RIP to those lost to coronavirus. Before I get started, I want to send my prayers and condolences to the families of Jazzmond “Jazz” Dixon and Judy Wilson-Griffin. They were St. Louis city and St. Louis County’s first casualties of the coronavirus pandemic. As we self-contain and practice social distancing, let us remember that while this unprecedented measure is indeed an inconvenience, we owe it to society to adhere to the orders, for the sake of our health and the health of those around us. We will get through this, but we must work together to keep tragedies like theirs to a minimum. At the present moment, working together to fight the spread of this virus means staying apart. Be sure to keep their memories – and all others lost around the nation and world – in mind when you are fighting the urge to disregard the social distancing orders that are presently the laws of the land.
Partyline via satellite. For the first time in history, all of this week’s Partyline took place from the comfort of my basement couch. I was surprised how many truly entertaining experiences I must report. I was tearing the club up almost exclusively through FB and Instagram Live. Y’all have to forgive us for the photos not being the freshest, mainly because there is no place to catch current nightlife snaps. I liberated my Xbox360 Kinect from its eight-year bid in my utility closet in the hopes that a regular rotation of Kinect Sports Season Two and Street Fighters Uncaged will keep me from emerging from coronavirus captivity shaped up like the Mucinex monster. So far so good. The bad news is that I’m already quietly looking like the Geico caveman about the head and eyebrows. I’ve charged this unibrow and chin hair that might have me with an honorary “beard gang matters” membership to the game. I’ll just keep my newly purchased corporate/newscaster wig on deck next to a blazer that hides my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pajama pants in case I get called into a meeting on Zoom. That’s all I can promise. But trust, the minute we get clearance to get out, I’m jumping in front of anybody on Steve Lacy or Marie Simone from Shi Salon’s book, and it’s not safe for anybody in line to get their brows shaped up by Sid, because I’m snatching spots.
D-Nice did that! Okay, now that it’s established that I look an utter mess, let me tell y’all how I had the time of my life, thanks to Facebook and Instagram Live. It took “The Rona” keeping me cooped up in the house, but I finally got to kick it with Oprah, Janet Jackson, J-Lo, Michelle Obama, Usher, Stevie Wonder, Rihanna, Jada Pinkett Smith, Will Smith, Quincy Jones, Lenny Kravitz, Naomi Doug E. Fresh, Chuck D., Diddy and 100,000 others that tuned in, thanks to D-Nice’s epic Instagram Live Club Quarantine spin session Saturday night. What? We were all on the same live! That counts. And they didn’t see me dropping it low as I disinfected my bathroom either. He got it in for 10 straight hours and that side/midsection combo bop to the beat never failed him. I went back on Sunday, but I didn’t stay long, because I was on a lightweight innanet (yes, innanet) scavenger hunt trying to get to Erykah Badu’s bedroom quarantine concert. And leave it to Low Down Loretta Brown/Sarah Bellum to have me on the prowl until early Tuesday morning. I’ll get to that in a hot second.
Local DJs in the mix on Live. Since I’m showing some well-deserved love to D-Nice, I might as well keep it going for the locals who hopped on FB and IG Live and slayed. Shout out to BJ the DJ and James Biko for pulling out the actual turntables. And I’m offering up a slow clap to DJ Cuddy, future mix master DJ Tril and Corey Black – who is not a DJ, but has kept me entertained with his Quarantine Lounge shenanigans. And while I’m randomly shouting folks out, let me say congrats to YZ The Singer for making it to Hollywood on “American Idol” last week. I was sorry to see such a short stint from him, but I’m willing to bet there are big things on the horizon. If I missed anyone, trust me, I’ll get to you in the next few weeks. I have time.
At home with Anthony Hamilton. Before I tried unsuccessfully to follow the digital breadcrumbs Badu laid down, I trotted back to Instagram Live to catch Anthony Hamilton and the little piece of show he put on in his living room. Did anyone else catch life at him hollering at his kids to pipe down between songs? I get the vibe he was trying to give off – and I understand that he had limited space because of the couches and the ottoman – but I was still hoping he would catch the Spirit and scoot up and through the whole downstairs. He sounded great though. I was just hoping for more.
Badu didn’t disappoint. I haven’t lurked on the internet for like I did for Erykah Badu’s “Apocalypse One: Quarantine Concert” since Limewire was on and poppin’, ’ And although she had me creeping around like a web sleuth searching through my new bae’s social channels for suspicious likes. I’m still sleepy a whole three days later because she threw my schedule off by having me on the prowl. She said be on the lookout at 5 p.m. Sunday, but the show didn’t start until midnight Tuesday morning. Ms. Lauryn Hill, before you absolve yourself, we were in the comfort of our own beds. I had given up on watching the concert – which she performed from the comfort of her bed as well – until my dearest friend sent me a link. It was everything I thought it would be and more – and carried on for three hours. Her bedroom looks exactly like I thought it would, like it was the boudoir of a part-time hippie fortune teller who gives “massages” on the side to make ends meet. There was a huge picture of Yoko Ono, velvets and neon colors and Boho chic lamps with velvet shades and hanging tassels. Her whole band had masks and bandanas fashioned as coronavirus protective face-wear – including the background singers – looking like the robbery scene from “Set It Off.” I always knew Durand Bernar could sing his face off, but if he can hit those notes through the masks, he’s got next in the R&B game. Badu threw down, took her wig off at the request of viewers and sang songs she wrote at seven years old. She took requests that polled songs against each other. It carried on for three hours and nearly all of it was pure life.