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Well, you said you was gon' take me to see Wu-Tang, baby. So I braided my hair. Well, yes you did. You said you was gon' take me to see Wu-Tang, baby. So I braided my hair. Yes I did. Cornrows and everything, baby. Well, you changed your mind and said we wasn't goin'. But my Mama saw you there. |
CHEWY -- I'm here in Toronto taking a
much-needed "breather." [The family] insisted on my "getting away"
after I suffered some kind of emotional outburst Tuesday night. I think it was all getting
to me -- Eaton's, the rent, hydro, phone, Sprint, no bus fare, the magazine--argh--and the
Conference. So last night, I took the bus up (or down, rather) and enjoyed the Erykah Badu
show at the Bamboo Club (thanks to the hookup of a dear friend!) before grabbing the
subway home.
Aah, the Erykah Badu show. It gives me hope for my generation. People my age are being
pulled in all musical directions. We were babies in the disco era and grew up in
admiration of the "greats." Our parents showed us Marvin Gaye, Gladys Knight,
James Ingram, Stevie Wonder, Tina Turner, Chaka Khan, Nat King Cole. Even in the eighties,
as hip-hop and breakdance really came alive, our heroes were people that we could respect
(with something akin to worship).
However, as we matured, musical artists kept getting closer to Earth (making it very hard
to put them up on a pedestal) and now in the so-called "slacker" generation of
music, there are no (s)heroes. Now that my generation is finally old enough to really
enjoy life, all we can do is wish for the old-time "greats" because nobody wants
to be great today! Between Foxy Brown using her obvious skills to defile herself, every
"love" song is about sex, the "playa" ideal, breasts and crotches
every way you turn, "ride my pony," "touch my private parts," there
really is no point trying to respect anyone anymore. But Erykah Badu put it back into
perspective for me.
I must admit that seeing her first video "On And On" did not make me want to
fall to my knees and declare her the "musical messiah." And my sister's inane
ramblings about her "greatness" and some "spiritual force" only served
to stack the deck against Miss Badu. I just expected her to be weird. But I was pleasantly
surprised when she turned out to be more than some Billie Holiday rip-off.
My bus from Ottawa arrived in downtown Toronto at 7:30 Pm and I walked, luggage and all,
through the Eaton's Centre and over to the club on Queen Street. As I stashed my trash in
the coatcheck and became part of the smoke-and-dreadlock chaos of the mellow crowd, she
launched into "On And On," the only song I knew. She could have been welcoming
me. Stopping at the bar for a complimentary Shirley Temple, I gazed through the sea of
knots and afros and all the varieties of flava that our race has to offer until my eyes
finally found the Sistah in Question: Erykah Badu. She stood out from the bobbing and
swaying crowd like a lighthouse in a storm. Return of the Original, Original Diva. No
blonde weaves here but instead a beautiful white headwrap covering what I could imagine to
be flowing dreads or natural knots or anything, just as long as it was real and beautiful.
Her flowing robes mocked the hotpants, skimpy shorts and halter tops of the modern day
"diva." Those robes flowed with an earthly sensuality that said "You don't
know what I've got -- but wouldn't you like to find out? I guess I'll see you Next
Lifetime." Her jewelry was silver and added to the whole atmosphere of purity.
Personally, I thought that her best accessory was those beautiful backup singers. These 3
women combined 3 elements of the natural scale. Like earth, wind and fire, they sported
dreads, knots and the afro. And nobody could sleep on their skills! They scatted and
do-wopped, hit the highs and lows and crooned and be-bopped the audience into a state of
mellow madness.
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