If The Rains Come First…

indeed, if the rains come first… then what?  will i shudder?  will i grow?  will i weather the storms?  will i cower in fear?  my spirit and The Spirit tell me that the rains will make us stronger.  the rains will nourish us, sustain us, inspire us.  well, you’d probably be surprised to know that this week of all weeks has been one of the most emotionally conflicting times of my life.  on one hand there is much to celebrate, much to be thankful for.  on the other, there is a very challenging journey that my family and i are walking through in this very moment.  days before the release, the questions before me were: do i simply cancel my release events and stay with family or do i go back to new york and still try to pull it off?  all of last week, i could not help but think about the seemingly prescient title of the album and how it seemed to now challenge me in ways i could not have anticipated upon its choosing.

with my family’s blessings, love, and support, i returned to new york on sunday evening and tried to put on my best game face for tuesday’s release event.  emotional as i was, every single person in the audience or who sent me warm congratulatory wishes throughout the day, made me stronger. on that day, you all empowered me in ways you cannot even begin to imagine.  Lifting me to fly through the rains – even if, yes, they come first.  i am so very thankful for the transformative power of music, family, and love.  i am so thankful for the opportunity to give birth to a new body of work and i thank you for your support – now and always.

somi

 

92-year old beauty

so, i have recently returned from a three and a half week visit to rwanda and uganda.  in that time, i was fortunate enough to see many relatives – among them, my 92-year old grandmother.  just like the east african lands i call home, she is a relentless source of grounding and balance for me. i couldn’t have asked for a better place to spend the weeks leading up to the busy demands of my new album’s release.  reflecting on our short time together and on this day that marks uganda’s 47th year of independence, i offer the image above and the thoughts below:

no words
only beauty
no words
only memory
no words
only peace
no words
only clarity
no words
only recognition
no words
only thanksgiving
no words
only music
no words
only love

 

it’s a long way to south africa…

indeed, it’s a long way to south africa.  my 16-hour direct flight from new york to johannesburg marked the longest non-stop flight of my life and was a clear indication that i was in for a new type of journey.  jo’burg is neither completely african nor is it completely western.  with all of the amenities of any american city and the socio-political complexities of any african city, it is truly like no other city i’ve been to in this world.  hugh masekela said to me last week, “south africa is the most cosmopolitan place you’d ever know, only it’s also our biggest secret.”  he was commenting on the very diverse demographics of south africa amidst heightened xenophobic attitudes towards very frightened immigrants.  but i digress… i’m not interested in starting this off with one more negative story on a promising african nation.  what can i tell you about the very busy two weeks i’ve spent in jo’burg?? the pictures above tell part of the story – performing with jo’burg-based jazz musicians in a fabulous david tlale gown, hanging with uncle hugh, singing an unexpected set at the artsy house of ntsako, and catching up with my south african homeboys the BLKJKS.

i was actually invited here to perform at the 10th edition of the fabulous joy of jazz international festival.  located in the heart of jo’burg’s cultural district newtown, thousands of jazz enthusiasts came out for three nights of music on 4 different stages.  the lineup also included the likes of judith sephuma, room 11, ingrid jensen, vusi mahlasela, andreas vollenweider, and many others.  i was the only african artist traveling from abroad, and i’ve been greeted with both african hospitality and pride.  “what would i share with the south african audience?” i kept thinking in the days leading up to the festival.  this country that i wept many tears for through the apartheid struggle.  this country who gave us miriam makeba, the first lady of african song.  this country who gave us the inspiration and voice of nelson mandela.  this country, oh, this country.  i leave johannesburg tomorrow evening and south africa is still an enigma to me.  i still begin and end each day here with a new set of questions.  where are all the black south africans??? what do you mean chinese are now considered to be black people?  how can it be so diverse here yet still so socially segregated?  what do you mean hide your valuables in the back of the car so as not to attract smash-and-grab artists?   why are african-americans considered to be colored here and not just black? did that south african national really get asylum in canada on the basis of being racially persecuted last week??  what does the older generation think of the new south africa?  questions.  i have so many questions.  this is my first time here, so you might have to forgive my post-apartheid-minded questions as mere naivete.  i’ve traveled to many african countries and there is always a point of connection from one to the next.  a clear line of africanisms that tells me that i’m HOME.  catching a glimpse of that line here has been both rare and fleeting.  i’m told capetown is even more of a challenge.  i’m not sure what all of this means besides that I simply have more homework to do. more questions to ask and more of south africa to see.  the three shows i had here went well and i tried to share my heart.  i’d like to think, therefore, that i’ll be back sooner than later – with more time to discover, discuss, remember, and reconcile.  thank you, south africa, for listening and i hope to see you again soon.

love,
somi

 

the night before an album began…

Paris, France – April 7th, 2009 – 12:58 AM

I’m lying in my hotel room in the 9th arrondissement.  After one transatlantic flight and two jet-lagged days, I still don’t seem to have the slightest urge to sleep.  I really should be asleep or at least finishing up some lyrics as I have to be in the studio in nine hours.  The morning will mark my first official day of recording my new album.  It hasn’t quite sunk in yet, but I know that I’ve long waited for this moment.  Of course I know this will technically be my third album, but I’ve long waited to do it THIS way…. producers, label, manager, etc.. all in place and ready to make it happen before I even sing a note.  I’m so thankful for their presence – the team effort and their faith in me.  I’m so thankful.  And with that gratitude, I am overcome with a barrage of mixed emotions: Introspection.  Anxiety.  Bliss.  Inspiration.  Apprehension.  Freedom.  Self-Consciousness.  Excitement…. what does all of this mean?  Where will all of this take me?  (“Or not take me?” she not-so-secretly wonders.)  My journey through song has had a handful of guarantees.  One of them is it’s ability to lead ME.  I don’t really make the decision to sing or not sing.  To perform or not perform.  I no longer have the choice as I once thought I did.  By saying that, I’m simply making the point that I too shall surrender to whatever this part of the journey is supposed to be, and I too shall surrender to wherever it might lead me.  In the end, I know I’ll still be singing.  In the end I know I’ll still be free.  So whisper a prayer for me.  Make it a loud whisper please.  Pray that this new body of work resonates with the sweat and tears of my journey.  This Journey.  Oh, this journey.  It is all that I have and it is always enough.  Thank you.

 

sxsw, murphy, and me

I left my Harlem apartment at 4am on Thursday morning to catch our 5:45am flight out of LaGuardia. My pianist Toru Dodo and bass player Michael Olatuja were more bright-eyed than most would expect to be in the wee hours of the morning, and we were on our way. My biggest worry at that point was to get to the gig on time. We were actually flying into Dallas with one layover in Houston, after which a dear friend agreed to pick us up and drive the 3-hour trip to Austin, TX. The original plan was to get to Dallas by 11am and to Austin by 3pm, but as Murphy’s law would have it, we found ourselves stuck in Houston for 3 and a half hours due to a string of delays from an early morning fog. For a moment, we considered renting a car and driving the closer 2-hour distance between Houston and Austin, but the airline was unable to extract our checked luggage from their system and we could not leave without it. So we waited. And waited. At some point we decided to rehearse while waiting: me belting out Swahili and English lyrics, Michael singing bass lines, Toru singing harmony with movement, and all of us slapping odd-metered African rhythms on our laps in the middle of the gate lounge. And still we waited.

This would mark my first time at SXSW, and our showcase was scheduled for 10:30pm at The Elephant Room. We got to Dallas at 3pm and hit the road about 4pm. With the help of my friend’s driving, we were able to rest a little bit in the car before getting to Austin around 7pm. At that point we had to all pick up our registration badge/wristbands (where the staff kept strangely referring to us as the “S-O-M-I Band”), grab a quick meal to go, cut back to the hotel, and be at the venue by 9:30.

Exhausted was an understatement, but there’s something about getting ready for a performance that never allows one to feel tired before going on. Besides that, I’d never been to Austin and I was deeply inspired by the perfectly warm weather and the fact that art and music seem to thrive wildly and openly on the streets.

The club was filling up when we arrived and word that Quincy Jones was presenting the newly discovered Cuban pianist Alfredo Rodriguez at The Elephant Room shortly after our set had supposedly begun to spread through the conference. When we finally hit the stage, the first song went over really well just before the sound system began to make violent firecracker-like popping sounds. Afraid the system might combust then and there, the production staff asked us to let them turn it off while they figure it out. It’s a strange thing: starting and stopping a set abruptly and unexpectedly. “Murphy’s Law again,” I thought. Thankfully, when we came back we were greeted by forgiving applause and a warm sea of patient, approving strangers.

I had decided to only bring a bass player and pianist with me for cost reasons, but the half-size band provided a different type of intimacy between us and the audience and gave me a lot of room to “stretch out” vocally. I wasn’t sure if it was too risky to play some songs for the first time at a gig like SXSW, an event often lored as a breakout point in the music industry. At the same time, I wanted to make sure we played a lot of the music that will be heard on my new album and that properly reflects where my present creative inspiration lies.

In the end, we were graciously given a standing ovation, sold a ton of CDs, and even got to meet and talk with Quincy Jones for a while. Shortly after, we disappeared into the summery Austin night while squeezed into the back of a pedi-cab; the three of us almost spilling out of it with adrenaline and laughter.

It’s now Friday evening and we are on I-35 heading back to Dallas. Tonight, we’ll sit in for a short set at a Dallas jazz club called Brooklyn. It’s not New York, but it feels like we’ll be home soon.

Until the next time…

S-O-M-I

 

new sounds, scribbles, and signings

hello world and greetings from the city of lights!

i know i’ve been quiet for a few months, but know that i’ve been plotting away to make 2009 a spectacular year. i am happy to share with you that i recently signed a new recording contract with the small but fabulously progressive label obliqsound.  due to the fact that one of their main offices is in paris, i decided to come over for a couple of weeks to finish the writing of my new album scheduled to be released in the fall of this year. i am so excited about the new songs and stories i have to share with you, and paris couldn’t be a better place for me to really think about this new world of ours, this new africa of ours, and this new music of mine.

between the production of the new album and the official launch of my nonprofit organization new africa live (which i’m happy to say was recently selected to be sponsored by new york foundation of the arts, a 501(c)(3) organization), i’ve got a lot on my plate this year! i am, however, planning to post a lot of personal journal entries as we move closer to the album release date and before we launch my new website. i hope you’ll check in regularly and leave comments freely.

as always, i thank you for your continued support and i look forward to the journey ahead.

somi

 

when we remember miriam and when i remember last night

when i remember last night
i feel the warm embrace of old friends.

bright beads of proud african decadence:
laughter, tears, introspection, and celebration –
the atmosphere.

miriam whispers in my ear and my heart
and i hope she’s dancing.

oh, how i wish i’d had the chance to tell her
how her journey inspired me
to sing my own stories.

she was the ORIGINAL.

it doesn’t get any hipper or more courageous than

an african woman

touring the world in the 1960s
all breath and truth-telling

if she wasn’t here then, would i be here now?

when i remember last night

i feel the swelter of a packed room
nodding heads dressed in light and shadow
the slap of palm to drum

a shekere meets the roar of applause
meets the sudden hush of ears
longing to hear her have the last word.

and i am humbled, grateful, and inspired:

malaika nakupenda malaika

 

new mornings and the audacity of hope

It’s 7:46 AM on November 5th, 2008 and Barack Obama is still promised to be the next president of the United States of America. Last night was not a dream. The past 20 months of prayer, hope, and anticipation of this moment were not in vain. The reality of this historic feat has just begun to sink in, and I am moved beyond measure. How can I rise every morning from this day on and not be fully inspired? How can one ever not aspire to be “the change we can believe in” from this day forth? I am speechless and tearful, but I am assured that this is a new day. A small child just passed by my New York City window chanting, “Obama-bama-bama.” This is real. This is real. While I know Obama’s task ahead will not be an easy one, today we have an uncensored license to dream. Dream of our future on this planet with an imperviously abundant sense of possibility. Yes we can! Si se puede! Ndiyo tunaweza!

I have not written in this journal for several months now. I have wanted to, but often felt unable. Consumed by many unexpected life challenges, I allowed my voice to fall silent for sometime as I weathered through those challenges. While I’ve always hoped to reemerge feeling stronger and more inspired, today I am reminded that we must never fall silent. We must always believe – even when it seems there is nothing to believe in beyond ourselves and our God. What we must remember is that that is always enough. We are enough. And this is real. Indeed, Mr. Obama, the audacity of hope. Thank you, thank you, thank you for reminding us all of the beautiful and infinite possibility in our own lives and in this world.

Love,

Somi

 

one year & continued inspiration

yesterday marked one year since the distributional birth of my record “red soil in my eyes”, and i cannot help but reflect on what or where that means i’m supposed to or thought i’d be today. was i hoping i’d have been to the grammy’s in some no-doubt-fabulous gown and on my way to becoming a household name? sure. (she giggles.) while my grammy moment may not have happened yet, i am truly thankful for my journey and for your continued support. sometimes it’s as simple as the occasional encouraging comment from a total stranger that helps me to keep things in perspective just when i’m beginning to feel as though i just can’t fight to be heard anymore. and sometimes that’s all i need. today, i thank you for all of your unexpected moments of inspiration and i celebrate the undeniable song in my heart. love. always. somi

 

acropolis whispers

acropolis is one of those places i’d seen throughout my lifetime in books and pictures – an iconic vision of ancient histories and western civilization. i was fortunate enough to visit the site during my weeklong stay in athens and just before heading to istanbul. “awesome” is the only word that comes to mind when you realize you are standing in front of the intricately detailed and grand marble architecture of those who ruled this part of the world for so many thousands of years before our time. which of those leaders would have thought that an african woman who called herself a jazz vocalist would be standing here now? had any of them been to africa? and what would they think of my music if they passed through the doors of athens’ happening half note jazz club tonight? standing in a place like this makes me wonder about one’s connection to humanity, and my time in greece has reminded me of the fundamental truth of humanity: We are all the same. Whether we are descendants of the hellenic empire or daughters of the great kings of the bunyoro-kitaara kingdom of east africa, we are all the same.

later that night when the crowd fell to a hushed and smoky lull of anticipation just before our final athenian encore, i remembered that truth. and as i sang my interpretation of the song “feeling good” (a song i first heard nina simone cover), i prayed that the leaders of today’s world might also remember our universally human truth of sameness. i thought of mwai kibaki, raila odinga, barack obama, hillary clinton, the george bushes, nicolas sarkozy, pervez musharraf, mahmoud abbas, shimon peres, yoweri museveni and paul kagame. indeed, “it’s a new day and freedom is now,” i sang. perhaps the spirits of acropolis in some way reminded me of my voice that night. obama says it takes one voice to change a room. i hope i did.