Me and My Baby Holding Tight.......

Picture Perfect

PICTURE PERFECT!
photos by me!
Tony Rebel and Luciano, Dolldaze, Monica, Brandy, Fertile Ground

I can share with you with absolute certainty that in 2009, I will become a better; more proficient; more revealing; more artistic; and yes, incredible photographer. I've been doing this too long to not be GREAT at it by now. I mean really. Who
wants to be doing something for years without tremendous improvement. Don't get me wrong. I'm good. But I am damn sure gonna get hella betta. This all started when I became a location scout for film, television and commericials. Part of what I do is to read the script, treatment and story boards and then "scout" Georgia to find locations that fit the description/character/actor as outlined in the script. So I HAD to take pictures. All kinds of pictures...All kinds of angles...garages, houses, rooftops, restaurants, corner stores, churches you name it...I took it. And of course I did people too. My locations have been featured in many a film, video, and commericial including 5 Tyler Perry movies, films for Warner Bros and CBS and videos by T.I. (one of my favorites), Ludacris, Ciara, Young Jeezy and 50 Cents. But something happened tonight when I went to hear Brandy, Monica and Slim (formerly of 112) at a private listening party. There were many photographers there and it suddenly dawned on me as we all positioned ourselves for the best shots of these female superstars that I didn't really know HOW to take pictures. Not like them. Its kinda like making love. You can do it...but you really have to learn HOW to do it correctly so that you can become a master at it. That's where I am going with my photography. I can't wait to get there...and I will be sharing my progress with you along the way.

RASTA BUSINESS: ROOTS NATTY DON'T GIVE UP!

RASTA BUSINESS: ROOTS NATTY DON'T GIVE UP!
Karen Mason for Honor.Respect A Division of the HMG
www.honormusicgroup.blogspot.com

I always knew I wanted to be in the music business. Growing up in Jamaica you are literally surrounded by music. It's as much a part of your daily fabric as the banana and coconut trees. If you’ve ever been to sweet jamdown then you know that while tourism and bauxite rank high as the nations top exports, Jamaica is still, to this day, the largest producer and exporter of music per capita in the world. So after leaving the comforts of my grandmama’s loving arms, I moved to Brooklyn where my Mama had already migrated some years before my arrival. It was there that my Aunt Babs who use to live on Sterling Avenue in Brooklyn and later on 35th and Church Avenue threw regular (almost) weekly parties. No occasion was necessary. The white rum was always flowing, rum punch in the big clear bowl at the center of the table right below the seemingly life size portrait of the last supper , the scent of curry goat in the air, rice and peas with just the right hint of thyme and coconut milk on the stove, Black cake and of course Prince Buster, Byron Lee and the Dragonaires, Bob Marley or John Holt 7” on the record player. This was my first interaction with heaven. I use to love these parties where we were allowed to roam, with no bedtime limits, amongst the grownups.

As I grew older I started to appreciate other exports from Jamaica and naturally gravitated to the Rastaman who naturally ran Brooklyn where these exports were concerned. Communing regularly with the Rastaman on Linden Avenue and on Utica between Linden and Synder opened up a whole new world for me. Utica Avenue was a hotbed of Black Entrepreneurship in the 80’s. On Linden there was the leather shop and tailor, where the Rastaman dem created the most beautiful crowns of leather. All hand sewn. The next set of bredren made tailor made pants and suits. It was here where the incense flowed, the vibes were copasetic and the food ital, that I (at 13 years old) met the Rastaman (Trevor James) who would later become my business partner, Kingman and father of my daughter Kenya Jordana James.

After graduating from Syracuse University I could have gone to work for any major corporation, which I eventually did, but felt compelled to first return to my old stomping grounds on Utica and Church Avenue to help Trevor build his musical and cultural empire. He was one of the first to take Rastafari livity and translate them on clothing. His dream went worldwide selling millions 0f t- shirts. One of my favorites "Lion Of Judah Shall Break Every Chain" is featured above. Trevor along with his partner, Victor Bloise who was the artistic designer on ...break every chain and so many revolutionary designs, was the first to bring the only surviving Wailer, Bunny Wailer to America. The show and experience of working on the historical performance of Bunny at Madison Square Garden was invaluable.

My dream of being in the music business began right there on Utica Avenue amongst the Rastaman and Jamaican entrepreneurs who would become my first teachers in business. Once you walked round the corner on Utica, there was Witty’s Music World, who released a slew of boom shot selections in the 80’s including Shelly Thunders “Kuff”, Tenor Saw’s “I Just Love My Woman”, and Sluggy, “Ninety Five Percent Black”. On any given day I could go into Witty and buck up Supercat, Leroy Smart, Pupa Toyan, Johnny Ringo, Cocoa Tea or Little John. The list was endless. These were reggae superstars in my book. I played them regularly on my radio show and now I was reasoning with them on a regular. As marketing director for Trevor’s company, Esthetic Enterprises as well as a dj on the local radio station, every day was heaven on Utica Avenue. As one of the only females in the shop on any given day, Witty would play a father figure next to my inquisitive and excited disposition. He gave me promo records galore and never ceased to pass on a good word about the music business. Up the road on Utica, Percy Chin and Hyman Wright were establishing the Jah Life Record label. If Percy wasn’t behind the counter then Scion Sashay Success a hardcore singer youth would reason with me, encourage me and share their wisdom. I was a sponge. It wasn’t a big shop. Bout the size of my living room. But the life that came out of the Jah Life Enterprise would build me up, enough to last a lifetime. It was fuel to my burning desire to succeed in the business. This was about the time that Jah Life released Sister Carol’s “Black Cinderella”, not stop tunes from Scion, and Barrington Levy’s “Murderer”. Bwoy. Those were some beautiful days. Black Entrepreneurship at a peak and being led by the Rastaman dem. Round the corner on Church was Count Shelly, of the Superpower Empire. Tall, Dark, Handsome and Kingly in character, County Shelly was tough love personified. I would come in looking for records to play on my show. He would ignore me for while as if testing my resolve. I would join the other big dj’s at the counter like Karl Anthony, Ken Williams, and so many others and listen and learn. I learned to be humble. This was my early schoolroom and my early imprint of music business 101.

I would often venture over to Nostrand Avenue. Esthetics had a lot of clients on Nostrand. There was Opio of Ethiopian Taste, A Rasta business selling Rasta cultural items. And then we would go down to Vital Forward and get a veggie plate. It was here where I first became aware of Tofu, gluten and how to eat to live from Imandi and the Rasta bredren who cooked strictly ital.

On a very practical level. Rastafari was the embodiment of entrepreneurship. We made the hair products (Praises brand was making over $200,000 a year in the 80’s), we drank the spring water long before it popped up on menus, we popularize tofu, gluten, moss, shea butter, red, gold and green belts, shoe laces and tee shirts that reflected our Black African pride. We produced the beats that would resonate worldwide. Even the way we greeted each other, fist to fist or heart to heart was exported. “One Love” became an international statement.

Yes. We did it before. And it is time, particularly in these recessionary days that we do it again. This time for ourselves.

I eventually left Utica Avenue to work for one of the big record companies on 52nd Street. But I brought everything about Utica Avenue with me; the dress, the food and more importantly the mindset and I took it all the way to the top of their system. Selling millions of records as a result of my prowess developed from seeds planted on Utica Avenue. Brooklyn.

And now that my life has come full circle, I am eager to make that trod once again. Only this time as an entrepreneur. Only this time instead of making billions for others. I will succeed for myself, my ancestors, my people and all the bredren on Utica Avenue and all across Brooklyn, NY who gave me my foundation. Give thanks for Rastafari.

This piece was inspired by a radio interview I heard today on WRFG on the program “What Good Is A Song” hosted by Mama Njeri where she interviewed the founder of Praises Natural Products.

Notes and Loud Thoughts from the Troy Anthony Davis Case

There is something about the fabric of a courthouse, the vibration, the feel of that space that is both familiar and distant. Most courthouses were built at the turn over the century. Right after emancipation. Guess for who? Marble and oak floors, intricately carved 20 ft ceilings, hardwood floors and dark maple columns with designs that mean something. As I sit listening to Troy Anthony Davis’s lawyer petition the 11 circuit court of appeal panel of three judges, my mind wonders on who built this structure at 56 Forsyth Street where I sit. Which tribe of my ancestral lineage skilled in carpentry, master builders was I communing with as listen and wait…with only a remnant of hopefulness.

There are very few of us here. The main courtroom and overflow room is filled with others. Where are we I wonder. I am sure our ancestors are thinking the same thing. I remember courtrooms packed in New York under the legal prowess of Attorney Alton Maddox. The ancestral spirits were alive, on post to assist from the ancestral realm. I wonder almost out loud, how are they to assist now when we are not even there to support our own?

As I commune with the ancestors in the court I feel like I am floating. I’m barely relating, hearing or listening to the judges and lawyers. I hear the words but don’t always overstand. But I FEEL the vibration. “Clear and convincing evidence”, “due diligence”, “but for”, “free standing innocence claim”, trustworthy evidence”, “compelling case of innocence”, “possible merit”. What does this all mean I ask my family visible only through my 3rd eye. They seem to respond in chorus”, it means that we need interpreters in the Black Community. We need lawyers who embody the zealous creed exemplified by great lawyers like Charles Hamilton Houston. We need those who will interpret for us the often confusing, binding and coded language that constitute the everyday dealings of life in America…for the Blackman. “I silently cry for help.

The argument has been presented. The court is adjourned. Who really knows what awaits. I see Reverend Sharpton hastily exit the courtroom. Possibly to be one of the first to the news cameras. LOL. I greet brothers from the FTP, Uhuru Movement and my Rastafari sistren and silently wonder if our presence even makes a difference. So few in number.

I go to exit but something keeps me at the door for a moment. The ancestors await for me to pledge to them my recommitment to myself and to them to rise into the greatness that is our birthright and to support those who have already exemplified that amongst us.

Tonight (Wednesday) I will be along with hundreds of others at the Soul Vegetarian Return To Royalty Ballroom (doing just that) where Attorneys Alton Maddox, Mawuli Davis alongside Kene “the Wiz” Reaves, Songbyrd Jackson and others as we gather to in support of ourselves and who we are becoming. “Critical Thinking, International Bankers and the Obama Presidency” is the focus as we come in common unity to raise funds for the son of Wanique Shabazz who finds himself like we all will sooner or later tangled in the criminal justice system.

Nothing Can Come Between Us Except Facebook

“Mama, you can not write on my facebook page”. That was the message I received from my daughter no less than 30 seconds after I posted on her facebook wall, “Mama loves you”. I thought I was being cool. Afterall, Kenya always screams I love you to me on the phone no matter who is around. We hold hands on campus, in the mall, on the city street. She is still prone to bust out with a skip down the sidewalk at any time and as embrassing as she makes it seem she never fails to sing the little name song I made up for her when she was 1 on cue. So I text her I Phone from my Blackberry, “why can’t I write on your facebook page”? Her response, “because you’re my mother. You can call, text, email to talk to me. Facebook isn’t that domain”.

So Facebook has finally come between us. I mean we do everything together…we make fun of people together (lol), we go to the movies together, we got tattoos together and hear this…we even went to the club together (check out my blog title In The Club). But I guess I missed the whole facebook revolution. Too busy being an entrepreneur, keeping house and family together to even consider it as a part of my life. However, when I saw that it became a part of my daughter’s life…I said…I better join so I could see what’s going on . I’ve always been like that. If Kenya showed a great interest in a particular artist…then so did I. If she started reading a particular author…then so did i. If her interest in a subject of activity waned…then I went on the investigation to find out why.

But I guess I took things a little too far when I sent the message. I was suppose to observe. Not participate. LOL.

Which is one of the rules of motherhood. Stay in your children’s business until they become adults and then meddle only when asked or motherly instinct dictate as such. But while they are children. It’s all your business. Just know when and where to reveal your identity. Some things…our children never have to know…

PS. I found the photo above on her Facebook page. LOL. She has a whole heap of photos on Facebook. "Mama Loves You".

How Karen Got Her Groove Back...LOL

LOL. Wow. I am laughing at the title to this blog. Got a big smile on my face right now. Trying to figure out which direction I am getting ready to go…in life and with these few words. My intimate relationships can be divided into two categories. The first category is Trevor. My daughter’s father and my first love. The second and only other category would be called post Trevor, which also consists of one person.

My first love ended when Trevor was killed over 16 years ago. My second love ended when the love we had died. Not necessarily a permanent death, but one that had been looming over us possibly since the beginning. We were just too much in love to see.

So I walk into the bookstore to leave some flyers for an event I am doing next week. I ask the friendly and talkative bookstore owner and sistafriend to recommend a book for me to read. I just finished reading the new Walter Mosley book and I needed a good follow-up. I get so inspired when I read authors who have become masters at weaving the word on paper. I didn’t want to come down from the high I was on by choosing a book that would not raise it higher.

I asked her about Bernadette McFadden, one of my favorite literary writers. Her books are what joy and pain are made of. They let you know… and feel that you cannot have one without the other. Having read all of her books…I read somewhere that she had taken on a pseudonym and was writing more racy fiction instead of her literary masterpieces that I had come to know. Well. So I asked my sister friend at the bookstore if she was familiar with her pseudonym which I could only imagine she created to keep up with all these fly by night and day authors who popped up over the last 10 years becoming best sellers with books short of literary excellence and heavy on scandal and sex.

She took me right to her book. And proceeds to graphically describe the great merits of the book. And she’s kinda loud. “It’s racy she says”, “Lotta sex”. OMG I’m thinking to myself. Do I have my “I haven’t had sex for years t shirt on today”. There is sex she says, but its’ “good sex” the realistic kind that you would actually have looking me dead in the face as if to say…”you need to go out and have some”. “Lord have mercy” I think to myself and there is another brother in the store. I’m wondering if he can hear her. I’m wondering does he know me? LOL.

Ok I say quietly. Hoping she will stop there. “it’s not like Zane” and those other books getting louder. It’s better. But its’ “juicy”. I am so completely embarrassed at this point.

I’m not sure why. Maybe because I haven’t had much experience in that area. Yep, for the last 25 years of my life I’ve had only 2 intimate relationships and both of them were filled with bountiful, beautiful, life changing LOVE. I am still in love with Kenya’s father…maybe that’s why I waited about 15 years before I opened myself up again to that type of love.

And now I get to start all over again. I get to apply the lessons of my last two loves and build a greater love with myself and with him who awaits.

Yea. Getting my groove back….

JUST WRITE!

Just Write

That’s the advise that she gave me. If you want to write. Just write. Everyday. Don’t matter if you are inspired. Doesn't matter if you even have something to say. Just sit down and write something. If you do that every day. Then you can look back 6 months or even a year from now and see the progress. You are not going to see the progress every day. A watch pot never boils. You are not even gonna see it every other day. You may not even see it for months. You just got to stick with it even if you don’t even like it on some days.

That’s how I feel about exercise. I use to walk or run 3 to 4 miles ~ 4 days a week. I didn’t like it on most days. But I stuck with it. Then one day about 6 months down the line I got on the scale and found that I lost 40 pounds. I never saw it coming. And noticed very little progress from day to day.

So I guess I need to remember that as I search daily for the voice to write as I work on a book. Well actually, the book is working on me☺ Haven’t really started yet buts its seed is planted. Its growing inside and soon I will give birth.

This race is not for the swift. So I write.

P.S. The Ethiopian Coptic Cross above is my daughters 4th tattoo. I ended up getting one too. Tell you bout that later...:)

Truth

It was one of those awkward moments. You know when family gathers . Everyone having a good time. And someone says something crazy; out of place; or decides that this is the time to surprise everybody with some new revelation. At that point everything stops. One minute spirits are high; laughter and joy in the air; life being celebrated to its fullest; when all of a sudden everything stops. Silence. That’s the time When everyone looks at everyone else to confirm if it’s really as awkward as it seems.

Well. It was one of those moments. We were visiting Fahamu and Nitefa, their 4 year old daughter and their newborn son. Kenya had just returned from college on thanksgiving break and the Pecous were on her short list of 2 that she was interested in seeing. Having grown into a very straight forward and direct person…Kenya, now the threshold of twenty, has always been clear on what she wants and what she will and will not do. So I obliged...though I know there were a few others that would be interested in seeing her. She wasn’t interested. Said she was only here for 4 days, was working 3 of those leaving very little time for socializing.

So we are all sitting in the living room. Fussing over the baby. Kissing his big sister …catching up. The Pecou have known Jordana since she was 8 or 9 years old. Family. So then I brag a little. Its a story I've told often. I start to tell the Pecou's that I surprised Kenya at college. I didn't tell her I was coming. I just showed up one day (after finding out where all her classes were) at the door of her English Classics class. And how I was glad she went to class that day and how proud she was to show me off to her teachers and classmates. I could hardly catch my breath EVERY single time I recount the story. Proud Mama that I am. So I’m rolling along having told this story many a time. When Kenya says, "it wasn’t a surprise mommy. I knew you were coming." “Huh” I said. Looking dazed and confused and my wind deflated voice sinking by the octaves. "Huh" becoming a multi syllable word. “You knew”? , is all I am able to muster. “Yes Mama, Ine (that's her best friend who I called to get info on where her class was so I could surprise her) told me.” “Huh” ? There we go again. Sinking further. “Yes. I'm sorry mommy”, she says with full disclosure, confidence and not a hint of guilt. That’s how she always told the truth. Straight forward. Clear. It was at that point that the awkward stare that I opened this blog up with took full form. Fahamu looking at his wife. His wife looking at me. Me looking at Kenya. Kenya looking a Nitefa. “Mama. Don't be upset," she says reminding me of her at 12 years old. "Huh" I said? “Don't be. The only reason she told me is because I had a weave in my hair and she knew you wouldn't approve so she had to tell me so I could take it out.” That’s Kenya. Always good for the truth. "Huh". At this point. Fahamu and Nitefa are waiting in silence for the ball to drop , break and shatter. Everybody waiting for me to either erupt, go ballistics or show some sort of emotion. No one is really sure what’s coming next. Everyone is quiet. . Even the children are silent. “Did you like it,” I ask. “ The weave”?. "Yea it was ok", Kenya responds. Ok I say. Everyone exhales and resume our family fun time with the babies. I am grateful for the truth.

The Re-Education Of Britney Spears

As I watch the various music channels and surf around the internet I am bombarded with the seemingly endless promotion of Britney Spears birthday special, Britney Spears album, Britney Spears this and Britney Spears that. Got me wondering if this is the same Britney Spears who less than a year ago was disheveled, confused, an unfit mother and headed for self-destruction. I am not sure if any of this has REALLY changed but the reality is that the marketing machine has kicked in…in overdrive. As a marketing executive I know all too much about all that goes into the reshaping the image of a superstar. It takes full cooperation from the media, from the record company, from management and most of all from the fans and even non-fans. No change happens by chance. The irony of a well executed marketing plan is that when it is implemented successfully, it seem natural, void of the hidden hands that went into the making of it…

But even more importantly, mainstream America had a point they wanted to prove and make crystal clear. They will support their own particularly when it is someone who the children look up to. (Elvis is a good example) It doesn’t matter if Britney’s last album barely went platinum, it’s irrelevant if her first comeback attempt at the VMA’s 2007 was a disastrous flop and they care little if your reinvention is based on never inventing yourself in the first place. These are some points. But not THE point. The point is to protect, preserve and if need be cover up and clean up your own. By any means…

I can’t help but think about Lauryn Hill. It was 10 years August when Miseducation became the soundtrack to our lives, the songs that we celebrated both emotionally and spiritually. And yet, in some ways, many ways we abandoned Ms. Hill. We talked about her having all those babies. (Five beautiful ones to be exact); we discussed her being crazy; we got a good laugh at some recent photos that some say had her looking like a clown; we made mockery of her post miseducation album and music. We were SO unforgiving of someone who shared and spoke so much of what we could never speak for ourselves and our relationships. Some even thought she should be seriously examined after blasting the Pope during a show at the Vatican.



I know. It wasn’t you. Then I’m not talking to you. But I won’t leave myself completely out of this picture. We should be ashamed. Ms. Hill was/is our musical hero and should continuously be lifted up mind, body and soul.

We are so quick to forgive others but can hardly muster the pleasant emotion needed for forgive our own. And maybe forgive is not the right word. But you know what I mean. Britney’s reinvention did not happen in isolation. It happened due to a concerted effort that included fans willing enough to forget the crazy antics that she displayed. They erased all that in one swipe and replaced it with the Britney that they wanted the world to see. They cleaned her up, dusted her off and re-presented her back to the world. Let us always do the same for our own.