A large, burnished-bronze man sat on the stone wall fronting an elementary school in a dicey St. Louis neighborhood. His clean-shaven head, muscular build and deliberate manner evinced power. His relaxed torso contrasted with the firmness in his voice, as he spoke passionately to a miniature version of himself standing to his right.
“Just because I haven’t been around is no reason for you to act up. I’m back now. Every time you mess up, I’ll be right over here. In fact, before you mess up, I’ll be showing up.”
Black fathers checking sons is a good thing.
Some black men have a unique voice timbre, a diaphragmatic baritone, a resonance, a rumbling river current carrying words aloft.
Think Robeson, Warfield, McFerrin, Johnny Hodges, Joe Williams, Leon Thomas, Oscar Brown, Gil Scott-Heron, Lou Rawls, James Cleveland, Marvin Winans, Donny McClurkin, David Ruffin, Paul Williams, Levi Stubbs, Eddie LeVert, Sam and Dave, Jerry Butler, Isaac Hayes,Teddy Pendergrass, Jeffrey Osborne, Bob Marley, Shabba Ranks, Jaheim.
Maxwell and Kem have a hint of it. Tupac marvelously had it. Jay-Z definitely has it, though I never understand what he’s saying. Snoop definitely does not have it.
Sammy Davis Jr. and Frank Sinatra had it. Strangely, Frank’s voice was more soulful. He attributed his phrasing to Billie Holiday and said that whenever he heard Sarah Vaughn, he wanted to slit his throat. After such serious props, I voted him into the club.
Don’t start none; won’t be none.
We’ve also had sublime, raspy R&B (James “Godfather” Brown, Rufus Thomas, Otis Redding, Wilson Pickett, Bobby Womack), blues shouters (Howling Wolf, Muddy Waters, B. B King, Big Joe Turner), falsettos (Little Anthony, Eddie Kendricks, Marvin Gaye, Curtis Mayfield, Al Green, Ronnie Dyson, Donald Smith, Babyface, Howard Hewitt, El Debarge).
Rumbling or not, these brothers can blow.
I have a suggestion. Brothers proffering catcalls on public streets should lay off the gin and juice, or whatever else prompts Tourette’s Syndrome-like behavior.
Straight up, do not call me Baby, Sexy, Sugar or Redbone. I generally do not dress like a prostitute; plus, I bet money you do not do this to white women. Enact your power-dominance trip where it belongs, in defense of yourselves, your women and your children.
Months ago, I wrote in this column that black male role definition would determine our destiny. Massa walked into the slave cabin and took your woman all up in your face. Get your mind back. Honor us.
Obama (definitely rumbling) took his woman to the White House. It’s your turn, so go on with your bad self.
Midsummer, walking up Euclid Avenue, two dreadlocked young men ahead of me turned around and said, “Hello, Queen.” That’s what I’m talking about.
Ruth-Miriam Garnett’s newest book, Concerning Violence, New & Selected Poems,will be published this fall.
