So, I’m sitting at my daughter’s honor’s program with one of her best friends, Braves-game-ghetto-cheering for all of their ‘The Smawwt One’ buddies. I love this kid! He was all hugged up in the parking lot with his Sasha/Malia-looking girlfriend yesterday who is on her way to UGA to study pre-med, I believe. He plays in the inner-city high school band and was actually in a fairly popular snap music video for a few seconds (below).
Dem Franchize Boyz ~ Talkin Out the Side of Yo Neck
When they all went to the Battle of The Bands college fair earlier this school year, they got stopped by members of other bands who recognized him from his cameo. Purportedly, “He got that fire!” Did I mention that he’s white?
That White Kid. Remember him? Not the Jamie Kennedy, Straight From The ‘Bu caricature kid who walked around “acting black” and only saw black folk on tv, one lunchroom table over and at his back door, but the kid who was very aware of his “whiteness” in a sepia-toned world and didn’t care. Continue Reading…
TV One has this incredible series called Unsung about old school music groups and artists whose careers experienced premature endings. It’s pretty good stuff, but not too revelatory to The Smaaawt One (a pet name given me by one of my oldest buddies). It just so happens that most of the acts have always been counted among my favorites – except one.
I never really knew a whole lot about The Clark Sisters. I was a child of hippies in the 70’s who wasn’t really raised in church in the 80’s. To be honest, the first time I ever remember actually going into an Atlanta church for a service with my mother voluntarily was when she got cancer and started bargaining with The Father to spare her a premature smite. She might have been a hippie, but she wasn’t no fool and knew exactly where to appeal when times got tough. I had more than a few friends, though, who were all up in the sanctuary singing at every opportunity they could find back in the day. Choir rehearsal to some in Atlanta was like working out – they sweat through it daily, for long periods of time, diligently. So, other than listening to them on WCLK’s Sunday gospel show and listening to those friends try to approximate those lush harmonies, I never knew anything about that family, that group, until that show. What I did know was that Xscape did a rousing rendition of one of their most popular songs on their first album that still stands as one of my favorite remakes of all time.
When you’re a teen (as a few of them were when they made that album) you tend to think that everyone will live forever. Even if yo silly behind is playing chicken back on a still-undeveloped Kimberly Mill Rd. in ’80-nunnayobusiness Continue Reading…
I did it. I am now grown enough to admit that, even though I said I never would, I did it. I did a threesome.
Let your mind wander where it must, but you might get disappointed if you read on. This is a really sweet and innocent, decades-old relationship. It takes a hiatus now and again, lets life happen to us on our own, but the spark immediately lights back up when we’re in each other’s company.
We’ve been called freaks and geeks as individuals, and all the while, no one really knew how true (or untrue) those monikers were. We’re among the youngest of our peer group and leisurely talk amongst ourselves about stuff others might label as freaky. It’s geeky stuff, actually. We’re really goofy and that’s probably what’s bonded us the most. $2 buck Chuck or $2 milli ice, we interact the same in the presence of either. We talk about music. Travel. The past. And then there’s that awkward silence, the shared grin, and it’s on.
In honor of that brief yet time-honored tradition known as Freaknik, April is officially O.S.A.M. Freakin’ “A” Month. What would April be without a really good ‘nic and ‘nik (pronounced neek) and an even better freak (or 2 or 3) in Atlanta? Daytona Beach eternally has “Where The Boys Are” wailed by Connie Francis; we got “This Is How We Do It!” by “A”Transplant Montell Jordan.
A quasi-militant friend banned me from using the word picnic eons ago. I’m sure we’ve all gotten the chain emails regarding its supposed etymology. Waaaaayyyyy back in the day in The A, lynch mobs would pic(k) a N(asir Jones word) to strang up, and then bring a ten piece and a gingham sheet for the fam to sit on and watch this freakout. That is now why we Educated Black Folk (EBF) in The A have cookouts. Has nothing to do with that 8 million dollar grill at ya bwoy’s house up in GuilforFar-rest subdivision or the tin drum perpetually parked at the I-20 Snapfinger exit on which folk will cook out in the middle of “A” Snow Jam. But Freaknik started as a ‘nic back in the day in The A when Milifriend was still collecting La Tigre shirts, not revolutionary trivia. Back then, he ‘nik and ‘nic-eded his “A” off.
Freaknik itself isn’t actually an Atlanta thing. It was started in the 80’s by some Atlanta University Center (AUC) EBF’s from the Washington, D.C. Metro area as their last little school year blowout before finals and farewells. Now, let’s all think about this. Picture a Sasha Obama type from Spelman College going to a cookout with her boyfriend and sorors. Some hibachis, a boombox, B&J wine coolers (yuk!), a couple of nice cars and bermuda shorts were all that was in the offing. A hundred people at best might show up. That WAS the first Freaknik.
I remember being in my dorm (elsewhere) and getting a purply mimeographed flyer announcing the ‘8tee-nunna-yo-business event at John A. White Park, located deep in the heart of the intown SWATS. I didn’t go because Continue Reading…