RIP to a true leading lady. I am sincerely hoping that one of these weeks, I won’t have to use this top spot to remember people who have gone on to a better place. But I absolutely could not move forward without taking a moment to cherish the memory of the true leading lady that was Linda Kennedy. She played everybody’s mama, auntie wife and wise woman for as long as I can remember, and not only inspired the generations of artists who followed her, but gave them the tools they needed to pursue their own craft – both on stage and behind the scenes. The St. Louis theater community as a whole suffered a major loss with Linda’s passing on Friday, but The Black Rep lost a matriarch. Let’s send love, light, prayers and condolences to her son and grandchildren, and the artistic children and grandchildren she nurtured and compelled to live out loud.
Jammin’ with Stephen Marley. I have been waiting for months to see Stephen Marley, my favorite Marley of the whole gang, do his thing under the stars at Atomic Cowboy Pavilion Thursday night. I am so glad it was outdoors since he has a sizable hippie fan base. And let’s face it, deodorant is not a priority for them. Stephen and his family of opening acts tore it all the way up. I’m so glad that he didn’t shy away from covering his dad’s music – and his take on Stevie Wonder’s “Master Blaster” that led into “Jammin’” was utterly epic. I can hear him a thousand times and never get over how much he sounds like his daddy. Neither could the guests. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen such a diverse crowd. You had the hippies, the Rasta folks, the regular black and white folks – and then you had that elderly couple that was karate dance-fighting for Stephen’s whole set. Those two were so free and loose that everyone around them gave them their own circle so they could keep the kick/chop innocent concert collateral damage to a minimum.
African arts, fun and fellowship. Saturday afternoon, the space directly across from Crown Candy became a Babylon for the black to the basic community, thanks to the 6th Annual Saint Louis African American Artifacts Festival and Bazaar. Listen, it was like an all ages, friendly Afropunk, where black folks were selling everything from shea butter, black soap to barbecue and African arts. I was so glad I remembered to stop through. The natural hair and dashiki game of this event was undefeated – mainly because some of the folks got into their blackness during the original Black Power movement. The performance stage was nice too. It featured African dancers, poets, bands and more. Justin Hoskin and his crew got it in. As did a gentleman whose name I didn’t get, who performed Musiq Soulchild’s “Just Friends” in the manner that Musiq surely wishes he could have done on the original track. Because I was peeping the vendors when he started, I didn’t hear him get introduced. But he was playing the saxophone and singing. And his fade into “Sunny,” the song Musiq sampled from, was absolutely everything.
Dionne and friends. After fellowshipping with my Afrocentric folks, I made my way to the A Night of Class show at Stifel Theatre Saturday night. I got my life, mainly because I felt like I was watching a concert version of a “Body & Soul” box set. Remember those infomercials? “Deniece Williams was up first. She looked good in her fashion interpretation of a toned down “Solid Gold” dancer of a certain age – kitten heels and all. Those were some sleeves, honey. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that much material devoted to the wrist area of a blouse in all my life. She could have swaddled a plus-sized toddler in each arm. And while her voice was more warbly than in years past, she still has the range. I got my whole entire life from “Let’s Hear it For The Boy” and “Silly.” But I was a bit sick that she did so much talking that there was no time for “Black Butterfly.” Peabo Bryson looked great – especially considering his recent health scare. He sounded even better than he looked. I mean those velvety vocals sound twice as good as they did on my “Body & Soul” cassettes. I found it utterly hilarious that a music legend like Dionne Warwick didn’t want to be bothered with any introduction. She casually walked out, did one of those “Here I am” body gesture movements, perched up on a stool and got right into it. She was kind enough to offer explanation about a sore foot of sorts. As a music great and grandmother of grown children, I feel like she’s earned the right to wear house shoes to work, whatever the reason. Let me go ahead and say right now that if I’m still clocking in for y’all at 78, I will be unapologetically out in these streets with a pair of Isotoner memory foam slippers with faux fur lining to match every one of my pants suits. Speaking of grannies, she sounded so much like my Grandma Mae Ola when she yelled out “Hush, gal!” to that unruly audience member, that I thought the next words out of her mouth were going to be “Since you don’t think fat meat is greasy, go out in them woods and get me a switch,” when the woman kept on shouting. On stage, she gave a “normally I would be in the bed watching the news by now, but I’m going to go ahead and perch on this stool and sing these little songs,” energy level. She sounded great. But trust that aside from gathering a couple feral fans, she didn’t raise that voice one decibel above what was required of her. That look she shot the woman who yelled out “Dianne,” reminded me that she is the last of the living legendary shade queens. Perhaps that’s how she has managed to preserve it for 60 years.
Super Ego’s big 4-0. I almost called it a night after hitting up the African Arts Bazaar and Dionne and ‘nem in the same day, but I’m so glad I stopped through Dos Salas to fellowship with Damion “Super Ego” Mitchell for his 40th birthday bash. I ran into folks I hadn’t seen in ages – like my faves Natalie of the Lash Loft, and Ashley and Tierha who stopped through to kick it while at home visiting from Texas. It was quite the cute gathering of folks, although the dress code for the ladies seemed to be custom home -made chiffon and sequins.
