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No One Saw a Thing
The South is the bathroom of American history. Saturating the otherwise picturesque rolling landscapes is the oppressive stench of a history of lynching, bloodcurdling beatings and African-American bodies burned and ruthlessly mutilated. This is the room that America doesn’t want visitors to see. Keep this door shut because if opened, threatening to spill out is…
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Trading O.J.
On the day of his induction into Pro-Football Hall Of Fame in 1985, O.J. Simpson should have said to the crowd in Canton, Ohio: “Thank you guys so much….This is great,” then turned, taken one last look at his old life, draped his yellow blazer across his broad shoulders, hopped on his spaceship and flew…
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Grae's Anatomy
Sometimes when the planets align and all the stars have found their height, there is a second when the world slows to a crawl and your ears stand at attention, and in that moment it all makes sense. Jean Grae caught that second like a firefly and stuck it a Mason jar when she hooked…
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When Thugs Cry
It is time to pull this car over and give you gangsta rappers something to cry about. Cry about genocide in Darfur. Cry about the lack of support for the people in Burma. Cry about the displaced New Orleans folks that got gutted and uprooted like seaweed. Cry about poverty, teen-pregnancy rates and joblessness. But,…
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Summer Groovin'
Damn the iPod. It will not now and nor will it ever be the cassette tape. Sure, it’s fancy and plays music with a clarity that has yet to be surpassed. But a pod-mix just doesn’t sound right. There is an art to making a mixtape, an ebb and flow. The beauty of it is…
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Music's British Invasion, Remembering the '80s and Once Again, The Roots Go Deep
Estelle, Shine I guess no one saw this coming since Paul Revere didn’t saddle up in a Dodge Charger flying down I-495 yelling that the British are coming. But they’re here, and it is a shame that American soul music sounds much better through European lungs. With Amy Winehouse “Elvis-ing” her way into the American…
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The Wire Goes Dead
I am not good with goodbyes. And neither is David Simon, which is why he left us back at the beginning back where it all started. He dropped us off on the sidewalk stairs and told us to go. And we didn’t wave or smile, we just turned and walked away like a 5-year-old on…
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A 'Wire' Addict on his Jones
My name is Steve, and I’m an addict. David Simon is my dealer. He got me in the early days with the five-part HBO mini-series, “The Corner,” and now, I’ve moved up to a full hour in front of the television, every, single, solitary Sunday night. Nine p.m. Sharp. I don’t answer the phone. I…
Black News and Black Views with a Whole Lotta Attitude
