Soul Sounds…The Music Challenge: Day 1

 

Music Challenge: Day 1

Welcome to the 30-Day Music Challenge!!!!! No, seriously!!!! 30 days!!!! All music!!!!! All the time!!!!!

In a more serious, less 80’s era themed, radio jock inspired introduction, The Music Challenge is a piece of fb idleness that a very good friend either found or created. And taking into account my very deep-seated obsession with most things musical, I decided to pick it up. The premise is simple. There is a musical theme for each day of the challenge and you simply post the song that best matches that theme in your fb status for the day. Simple enough right? Well, it’s coming along ok enough, though I am only on day 3, and have yet to hit “Song you love by an artist you hate.” (Hint: the artist’s name is a moniker for anyone under the legal age of adulthood). That wasn’t enough however, so I decided to add a little more of a personalized touch to it. So, here we go:

Each song that I post on my fb account, I will repost here with a bit more “information” ( for lack of a better term), describing why I chose the song, and what it means to me. Because after a 5 month hiatus, I am finding that writers block can be a bitch. And I think this is a good way to get back into a slow and steady writing rhythm. And I love music. And I’m a lil bored in work. And, most importantly, because I can...

Music Challenge Day 1: Favourite song with a colour in the title

Lupe Fiasco – All Black Everything

I have to admit that not much thought went into today’s selection, and laziness had nothing to do with it. It is a well known fact that I am a Lupe-phile (read: expect a lot more Lupe in this list). It has been a long time (Public Enemy being the last truly notable example, in my humble opinion), since a rapper has decided to hit hard with lyricism that aspires to be more than its apparent archetype. Putting together words that rhyme, in clichés that make word “clichéd” seem fresh, using a rapid spit style seems to be the name of the game currently. It’s very rare to hear a song that truly rises to the heights of the art form. True wordsmiths are becoming increasingly rarer. This is why Lupe stands out. He may not be the most talented emcee to ever grace the game, but his ability to weave a tapestry and tell a story, (so eerily reminiscent of Biggie), is captivating. This all combined to “All Black Everything” the hands down choice.

I am not going to lie and say that Trinidad has always been a paradise of tranquillity and racial harmony. There has always been an ugly underbelly that exists to our rainbow society. From the conspiracy theories I grew up hearing about the Syrian community and their influence in organized crime, to the time I heard an 8 year old African girl call a similar aged Indian girl a “flat bottomed Indian”, to the time my mom came home and recounted the story of her co-worker bursting into tears one Monday morning. Because he was Indian, had invited his predominantly African co-workers (my mom included) home for a Sunday lunch over the weekend, only for his mother to throw out all of the silverware after his co-workers left, saying the silverware was now “spoiled”. Yet, none of that matches the cauldron that is simmering right now. I am not naïve. I do not expect harmony over night. Yet, I should not feel uncomfortable going into a restaurant with my girlfriend, who is Indian by the way, because the girl working the counter is watching us with unabashed scorn, and then refuses to address her (true story). Until the day comes when none of that nonsense matters though, I guess the world in “All Black Everything” will have to do…

 

Christmas Fire…

Now, I’m not the biggest Christmas fan, and I know this is late. But when one of my favourite hip-hop artists performs a Christmas classic by a legend, that shit deserves it’s space…

A Call To Men…

I haven’t found anything truly worth writing about lately. It has been a bit frustrating, but has largely started to recently elicit a “Meh” response from me. This may not a fully written post, but it is something I can relate to, fully. In being raised by no less than 5 very strong, will-powered women, I have often struggled to put the lessons I have learned from them while growing up, into the context of my role as a man in society. Thankfully, I still follow TED.com. And I have yet to hear that struggle be put forth so eloquently, or so powerfully…

Mama Bear…

“37. E-mail, text and talk on the phone to completely cool woman who is back in Toronto. Realise there is room for growth if you let it. Realise that she lives in another country. Realise you are still emotionally invested in your ex. Realise that you are dangerously close to recreating every single horrible relationship decision you have ever made.” – Chad Hall, 43 Ways to drive yourself Bat Shit Crazy…

I hate quoting myself.

There are 2 fundamental problems with quoting yourself. Firstly, it makes you sound like an over-inflated, self-righteous, pompous asswipe. And no, you do not get bonus points for pointing out that maintaining an online blog is almost as bad. The other issue is that, depending on the quote you opt to use, you have just immortalised how much of an idiot you really are. Especially, if you maintain an online blog. (Yes, I’m beginning to realize a blog of this nature is a double-edged sword. But it’s like crack! I can’t stop!! HELP!!!) Then, there are the few moments of true enlightenment, when the earth, sun, moon and stars all align, and you know that you have stumbled upon an honest-to-goodness moment of clarity, a sliver of time where, for just a nanosecond, everything makes sense, and capture that moment in script. Well, the above quote definitely was NOT one of those moments. It was a moment of angst and anxiety, a cry for sanity in period mark by insanity. And surprisingly, I got it.

Ok, so I have a girlfriend. So what? My cousin swears that I change girlfriends faster than I change cell phones. A co-worker believes my anthem should be “On To The Next One.” My other cousin gets told he needs to explore options and not always look to settle down so fast. I get told to quit the shit and just settle down. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to set a record. I will willingly admit that I have suffered from happy feet in the past. Of course, I have also been “blessed” with some true crazies in past. And I mean certifiably insane. So, what makes this one different? Well, besides the fact that I haven’t given anyone a new nickname in some months (hence the title, tho Spotty Cuss has outed her real name), let’s start with the fact that I am actively flouting one of my cardinal rules of dating.

In The Triniyute Guide to Dating, rule #5 (or is it #12???) states that long-term, long-distance relationships never work. I would go into the details, but that would be giving away material that could be used in another post. Well, I’m in Trinidad. She’s in Canada. She has no intention of moving. I don’t see the sense in her moving either. I also don’t see myself moving for at least a couple years. So what’s the sense in pursuing and continuing this relationship? Funny you should ask. I have been blessed recently where I have been involved with some pretty remarkable women. But, and this is no slight on them or a comparison to them, I feel like I have met some one who matches my particular quirks well.



She is smart, witty, beautiful, educated, and has a sense of adventure. (Yes, I hear the yawning). She can take talk like a champ, gives as good as she gets, and is opinionated without being headstrong. (Ok, quit with the yawning, I get the point, clichéd, yada, yada, yada). So I will say this. Only once before have I ever found someone who I felt I could lose myself in, without losing my sense of self. Conversations with her run from the benign, to the banal, to the mind-boggling (and also have lead to an astronomical phone bill. Thank God for Skype). We argue without fighting, and fight without the sense that it is the end of the world. She can be doubtful, yet unafraid. There are layers to her which baffle me, yet draw me nearer. She isn’t perfect (one particular flaw drives me near bat-shit crazy), but in her case, her flaws make her imperfectly perfect. (And before I hear about it, yes, thank you Cee-Lo Green). She makes the decision of conducting a long-term, long-distance relationship, an easy one.

So why the nickname, “Mama Bear”? Well. She is always the responsible one, and taking on that “Mama Bear” role. She always makes sure everyone reaches home safe, always checking that no-one drank too much, always the first to be that shoulder to cry on, or the ear that’s needed. And all she has asked of me to date, is for nothing. She has tried to take on that role with me too, but I refuse to let her (although like me, she can outrageously stubborn). I’m more content to help/let her shine. So, while this relationship has thousands of reasons (and miles) why it shouldn’t work, I can think of one major one why I am willing to take that chance, to sacrifice and try my best to make it work. And her initials are MVM, aka “Mama Bear”.

PPPPPAAAAATTTTTTSSSSSSSYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Silence…

I have been quiet for a bit. And I’m not sure why. While I haven’t lost the urge to write, I find myself pausing mid-post. I find myself second-guessing what I want to say. And to be honest, I haven’t had much to say recently. Everything sounds unoriginal or, worse yet, clichéd. I would say that my muse has gone silent, except for the fact that I don’t really think I ever had a muse in the first. My rantings and ravings tend to be largely emotionally driven. And my emotions are largely in check these days. To postulate succinctly, I think I may have found a measure of peace. And that may be the worst thing that ever happened to this blog…

In the past year and a half, all kinds of random topics have graced this space. My self-destructive tendencies in so far as my relationships are concerned. A bit of my political leanings. My stance on religion. Hell, I’ve even posted videos of video game music that i love. Some of it has been filler for those times when i really struggled to come up with topics. Other times, I literally poured my heart out into this public arena. And it worked. For awhile. Then I started looking back at my postings. While many of my ramblings were cathartic, they also had another unintended purpose. The kept the wound that they were supposed to close fresh and raw. In short, the more I wrote, the longer my pain took to dissipate. So I stopped sharing it, and just let what I had written before stand as the final say. I decided to move on. And a funny thing happened. I did move on. I also adopted a new outlook. I no longer stress and worry over those things that I cannot control. And I feel lighter for it. (In an ironic twist, my genetic predisposition to hypertension has now decided that it wants to kick in. If it ain’t one thing…)

So what does this all mean? I’m not quite sure. A two-night stand of mine has claimed that i no longer “excite” her with my new attitude. While that little revelation may be an unintended benefit, what I also know is that my writing has suffered as an unexpected drawback. Why? Because while it would be extreme to say that I no longer care about the things that moved me before, I would agree that, to a point, I no longer have the same passion. And that worries me a bit. My girlfriend insists that writing is like riding a bicycle. You never really lose the skill, you just get rusty. So this is me taking those first tentative pedals all over again. Let’s see where this goes.

And no this was not meant to “excite” anyone…

Testing…

Testing a new editor, folk…