WHY I LOVE BEING BLACK - REVISITED

Beneath the Spin * Eric L. Wattree

WHY I LOVE BEING BLACK - REVISITED
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During the sixties we used to say, “I’m Black and I’m proud,” but we never said why we were so proud of being Black. I’d like to correct that.

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I absolutely LOVE being Black - and I'm not just saying that because it's expected of me. While I have the ultimate respect for the unique character of every race and ethnicity, if I'm reincarnated a thousand times, I want to come back Black each and every one of them.
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Being Black in America gives one an education and perspective on life that you can't get anywhere else. That's not widely recognized, because public attention is often focused on the most dysfunctional in the Black community. But contrary to popular belief, that might not be an altogether bad thing, because that allows the excellence within the Black community time to incubate, unmolested by the public eye. That's what allowed Barack Obama to explode upon the world stage as a fully developed powerhouse, and there are hordes of others just like him who are currently incubating in Black cocoons in suburbs and inner cities all over America.
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Another thing that's not widely recognized- even by many Blacks - is, what they call “soul,” that Black people are so well known for, extends far beyond music. What's commonly referred to as "soul" is actually creativity, and as any cognitive scientist will attest, creativity is a primary indicator of advanced intelligence.

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Since Black people are some of the most musically inclined people in the world, the ramifications of this newly discovered scientific information is not only astounding, but it also serves to validate what many of us in the Black community already knew. While it takes utter stupidity to suggest that one group of people are intellectually superior to another (it's like trying to suggest that a Black Cocker Spaniel is innately superior to a White one), it's been a long accepted scientific concept that adversity triggers evolution, so it is far from outrageous to suggest that after over four hundred years of being subjected to the very worst kind of adversity, that adversity has served to make Black people more, rather than less.
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While many White people don't realize it, every day of a Black person's life they're forced to deal with some sort of bigotry, either blatantly overt, or subtle and covert.  It's generally the latter. That's why many White think that Black people are being overly sensitive when we complain of racism.  But, by just going through life having to routinely outwit bigots on a daily basis constitutes a constant workout of our intellectual abilities.  Many Black people don't even recognize this.  As a result, many take the growing power of their intellectual potential for granted.  They don't recognize their growing intellectual power. They simply think racists are dumb, so they often squander their intellectual potential.

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That's why Black people simply laugh to themselves when White conservatives assert that the only reason Black people support the Democratic Party in such large numbers is due to handouts, when the actual fact is, unlike poor and middle class White conservatives, Black people support the Democratic Party because they're not stupid enough to support a party that's out to cut their throats. Another fact that White conservatives should consider is the only reason that America is in the dire economic condition that it's in is due to their decision to vote for George W. Bush in the 2000 and 2004 elections.  In addition, the only reason they're not currently in the grips of a second Great Depression is due to one Black man - Barack Hussein Obama, who they hate so passionately. Thus, if they had followed the lead of the "intellectually challenged" Black population, they wouldn't be in the shape they're in today.      

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Charles Darwin would call what's referred to as Black "soul" as a unique adaptation to adversity, and the most insightful within the Black community recognize it as being much like a sixth sense that reaches the very depths of human understanding. When fully developed, it provides Black people with a unique grasp, empathy, and insight into the human experience. That's why Black people are so effective in conveying human emotion through music and the arts - so effective, in fact, that "soul" has been confused with emotion itself.
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So Black people don't just live life, we experience it. We experience life in the exact same way that we experience music. As a result, we actually feel our environment, with the exact same passion that we feel a lonely bass struttin' through the back alleys of a slow and funky blues. That accounts for our swagger, but our "soul" also accounts for making us far more than swagger alone - a point we must get across to the more frivolous within our community.

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You see, the very same swagger, or soul, that goes into the making of a Ray Charles, a Miles Davis, or Areatha Franklin, under another guise, is also responsible for the power and solemnity of mind of a Colin Powell, Johnnie Cochran, or Michelle and Barack Obama. Thus, the very same soul that allows Black people to excel in music, can also be directed towards physics, politics, philosophy, or engineering. The only reason it's been reflected primarily in music up until now is because music was one of the few activities that Black people were allowed to freely engage in. But the rise of Barack Obama has signaled a change in that regard, and America is going to begin to feel that change.
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So this is an exciting time for Black people, because we recognize that the world is about to discover what we already know - that there is nothing in the human experience more impressive than watching the development of a Black child, who's been dragged through the pits of Hell and the brutal experience of “American Exceptionalism,” then emerge on the other side as a well adjusted, uniquely eclectic, resolute, and learned product of his or her environment.
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These are society's unsung heroes, and there are many more to come. They've been tested by fire, and they've prevailed. By the time they've reached thirty, they've faced down more adversity than the average American at eighty. So simply having survived America unscathed, by definition, makes them special.
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So when I come into contact with the "strivers" in the Black community, I may not say it, but my heart whispers, "Thank you for your service." Because, in my heart, I know that these are the people who have been selected by nature, and circumstance, to blaze the trail of a new reality, and move America forward - and considering America's history, these young people represent the very height of irony. But as the old folks used to say, "God works in mysterious ways."
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So just watching the collective journeys of these young people have inspired me to recognize that, I too, can take great pride in being the product of adversity, because the lessons of adversity have served to make Black people  more, rather than less.
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Simply having survived the trauma of being Black in America speaks volumes. It represents an independent source of knowledge, and an unassailable credential - a credential that none of the great institutions of higher learning can possibly provide. And while we must strive to attain it, we don't have to rely on sheepskin to attest to those credentials. Due to the tremendous adversity heaped upon us here in America, our beautiful black skin says it all.
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So yes, I'm Black, and I'm very, very proud.  I'm proud of who I am, and I also take great pride in my history - and that even includes slavery - because adversity constitutes knowledge, and that knowledge is what made me, me.

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A Slave’s Prayer
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I was stole from Eden, an innocent soul,
crossed seas and centuries, chained and cold;
My mother was raped and beaten to death,
my daddy was sold, and my sister is kept.
So how they praise God and brag dat they free,
and even sing songs about freedom, 'din look upon me?
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I was chained to 'dis land, 'dis "Land of the free,"
by people with a God, who sho must can't see.
But a change is a comin', tho I won't no mo be,
but when it get here, Dear Lord,

please let my soul see.



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MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR:

A MAN WHO MADE A DIFFERENCE

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The United States of America has honored only four men in history by declaring the day of their birth a national day of celebration - Jesus Christ of Nazareth, widely accepted as the father of all mankind; President George Washington, the father of this nation; Christopher Columbus, the man credited with discovering the Americas; and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., a man whose forebears were brought to these shores in chains.

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That says a lot about this humble Black man. In spite of the fact that Dr. King began his life burdened by the inherent disadvantages of being blessed with Black skin in a Jim Crow environment, his words, his intellect, and his deeds so inspired the heart and soul of humanity that America saw fit to set aside a day for this nation - this world - to thank God that he was allowed to walk among us. 
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His was a soul with such strength that it served to lift the rest of mankind to a higher level of humanity. That's not only a testament to one Black man's ability to pull himself up from the dust of his humble beginnings, it's also a testament to the capacity of his people to meet the test of greatness.
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When one considers that even today some are engaged in a raging controversy over the intellectual capacity of the African American people, it only further emphasizes Dr. King s stature in this society, which speaks with flawless eloquence to the boundless potential of the African American intellect.
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Admitted to Morehouse College at 15 years of age and a Nobel Peace Prize winner by age 34, Dr. King rose to become one of the most honored men in this country's history. By his untimely death at age 39, it was clear that his was to be one of those rare voices that would speak to all men, for all time. Long after the bones of his detractors have turned to dust, this unassuming young man's name will continue to reverberate throughout the ages.
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That was the legacy of Martin Luther King. Through his moral strength and tenacity he demonstrated to America that the Black man was much more than just a beast of burden, and through his intellect, and his ability to personify all of black America, he inspired the world to embrace his cause. Thus, the legacy of Martin Luther King - like the man himself - stands as a monument to the depth and breadth of the African American culture.
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Too often we focus on the most negative aspects of African American behavior, while we totally ignore the great strides that are being made by the vast majority of Black people. We pay special attention to the relatively few violent, Black criminals, while we ignore the millions of Black law abiding citizens; we focus on the undereducated in the Black community, while we turn a blind eye to the hordes of African American students and professionals who are flooding our colleges and universities; we've become experts on those African Americans who are a burden on our society, while we remain blissfully ignorant of the multitude of African American doctors, lawyers, teachers, scientists, laborers, musicians, writers, architects, homemakers - and yes, now a president - who contribute their unique talents to making this a better world. 
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These are the people - the people who Martin cherished - who we truly honor in any tribute to Dr. Martin Luther King. Because as we honor Martin and Malcolm, and all of the other nameless Black heroes who have struggled, and in many cases given their lives, to move our people forward, we cannot help but honor ourselves. That is the true meaning of Martin's legacy.
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Thus, in any tribute to Dr. King, we also celebrate the African American culture - a new culture, conceived in pain, delivered into turmoil, and baptized in a sea of deprivation. We celebrate a culture that is only now in the Spring of its development, yet, a culture that has managed to combine the wisdom, strength, and spirituality of its African origins, with the sophistication, knowledge, and creative intellect of its new found home. 
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So on this day, let us also gaze upon the mountain top - inspired by the knowledge that our reach no longer exceed our grasp. Let us dedicate our lives to leaving the world a little better than we found it. And while we take a furtive look back - let it not be in anger, but with a resolve, and a sense of pride at what we ve overcome. And during this time, let us take at least one moment to thank God that Martin, this humble and spiritual Black man, was allowed to walk among us. 
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And finally, let us take a moment to listen to our hearts, as they quietly murmur, free at last!--every man, woman and child. Free at last!--from the sandy beaches of California to the shores of Maine. Free At Last!--from America’s shores to the tiniest village in Zimbabwe. THANK GOD ALMIGHTY, WE RE FREE AT LAST!

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Four Year-Old Anala Beevers: IQ 145

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"AWAKEN, MY CHILD, AND BEHOLD . . . "
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I Now stand firm. My dedication to the power of knowledge is the platform upon which my podium rests. I stand firm, strong, and now free--free of anger, free of self-delusion, free of the folly of empty vanity, and free of the pernicious bane of meaningless pride without substance.
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I now stand free to look upon the eyes of other men, reflecting dignity over sorrow, and accomplishment over pain; I stand with a burning passion, fueled by the very flame that forged ancestral shackles, with a deep sense of pride, and a pride that flows deep.
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I now stand erect! The steel that once degraded my father, that chained him in bondage to this bitter Earth, now reinforce my character, making me more, rather than less; and the blood and sweat that once drenched his brow, and oozed from the yoke around his neck, now rage with resolve, a sense of purpose, and tremble with passion, within my burning breast.
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I now stand as a new being–-neither simply African, nor simply American, but a hybrid forced to transcend the sum of my parts; no longer simply African, since being torn away from the African motherland to suffer and toil in the fields of America, and more than simply American, after being forced to be more than simply American, Just to survive within the bowels of this prosperous land.
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Thus, I stand now armed—-armed with the wisdom of deprivation, the courage of my conviction, and a deep conviction of my courage; and fortified–with the confidence of a survivor, the empowerment of knowledge, and a ravishing hunger for greatness.
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I now stand the product of love, struggle, and sacrifice; a witness to man's inhumanity to man, and a monument to the hopes and dreams of a million slaves. I stand embraced by my creator, as God now smiles upon my people.
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Yes, I Now Stand Firm--Firm, Black, and Free.

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"Thank you, Lord. I knew a change was a comin'. That boy talk wit enough schoolin' to live in town someday - if they ever let 'em.
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"What?!!! . . . President!!! . . . of the United States?!!! . . . Georgia too?!!! . . .
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"Oh, my God! How long I been dead?"

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FORMER OBAMA CRITIC
NOBEL PRIZE WINNING ECONOMIST

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Eric L. Wattree 

http://wattree.blogspot.com/ 
Ewattree@Gmail.com 
Citizens Against Reckless Middle-Class Abuse (CARMA) 
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Religious bigotry: It's not that I hate everyone who doesn't look, think, and act like me - it's just that God does.

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The Building of a Jazz Man

Beneath the Spin * Eric L. Wattree

The Building of a Jazz Man 
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There are two things in this world that allow me to remain sane–writing and music. I’d be in absolute agony if I ever had to choose one over the other, because they are one–one is an extension of the other. Each in its own way allow me to express a part of my being. There are some concepts that I can only express in words, in which case, I sit down and begin to write; but there are other things that spring from a place so deep within my soul--the pain of loss, deception, or of being disappointed by a friend or loved one, for example--that it can only be expressed through raw emotion, which means my horn--it's cathartic. So I’d be completely remiss if I didn’t mention such an important part of my life in the context of this written interview.
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The saxophone keeps me connected to my roots, and who I am fundamentally, so it contributes to my writing in that way as well. Sometimes when I get on my high horse and begin to speak the superficial language of the Washington pundits or the mainstream media, I simply have to glance at my horn to remember why I started writing in the first place–to present the views of those who are too often overlooked. In fact, it reminds me that I’m much more of a translator than I am a writer.  I seek to translate the emotional truths that Bird, Miles,Trane, and others set forth in their harmonic and melodic constructions into readable prose. As I mentioned above, that’s not always possible, but my horn keeps me in touch with my mission, and it reminds me to remain focused on doing the best I can in that respect.
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My father put that horn in my hands when I was a kid. While he had many flaws (one of my first memories in life was of the police coming to my house in the middle of the night, shooting my dog, and dragging him off to the penitentiary), but at his core, he was a good man, a loving father, and a jazz fanatic. For him, the Sun only rose in the morning so it could keep Charlie Parker's reeds warm. So he wasn’t able to give me much, but what he did give me turned out to be one of the most potent and enduring forces in my life.
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I’ll never forget the day he gave me that horn. It was on a Sunday morning. He opened the case, and there it was, smiling at me for the very first time, with its pearly-white keypads and glistening gold body gleaming in the sunlight against the deep blue felt lining of its case. Even now, I can remember my excitement as the newness of it’s smell filled my young nostrils.
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But to my surprise, he also brought Jimmy home with him - for what, I didn’t know. Jimmy was the neighborhood’s quintessential dope fiend and general substance abuser. Thus, to my even greater surprise, it turned out that he had brought Jimmy home to teach me to play the saxophone. I was very doubtful that Jimmy could teach anyone to do anything but shoot dope, toss back a pint or two and nod, but I wasn’t worried about that at the time - I just couldn’t wait for him to put that horn together.
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It seemed like it took him forever to extract the pad-saver and adjust the reed on the mouthpiece. Then they finally put the strap around my neck. Jimmy showed me where to place my fingers, and then I blew my first official note on the saxophone, and I got one of the most horrifically agonizing sounds out of that horn that ANYONE has ever heard. It made my mother jump up out of bed and run into the living room yelling, "What is going on in here!"
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I became immediately frustrated, because I just couldn’t figure out how something that was so beautiful could produce such a horrible sound. Then my father said, "Wait a minute, son. Jimmy, show him how this thing is supposed to sound."
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Jimmy, as I mentioned before, was not only a dope fiend, but over the years he had degenerated into an extremely unkempt drunk as well. He had become the kind of person who was completely dismissed by even the most down-on-their-luck adults, and the kids used to like to play practical jokes on him when we found him nodded-out somewhere in the neighborhood. And I'm now ashamed to say that I was one of the most prolific and abusive of the bunch. But when Jimmy put that horn into his mouth and began to play "Round Midnight," he became a different person. Now he was in his element - Jimmy was in command. All of the disappointments and humiliations in life slipped under his fingers and out the bell of that horn as some of the most beautiful licks that I’d ever heard before or since.
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Even as a kid I could see the confidence, the focus, and knowledge reflected in his eyes. I could see the young Jimmy. I could see all of his hopes and dreams that seems to have gone astray. And to this day, I have never heard ANYBODY play "Round Midnight" with such passion and ease of facility, and I’ve heard it played by some of the greatest saxophone players who has ever lived, but not one of them has been able to touch me in the spot that Jimmy reached that Sunday morning of my youth. And this was playing cold, on a brand new saxophone, and he probably hadn’t touched a horn in years - and not to mention he was loaded (one of the last times I ever saw him in that condition, by the way).
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When Jimmy was done, my father told me, in his typically graphic and offhand way, "Now, I want you to hang on to this horn like it’s your momma’s tiddy, and you’ll never be broke or alone." Then he looked over at Jimmy and added, "unless you start shootin’ that shit." I followed my father’s advice, and his words have turned out to be prophetic. But actually, after watching the transformation in Jimmy when he picked up that horn, my father didn’t have to say another word.
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So even as I respond to this interview, and speak of my love for the written word, a lifelong friend sits in its stand with that same beautiful smile that first greeted me as a child. The beauty of its song is a constant reminder that the written word is only one part of my life. Unlike a corporeal being, its only reason for existence is to carry out the blessing of a long departed father upon his son. But much like a sensuously flawless and indulgent woman, it waits patiently, still gleaming in the sunlight with its glistening keys and curvaceous body, as though longing for my loving and passionate embrace.
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So thank you, Jimmy, for pulling your life together long enough to give me one. This one's for you, my man:

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A SWINGIN’ AFFAIR

I 
was told as a child 
Blacks had no worth,
Not a nickel’s worth of dimes.
I believed that myth 
‘Til Dex rode in
With his ax 
In double time.

His 
horn was soarin’,
The changes flyin’,
His rhythm right on time;
My heart 
Beat with the pleasure 
Of new found pride, 
Knowing,
His blood 
Flowed through mine.

Dex 
Took the chords 
The keyboard played,
And danced around each note;
Then shuffled ‘em 
Like a deck of cards,
And didn’t miss a stroke.

B minor 7 with flatted 5th,
a half diminished chord,
He substituted a lick in D,
Then really began to soar.

He tipped his hat 
To Charlie Parker,
and quoted 
Trane with Miles,
Then paid his homage to 
Thelonious Monk,
In Charlie Rouse’s style.

He took 
a Scrapple From The Apple,
Then went to Billie’s Bounce,
The rhythm section, now on fire,
But he didn’t budge an ounce.

He just
dug right in 
to shuffle again,
This time
A Royal Flush,
Then lingered a bit 
Behind the beat,
Still smokin’
But in no rush.

Then he
doubled the time
just like this rhyme,
in fluid 16th notes,
tellin’
Charlie and Lester,
“your baby boy, Dexter’s,
on top of the 
bebop you wrote.”

Wailin’ 
like a banshee,
this prince of saxophone,
His ballads dripped of honey, 
His Arpeggios were strong.

Callin’ on his idles,
Ghost of Pres’ 
within in the isles,
smiling at his protege, 
At the peak of this new style.

His tenor
Drenched of Blackness,
And all the things we are–
Of pain, and pleasure, 
And creative greatness
Until his final bar.

 

Eric L. Wattree

Http://wattree.blogspot.com

Ewattree@Gmail.com

Citizens Against Reckless Middle-Class Abuse (CARMA)

Religious bigotry: It's not that I hate everyone who doesn't look, think, and act like me - it's just that God does.

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The Chart

The Chart

Things have been kinda heavy around here for awhile, so I thought I'd lighten up a bit and speak of beauty for a change, instead of political fraud and murderous corruption. Sometimes we need a break from those kind of things.

With that in mind, while sitting around idle, I thought I'd do something constructive for a community of people that has made my life a pure joy--musicians. So I've put together a chord chart that serves as the foundational basis for ALL music. Once you've gotten the knowledge herein under your fingers, you're a musician, pure and simple--or if you're already a musician, it'll make you a better one.

The chart lays out all of the basic chords in music chromatically. In addition, at the very bottom there's a key signature chart that goes through the cycle of fifths from left to right, and the cycle of fourths from right to left. It also lays out the sharps or flats in every key. If you're studying the cycle of fifths, find the key you're looking for, then the row beneath it relates all of the sharps or flats related to that key from left to right. The cycle of fourths simply reverses the process going from right to left.

If this modest effort contributes to the development of just one more technically competent musician in this world, it will have more than served its purpose.

This time and effort is dedicated to the memory of Dexter Gordon--both a towering musician, and man--whose powerful tenor saxophone soared mightily over the musical theme that has defined my life:


A Swingin' Affair

I
Was told as a child
Blacks had no worth,
Not a nickel’s worth of dimes.
I believed that myth
‘Til Dex rode in
With his ax
In double time.

His
Horn was soarin’,
The changes flyin’,
His rhythm right on time;
My heart
Beat with the pleasure
Of new found pride,
Knowing,
His blood
Flowed through mine.

Dex
Took the chords
The keyboard played,
And danced around each note;
Then shuffled ‘em
Like a deck of cards,
And didn’t miss a stroke.

B minor 7 with flatted 5th,
A half diminished chord,
He substituted a lick in D,
Then really began to soar.

He tipped his hat
To Charlie Parker,
And quoted
Trane with Miles,
Then paid his homage to
Thelonious Monk,
In Charlie Rouse's style.

He took
A Scrapple From The Apple,
Then went to Billie’s Bounce,
The rhythm section, now on fire,
But he didn’t budge an ounce.

He just
Dug right in
To shuffle again,
This time
A Royal Flush,
Then lingered a bit
Behind the beat,
Still smokin’
But in no rush.

Then he
Doubled the time
Just like this rhyme,
In fluid 16th notes,
tellin’
Charlie and Lester,
"your baby boy, Dexter’s,
On top of the
Bebop you wrote.@

Wailin’
Like a banshee,
This prince of saxophone,
His ballads dripped of honey,
His Arpeggios were strong.

Callin’ on his idles,
Ghost of Pres’
Within in the isles,
Smiling at his protege,
At the peak of this new style.

His tenor
Drenched of Blackness,
And all the things we are--
Of pain, and pleasure,
And creative greatness
Until his final bar.

Eric L. Wattree
wattree.blogspot.com
A moderate is one who embraces truth over ideology, and reason over conflict.

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