I grew up in the ’60s and ’70s, at what we then thought was the dawn of civil rights, the beginning of a new era in race relations that would eventually make those problems of the past, the issues between black and white, look as ridiculous as they are. Growing up in an entirely white community (two black kids in a high school of 1200), across the river from an aging northeast city with a bit more of a mixed population, my exposure to Black people and Black culture was pretty limited, and I’ve always considered that a detriment.
So it’s amazing to me to reflect that when I was in 11th grade (I think), our English teacher took us to a small college in Albany to listen to listen to the poet Nikki Giovanni, one of the most prominent Black voices of the day. This was probably the first time I had ever heard anyone recite poetry outside of the classroom (or a movie), the first time I had ever been exposed to someone who was a poet, and certainly the first time I was ever exposed to a prominent Black voice in real life (not just on the television).
I don’t remember the poems she recited that day, but I do remember that she was an incredibly powerful presence. Probably the only black person in the room, she embodied pride, anger, and a cry for justice that left an unending impression on me. She projected strength, dignity, and a demand (not a request) for what she deserved, for equality, for justice. She had to have shaped my feelings on the ludicrousness of injustice in this country.
That didn’t turn me into a big reader of poetry – I like it, I get it, I respect it, but no one should count me as a poetry afficionado. And while I heard her name every now and then and thought back on that incredible early opportunity to hear her perform, I never looked further into her career.
Last year I ran across this record in the bins at Forever Changes, a black-owned small business that has done a tremendous amount not only to promote Black music, but to support a wide range of artists, bringing some very cool acts to a town that prides itself on a music scene that isn’t nearly as diverse as it should be to reflect the community.
Now, I’m allergic to gospel – not the form, but the content. As soon as someone gets sincere about Jesus, I check out. Just a little fact of my atheist brain. So, in general, a record with a gospel choir isn’t going to be my thing. But put that choir in another context, and I can overcome my own prejudice – for example, the Edwin Hawkins Singers supporting Melanie: I’m totally there for that sound.
So I pulled this out of the bin, and gave it a good long stare. On the one hand, it was a direct connection to a really important memory. On the other hand, there was gospel. But, I took a chance on this Modern Harmonic 50th anniversary release of her 1971 album.
It’s powerful. It’s raw, angry, beautiful, hopeful, uncompromising. The choral backing is, of course, exactly the right setting, really bringing home the strength of this work.
I’ve only played this a handful of times, and generally when I’ve been on my own, but this weekend I played it for my wife as part of our Sunday rotation (after easing into the mood with some lighter stuff), and it really made an incredible impression. My wife went down an immediate Nikki Giovanni rabbit hole, listening to her poems, watching videos of her various talks, etc., and hinted that it may be something inspirational to her own visual art work in the coming months.
So if one little record can change someone’s world . . . .
