Jeff brought his step-mother to rehearsal yesterday. Given the cast of characters in our band one wonders why he didn’t just bring a homunculus for us to stick pins into. Among the amusing nuggets we were able to mine was this gem of a tale about his first car ride as a ten year old with his new mom. Apparently he was not pleased with her presence and informed her by kicking the back of her seat for the entire trip. Now we know what to expect on tour.

We were preparing a new piece to present. It is entitled The Invisible Man. It has nothing to do with Ralph Ellison. It sprang from a conversation I had with a friend of mine during his visit to The City. He remarked on the remarkable number of outrageous beauties that inhabit our island. “Yes.” I replied. That is a pleasure I never tire of. They come here from all over the world. Unfortunately they quickly master the art of making one feel invisible.”

We had the usual amount of wrangling over form, feel, and harmonic structure. Its a struggle with these cats but well worth it. The tune unfailingly re-emerges much stronger.

Then it was Kosi’s turn to present a new piece. It is entitled Uptown (as in I don’t want to go-no-mo). It was nice to see somebody else wriggling on the hook. She did handle it admirably. A lesser man might have been reduced to tears. The cats quickly chopped it up but it is durable and I have a feeling it is going to be something to hear.

He was sitting alone in the corner of the dark bar, mysterious figure that he was, with one hand on a Sugar Hill brew and the other tapping a violent rhythm like thunder on the table in front of him. His hat was pulled down over his eyes, drawing a shadow over the man. Except for his nervous rhythm, he seemed cool and calm– impervious to wiles. My first thought was to dismiss him and carry on my business of drinking until the drinking was through, but something about him made me curious, and from the way he sat, turning to face me every time I crossed the room, I could tell that he was curious too.

Finally, my curiosity got the better of me and I approached him. He invited me to sit beside him, which I did, reluctantly. He said his name was Rene Calvo, and removed his hat as I sat down. I could now see his eyes, which were dark, like coal. He inquired my name, which I told him. When he asked what I do for a living, I told him that I was an out-of-work jazz singer, but that these days I spend most of my time dreaming.

“Really?” he said, suddenly appearing more animated. “I have a rock band and I could use a female singer.”
“Yeah, right,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Everybody wanna be a rock star.”

He showed me a postcard of his band, featuring himself surrounded by three well-dressed Nubian princesses. He was wearing a long suede jacket in a charming shade of hibiscus red and holding a guitar, while his princesses looked on alluringly. The top of the card read “The Goddess Lakshmi.”

This was not enough to convince me, as anyone can have any mumbo jumbo printed on a postcard for distribution.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.
“Why should I trust you? You’re a stranger.”
“Yes, but I’m an open book.”

Even as I was pondering these words, he pulled back the curtain in front of what I thought was a wall, and what lay before me gleaming was a twisted three-ring circus of activity. He stepped inside and beckoned me to follow. I froze, petrified but ever more curious. I watched as he approached the two gentlemen who seemed to be in the center of the activity.

“What’s going on, boys?” he said, jovially addressing the pair.

One of them, a fascinating figure whose skin was as black as ebony on one side of his face and a titillating white on the other, was lighting up a bong. This character, I found out later, was called Amos Christ.

“Hey! Fucking a dude! Party’s on!” he drawled, taking a hit.
“Yeah, baby!” the other quipped, pulling down on what looked like a chauffeur’s cap. I found out later that his name was Jazzy Jeff. “Skeeze my pole!”
“Skeeze the pole; pass the bowl!” Rene laughed, and took a hit from the bong.

“Who’s at the door, man?” Jeff asked after a second. I trembled like a king hemmed in by his pawn, wondering if now was the time to run.
“Yeah, man, let that sweet thing on in. Let her on in, man.”

To be continued…

Juneteenth is a portmanteau of June and nineteenth. It is the celebration of a pivotal date in Black American history.

Abraham Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation on September 22, 1862, with an effective date of January 1, 1863. The proclamation had minimal effect on most slaves’ day-to-day lives. Juneteenth commemorates June 19th as the day Union General Gordon Granger with 2,000 federal troops arrived in Galveston Texas to take possession of the state and enforce the emancipation of its slaves.

This year Juneteenth falls squarely on Sunday and The Goddess Lakshmi will be celebrating with the traditional enunciation of the Emancipation Proclamation… set to a hip-hop beat. Rappers and spoken word artists are invited to take the mic.

I first met Kosi at an open mic at Paris Blues. Her striking silhouette immediately caught my attention as she sat at the bar quaffing her signature tequila sunrise. I was taking pictures of the Les Goodson Quartet for Paula to send out to the Harlem Blogs. I asked Kosi if I could take a picture of her and she asked me “What’s it for? I told her that I was an aficionado of feminine beauty. She laughed and permission was granted.

Later when I heard her sing I was impressed not only by the quality of her voice but also by the intelligence she brought to the lyrics. Even the most banal standard becomes nuanced and layered by her interpretation. I asked her if she wanted to do a duet of a new piece I was introducing called “Love”. It went well and since that night we have slowly incorporated her into The Goddess Lakshmi.

“What’s a band called The Goddess Lakshmi doing with no chicks in it anyways ?” she recently stated to me.

The enigmatic Kosi is from Queens and nobody seems to know much else about her. Not even her last name. Unaccompanied she appears just before the gig and disappears into the night shortly after. Direct questions are parlayed by her Mona Lisa smile. I felt odd introducing her as just “Kosi” so I invented The Sublime Miss Kosi. It was a play on Lady Day and The Divine Miss M. Then Les picked it up on his Wednesday open mic night and began using it too. The other night Paula told me she wanted to make T-shirts with The Sublime Miss Kosi on it. So it appears to be sticking.

My original intention was to write a dance tune. I was imagining something along the lines of the Mashed Potato or The Twist. I began by strumming a nice Em riff . I added a simple yet elegant guitar hook rooted in the surf tradition. Then I began to think about lyrics. I had the idea for some time to write a song about chair dancing. Not the strip club kind of chair dancing but the office worker confined to their cubicle kind of chair dancing. I was improving lyrics over the riff with the refrain: ” Chair Dancing , She got me, Chair Dancing Yeah!” …and some bits about sexting with strangers. The undefined part of it was coming out like this: Um maka wanna nana
Ya ma neema nama
Oko poko say papa
Ahmalee mayana
Mama lingua no wanna O mi coco pata. I often use gibberish to get a sense of the meter and to figure out what the tune would be. As I went on like this I started laughing out loud. This is always a good sign. It reminded me of the kind of mumbo jumbo my little brother and I would improvise when we were kids. “These should be the lyrics.” I thought. Instantly I came up with the refrain: What he say?
What he say now?
What he say?
What he say?

I liked the deliberately racist over tones. I googled mumbo jumbo and confirmed its decidedly bigoted etymology. It’s always fun to mock and exploit simultaneously. When I first presented the tune to Kosi her eyes grew wide. I asked her to just improvise and she couldn’t stop laughing enough to do it. So eventually I had to write it down and email it to her. She memorized them quite quickly to my amazement, faster than I was able to actually. The format goes like this. Guitar hook intro. I sing it. Refrain. I sing it again, Kosi challenges me. (We do an Ike and Tina Turner thing where we argue onstage) Refrain. Guitar Hook. Kosi sings it while I answer her. Guitar Hook outro diminuendo. The band picked it up quickly.

I did make the mistake of telling the drummer that the beat was getting mushy in the middle. I was rewarded with a 10 minute lecture on why it’s not important for the drummer to keep the beat and that it was actually the bass player who’s responsible for keeping the beat. This was concluded with a quote from Miles Davis ladled on top. That’s band life. Note: I nearly neglected to mention one of my favorite moments related to this incident. As some point Amos was telling Kosi as she faltered, to just make it up. “It’s just gibberish.” He told her. “It’s not gibberish.” was her retort. “It’s in a language we don’t understand yet.” This is the highest compliment I have ever received for my song writing.

Last Sunday, despite dire predictions of apocalypse (or perhaps because of) The Goddess Lakshmi (band) performed on stage at Paris Blues in Harlem. The well known uptown venue provided a haven for those not raptured. Now, with six months of hell on earth before us, we invite you to join in the fun. Make merry. The beast is upon us.