life and write

It’s been ten long years since Sade swayed her lovely across a stage in my part of the country. However last night she did not only that but reminded me why her music is simply timeless, sexy, and cool. She was classy draped in modern black and strappy heels as she marched out to open the show with “Soldier of Love”. And with every subtle wardrobe change later, she sang us a storybook of memories. By the end of the show, she was barefoot (I told my husband she would be, but he didn’t believe me) and sparkled in a clinging long silvery gown. Her airy soothing voice was wrapped with a collage of horns, strings, keys, and rhythms, her all male band wore crisp tailored blacks and grays as the music from their mouths, hands, and fingers filled every crevice of the arena.

Up close, the lights and textured details were like a visual  narrative, each image crisp and dimensional, each note soft and warm. I imagine Sade in concert is for holding hands (or gaze) in public, closing eyes and trusting the music, or for close hip sway. Pale confetti rained on stage as we knew our time was coming to an end. But the crowd clapped and screamed, and urged her encore out. She replied dressed in red, as she sang “No Ordinary Love” poached high above the sea of screams.

In a daze of exhaustion the morning after, I thought about Sade in concert as I dressed for work earlier today. Her music, the words remind me how many times you can explore love and still never capture its bounds. I’ve been humming her soul in my head all day.

Cornbread is a favorite side in my house, it is the perfect pairing to a bowl of soup or chili. The kids watch it rise in the oven, burst and split, sponge on the corners, and brown on top. Still warm in the pan, yellow and spongy, I cut a piece and hand it to my 2 year old. He’s had cornbread before, but he looked surprised, as if he could tell it was different this time. As if my mother and grandmothers’ recipes rose right up from the dark metal pan and broke into crumbles right on his lap, in his mouth buttery bits of cornmeal softened and slightly sweet. He’s too young to know I didn’t use a glass dish this time, but I’d like to think even his fickle tongue is convinced cornbread tastes better out of cast iron. Who knew such a dark unassuming pan could produce such bright buttery sweet bread.

Cornbread

1 ½ cups stone-ground yellow cornmeal

½ cup unbleached all-purpose flour

3-4 tablespoons sugar

2 teaspoons baking powder

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon salt (optional)

1 large egg

2 cups buttermilk or yogurt

¼ melted butter

In a large bowl, combine all dry ingredients, stir to mix well. In medium-size bowl, mix egg, buttermilk or yogurt, and butter. Add milk mixture to cornmeal mixture; stir until all ingredients are just blended. Do not over mix. Pour batter into sprayed or greased 9-inch-square baking pan. Bake until wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean and bread begins to pull away from the sides of pan, about 25 minutes. Cool completely.

This time crowded on the bed, the boys are at it again: listening to hip hop. Or shall I say Alfonso is schooling them once again on the somewhat old and the good (and always the clean version). He is super excited to hear the Outkast throwback, but by the captivated looks on the kids’ faces I think the two little guys are amazed at how fast the beat weaves in and out of the random layers of sounds. They listen, focused intently on trying to catch on to even one word as Big Boi and Andre’s rhymes are slippery and swift. Good thing, there are parts of that song I’d like to keep a mystery (for now).

“Bob your head…rag top…bob your head…rag top…”

“Power music electric revival…” (Rafael was chanting this familiar Outkast quote early this morning so we all joined in…)

For those of us who grew up in the enlightened years of hip hop, B.O.B. was certainly a party starter.

When hip hop grows up (Alfonso and I), we give it to our kids, pass it on like a golden gem wrapped in rhythm and lyrics those kids polish and shine every chance they get. I walked in on those guys huddled up in the corner in front of the computer, reciting rhymes, bobbing their heads back and forth.

Ahhh… (hold for two bars)…I’m bad… (insert old school beat)

“Nobody can rap quite like I can / I take a muscle bound man and put his face in the sand…” (Mason reciting old school LL Cool J lyrics with a swift finesse–dramatic hand gestures included)

I don’t know why my husband is up, he is usually sleep at this time and I have the morning to myself. But no—he’s hyped up and talking so passionately right now about sports. First he reminded me that Ohio State was playing today and that he thinks their headed for the” Final Four”. Duh!!! (Go Bucks!) Then he randomly slipped into his frustration in the Knicks (the Knicks?), and his thoughts on what’s happening with the NFL (contract disputes). He also had a few brief comments on college recruiting. He jumped around from sport to sport, subject to subject in a matter of minutes. He’s good but it’s early…   

He finally settles into his thoughts on ESPN’s 1^st and 10, where Chris Broussard passionately commented on the Jalen Rose and Grant Hill controversy stemming from comments Jalen Rose said during the filming of the documentary “The Fab Five”. My husband is my inside scoop on sports (I think he was a sportscaster in a former life) so when he speaks, I listen (most of the time).

From the Buddha Bar 10 Years compilation, this song is a favorite of Mason and Rafael. There are other versions of this mix but this is by far their favorite. The intro and build-up is quiet and unassuming, then seamlessly transitions into light percussion rhythms that are cool and hypnotic.

Those high octane boys are instantly transported into something strange and wonderful in the backseat of the car on our way to anywhere. I’ve learned that Bebel’s music can most times soothe my savage toddler, swaying him to complete calm and utter delight.

Listen…Aganjú