A mystical, spiritual fusion of jazz, soul, electronica and spoken word poetry in this second LP by the Los Angeles writer, poet, performer and activist, filled with sensual sounds and personal mantras to political and social commentary about her country and beyond, her delivery particularly reminiscent of the smooth and smoky Dana Bryant from the 1990s. Also very much rooted in jazz and beat and slam poetry scenes, with inspiration from and echos of the Nuyorican Poets Cafe diaspora, sound collages by Moor Mother and Matana Roberts, it’s a sensual listen from opener Say It With Your Chest into immediate standout, Elsewhere (“You are tuned into Elsewhere Radio / Where we got all rhythm and no algorithm”) a stylish free arrangement with her silky voice intertwining with trumpet and more produced by Monet, bassist Meshell Ndegeocello, and virtuoso drummer Justin Brown with assists from trumpeter Nico Segal and engineer Chris Connors. Withness, through its woozy warm sounds of synths and bells, caustically critiques American society and the patriarchy: “Wide open windows gazing back at you/ Each person as portal and premonition of a timeless time / A diaspora of sisterhood awaiting your arrival / Anticipation/ Homes away from home/ Fathers of fascination flirting with someone else's daughter/ It never gets old, does it?” Hollyweird has a more menacing, dark sound building to a strangled saxophone: to capture the dystopian neoliberisms nightmare filled with biting, vivid images, all namechecking many ongoing ills: “Neoliberal Americans in Africa on the rise / From Palisades to Palestine / An actress compares the LA oceanfront to Gaza/ Never mentions the Rafah border/ The cutoff of two thousand aid trucks/ Neglects to mention body bags, rubble, or the Israeli snipers aimed at children / But everyone's donating their wardrobe to people without closets / Can a millionaire be homeless? / All of a sudden, we know the meaning of community/ All of a sudden, the spirit of giving is in the air / The people kindle around the flame/ Nothing like disaster to shock a heart into beating / The feel-good volunteers did Reiki before they dropped off outfits for people with no events to attend.” No prisoners taken here.
There’s a calmer, more loving sound on Skinfolk, in which black skin is lovingly celebrated: “The color of Garvey’s Star Line/Or Nina’s fearless freedom/A sheet of obsidian silk/Moonbeams hollering.” For the Congo, stirs up a striking beat poetry drum circle interweaving background voices and percussion of striking urgent images with the refrain to ‘Tell them about the blood!” such as with “a self-administered needle in the arm / Zombie stares and rubber spines/ The fountain outside my window whispers of calm/ The bombs dropping in my head/ How many children? / How many children died for the sake of my comfort today?” with references for agents of the West, from Uganda to Congo genocides. I Came To the Poem is a meta-work about the purpose of her artform with the sound of only a typewriter in the background. Filled with profundity and poetry, it’s an arresting listen with varied pace and mood, with another highlight includig Working Class Musicians, a catchy handclap number that describes in details the craft and effort of performers’ daily grind: “Shedding off the cuff poems on napkins / Using hotel pens / A language in my mouth / Juggling rotten wisdom teeth / Fluorescent folks singing the scab of running scales / A sore throat at the merch table / Selling seashells that carry the sound / Of slave ships docked by the seashore / When your address is your suitcase/ The only religion is the show must go on.” A full, vivid and entertaining set of poems skilfully accompanied and silkily delivered and passionately performed. Out on Drink Sum Wtr.
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