Tag Archives: country

“Yes, indeed.”

Today’s back to back to back listen was “The Linda Martell Show” on Cowboy Carter. Although this intro was right under 30 seconds, what struck me was the gleeful voice of Ms. Martell, over the roar and claps of an audience. It reminded me of the adoration and acceptance Ms. Martell should have received as a country artist decades ago instead of the vitriol and the closed doors. She is the first Black woman to perform solo at the Grand Ole Opry. I read an article about the shunning and how it forced her out of the spotlight. What’s sad is that all these years later I have heard Black female country artist still struggle for the recognition and fame. Although the landscape is changing, the process has been slow. I am grateful the women singing background on “Blackbird” won’t have to wait for so long for the world to know their names.

Thank you, Ms. Martell. I am sorry you had to wait so long.

I am proud to know your name.

“Don’t Let Go.”

I almost didn’t write this today. After all, it’s “just” an interlude, “Smoke Hour” with Willie Nelson that features song clips from Sister Rosetta Tharpe, Roy Hamilton, Chuck Berry, Charles Anderson and Son House. But this sixth track isn’t “just” anything.

There was an intention.

It’s let me give you the history, the foundation on which country and rock and blues and gospel was built. You are going to hear it and if your ignorance won’t allow you to hear it, even with Willie playing it, that’s on you. You have chosen your truth even if it’s a lie.

And another truth comes into view: There is nothing new under the sun. We are ever in the practice of highlighting, attributing, borrowing, paying tribute with our homages, and being influenced by those who come before us. I spent hours today in the company of poets who read original work but undoubtedly there was the influence of religious texts, other poets, and musicians. It is all around us and we cannot help it sinks deep into our psyche, falling in step with our thoughts, coming out to play in the expression of our art.

We only need to say thank you and play the next song.

“I Got Love to Create.”

Day 3 of Cowboy Carter was “16 Carriages.” Three listens. Back to back to back. I am solemn and while I listened, I was transported back to my mother’s sadness, my mother’s prayers and how hard she worked while I was a preteen. I know, as the song said, “Daddy grinded” but I couldn’t see his work the same way. I know I lived in the manifestation of his work aka the house but a mother’s work, a woman’s work.. oh it hits different, my friends.

I am 16, waiting for the world to open up to me but I didn’t know what that would mean. The anger, the loneliness, the numbing, the great love and a fear that I am still learning how to leave on a “back road on a holy night.”

We grow up and we want so much not to be forgotten but also remember that it only counts if the people who knew you remember how you loved them and in the wisdom of the late great Dr. Angelou , remember how you made them feel. I understand the yearning of legacy. I may never get it with a child but I hope when you close your eyes, and try to picture me, you are flooded with the deepest, warmest love and know I yearn for that warmth, too when I close my eyes.

Saying Goodbye/Taking Chances

Tonight is our last night in California. Our conversations with the last two Lyft drivers provided some food for thought. Every time hubby and I travel to a new city, we ask the same question: Could we live here? As grateful as we were for the views, the food, the beauty and our time with my cousin, we both said “No” to the question about the Carlsbad/Encinitas area. We arrived at the Gas Lamp Quarter in San Diego yesterday morning and I immediately felt in sync with my environment. However, we are preparing to leave tomorrow morning and both of us wish we had more time here. We could use 2 or 3 more days right here so we could answer our question with confidence. We had lunch at Cafe Gratitude and walked down to the the Harbor waterfront area. Hubby proclaimed he could see living in the apartments down the street from the restaurant. We watched locals stroll along the water, their laminated IDs swinging from their necks and belt loops, lucky enough to work nearby the harbor and bathe in the sun during their breaks.

But back to the Lyft drivers. The one who took us to Balboa Park to go to the Zoo and museums told us he had been living here for seven months. He and his girlfriend visited from Philadelphia last January, looked at one another and made a decision to move here. Within a matter of months, they were in San Diego and found jobs days later. Our second driver moved here from Brazil fifteen years later and has not looked back. I know we are playing tourist but everyone we spoke to seemed so sure of the risk they took. Of course, it is unlikely people would pour out their deepest fears and insecurities to a complete stranger.

However, I choose to believe them. As someone who decided not to continue down a career path that would have been “just fine” and “safe”, I understand what it means to take a risk to become who you want to be. Sometimes, it means moving across the country, forging a new career path or choosing to end a relationship.

My future risk may not include an adventurous move across the country but I know I am open to the exploration of what comes next.

Your turn: What risks have you taken lately? Or what risk do you want to take?