Jazzanine

Soul Train , the televised presentation of ‘70s-‘90s music and dance, is a much beloved, iconic symbol of culture in the world of not just R&B music, but popular music around the globe. My recollection of my teen years is filled with memories of gathering around the TV set in our Bronx apartment for the absolutely necessary weekly half hour of live performances by Black America’s hottest acts, funky dance moves performed by enthusiastic teenagers, and host and founder Don Cornelius’ unflappable cool. To relive these memories, hear those sounds, and enjoy a great oceangoing vacation sounded like a good bet – and that’s the premise of this particular cruise experience. You get the fabulousness of cruising to fantastic vacation locales, mixed with the nostalgia and musical excellence of the Soul Train brand. I’d wanted to go on the cruise since it was first introduced; was even offered an opportunity to go back in 2014 but couldn’t get the time off. But thank the Lord, praise th...

Times are tough. Many baby boomers I know are struggling to stay level in a topsy turvy universe. They are being edged out of their jobs by younger workers willing to work for less. Struggling to launch children into adulthood. Trying to help their parents with health and housing issues. Trying to maintain their own mental and physical health. All while watching the daily nightmare news from Washington with increasing dismay. Earlier this week, surveying my own troublesome situation, I reached back in my mind for a song lyric to both sum up the issue and encourage me (I often think and communicate in song lyrics). I thought first of Tupac's "Keep Your Head Up," and also Soul II Soul's "Keep On Moving," but being a baby boomer I went even further back to a 1972 rock anthem by a one-hit wonder called Argent. The song, "Hold Your Head Up," had the lyrics I was seeking in the moment (though it has an overlong instrumental break with an insipid and d...

I joined Billboard in November 1987 as a copyeditor. It was a big step backward, careerwise, moneywise, as I’d already been a section editor at Essence . But I’d made a brief misstep by leaving the magazine to double my paycheck as a public information officer at the New York City Housing Authority, a job I learned to hate very quickly. I was desperate to get out of City government and lucked up on the Billboard editorial support position. It was a great move for me, because all I was interested in then was music and writing. I’d worked for NYCHA for a grand total of 90 days when I turned in my resignation. Nelson George was editor of the Black Music section, a part-timer who came into the office at 1515 Broadway to open his mail, turn in his stories and conduct other business. We’d met first at Essence , where he was a frequent contributor. Now that I was at Billboard , we sat on the same cubicle aisle. He made sure that I was usually the one to copyedit his stories because I...

A month or so ago, I had this really weird dream. I'll spare you the bizarre, surreal details, except this one: Me and Kevin Costner standing in a Wells Fargo way station. (I know, just go with it.) I had just taken out a cigarette; Kevin thought it was for him and took it from me, but then he saw that it was a Virginia Slim or Benson & Hedges -- something menthol, at any rate, long and skinny, from my real-life smoking past -- so he flipped it and stuck it in my mouth with a smirk. I reached in my pocket and pulled out an oversized pack of Marlboros in the red and white carton and he took one. It was like this funny little personal moment of comedy between us. Then he took a silver fliptop lighter and lit us both up. In the dream that cigarette was so good! I haven't had an entire tobacco cigarette since the '90s. But that sent me on a total reverie about my smoking past. I smoked cigarettes on and off for at least 20 to 25 years, surprisingly. In the 1970s black...

Tomorrow is Election Day. I am trying hard not to panic, to be overstimulated, over-involved. I did not watch the second Trump/Clinton debate in real time, because I knew that it would agitate and terrify me, and I wanted to get a decent night's sleep. But I did watch and re-watch the footage, the eye-rubbing spectacle of a grown man lurking and hulking behind the nation's first female candidate as though he both couldn't bear to have the camera off of him for a moment and that he was poised to strike, adder-like, at his opponent from behind. I watched the third debate, with ever-widening eyes, as the Republican candidate continued to approach what should be reasoned political discourse as though it were a 5th grade playground standoff ("Wrong! Wrong!" "Such a nasty woman!") And so my terror deepened, and in the intervening weeks leading to tomorrow's finale, I have been engaging in mindful soothing techniques designed to detach me from the proce...

I’m working a desk job in Washington, D.C., these days, doing what I spent much of my career doing: Writing. But three years ago I was employed at a major department store, putting in 30 hours a week. It was my only source of income at the time. While there is nothing remarkable in that – hundreds of people earn a living that way – it was remarkable for me . I’m a writer. I’ve written and edited at consumer and trade magazines, websites, and radio syndicators. Editor at Billboard. Editor at Essence. Daily news writer for syndicated radio. Interviewed major recording artists and other notables and celebritiess. That’s been my gig: A computer, a phone, a notebook and a microphone. But in November of 2012, my situation got tight. I’d moved from California to Virginia to be closer to family, and during that time I struggled to find meaningful, full-time work. I was in the wrong market, but couldn’t move again. Desperate to tide myself over, I swallowed my pride and filled out an applica...