Hampton06

Biggie Give Me One More Chance...

phillbranch@gmail.com (Hampton06) — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 22:46:00 +0000

i had intended to use spring break as a marathon of non-stop writing. that hasn't quite been the case, but i have had some time to sit still a bit and think.

yesterday, i sat for hours and wrote about two words. finally giving up, i decided to do one of my favorite things, go to the supermarket. i don't know if it's the lighting, or the satellite radio, but something about strolling the aisles calms me. after three stores, and about three hours of food shopping, i decided to just go home, try my new kashi cookies and relax. i figured that i could start bright and early in the morning.

the universe had different plans.

i turned on the television as i woke up from an uncomfortable night's sleep on my couch. biggie's "one more chance" was just starting. i've seen this video a million times, but i sat up and watched like i'd never seen it before. i don't think i'd ever really thought about it before, but it might be my favorite hip-hop video and song.

i got up after the video finished and went about my day. i figured that i'd do some cleaning. that always helps clear my head. i ended up starting in my closets. they are a mess.

i'd been stuck for the last couple days trying to work through some ideas about writing about life in my twenties. i don't keep a proper journal. i have notes, scraps of paper, photos, receipts, programs etc. i didn't really intend to spend my whole day digging through papers, but i ended up in a trance.

i blame vh1 soul.

i decided that i had to find this article i wrote for a st. louis paper about the night biggie was shot. i was at the vibe party. seeing that video this morning made me obsessed with finding this thirteen year old scrap of paper that had probably browned by now. of course, it wasn't in the first, or second box i looked in. it was in the BOTTOM of the third box i picked up.

i believe in order. i don't think it was an accident that biggie was on when i woke up and i don't think it was an accident that the article was in third box. i don't know that i realized it for the first couple hours of searching, but sitting on the floor today opened me up. what i had been forcing for the last couple days, just happened naturally and easily today. these boxes are time capsules.

below is the article that was published in march 1997. i am resisting the urge to edit. i wouldn't write this story in the same way now, but i like looking at it as a snapshot. i'm glad that i have this to remember that night by. it's still only about a quarter of what happened. it probably would be easier to just keep a journal.

Phill Branch
St. Louis Evening Whirl
March 1997

The pop world stood still as reports flashed that rap artist, actor, icon Tupac Shakur passed way. Tupac's death sent shock waves through the media and chills through the hip hop community. Not since O.J. has so much speculation taken place about who did what and why.

People from coast to coast gathered around water coolers, schoolyards, bus stops and homes expressing their feelings about the tragic ending to Tupac's life. Not all were sympathetic.

Big mouthed New York City deejay Wendy Williams, referred to Tupac as "1Pac," because he had one lung and one testicle. Williams was quickly booted out of the door and suspended.

Fast forward six months later. Christopher Wallace, a.k.a. Biggie Smalls is shot dead in a hail of gunfire after a music industry party. Like Tupac, Biggie's death was a result of a drive-by that sent people running for cover. Both shootings occurred around huge celebrity events; Tupac after a Tyson fight and Biggie after the Soul Train Music Awards. Eerily, both were also shot sitting in the passenger seats of the vehicles they were in.

Touted as being one of the most "slammin" parties of the year, due to backers like Vibe Magazine, Qwest Records and hip hop clothing icon Tommy Hilfiger, the event was held at the Peterson Automotive Museum on Museum Row in Los Angeles.

The question on several people's minds who attended the event is, "Could this have been prevented?"

What is known, is that the Vibe party last year went off without a hitch on the lot of Paramount Studios on Melrose. Guests were required to show passes in order to drive into the studio parking lot. Those without passes were turned away. After parking, everyone went through security where their tickets and names were checked. Then, security did a metal detector search. I felt like I was going through the airport, Inside the party people from D'Angelo to Queen Latifah to Marlon Wayans were getting their groove on, networking and drinking.

This year's event was quite different. There was no security check before letting people enter the parking area. To my surprise no metal detector searches were done at the door. I don't think I've been to a party in years without getting patted down. I don't know what they were thinking, you need metal detectors at most house parties nowadays.

The party called for upscale attire, but for about a third of the people there, that meant jeans and sports jerseys. If you watch the Soul Train Awards, you see that they barely wanted to get dressed up for that...and that's on TV! Despite the casual attire worn by some, the mood was mellow initially and all seemed well.

People gathered around talking, some were on the dance floor getting buck wild and a few people took advantage of the jazz room where they could talk without screaming and nibble on gourmet finger food. Business cards were not the only thing being passed around the party though...the weed was flowing. The fire marshals warned the event hosts that the smoking had to stop. Busta Rhymes even hopped on stage and told folks to chill before the marshals shut down the party.

Biggie worked the crowd as his new single "Hypnotize" blared in the background. He was later introduced by his friend and Bad Boy Entertainment president Sean "Puff" Combs. Later, Puffy hopped around with some of his crew chanting "Bad Boy" in celebration of his company's success.

The crowd was just about to stomp a hole in the floor when the deejay began to play Case and Foxy Brown's "Touch Me, Tease Me" when the music stopped. Eventually the lights came on and a very disgruntled group of party-goers began filing out towards the exits.

Since the party ended abruptly, chaos set in almost immediately. The crush of cars and people quickly turned what had been a mellow vibe, into pandemonium. At one point, a bottle was thrown down an empty escalator, shattering and causing people to scatter. That was my cue to get out.

My crew and I decided to walk home, which was a couple blocks away, since we could not safely get our cars. Nothing had really happened, but the mood was to hectic and tense. About ten minutes after we made our way through my front door, we heard sirens.

Wilshire Blvd. was lit up with lights from police cars and fire trucks. Initially, I figured it might have been just another fight that had gotten out of control, perhaps someone disrespecting somebody's girl. But I was wrong, Biggie Smalls had been shot and killed.

What a night. R.I.P. Biggie.

Mo'Nique, Mo'Problems

phillbranch@gmail.com (Hampton06) — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 02:51:00 +0000

If you are keeping score in terms of Academy Awards, it’s Mo’Nique one...Angela Bassett, zero. That fact seems to be upsetting some critics.

No one is arguing that Mo’Nique didn’t give the performance of her life playing Mary Jones in the much-praised film “Precious.” However, some feel that her win is symbolic of Hollywood’s grim view of black women. They argue that someone like Bassett, who has made a career of playing notable black women including Rosa Parks, Tina Turner, Betty Shabazz (twice) and even Katherine Jackson, is a better representation.

We’d all be lying if we said that we saw an Oscar in Mo’Nique’s future back when she was on “Def Comedy Jam,” but that was then. She gave an amazing performance in “Precious” and now the rest is Oscar history.

Noted Princeton University professor Melissa Harris-Lacewell stated on Twitter, “[It’s]fine for ‘Precious’ to have been made. Great for Mo'Nique to win. [Question] is why we like consuming these versions of black womanhood.” While noting that she was “thrilled” for Mo’Nique, Harris-Lacewell went on to say, “’Precious’ & ‘Blind Side’ wins together were a double gut punch for representations of black motherhood.”

I respect Harris-Lacewell’s opinions, but as a professor myself, I worry about where this type of thinking leaves my students. I’m also concerned about how it boxes me in as a writer. I teach Cinema Studies courses at a historically black university. I am invested in my students’ freedom as thinkers. I worry they may become shackled to telling stories of empowerment and “strong black man/womanhood,” because they owe a debt to the black “community.” I worry that I, as a flawed, black, gay man, will be unable to use my life as inspiration, because some parts of my story are in direct opposition to the mythical view of what black manhood is.

I screened Todd Solandz’s “Welcome to the Dollhouse” in class recently. The film, a dark comedy about an awkward suburban girl, is filled with characters doing and saying deplorable things. It’s brilliant. Like Lee Daniels' “Precious,” “Welcome to the Dollhouse” won the Grand Jury Prize at the Sundance Film Festival. Both films, in very different ways, explore the underbelly of American family life. “Welcome to the Dollhouse” has its own monster-like mother figure, Mrs. Wiener. Dark comedy isn’t a genre that you find marketed towards black audiences. Yet, as I sat in the back of the screening room, my class full of African-American students howled in laughter.

After the film ended, I asked the class if they thought they would have laughed as hard if the film centered on a black family. Many said they wouldn’t have been able to enjoy it in the same way. They believed that they would have been sensitive to some of the characterizations. That’s unfortunate.

The Mary Jones character in “Precious” is not a representation of black motherhood. Mrs. Weiner doesn’t represent white motherhood. They are characters in fictional stories. Period. I’m not naïve. I am aware of Hollywood’s fascination with white people offering salvation to blacks, or any other people of color for that matter. I am also aware of Hollywood’s love affair with black pathology portrayed as reality. For example, “The Sopranos” was clearly seen as a fictional, while “The Wire” was often regarded a quasi-documentary. It was perfectly okay for people to assume they understood more about blacks because of “The Wire,” but it would be ignorant for someone to presume to have more understanding of Italians, because of watching “The Sopranos.”

Dismissing the achievement of “Precious,” because of socio-political intellectual fear, is almost as backwards as any pandering, poorly executed piece of art. I’m not saying the film is above critique; but some critics confuse me calling for forward movement, while hanging on to old and often repressive ideology.

You want new images? Stop waiting for Sundance to anoint a film and check out the selections that come out of smaller festivals. “Precious” was not the only quality independent film featuring African-Americans this year. If you don’t have time to look through festival selections; just Google Hill Harper. He’s in several little films filled with black characters from two parent homes, who learned to read in grade school. Might I suggest “Loving Jezebel?”

African-American artists have long been criticized for creating work that highlights the rougher edges of the culture. The irony is that many educated blacks fight against the invisibility they face professionally and socially, while seeking to render their cousins who don't have the same pedigree, invisible.

Congratulations to the entire “Precious” team. Job well done.

hey stranger...

phillbranch@gmail.com (Hampton06) — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 20:06:00 +0000

i'm not gonna think, i'll just type. if i think too long, i won't write anything and since i decided earlier this week, that i'd write a blog before week's end, i just need to write something.

technically i could stop now, but i'll keep going. i am not quite sure where to start. it's been so long. i don't really have an excuse for not writing. i just haven't. it be that way sometimes, ya dig?

it's 2010. that really trips me out. all of the new millennium mayhem feels like it was just yesterday. this whole process of ringing in a new year really takes on a different form when your happy.

most of my adult life, even when i was younger and smashed out of my mind on new year's eve, i had already spent the better part of november through december wondering how i'd squandered another year.

as i got older, this process of reeling from imagined failure started earlier and earlier in the year. by 2004, i'd start lamenting in july. july would come around and for me, that meant christmas was around the corner. the year was over.

so merely six months into the year, i'd already be thinking about how to do it right the next time around. i had a partner in crime who'd go all in with the whole 'next year is our year' thing. she was slightly less ridiculous than i was. once july hit, she'd only conclude that THANKSGIVING was around the corner.

the whole 'next year is our year' thing was hardly ever about "real life" stuff. a year being determined as "our year" meant that we'd achieved some nearly statistically impossible goal of hollywood success.

sad.

i realized, that i haven't done that early mourning, or any mourning of the year past for the last two years. it's not that i don't have some goals that are almost statistically impossible to achieve. i think i just got comfortable with life in a different way.

i'm good with where i am.

no need for huge resolutions, i'll just work in the direction of things i am interested in and enjoy. period.

it feels great not entering a new year feeling like you've done something wrong. i spent new year's eve with loved ones, good food and a very uncomfortable to watch dick clark. when i woke up (i'm not counting the 3am water/advil waking up), it was just january 1st, not the 'dawn of new day.'

so instead of a resolution on new year's, i felt a sense of gratitude. i felt thankful for my friends and family. i felt thankful for the kind words in a comment on the blog. i felt thankful for being in love. i felt thankful for being able to hang out w/old crew on facebook where we can laugh (award show recaps) and grieve (R.I.P. MJ). i felt thankful for the team that has supported my webseries. i felt thankful for eating and discovering the joy of bacon for the first time in my life. i felt thankful for the insurance plan that helps cover the lipitor that i need from one too many slices of said bacon.

don't get me wrong, there have been some moments. life is tough sometimes. for instance, i have had a migraine for three days and my head is pounding as i write this, but still, life is good.

i'm not getting a ton of hits on the blog since i've been a little less frequent with the posting, so i can say with some certainty that most people reading would be someone i know in some capacity, so let me simply say, thanks.

happy new year.

good hair...

phillbranch@gmail.com (Hampton06) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 21:58:00 +0000

i saw chris rock's 'good hair.' i saw it with my mom and my aunt, both of whom have hair. in fact, all of the women in the theater had hair and many of them seemed very invested in what chris had to say about the subject.

i saw the film in a small, old style theater; pre-megaplex. the screen was about the size of a nice plasma. this made things a bit more intimate than i like, but when in rome...

the theater filled with small groups of women and a handful of couples. initially, outside of being black, there wasn't any specific common thread.

and then the film started...

at one point, after seeing what the chemical in a perm can do to a soda can, it felt like all of the women in there (my mother and aunt excluded) were going to join hands and pray.

i have NEVER experienced this sort of behavior in a theater. i have heard people shout recipes ('soul food'). i have seen people dance in the aisle ('school daze'). i have seen fights (magic johnson theaters - crenshaw plaza). none of that compared to the way these women began to speak, full voice, to each other as they watched this film.

there seemed to be both a sense of fun and embarrassment. a woman began screaming, 'my hair is beautiful!' when chris couldn't get shop owners to buy black hair. another woman screamed, 'no more perms my sistas!' half the audience applauded and began chanting 'no perms!'

wtf?!?

as i sat there, i actually got sad. folks have really done a number on us. i don't care what anyone does to their hair; but the idea that the 'norm' is a perm, is sobering. the idea that it's radical just letting your hair grow as it naturally comes out of head is pretty bad.

the saddest part of the film was a moment with a couple of high school girls. one of the girls had a natural. the other girls with straight hair went on to say how unkempt and possibly unemployable the young lady with the natural looked. the girl was beautiful.

parents, uncles, aunts, friends sisters, brothers...we have to do better.

side note: i will discuss this new fascination w/black men in riding boots in another post. chris' film featured the very popular stylist derek j. from atlanta's 'real housewives.'

an irene cara moment...

phillbranch@gmail.com (Hampton06) — Sat, 26 Sep 2009 21:54:00 +0000

in a touring production of 'the wiz.'

here she is starring in 'busted up.' how did i miss this?

by the way...if you're reading this on facebook, i don't think video, or pics show up in their feed. go to the original post on hampton06.com

the original...

phillbranch@gmail.com (Hampton06) — Sat, 26 Sep 2009 21:17:00 +0000

i woke up from my nap today to find martin sheen dishing out raw emotion in the 1986 tv movie "samaritan: the mitch snyder story."

cicely tyson co-starred. she was an old homeless woman. the makeup was horrible. cicely doesn't look that old now and it's 23 years later. it got me thinking though...the makeup and hair departments jack cicely up quite often.

anyhoo...

what really caught my eye, was the recognizable character actor standing around in most of the scenes. i know his face, but i've never known his name. as i looked at him today, i realized that he was the original michael clarke duncan.

i couldn't think of what else he'd been in right off hand, so with the magic of google, i was able to discover that his name is stan shaw. he's probably best known for "harlem nights" and "roots: the second generation."

while not a household name, i think his legacy is breaking down barriers for large black men to play gentle souls.

the mist...

phillbranch@gmail.com (Hampton06) — Sat, 26 Sep 2009 20:46:00 +0000

one of the things that i like to do on lazy weekend days is watch old movies. i especially like when there's a film on that it seems like i should have seen and sometimes, in certain company, i will let people assume that i've watched; for example, "silkwood."

today, my early matinee included the last hour of "cocoon" - genius and "gorillas in the mist."
i recall that i avoided seeing "gorillas..." on purpose. the whole white woman, going to africa and saving the gorillas thing might have been too much for me at the time.

i decided that this was the day. so i leaned back into my sofa, ready to watch sigourney work her magic in the jungle.

within the first fifteen minutes, i was already squirming. sigourney arrives in africa in this outfit more suited for wimbledon. she quickly adapts to her surroundings and has african men carrying her things around in no time. ahhh...just like home.

at one point, soldiers destroy her camp and she begins screaming, "i'm american!" julia louis-dreyfus did the same thing on this week's 'new adventures of old christine' when she got stuck on the customs office in the bahamas. at least with julia, it was supposed to be funny.

in one "moving" scene, after tracking unsuccessfully with her african guide, sigourney finally sees her first gorillas. sigourney is taken in by their beauty and majesty. i was literally thinking, "just leave them alone."

then out of nowhere, one of the gorillas goes ape shit and begins chasing sigourney and her guide.

i found myself saying, "get 'em." at that point, i knew it was time to shut it down. i shouldn't be rooting for the gorilla to kill sigourney. she was only there trying to help.

i rolled over and went to sleep.

the ill professors: District 9 & Race

phillbranch@gmail.com (Hampton06) — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 13:03:00 +0000

“The African-American Influence in Film” was the name of a panel that I participated in at this year’s Mid-Atlantic Black Film Festival. I wasn’t exactly sure where that topic would lead the discussion. How would the moderator frame the conversation? We never really did address the African-American influence, but as in most discussions about blacks in film, the conversation turned to money and power.

Money and power.

One of the films that was mentioned during the panel was “District 9.” I hadn’t seen it yet. There was this idea of ownership of ghetto themes. It was if the film had a responsibility as a social commentary, more than as a piece of entertainment. The thought was that the aliens represented “us” and the film itself was a vague attempt to put a sci-fi spin on apartheid.

I’d read about the Nigerian government’s request that theaters stop playing the film. Admittedly, I didn’t pay much attention to the controversy. I didn’t think much more of it than I did of the uproar over the recent “Transformers” film. Now, after seeing the film, I understand why Nigerians are upset.

Nigerians are portrayed as alien flesh eaters, prostitutes, gangsters and witch doctors. As I type this, I realize it sounds a bit like Lafayette on “True Blood.” The difference however, is that Lafayette represents himself, not blacks. The Nigerian characters in “District 9” appear to paint a broad picture of the entire population. Going back to that money and power theme, the larger problem is that many people won’t make the distinction. They will just have this visual impression of Africans. Sure, they’ll all read about Nigeria’s issue with the film, but will anyone care? Is Hollywood concerned with losing the money from the box office in Nigeria? Probably not.

What I hope doesn’t get lost in the controversy, is the fact that “District 9” is a great film. The film’s core story about a bureaucrat, who doesn’t care much about the aliens until they become a personal issue, rang very true. How many of us become more concerned about AIDS, cancer, homosexuality, abuse etc. after we are personally affected? I watch the news sometimes and wonder why they interview black people after a young black child is killed. I suspect that someone white would also have a compassion for that type of tragedy. It’s that sort of separation being examined in the film; the idea that one person’s pain is different from someone else’s.

The film made me think back to the festival panel. There were those who felt strongly that like the aliens in “District 9,” they were relegated to the ghetto of the filmmaking community. They are forced to take the scraps that Hollywood dishes out. In some ways I understand the frustration, but I believe that we have more power than we give ourselves credit for. In the film, one of the aliens, with his own resources, creates a spaceship in the hopes of finding his way out of the ghetto. In terms of film, Tyler Perry has created his own spaceship. The brothers at Rainforest Films have as well. There are others doing the same. The availability of inexpensive digital equipment makes it more possible than ever for people to tell their stories. So while for some, “District 9” is another example of the exploitation of people of color, I saw a film about the power of hope and ingenuity. If I’d seen the film prior to the festival panel, I would’ve told everyone to build their own spaceship and stop waiting for a ride on someone else’s.

To hear and read more from The Ill Professors, go to illprofessors.com

mammies and trannies

phillbranch@gmail.com (Hampton06) — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 19:53:00 +0000

nene leakes is a star. period. anderson cooper loves her and so does ryan seacrest. the breakout star of bravo's atlanta version of 'real housewives' is making moves in hollywood.

this past week she co-hosted the red carpet of the emmys on E!. it was great fun watching the annoying mr. jay get upstaged by nene. it was even more fun to watch nene not shift gears because of her new surroundings. she was as "refined" as she is on her 'real housewives.'

i could just imagine lisa wu and sheree eating chips and being totally annoyed that they were not on the carpet. i mean, they are the ones who know the fashion world. (if this is your first time reading my blog, i am being sarcastic.)

i was celebrating nene's keep it real success and then all of a sudden a flash of nell carter went through my mind. i guess it wasn't really nell carter. it was nell carter as her character in 'gimme a break.' big, loud, sassy. then the flashes kept coming...

monique (pre-"precious"), louisse beavers, effie white, etc.

ms. leakes falls into a long line archetypal mammy characters that america has fallen in love with. she's nurturing, even with kim's kids. she's loud, sassy and tells it like it is.

and i love it.

there's a part of me though, that wants to see lisa and sheree get their own little piece of the pie. for me, that would actually be a forward step. they are "soulful," but in a much different way than nene is. ironically, there success hampered by their chiseled features and silky hair. i root for them in the same way i root for aisha tyler. not everybody has the capacity to suck their teeth, roll their eyes and necks as nene and monique, but there's room for all of us right?

my gut tells me that sheree might actually have a better go of things if she embraced the gays. she's a bitch, has high cheekbones and created the BEST catch phrase of the year, "who gon'check me boo?" she could have a good three year run at pride festivals just off of the catchphrase alone.

all this nell carter talk has me wanting to bump my 'ain't misbehavin' soundtrack.

HBCUs: The Ill Professors

phillbranch@gmail.com (Hampton06) — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 19:47:00 +0000

I was watching the “Tyra Show” recently and there was a young lady of mixed black and white heritage speaking of her dislike of black people. The young woman had chocolate brown skin and resented the fact that she didn’t benefit from her whiteness in terms of her complexion. She wants to pass.

In addition to that young woman, there were several other guests of mixed heritage who complained that they didn’t like part of who they are. Most were using broad stereotypes of the culture they were choosing to deny. Putting aside how sad I felt for these women, I couldn’t help but notice how flawed their positions were.

As I begin another year as a professor at an HBCU, I realize that I cherish the university I work for because of its unique characteristics, not just because it’s black. In this supposed post-race era we live in, many are asking if there is still a place for black colleges and universities. I find the question itself exhausting. I usually don’t respond to the question, but many who address it, speak of how different and special the experience of an HBCU is.

As a HBCU alum, I do feel that my experience was special, but much of the experience was unique to my alma mater. While there are many similarities between HBCUs, the bands, the Greek life etc.; going to Spelman is not the same as going to Lincoln. The schools are as individual as we are as people. Also, I don’t like the subtext that attending an institution that isn’t an HBCU is somehow less special. At best, I will say the experiences are different.

As I sat listening to the guests on “Tyra” unable to give specifics on what they hate, or love about whites, blacks, or Latinos; I thought about this HBCU discussion. The truth is, I can talk in some generalities about the HBCU experience versus a different type of college experience, but I think specifics work best.

As an undergrad, Hampton University was an oasis. The education, environment and support changed my life. As a professor at Hampton, it is still an oasis. The only difference is that I get to cherish the experience my students are having, in addition to my own. I am sure that most alumni and academics feel this way about their institutions. Ultimately, it’s about the students. As long as students seek the type of education that HBCUs provide, there should be a place for them to go.

For those who say that black institutions don’t give a “real world” experience, should we get rid of everything catered towards a specific market? I don’t ever hear anyone rallying against black clubs, or radio stations. Many people who will complain about HBCUs will gather exclusively with black folks on the Vineyard and at Essence Fest. They’ll join black sororities and fraternities. Why is that okay, but not a HBCU education?

It all comes down to personal choice. Sure, society has changed. We can go to any school we want. For that reason, I think it’s especially noteworthy that HBCUs have survived. Integration was the death of many things that were exclusively black. Many businesses and neighborhoods crumbled once blacks were free to live and shop wherever they wanted. That these schools still exist, speaks to their relevance.

Go to illprofessors.com to hear more.

funny stuff...

phillbranch@gmail.com (Hampton06) — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 19:26:00 +0000

not even babies can resist her powers...

bonnie has kim down...

Comeback Kids: The Ill Professors

phillbranch@gmail.com (Hampton06) — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 19:50:00 +0000

In this “insta-fame” world we live in, an artist can be both relevant and irrelevant all within the span of a single year. Sudden fame and then equally sudden invisibility, is most noticeable in the music industry. Back in the old days, like five years ago, we used to actually buy whole CDs. Now, with the rise of iTunes and the enormous amount of money that can be made with a hit single, an artist can need a comeback after only having one song. 2009 has seen two major “comebacks.” First, Maxwell returned after a long hiatus to a patiently waiting audience. Next, we had Whitney Houston dropping new material after a seven-year absence.

Maxwell’s recent success is only slightly shocking. Both radio and the audience have changed a bit since Maxwell first hit the scene. Fortunately, despite the narrow playlists of most stations, radio made room for him. More interesting, is the return of Miss Houston.

Truthfully, I didn’t expect to see Whitney pull through what appeared to be very tough times. I hoped that it would happen, but after about four episodes of “Being Bobby Brown,” I was nervous. Now, after listening to Whitney’s new music and watching her purge with Oprah, I believe that she’s made it through. Sure enough the personal issues were alarming, but even in the midst of her troubles Whitney released good music. Check out “Fine” and “If I Told You That” on her 2001 greatest hits collection.

Many articles have been written debating Whitney’s relevance. In some ways, the amount of interest in her should have answered that question. I took a look at the top selling albums of 1985, the year Whitney released her debut album. Whitney’s album was the best-selling record of that year. Heart, ZZ Top, John Cougar Mellencamp and Dire Straits followed her. So, what is that some of you are asking about relevance?

If Heart drops a CD this year that debuts at #1 with 300,000 copies sold, that would be a comeback. Whitney doing that with her latest project is at best a rebound. Twenty-five, or so years after her debut, she's doing okay. Ciara debuted with 82,000 with her recent effort. LeToya Luckett sold 33,000 of her latest in its debut week (I was one of the few, it’s not bad). Both of those artists are just a handful of years into the game, with sales that don’t equal the amount of attention they receive. Still, some, including columnists at ew.com, question if a debut at the top of the charts is enough for Whitney? Give me a break. I suppose once you’ve sold fourteen million copies of one album, you’re expected to do it all of the time.

Speaking of comebacks, there are a couple I’d like to put a bid in for. In no particular order, I’d like to see the following artists back on the charts - Shanice, Dionne Farris, Lisa Lisa and Brownstone. Can anyone of you reading help make that happen?

To hear more, go to illprofessors.com.

being tiny...

phillbranch@gmail.com (Hampton06) — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 05:06:00 +0000

i'll just say it. "tiny & toya" wasn't so bad. in fact, i was impressed. i'll take it a step further and say that both tiny and toya are actually good role models in many respects.

the bourgeoisie weeps.

i had not planned to watch the show. if it had not been for constant facebook updates, i may have never even taken a look at it. it isn't that i have a problem with the formerly third most famous person from x-scape.(official fame ranking: 1. latocha; 2. kandi; 4. the other one) it's just that i didn't understand what her story was. i was resistant to the idea that she was relevant because of who she is in love with. as far as toya, i just didn't know who she was.

upon the announcement of tiny and toya's show, the talented tenth went into all out uproar. there wasn't any violence, or anything; just a few snarky blogs and status updates.

i ended up watching a few episodes "on demand" last week. i expected to foolishness. instead, i saw two woman who love their families and do as much as they can to support each other.

it's a little sad that some people couldn't get past some of the accents, bad pop-psychology and t.i's troubles to notice that tiny comes from a loving family; a still intact family with a strong sense of connection.

sure, it made me a cringe just a slight bit when toya got a book agent, but her genuine joy in having found something to call her own was pretty touching. it can't be easy coming from a household with a drug addicted mother. she's trying.

what i find most interesting isn't that people aren't attacking the production quality of the show and there are couple cheesy elements that call for immediate fast-forwarding. instead, people attack the women. what strikes me about that, is that many of the people attacking these girls are service oriented people. people who spend their time with alumni, or greek lettered organizations, working with young girls who are exactly like tiny and toya.

we want diversity. well, this is it. everybody can't be vanessa huxtable.

however, regarding 'frankie and neffe,' i have no rational explanation for how much i enjoy it.

julia & phill

phillbranch@gmail.com (Hampton06) — Mon, 31 Aug 2009 00:25:00 +0000

i'll try to keep this brief. school starts tomorrow and i have to get myself together. one of the best things about the school year is that you can really feel a beginning, middle and end of a year's time. there are markers.

i ended up seeing a movie that i didn't intend to see today. due to spending a couple more minutes than i should have on facebook and going to the slowest mcdonald's on the planet, i missed the movie i set out to see.

i saw 'julie & julia' instead.

i was sitting there, enjoying myself, as i always do when meryl is on the screen and out of nowhere God showed up.

last year this time, i was on the tail end of a year long tailspin. i was starting over.

i received a text during the movie, telling me that the trailer for my new webseries was posted. in that moment, i realized that so much had happened since last august.

we shot the first episode of the series, a series i helped create, last august. i couldn't be at the shoot. i was broke. i could barely put gas in my car. correction, i could NOT put gas in my car. so, from a distance, i helped steer the ship, uncertain if i'd be able to finish what i'd started. at that time, i couldn't see a point where i could be involved in the way that i needed to be.

fast forward one year later, i spend two weeks in l.a., hanging out with friends and working on the project. the thought never once crossed my mind about how broke i was the year before. receiving the text today, i remembered.

i think it's because of the markers. it's the end of a year and a day away from starting a new one.

"cool," i thought, "now back to the movie."

moments after receiving the text, amy adams' character goes through a series of events that parallel my life and my dreams. without even really knowing if anyone would be reading, she writes. her blog, fueled by her passion and her willingness to be present changes her life.

i should have known something was going to happen at this screening. when the trailer for the "fame" remake came on, i thought to myself how the original is partly responsible for years of poverty and rejection. i also thought to myself, "i wouldn't have it any other way."

i've lived.

i needed to see this movie today. i had made an agreement with my friend kara that we'd both see it this weekend. but in the spirit of getting in my own way, i decided at the last minute to see 'district 9.' apparently the universe had other plans.

i don't think i've cried like this at a movie, ever. the last fifteen minutes became one long "thank you." i wasn't just thankful for the blessed year. i was thankful for running late and the slow people at mcdonald's. i am also thankful for what's in store.

i cried because i hear God in moments like that. i am overwhelmed by how great that force is when God speaks. these moments teach me how to listen and how to trust my intuition. doing those those things has served me fairly well.

i am also reminded that i am not doing this alone. it's not just me and God. it's me and you. i was reminded about how careless people can be with someone's dreams and i will hopefully be more careful to not be that way. i was reminded about faith.

there isn't any way, in any logical scenario, that i should have been planning on doing something that shoots in l.a.; but that's what i did.

it didn't make sense. i didn't have answers, but i knew that it felt right. it is an incredible feeling to realize that you've taken steps in the dark and arrived exactly where you want to be.

the future? - RE-POST from 8/25/08

phillbranch@gmail.com (Hampton06) — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 15:24:00 +0000

I wrote the this post a year ago on August 25, 2008. Kennedy's death on August 25, 2009, feels like a wink. There's a book I read called When God Winks, that talks about quiet, almost unnoticeable moments, that remind you that God is paying attention. Sen. Kennedy's death is a reminder that this health care reform battle has been waged for a long time. It's time to move forward. I'm not sure that anyone has the "correct" solution, but we have to do something.

R.I.P.

A few nights back on TV, I happened on to Edward Kennedy's 1980 Democratic Convention keynote speech. It is, quite possibly, one of the best speeches I've ever heard. Laying there, watching the room full of people whose clothing and hairstyles made them look like extras from an episode of "Welcome Back Kotter", Ted Kennedy's words felt as contemporary and important as anything said during this year's race. In some ways, that was both good and bad. Ted spoke passionately about health care and the concerns of the common man. He spoke about employment. He applauded his party for its commitment to equal rights. He touched on Republicans attempting to show empathy for those suffering economic distress, but not having the voting records to prove that they really care. He quoted Ronald Reagan who once said, "Unemployment insurance is a prepaid vacation plan for freeloaders." Does that sound eerily similar to Phil Gramm's "mental recession"?

While being struck by Ted's passion and believing in everything he was championing in that 1980 speech, I began to feel some reservations. Much of what Ted was talking about, health care, jobs etc. was to be realized for the future; so that kids would grow up and have these rights and resources. As far as 1980 is concerned, 2008 is the future. Why are we still seeking the same things? All of a sudden Hillary and Obama's pleas for affordable health care seemed dated and less visionary. Where are the equal rights? I suddenly began to wonder if there really is a future. We're not going to evaluate our current politicians twenty years from now to see if they really accomplished what they promised to do. Their time will be over and we'll be on to the next set of promises...for the future. I have a friend who makes a joke whenever there's some sort of overblown social, or political issue, he simply says in a faux frenzied voice, "What about the children?!?" Sure, I want children to grow up to find a world that is still intact, but hey...what about the adults? What about right now?

Getting back to Ted, what I found most impressive was the humility and strength he displayed as he gave this keynote address after conceding to Jimmy Carter. He clearly still felt that he was the strongest candidate. He spoke about his issues important to him, but right upfront, he strongly put aside his individual goals and focused on the needs of the Party and the nation.

"My fellow Democrats and my fellow Americans, I have come here tonight not to argue as a candidate but to affirm a cause. I'm asking you--I am asking you to renew the commitment of the Democratic Party to economic justice. I am asking you to renew our commitment to a fair and lasting prosperity that can put America back to work. This is the cause that brought me into the campaign and that sustained me for nine months across 100,000 miles in 40 different states. We had our losses, but the pain of our defeats is far, far less than the pain of the people that I have met. We have learned that it is important to take issues seriously, but never to take ourselves too seriously."

Kennedy and Carter had a tough and nasty primary campaign that stayed contentious right through the Convention. Though he was losing, Kennedy refused to drop out. I don't believe that Hillary and Barack's fight has been as rough, but as we know, the wounds linger. I hope Hillary can rise to the challenge the way Ted did and I hope that the results are much better for the Democrats than they were in 1980.

it's been a long time...

phillbranch@gmail.com (Hampton06) — Tue, 25 Aug 2009 13:47:00 +0000

it took about four attempts to log in to blogger. that tells you how little i've been on Hampton06. a few things have happened. mostly, i've been concentrating on other efforts; my podcast and my web series. i've also been spending some time working on, what in my head feels like a book and potential one man show. i really want it out of my head and on paper.

i sat down the other day to write and after about five hours, i got one paragraph. it's like that sometimes. what i realized though, is that i've been flowing much easier when i write in the context of essays. two recent pieces, one on mr. e. lynn harris and another on my childhood neighborhood have been well received. i've read both pieces multiple times and can see how they can be expanded into something larger and they will both be helpful as i write this book.

as i start my day today, with the freedom of having my whole day to do what i want, i realized that i am looking at my time, with the same trepidation that most writers feel for a blank page. i've already spent two hours on facebook, bossip, latimes, concreteloop, npr etc.

i haven't had a haircut in a month. it's not cute.

i peeled myself away from the computer to go cut on the shower (which is running while i type this) so i can get dressed and let sam do something with this head. right before i stepped in, i realized, "DUH...this is why i started the blog in the first place." this is good warm-up for me. it's much better to spend two hours here than reading on facebook that someone's "had it up to here."

i was talking to my friend michelle about process. she had a convo with eric jerome dickey and he talked about what he does to get in his zone. i ended that conversation thinking, maybe i need a "thing." i've heard that some writers don't wash, or they go on retreats. some lock themselves in their rooms. so instead of writing, i spent sunday, trying to find my "thing." i forgot that i already have one; this blog.

okay...i'm wasting water and i feel bad now. off to get the hair did and then i'm gonna do my 'thing.'

p.s. i'll probably still be on facebook way too much.

another p.s. why do we sometimes ignore, or play down our obvious strengths?

Memories of Being Funky Fresh

phillbranch@gmail.com (Hampton06) — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 22:45:00 +0000

I am a Jersey boy. I grew up in Irvington, Newark, Orange, East Orange to be exact. At that time, my world seemed idyllic. Looking back, it was just your All-American ghetto existence. Lauryn Hill said it best, “Every ghetto, every city and suburban place I've been, make me recall my days in the New Jerusalem.”

I don’t know why I remember this one particular summer day the way that I do, but I am happy to still have this memory. I lived on the corner of Park Avenue and N. Center Street in Orange, New Jersey. My family didn’t do arranged play dates and soccer practice in the summer. Sure, I did a day camp, or two, but mostly my main objective was to go outside.

On this day, going outside consisted of grabbing my kickball and walking down towards the end of N. Center Street where it seemed the kids had more fun. The street was a residential one-way. It wasn’t a wide street and like most city neighborhoods, there were way too many residences crammed onto the block.

Walking towards the heart of the block, I passed Haitian Patrick’s crew, Paul and Portia’s house and Mussy’s place. My destination was this brick stepped, multi-family house where Chris lived. Chris’ mama used to sit on the porch like she was one of us. She’d be doing hair; talking smack and making sure we didn’t get hit by cars.

On this day, the block was hot. Everybody was out. There was double-dutch happening in front of one house. Some kids were playing hide and seek. The older dudes who hung out at the house next door, just sat, smoking herb and messing with the girls. My crew, we played kickball in the middle of the street; cars and windows be damned. When I drive down Center Street now, I can’t believe that we had the audacity to be kicking balls in this tiny little space. The ball had very few options other than hitting someone’s car, or house window.

But this is what summer was all about.

I remember Lee Jeans, Adidas, jelly shoes and bracelets, neon shorts, gold chains, bamboo earrings and Gazelles. We were living. This is before Carrie Bradshaw rocked nameplate bamboos on “Sex and the City.” It’s before other folks co-opted hip-hop dance and turned it into commercial cheese for shows like “America’s Best Dance Crew.” We didn’t know it, but we were Jazz. We were creating. We were American originals. We didn’t know this, because at the time, we were just poor kids on the block that no one appeared to be paying much attention to.

Boy, were we wrong. Everyone was paying attention.

What I remember most about that day and what makes me smile, is the moment that someone pulled out the oversized boom box. “Planet Rock” boomed out of the radio and in an instant, what was a normal summer day, turned into a block party. Cardboard hit the asphalt. Circles formed around dancers. In that moment there was no better place in the world to be. That is hip-hop.

You can’t recreate, repackage and sell that at Ed Hardy.

To hear more of the discussion, listen to our podcast on "Hip-Hop Style" at illprofessors.com.

Visible Life, Remembering E. Lynn Harris

phillbranch@gmail.com (Hampton06) — Wed, 29 Jul 2009 15:22:00 +0000

I’d never had a physical reaction to a book before. I’d always been an avid reader. As a child, I spent many afternoons communing with friends reading Encyclopedia Brown. In high school I moved on to James Baldwin, Malcolm X and Donald Goines. Still, while I had emotional reactions to many of the books that I spent time with, I’d never physically responded.

I moved to Los Angeles a few months after graduating from Hampton University. Saying that I “moved” is actually a generous description of my arrival in L.A. I was a squatter. I had very little money and stayed on the floor of my friends’ apartment. The whole experience was overwhelming. Beyond the ordinary adjustments we all make after leaving the nest, I became increasingly restless with myself as I struggled with my identity.

I wanted to start over in L.A., but it’s hard to do that when so much of your past still lingers in your present. I was a popular guy at Hampton. Literally, I was voted “most popular” the week before graduation. I pledged. I was class president. I was “that” guy.

I was also lonely as hell. I was trapped between two worlds. In my public life, I was confident, smart and affable. Privately, I was uncertain.

Instead of starting over in Los Angeles, I found myself having to be “that” guy again. Surrounded by old schoolmates, I was crushed by the weight of expectation of being what I’d imagined people wanted and needed me to be. I didn’t know what it would take to jump start my real life, as opposed to the imagined one I’d created. Oddly enough, it wasn’t some spiritual event that helped push me forward. It was a rent payment.

My first apartment in L.A. was a shared three bedroom in a complex called Park LaBrea. Park LaBrea is not cheap. My roommates and I wanted to live in Venice Beach like the cast of “The Real World;” but one look at the then dusty Venice neighborhoods, sent us headed towards greener and too expensive pastures. One night, as I was writing my rent check, I realized that there was no way I needed to be paying this much money to live in hiding.

I came out.

It was a slow process. It started with my roommates and a couple of friends. Still, even after taking that step, I was uneasy. What had I done? I knew that I’d changed the course of my life and wasn’t quite prepared for the consequences. I thought I would be less lonely and freer; but I felt more trapped. I felt exposed and I didn’t have anyone to talk to; at least not anyone who I thought would understand.

My friend Danielle, one of the people whose floor I’d once slept on, recommended that I read a book called Invisible Life, by this guy named E. Lynn Harris. She told me it would help, but I was resistant. I had led a “normal” life I thought. I wasn’t teased, or ostracized and made to feel different in the way that I’d heard most gay men had been. I didn’t think Invisible Life could do anything for me. However, weeks later, I found myself in the bookstore looking for it.

It’s hard to imagine now, but I was actually nervous about picking the book up. What if someone I knew walked up on me? How would I explain? I crept up on the book as if we were playing hide and seek. I went to the store a couple times before I finally bought it. I went home, jumped on to my foam, eggshell temporary mattress and began reading.

About twenty pages into the book, I’d cried, laughed and gotten an erection. I felt like I’d been under surveillance for the last five years of my life and someone told my story. When I read of his protagonist Raymond’s fear of everyone knowing he’d just had his first gay experience, my stomach was in knots. Raymond contemplated the humiliation his family and fraternity brothers would feel. He’s consumed with paranoia and goes as far as considering dropping out of school.

E. Lynn was writing my life.

After reading that one paragraph of Raymond’s morning-after, fear laden regret, I literally threw the book against the wall. I let it sit there on the floor for a while. All of the feelings I had after my first experience came rushing back to me. I too, felt sick the next day. I thought that everyone was looking at me. I was so physically ill; my father had to pick me up from school. It was the flu, I told everyone. I almost did not go back to school the next semester.

After taking a moment to process the idea of not being alone and having what I now knew was a shared experience, I picked the book back up. By the time I finished it a couple hours later, my life was changed. While I can appreciate depictions of gay life that explore the perspective of people who are immersed in the culture, E. Lynn’s books were more representative of my experience. His books were about the whole person, as opposed to just the individual parts.

I am a man; a black man, an educated black man, a son, brother and writer. I am many things including being gay. E. Lynn’s work, especially his first two books, examines what it means to be all of those things and the difficulty in finding balance. Invisible Life didn’t give me answers, but it gave me hope. It gave me the courage to be able to write this piece and not be afraid.

E. Lynn Harris will be remembered in many different ways. For some he will be the author who exposed women to the “D.L.” For others he will be a commercially successful author who opened doors. I had an opportunity to tell him how much his work means to me. I’m sure he’s heard this a million times over. Still, he responded like he’d heard this for the first time and was appreciative of my admiration.

We call everyone a pioneer, or a legend nowadays and it’s become a bit pedestrian. Instead, I’ll be more personal and say E. Lynn Harris was a gift. I am thankful that he shared a piece of himself with the world and I hope that his work and life continues to be an inspiration.

To hear more, please visit illprofessors.com and listen to our podcasts on literature, film and music. Subscribe and please leave comments. This article is courtesy of Written Magazine and appears in a special insert honoring E. Lynn Harris.

and still i rise...

phillbranch@gmail.com (Hampton06) — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 21:13:00 +0000

wow. that's all i can say. wow.

Michael Jackson Tribute

phillbranch@gmail.com (Hampton06) — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 22:23:00 +0000

The Ill Professors mourn the loss of the Michael Jackson and celebrate his life. Go to iTunes, or click the link below to listen to the three part podcast.

The Ill Professors

my top five...

phillbranch@gmail.com (Hampton06) — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 23:37:00 +0000

according to my mp3 player, i am definitely gay. my top five played songs are:

5. Rock With U - Janet

4. What's Ur Name - Janet

3. You Are - Estelle

2. Don't Make Me Over - Sybil

and at number one, is an artist that has grown on me despite heavy resistance.

1. Sandcastle Disco - Solange

seriously, 87% of Solange's cd is good. that's not a bad percentage. i can't tell yet if this is the real thing, or if she is the funk/soul/disco version of ashlee simpson, but the music's aight.

overall, my top five played artists on zune are:

5. Robin Thicke

4. Solange

3. PLIES!!!!!!!

2. Janet

1. Rahsaan Patterson

i can live with that. q-tip will be on the list next month. 'the renaissance' has been on repeat all week.

Middle-Aged Hip Hop

phillbranch@gmail.com (Hampton06) — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 14:44:00 +0000

The Ill Profs discuss what it means to be too old for the young folks music and too young for the old folks music.

Click here to listen to the podcast.

father's day...

phillbranch@gmail.com (Hampton06) — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 03:45:00 +0000

it's taken a minute to write this.

father's day is always a problem.

that's not true.

it's a problem now.

i don't remember celebrating father's day when i was a kid.

i'm sure i made cards, or something, but for many years,

from basically the time i was 10 until last year, that day hasn't been a non-event.

then he had a heart attack.

next, i moved in.

then, here comes father's day.

i didn't know what to do.

i bought a shirt and handed it to him.

i didn't have to say anything.

it was just easier to buy something,

than to say something.

that was last year though.

father's day comes every year.

this year it was harder.

last year he missed my birthday, which was days before i moved in,

but i was used to that.

he never remembered.

this year, he missed my birthday again.

it wasn't a problem, until...

i was asked to go card shopping for my cousin's upcoming birthday.

i realized...

he is aware that birthdays exist and he knows what most people do in celebration of them...

and he's doing so for my cousin.

maybe it is okay to hold him accountable for knowing the date of my birth.

i mean, in some ways that particular event ties directly into father's day.

but, i'm grown.

and i'm over it.

i've forgiven.

i'll say it dammit.

happy father's day.

it's just three little words.

i don't know how much longer we have and i've learned that life is fragile.

i needed bacon first.

i needed energy.

i went to the waffle house on the way to see him on father's day.

alone, i sat.

i was surrounded by families.

it touched me to see so many men with their kids.

i thought it was sweet.

but then it went a little too far.

the brother in the booth front of me, about 40 years old, put his arm around his son of about 13 and called him his "b.f.f.f.f."

they laughed.

i cried.

maybe i am not over it.

i don't think i ever realized how much i missed by not having him present,

until that moment.

up until then it had all been about the financial discomfort.

i know he loves me.

i have pictures of us when i was very young.

we look happy.

but, i never had an arm around me, or a "b.f.f.f.f.'

i finally made it to him.

i couldn't say it.

that's not true.

i could say it,

but i didn't.

i hoped that my presence communicated enough to let him know that he is loved.

i am happy that he's still here and i do love him.

but the old adage isn't true.

you can miss what you never had.

fame...

phillbranch@gmail.com (Hampton06) — Sat, 20 Jun 2009 15:19:00 +0000

this trailer for "fame" looks like a glossy, cw, high school musical-esque retread. where's the grit? and it probably doesn't close w/ 'body electric.' boo hiss.

recession dining...

phillbranch@gmail.com (Hampton06) — Fri, 19 Jun 2009 18:18:00 +0000

i've been crazing some pasta, but trying to curb the dining out. i discovered my new favorite thing...macaroni grill instant meals. it's not really instant, it takes twenty minutes, but that's quicker than driving somewhere and ordering.

i typically avoid the lipton-ish pasta and rice dishes. some of them are okay. the rice medley has gotten me through a couple lean days, but for the most part it's a box of sodium; with not that much flavor. this macaroni grill joint isn't bad. if you eat proper portions with a salad, it's probably three servings. in my case it's two.