright," left alone and inconspicuous, and the desire to be the artist the world knows and loves as "Erykah Badu." It's perhaps a familiar struggle that her fellow "Soulquarians" have struggled with (D'Angelo, most namely) who often chose the former rather than the latter. Ms. Badu may have replaced the head wraps and long gowns for top hats and humongous afros, but it's good to know that her desire to make music keeps her with us just a little while longer.