Books

When James McGrath Morris set out to write his latest book, he didn’t know how timely it would be. When Eye on the Struggle: Ethel Payne, The First Lady of the Black Press hit shelves, Essence magazine had just released its Black Lives Matter issue.

Helen got Keith off the hook, giving him a half dozen sheets of paper. The set lists from the gigs they were combing through for material to put on the album. He leafed through the pages. “Lot to listen

Keith came out of the movie and, suddenly, was running a little bit late. Called a messenger company and had his purchases dispatched to the apartment. Called Jesse to feed and water Butch and Sundance. Then caught a cab to Electric Ladyland.

Brad Meltzer was born in Brooklyn, which is where Jackie Robinson broke baseball’s color line when he joined for the Dodgers in 1947. But that’s not what inspired the best-selling author to write I Am Jackie Robinson. Rather, the father of a daughter and identical twin boys had grown tired of watching his children admire reality TV stars and trash-talking pro athletes as if they were true heroes.

This next time next week, they’d be on the road. Not a bad way to start putting Lesli in his rear view. One thing about touring — no shortage of women who couldn’t wait to knock your boots. Keith would just have to grin and somehow bear it. A big old Kool-Aid smile spread across his face.

Keith shook his head, ruing that there just seemed no getting away from Lesli. There was, though, his ace in the hole. His first distraction from problems was always music. Second choice, a good movie. When all else failed there was, right down the street, the solace of Central Park.

Keith had to shake his head at his friend’s amazing acumen. The man was practically a mind reader. “Lesli left me again.”

Dan eyes widened. “What did you do this time?”

“Nothing.”

“Why is it becoming increasingly acceptable to kill unarmed black children? Why are they so easily perceived as a threat? How are we to keep our black children safe?  As the mother of a black male child, I find these to be urgent questions. The slaying of Trayvon [Martin] struck a nerve deep within me. […]

When he got home, the kittens had left little presents, letting him know exactly how they felt about being left alone so long. Butch, who slept with Keith, had peed on Keith’s side of the bed and was now blissfully asleep on his own side. Sundance had taken a dump on his desk. “You little—” […]

Helen hollered out, “Hey!” Keith came out of his thoughts. “Hey, Jackson! Mr. Music Man!” He called back, “At your service.” She came into the kitchenette. Hips waving all over the place, Keith smiling in unabashed admiration. “Know what I notice our repertoire could use?” “Nope, not ‘til you tell me.” “Some good old soul […]

Following that damning digression, Tony proceeds to relate his own heartbreaking life story, warts and all, in a vivid fashion that just jumps off the page. The jaw-dropping opus covers only his formative through teen years, a period he spent doing everything from killing roaches to subsisting on celery soup to standing up to neighborhood bullies.

All assembled had a good time the rest of the day. Into evening. And wound up re-ordering at the liquor store. There was a constant crowd out in the hall.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked Faith after she hung up the phone.

“Oh, I haven’t been doing well in that class since I signed up for it. So, he’s pretty upset that I didn’t go this morning and didn’t call to say I wasn’t going. To tell you the truth, I’ve been thinking about dropping it, anyway.

The incident reminded me of a bygone era when not only your own momma, but any adult in the neighborhood might straighten you out if you were messin’ up. However, that strict style of upbringing has long since fallen by the wayside in favor of a politically-correct age of permissiveness.

Helen came in asking if they knew there were people sprawled on the floor all up and down the hall. Luis answered, “Yeah, they know.”

“Happens all the time,” said Sam with a shrug.

“After her 17th birthday in 1973, Janis Hunter met Marvin Gay — the soulful prince of Motown with the seductive liquid voice — whose chart-topping, socially-conscious album What’s Going On made him a superstar two years earlier. Despite a 17-year age difference and Marvin’s marriage to the sister of Berry Gordy, Motown’s founder, the enchanted teenager and the emotionally volatile singer began a scorching relationship…

Keith-&-Lesli“Don’t you dare bother that girl.” Sam had caught Keith pondering the sleeping Faith. Sam’s smile broadened. He couldn’t get over how much she and Luis were kindred devilish spirits.

Keith followed Helen and Sam off-stage, Luis nudging him in the ribs. “Yo’, iss some girls want to meet us, man.” Keith grinned. Luis was not going to be happy until Esme left him. Dropped him like a hot rock.

Helen’s hug put him in a fairly good mood and he walked with her over to the prep area, where Luis sat behind his skins, tuning them with that perpetual smug smile he probably wore even in his sleep. Keith said, “Whass up, partner?”

To describe JL Davenport as a multi-faceted, strongly gifted artist actually understates the case. She is, in fact, a talent — poet, songwriter, singer and performer — possessed of amazing acumen and no small accomplishment.