BIG IDEAS

Photo by Sam Devonish

With only a couple of days notice, at least 100 of Washington DC’s Black political and social elite ponied up $250 to get out of work on a Friday afternoon, tilt back a few drink, eat sushi and wait patiently for the appearance of Jeffrey Wright and the main draw, Maxwell, who was playing at DC’s Verizon Center hours later.

The occasion was a quickie fundraiser for Wright’s Taia Foundation, which funds infrastructure development in Western Africa - specifically and 18 mile stretch of road that will facilitate the transport of good and services and spur economic development.

Not that anyone knew that before they gave the money. But it was Friday, it was in the middle of the day and it was Maxwell. And in DC, that’s reason enough. In that city, if you want to stay on “the list”, sometimes you just write the check.

Luckily, after all those changes and many years after the fact, one of us is still rocking. There is always a silver lining.

Brian Tate, my dear friend, bandmate, brother from another mother, stuck with the music the way it was supposed to be done. After the last break-up, he and I became more business partners than anything, working together programming film festivals, concerts and special events.

I went back into presidential politics for a while then did a book that became a big deal and used that to launch a counter culture magazine called ONE (which is a whole other string of posts). It did really well until paper prices went crazy in the early 1990’s, which turned me into an early adopter publisher in the net’s pioneer/ pre-browser/”do it now and figure out how to make money later” days. I’ve been in that game ever since.

But my rock days are not completely over. Over the years I bought every instrument known to man and now my five and four year-old boys are baby rock Gods who ask me to turn off Sesame Street and put on David Bowie, Steely Dan and T-Rex. I’m lovin’ life right about now. A mind is a beautiful thing to open. and hopefully we’re opening yours a bit with EbonyJet Radio (sorry, shameless plug).

Brian, however, never let the dream die. He was able to make the work/rock balance thing actually work and led a pretty hot group called Salt Diamond Mine in DC while he also headed the city’s tourism promotion agency.

Now he’s based in Brooklyn making the rock/married/working/kids balance thing work and leading a killer band, Shrine for the Black Madonna, as well as a burgeoning indie rock label in partnership with Danny Simmons, big brother of Russell, with whom he also produces the Brooklyn New Music Festival and the multi-arts performance and lecture series, Full Spectrum.

Hit the links and check him out. It’s all very smart, forward, future stuff. Brian’s a major talent and frankly, a genius.

Well, so ends the story. Every guy who wanted to rock has one similar. You might leave the band, but the dream never really dies. It passes on a generation or it manifests itself in air drumming on your dashboard. It does not, however, translate well to playing the game, Guitar Hero, a skill that oddly seems to especially elude people who actually played guitar.

But still, Hail, hail, rock and roll! Rock on, old dudes everywhere.

So today I spoke at the Chicago New Media Summit, the first major conference-style gathering of Chicago based new media professionals, and an attempt to establish mindshare with the notion that Chicago is the next big hub of new media innovation.

I spoke on legacy magazines and the challenge of translating brands launched within the framework of a particular racial and cultural dynamic into a digital future and an age when many of the social constructs that created the publication have shifted. And particularly how Black publications have had to respond given the globalization of a culture that Black publishers used to own, but now must compete with mainstream publications.

It was interesting, I think, and received well, but that’s not why I’m writing this post.

I’m writing this one because I was amazed at how many people used the phrase “The Long Tail” in describing their products and services or interests. Amazed because the guy known for coining that phrase, Chris Anderson, the exalted editor of WIRED magazine and author of the New York Times bestselling  business book, The Long Tail, used to be the guitar player in the  Washington, DC.-based “art punk” band that I played bass for - inartfully named “Brickhouse Burning.”

And if you’ve ever been in a band, you’ll understand when I tell you that it’s a constant source of amusement and amazement that anybody is quoting my guitar player about anything except for some bad lyrics. But then again, he would be equally amused that anyone was inviting the bass player to speak at a New Media Summit, so I guess we’re even on that score.

I supposed the whole Chris as Wired/tech/science geek thing was predictable back then.

A typical conversation in band practice:

Chris: “So what’s this song about ? Is this rhythm meant to evoke passion or pathos? And should I create more tension by coming in on the anticipation of the “one” or should we build tension through subtle dynamics?”

Us: “It’s about counting to 4 and hitting B flat - and you shutting the fuck up - that’s what the song is about.”

I kid, Chris. I kid. (Not really).

Actually, given what he does now and what I do now, as well as the other members of the band, it turned out to be a pretty interesting band. Though unfortunately more interesting as individuals now than the band ever was.

I’ve always found it interesting what happens to people after their wannabe rock star days, so for the next couple posts, I’ll give you the whole story behind that band, what it was like being a Black punk rock/new wave/art rocket at Howard University, and more of what happened to the rest of the band after the last of several break-ups. It’s actually quite fascinating. Stay tuned…

At Art Chicago last week I got a rare chance in the U.S. to see and meet briefly the emerging “starchitect” (he’s got to hate that word by now) David Adjaye from London. Adjaye was there to participate in a seminar on ‘The Perfect Blend of Art & Architecture” from the framework of his much-hailed design of the new Denver Museum of Contemporary Art (pictured above).

The seminar was planned as a “conversation” between Adjaye and Denver MCA director and curator Cydney Payton, and unfortunately that’s what the first half hour turned out to be, with Payton peppering the session with self-consciously intellectual hoohah and $2 word combinations like “minimalist interrupts” and “bespoke moments” (a phrase I’m still trying to figure out).

Sensing they were losing the audience Adjaye politely opened the conversation up to the audience and it all got better after that, with the reasons for Adjaye’s amazing rise to the upper echelon of global architects becoming evident as the event went on.

Adjaye let everyone in on the competitive process of choosing an architect for a major commission, which in this case involved participating in fundraising activities to get the building built - something Adjaye was astounded by given the boatloads of old money in Europe to fund architecture. He also spoke of the challenges of green design (the museum is Gold LEED certified) and his goal to seek “transformative materials” or materials common to other industries that he can apply creatively for use in buildings. In the case of the Denver MCA, he used a plastic generally used to line refrigerated trucks as the “skin” of the building because of its unique ability to diffuse light in a city where there’s 365 days of sunshine.
I’ll spare you too many details, but it would be a mistake to take lightly the importance of having a young brother be considered as someone in the pantheon of Philip Johnson, I.M.Pei and other major architects whose work is studied and admired. Architecture is one of those things that can’t really be denied when it lasts. You can certainly tear down a building, but as long as its up, the history is told visually and not subject to a historian’s interpretation. It’s deeply critical for Black folk to have that kind of lasting and visible impact on the face of the world.