Yesterday, I caught Don Cheadle’s, Miles Ahead, with an old friend from Montréal. We both thoroughly loved the film. The concert at the end of the film was phenomenal and it was good to see Esperanza Spalding joining Herbie Hancock, Wayne Shorter and Robert Glasper and Don Cheadle for, What’s Wrong with That.
More than that, I lost a tear when seeing this at the end of the film: May 26, 1926 – . Yes, indeed, Miles’ genius has no ending.
Davis III, Miles Dewey 26/5/26 <0> 28/9/91 Tiger 8.4.4 = 7
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I am so looking forward to the opening of Don Cheadle’s Miles Ahead this week. i think of any other Jazz artist, Miles is the only one whose every album, on listening to it, I conclude is a favourite. This creative genius just oozed authenticity. Of course, a major part of his outréness and originality had to do with his having been an actual old soul.
I have always been partial to him as he was briefly married to Cicely Tyson who was a maternal first cousin of my late mother’s who in her youth did play the cornet. Of course, Cicely Tyson, who is still going strong and currently starring on Broadway, is an entity mate of Miles Davis’.
My creatively gifted mother whose songs are published in the hymnal of the now Wesleyan Church was a remarkable woman who was pure intellect and a source of fierce pride. She whose paternal grandparents were Sephardi from the small Brazilian community which settled in Nevis. Indeed, she who is now reincarnated in London, England, male and first-born and about whom I have dreamt – East Indian/Caucasian heritage in this lifetime and currently aged 13 years old.
Sadly, none of my dream encounters with Miles Davis were ever audiocassette-recorded as they were never had during the decade when I did so – 1989 to 1998. Each of those dream encounters did, though, validate his agedness of spirit and he seemed every bit an old soul during astral plane encounters.
In anticipation of this long overdue film – imagine that, the paucity of Jazz biopics when so clearly Jazz is rooted in Klezmer! More than that, on to the matter of saluting a true original, a true creative genius and a giant of Black high art.
*Sadly, I have spent the last couple of weeks trying to track down the title of the Miles Davis painting herein featured; alas, to no avail have I managed to have discovered its title et al.
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Birth of the Cool, 1957.
Kind of Blue 1959.
– This is the music (Kind of Blue) I am mostly likely to listen to, after having audiocassette-recorded the dreams, on awaking from a flying dream. This music is about finding centre whilst simultaneously remaining aloft in the realms of the flying dream. As West Indians would say, it’s sweet!
As it is Jazz appreciation month, here’s to one of the most glorious elixirs that each time setting foot in my home – after experiencing racial animus in it myriad manifestations – takes me higher. Jazz is that one language, indeed, the only idiom capable of absolving the bile of being subjected to the ugliness that is the racial predator’s birthright.
Of course, like all addicts: drunks, crackheads, sexual predators – the racial predator does not self-identify and, like all addicts, is ever in denial and will angrily maintain his right to deny that there is a problem. So, since the racial predator does not exist; yet, for those of us for whom the racial predator is as real as the drunk, why wait for these marvellous boors to self-identify? There is power in labelling a problem for what it is and until one has a name for a malaise of spirit, one has no power because the well-armed and socio-economic top-baboon will always laugh his vacuous skull off whilst alleging one is crazy for stating there is a problem when there is not even a name for this non-existent problematic entity and speciously imaginary the racial predator.
Naturally, the one addiction – without fail – of the racial predator is ever his obsession with the culture of the prey he so loves feasting on. The most powerful word for the racial predator when dealing with Blacks is ‘NO’ in all its manifestations… and then, of course, you expect us to come home and settle for your apeing the culture because well… you can like that authentic-sounding sonic bleed-through from that queer parallel universe where Jazz allegedly has its roots in Klezmer… NO! Life is about callously being unpromising in one’s truth… and as has been oft declared – if you can’t sing Strange Fruit sorry, not having it.
This music is a testament to the spirit of a people who, despite the racial predator’s obsessive addiction, remains free, beautiful and ever soaring higher… Goodness, how could you ever fathom the depth and beauty of this music when you remain incapable of accepting and embracing our humanity…. your humanity?
John Coltrane’s Michael Overleaves to follow… breathe.
If only I had begun audiocassette-recording the dreams on awaking prior to February 1989. In mid-1987, I had the most lucidly awakened dream encounter with the artist, Lucian Freud. I had been in a flying dream and instinctively knew that I was in London. On alighting, I moved through a woodsy artist studio and found there the artist himself.
To better absorb his process, I had rendered myself invisible and remained in a corner whilst onlooking. Without a doubt, I had dreamquested to a session for which both men – the subjects of this canvas – sat for this painting. Of course, at the time, I was then a muse and lover to master printmaker and painter, George Hawken. This was an immensely fulfilling time in my life; it was also rather adventurous as I was then quite happily ensconced in my relationship with Merlin.
Suspecting that he was ill with AIDS, Merlin had long canned our physical relationship. Since I was in my 20s and one of my three primary needs is adventure, I most unashamedly roamed and salaciously ploughed the town. Along with Francis Bacon, Lucian Freud’s masterful work has always fascinated me. Not surprised then was I to have recently discovered that the trigger for that 1987 dream was the fact that we are entity mates.
Here’s to you and as ever sweet dreams and thanks for your ongoing support.
In celebration of every woman everywhere who has ever lived, loved and nurtured human civilisation to its fullest potentials, I salute you. The best is yet to come. Gender Equality in this century… and nothing less.
Here’s to Maria Callas – truly, a woman in full. Her Michael Overleaves to follow plus a dream in which she is featured, though, previously posted herein on this blog is linked again. Incidentally, I have since learnt that Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis was/is a Sage rather than King soul. No wonder she was truly overwhelmed by Maria Callas in the dream; indeed, no young soul sage would be a match for an old soul king.
By far, one of the funniest Academy Awards Opening monologues. Leading up to last night’s awards, I was a bit apprehensive about how the whole race row would pan out. I think that Chris Rock did a fantastic job and steered the entire controversy in the appropriate direction.
The beauty of the monologue in 1999 is how pure and wonderful it was. So much has transpired since then and we are all a very different human race post 9/11, post Barack H. Obama’s presidency – racism has become since then so in-your-face and toxic… most of all, the problem of climate change is undeniably upon us. So very good of Leonardo DiCaprio to have spoken so eloquently as he did.
Finally, regardless the diversity controversy in Hollywood and the facts being what they are, it matters little when this beautiful world is slowly becoming less viable for human civilisation… Merrily we besottedly chug along like dopey lobsters denying that it is getting tepid under the collar.
Finally, Whoopi and her opening monologue got it right, it was the best #OscarsSoWhite! ever.
Just as powerful as Michael Jackson releasing “Remember The Time” during Black History Month in 1992 so, too, Beyoncé slays by dropping Formation during Black History Month and on Bob Nesta Marley’s birthday no less. Love it… Love her!
Sweet and blissful dreams be yours… thanks so much for the joyful uplifting magic you weaved in song. I love you more… A final breath wearily collapses, focus turns inward and into the sea of wonder you fall, flying upwards to heights previously unattained. Fly! Fly! Fly!