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I was listening to one of my favorite radio shows yesterday and Roseanne Cash was on and she said her father gave her 100 songs as a musical education.  I thought to myself, hmm what are 100 songs I can think of that are just great songs.  So inspired by Johnny Cash, via Roseanne, here are 100 Great Songs, in no particular order.  My tastes are extremely eclectic because a great song is a great song regardless of genre.  I know there are far more that even I would like to add but here goes.

1. Respect—Aretha Franklin
2. Fool in the Rain-Led Zeppelin
3. American Pie-- Don McLean
4. Sixty Four- The Beatles
5. Billie Jean-Michael Jackson
6. Brown Eyed Girl-Van Morrison
7. The Israelites—Desmond Dekker
8. Give me Shelter—The Rolling Stones
9. Oh La La- Rod Stewart and Faces
10. Why Do you Let me Stay Here- She and Him featuring M. Ward
11. Break You Off-The Roots
12. He Was a Friend of Mine- Woody Nelson
13. Young Gifted and Black—Nina Simone
14. Fortunate—Maxwell
15. So In Love—Curtis Mayfield
16. 100 Days—Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings
17. Saa Mangi—Oumou Sangare
18. How I Got Over –Any Version-Clara Ward, Aretha Franklin, or Mahalia Jackson
19. Malaika—Miriam Makeba
20. No Woman No Cry—Bob Marley
21. Mr. Brown—Bob Marley
22. Revolution—The Beatles
23. Bobby McGhee—Janis Joplin
24. Casey Jones—The Grateful Dead
25. I Will Survive – Gloria Gaynor
26. I Wish I knew What It Was Like to be Free—Nina Simone
27. Ai Du—Ali Farka Toure
28. Do Right Woman—Aretha Franklin
29. Amazing Grace—Mahalia Jackson or Judy Collins
30. Silencio-- Ibrahim Ferrer & Omara Portuondo
31. Girl I’ve Got a Date—Byron Lee and The Dragonaires
32. I Will Always Love You—Whitney Houston
33. Mean Leroy Brown—Jim Croce
34. Cats in the Cradle—Harry Chapin
35. Bruca Manigua- Ibrahim Ferrer
36. Fortunate Son—Creedance Clearwater Revival
37. Change is Gonna Come—Sam Cooke
38. Sitting on the Dock of the Bay—Otis Redding
39. Strange Fruit—Billie Holiday
40. The Rose—Bette Midler
41. Your Cheating Heart—Hank Williams
42. Rapper’s Delight—The Sugar Hill Gang
43. Pata Pata Song—Miriam Makeda
44. The Girl from Ipanema—Gilberto
45. X-Factor—Lauryn Hill
46. Exodus—Bob Marley
47. Material Girl—Madonna
48. I’ve Benn Loving You Too Long—Otis Redding
49. Let’s Get It On—Marvin Gaye
50. My Girl—The Temptations
51. Spend My Life With You—Eric Benet w/ Tamia
52. So Amazing—Luther Vandross
53. A Song For You—Donny Hathaway
54. At Last—Etta James
55. Hound Dog—Big Mamma Thorton
56. Burning Love—Elvis Presley
57. Young American—David Bowie
58. Beast of Burden—The Rolling Stones
59. Got to Give It Up—Marvin Gaye
60. The Star Spangle Banner-  Jimmi Hendrix
61. Along the Watchtower—Ritchie Havens
62. Move the Crowd—Eric B. and Rakim
63. Check Yourself—Ice Cube
64. Bring Da Noise—Public Enemy
65. Diamonds & Pearls—Prince
66. Girls Just Want to Have Fun—Cindy Lauper
67. Johnny B. Good—Chuck Berry
68. The A Train—Duke Ellington
69. Waterboy—Odetta
70. Turn Me On—Nina Simone
71. Lawdy Miss Clawdy—Lloyd Price
72. Proud Mary—Ike and Tina Turner
73. Lola—The Kinks
74. Man’s World—James Brown
75. (Night Time) The Right Time—Ray Charles
76. Stagger Lee—Lloyd Price
77. I’ve Got to Get a Message to You—The Bee Gees
78. Getting Late—Floetry
79. One--Jill Scott
80. Wish You Were Here-- Pink Floyd
81. The Hurricane—Bob Dylan (Yes I am from Paterson, NJ)
82. Lullaby—Dixie Chicks
83. Brother Louie—Stories
84. Give Me Some Loving—Spencer Davis Group
85. Motherless Child—Eric Clapton
86. The Maker Makes—Rufus Wainwright
87. Loving You—Minnie Riperton
88. Guantanmera—Celia Cruz
89. Hot Stuff—Donna Summer
90. Your Song—Elton John
91. Keep on Pushing—Curtis Mayfield
92. I Shot the Sheriff—Eric Clapton
93. Where Do Broken Hearts Go—Whitney Houston
94. Rocket Man—Elton John
95. One – U2
96. G-d Only Knows—The Beach Boys (Thanks Andrea)
97. Wonderful Tonight—Eric Clapton
98. Fever—Peggy Lee
99. Fire—The Pointer Sisters
100. The Sound of Silence—Simon & Garfunkel

I just don't think I can take it anymore. This year has been incredible in the number of pioneers and talented people it has taken from us.  On Monday, we lost another legend.  The very beautiful Naomi Sims lost her battle to cancer at the age of 61.  She was the first black model on the cover of Ladies' Home Journal and a very successful entrepreneur in her post model years.  A beauty.  A legend.  A talent!   She will be missed.

 

Last night, I had the pleasure of attending Maxwell's live concert at the New Jersey Performing Arts Center (NJPAC) in Newark, NJ.  Before I go any further, I must admit that I am an unabashed Maxwell fan and have been ever since his entry into the music scene more than a decade ago.  So I was beyond excited and filled with anticipation last night as I joined the gathering throng waiting to enter the venue for the show. 

The beautiful and curvaceous Chrisette Michele opened the show with a a booming voice and repetoire that playfully enticed the audienced and demonstrated her range.  Although she is a clearly a star and talent all her own, her style evokes much older sultry songtresses like Ella Fitzgerald and Anita Baker.  Her voice was magical and truly set the tone for the performance to follow.

And what a performance it was.  After seven years, Maxwell, the formerly afro-wearing, soul stirring melodic bohemian has returned to a long waiting much appreciating slew of fans with a new trilogy of albums entitled Black Summer Night's Dream, the first of which was released July 7, 2009.  His look, sleek and suited with close cropped hair, is a departure from his  afroed casual look from he had less than a decade ago.  This Maxwell, evokes the persona of the smooth and sultry sounds of legendary balladeers as Sam Cooke and Marvin Gaye.  His hi energy performance laden with limber dancig and James Brown style splits, oozed sensuality and demonstrated the sexiness female fans love and male fans emulate.  

His casual yet intimate chats with the audience between songs demonstrated that he had missed us as we missed him during his 7 year hiatus.  As he gravitated lovingly and slowly between old favorites and new releases, each song carried his heart and melted ours.  Ah yes, the prodigal son has returned, with gifts to bear.  Welcome back!

I certainly did not forget the passing of the legendary Michael Jackson on June 25, 2009 , the King of Pop.  I took time and waited to post about it for a few reasons.  First, everyone else did it instantly and I did not want to be a follower nor did I want my post to get lost in the pile of numerous tributes given in the first week of his loss.  Second, I want to take a moment and reflect on what his loss means to me and the several generations he touched. Finally, I wanted to write something special, a tribute befitting a king.

As a young boy, Jackson  captured the hearts of the boomer generation as he embodied the gut wrenching soulful sounds of his adult Motown contemporaries like Marvin Gaye and David Ruffin.  After the success of the Jackson 5 waned, Michael charted his own path and began a chart topping, electrifying solo career with his debut album, Off the Wall.  His new album, transformed him into an adult star, carried his boomer fans as they danced to disco and ushered in a new era of pop.  But it would be Thriller, the greatest selling album of all time, that endeared him to Generation X.  We  looked for the first time and never took our eyes off of him.    The album, with stupendous hits Beat It, Billie Jean and the title track, broke the color barrier on the previously all white, no black newly formed MTV.  Though his successive albums, Bad, Dangerous, History, Blood on the Dance Floor and Invincible, would never reach the pinnacle of Thriller’s success, each new release garnered yet another legion of adoring fans. 

The man and his magic; skillful dance moves—a three second moonwalk performed a quarter a century ago, will forever be his, his use of imagery to convey in his videos—transforming in Black or White and that iconic voice, high pitched well into manhood, attracted far more attention than he wanted.  His every move was scrutinized.  His strange and bizarre physical transformation  coupled with his public and private gaffs (dangling his young baby from a balcony and the child sex abuse charges were an all time low for the star) to many, were sign of a deeply troubled soul at conflict and filled with torment.  His lyrics illustrated the pain  felt of his public image as in You Are Not Alone and his plea to the public and press to keep their distance in Leave Me Alone.  But we just could not.  Even in death, we still seek, haunt and ask.  There were reports the Google server crashed the day after his death due to so many hits.  He was dead less than 24 hours before iTunes reported that 9 of the top 10 albums sold that day were his.

Michael Jackson, the world over, represents American iconography in death as he did in life. Farewell my King! 

 

 

 

That bright, confident 50 watt smile, the full golden mane flipped up and wildly imitated, but never quite duplicated and that red one piece swimsuit, will forever remain static within the framework of American iconography.  Oh Farrah, our golden girl.  She represented that classic California Golden Girl  look and style is the from a generation ago.  Although she was only an Angel for just one season, her star turn on the ABC Television hit, Charlie’s Angels she spent her career known almost entirely as a former Angel.  Though never achieving the artistic feats she pursued, Fawcett demonstrated great range on the small screen as a battered wife in The Burning Bed and a vengeful rape victim in Extremities.  On the big screen, she was very impressive as estranged wife of Robert Duval’s fire breathing Pentecostal minister in The Apostle.  

 

We lost Farrah Fawcett last week after her long battle with cancer.  Although she was 62 at the time of her death, we will forever remember her image as one of youth.  She appeared before us as an angel and as thus she departed.  Rest in Peace Farrah.  

 

It was a quarter after three o’clock in the afternoon and Luke would be arriving from school shortly.  Luke, was Nora’s grandchild, the youngest son of her eldest daughter Elizabeth.  The boy attended a nearby elementary school and, although at thirteen he was old enough to be left home alone while he awaited his parents’ return from work, had been ordered to report to Nora’s house after school everyday due to an incident some months earlier.  A precocious teen, endowed with a great deal of mathematical and scientific intellect, Luke had witnessed a pyrotechnic experiment on youtube and attempted to practice it in the family backyard to near disastrous results.  It was the quick intervention of the next door neighbor that prevented the family home from becoming a pile of burning hot black ashes.  Luke was never to be home alone again. 

Nora Henderson was the stout, talkative, very inquisitive (read: nosey), recently widowed matriarch of a clan of 8 children, 13 grandchildren and some well placed sons and daughters in-law.  On this Friday, she packed a weekend bag and planned yet another surprise visit to her youngest daughter Patricia’s home, or as Elizabeth and the other siblings called it, her babysitting gig.  For the past few months, whenever Nora attempted to reach Patricia on a Friday, Saturday or Sunday, she was out and about in Manhattan.   Her maternal instinct (read: nosiness) told her that Patricia was in a relationship, which gave her wild excitement.  Knowing daughter was in a relationship was in and of itself not good enough.  She was hungry for more details and wanted to know who the gentleman in question was.  Given the frequent trips to New York, Nora strongly hoped Patricia had reunited with Jacob, one her very own favorites from the past.   So she plotted and made every attempt to catch Patricia as she departed to be with the current interest. 

The first attempt was on a Saturday.  Nora arrived in the afternoon and followed Patricia as she bounced from one errand to the next.  As day turned to night, Patricia settled in with a bowl of popcorn and a Blockbuster rental.  Nora’s look of disappointment formed a question.  “Aren’t you going out tonight?”  “No” responded Patricia.   “I went out last night and am a bit tired.”  Patricia knew the motive of the question and conveniently omitted the fact that her current flame was away at a conference.  The following Friday evening, Nora departed her retirement village along with Luke and Elizabeth en route to Patricia’s house.  Weekend bag in hand she knocked on Patricia’s door only to find her hostess with a face of clay mask and rollers in her hair.  “You don’t have any plans tonight?” asked Nora.  “If you thought I might have plans, why would you come now?”  Nora could not conjure a response sharp enough so she just brushed passed Patricia and entered.   Again, Patricia, knowing her mother’s motives omitted her outings over the previous evenings and  plans for the following night.  Mrs. Henderson’s departing remark as she left Patricia’s place, “I’ll see you next week.” 

As Patricia entered her mid-thirties unmarried as ever, Nora had become more and more apprehensive about her daughter’s marital status.  Each and every date or interaction Patricia had with a man, increased Nora’s hope for gaining another son-in-law.  For her, it seemed as if Patricia would never marry.  After all, by the time Nora had left her native South Carolina for New Jersey, at the age of 21, she had been married and for a few years. 

It was not that Patricia could not get a man to marry her.  That was quite easy.  Being attractive, intelligent and fun loving, she got her fair share of male attention.  The issue was far greater than that.  Owing to Reaganomics, the scourge of poverty, family disintegration, crack cocaine and HIV/AIDS in America’s urban communities for the last three decades, her hometown had morphed into a gigantic landfill of unmarriageable men who were grossly unemployed and overly eager to enter the nation’s penal system.  The latter was such a reality that the word jail was no longer a noun but also a verb as per a recent conversation her younger brother Eugene had with a career criminal.  Eugene spoke of how a neighborhood ex-con stood on a local corner explaining how, during his most recent incarceration, he took younger first time inmates under his wing.  His constant refrain during the conversation was “yeah these young bloods came in the pen and I taught ‘em how to jail, like that (rapidly snapping his middle finger and thumb)!”  Thus it was clear to see that marriage was not a true option for a woman surrounded by men who could  fondly recall stories of how they extolled the virtues of proper imprisonment to recently incarcerated young men rather than evoke memories of  teaching their own sons how to ride a bike.

There was another more peculiar reason for Patricia’s social status, which was abundantly clear to her if no one else.  She was no longer a cultural fit in her old hometown, and in truth, she was sure she had never been.  As she entered puberty, she saw the clear difference between her classmates and herself.  While her peers longed for the trappings of the ubiquitous hip hop culture of the era--fat gold chains, Kangol hats and Shell-toed Adidas topped with fat city laces--she was fascinated by a Jackie O. strand of pearls,  cardigans and Clarks, although her parents could afford none of it.  While everyone else knew the latest lyrics to JJ Fad’s chart topper, she focused on another JJ—James Joyce.  The divide grew to an irreparable gulf as she progressed through high school and on to college as far too many of her peers remained began their trajectory into adulthood as single parents, petty criminals and the overworked underpaid working poor.  Even as an adult, her conversations about her limited travel to Europe made some of her childhood friends gawk as if she spoke of landing on the moon. 

Patricia was indeed in a relationship.  For some time now, she had been keeping company with a professor of literature at one the finest universities in the country.  Mauricio was politically astute and an ultra-liberal; the late Paul Wellstone looked like a moderate next to him.  Every Sunday morning in his upper Manhattan apartment, he would go immediately to the best sellers’ lists of the New York Times book review and say “Look at this Patricia, (almost no one called her that but with his heavy northern Italian accent it came out more like Patrizia and thus did not bother her as much) the conservatives are organizing. Do you see the small daggers?” He continued, on the verge of mild anger pointing at the annotations next to book titles on the list authored by the likes of Ann Coulter and Glenn Beck. “That means these books are bulk orders.  The conservatives are organizing.  That is very scary.” Often, he mocked his native land’s prime minister, calling him ‘Burlesque’sconi  (because apparently his administration was more of a comical parody than anything else).

The wise pair got along well and enjoyed many of the same activities and pleasures in life; museums, public radio (Carl Kasell was their favorite voice by far), Lincoln Center films, music in Soho and quality dining.  On the subjects of Italian cinema and fiction/literature, their passionate debates drew them closer together than ever. Whereas she was fond of the more popular crossover films such as La Dolce Vita and Cinema Paradiso, he, being a true Italian, was more aligned with less well known Italian films and directors such as The Open City and Bitter Rice.  They fiercely debated Sofia Loren’s on-screen abilities.  While Patricia saw Loren’s Oscar win for Two Women as absolute proof of her talent,  Mauricio often retorted “but Vittorio DeSica was the director and he could make a piece of paper act.”  Patricia drew emotional and sexual parallels between Alice Walker’s Celie in The Color Purple and E. Annie Proulx’s Ennis Del Mar from the short story turned film, Brokeback Mountain.  Patricia contended that neither was actually gay or bisexual, but rather, due to a history of limited emotional attachment, developed a romantic relationship with the first person who understood and connected with them, regardless of gender.  Mauricio thought it was far less complex than that for each character.  They were gay, plain and simple.  Yes, her days with Mauricio were indeed pleasurable. 

By the time, Nora was aware there was a relationship, Patricia and Mauricio were on their way to ending their brief affair.  The Ferrari was quite beautiful,  great to look at and gave the illusion of a wonderful ride but the engine never got hot enough for Patricia.  That Nora did not just ask out right about the new love, for everyone else in the family knew about him, was a clear indicator to everyone except her the nature of the mother daughter relationship was severely warped. 

 

Gwendolyn Brooks   

Malcolm X
---------
for Dudley Randall

Original.
Hence ragged-round,
Hence rich-robust.

He had the hawk-man's eyes.
We gasped. We saw the maleness.
The maleness raking out and making guttural the air
And pushing us to walls.

And in a soft and fundamental hour
A sorcery devout and vertical
Beguiled the world.

He opened us -
Who was a key.

Who was a man.