Seal

It's been nearly 30 years since Seal (Henry Olusegun Adeola Samuel) released his first self-titled recording and now iconic videos on the world. Almost immediately the stories about his facial scarring took off. Because of his complexion, his clipped British accent and punk-rock fashions, the propulsive beats of his most popular songs and his beaded dreads, he must have been some African prince and the markings part of an exotic ritual. It was actually years before I heard that the scars were left by a form of lupus. Looking back, it seems to be in defiance of something that would inhibit someone less self-possessed that Seal's face is never hidden. His gaze is steady and assured. He won't avert his eyes before you do. That, of course, only adds to his attractiveness.
Lately, I have been revisiting Seal's early catalog -- his first three albums -- Seal I, Seal II and Human Being. He has a distinctive way with a musical phrase that makes his songs eminently singable, even when the message might be a little cloudy. I think I might like this song best -- Newborn Friend: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wQOmKZCUAy8I wash my faith in dirty water
'Cause it gives my mind a little order
And I play that game, just like I should do
But my whole world, slips away
I live my life, I live it slowly
And I take my time, I'm in no hurry, yeah I'm livin'
And when I go then I would surely
I would dance with a total stranger
And hold them in my arms
Hell, there could be no danger if I open up
'Cause when the cryin' starts so
If I chant for happiness
Maybe that will make me feel better?
I can't change my ideals, I can't lose my desire
Oh, if I chant for happiness
Maybe that will make me feel better?
I'd be your newborn friend for the world

Highwaters

The Village of Sandhills had been struggling with abandoned storefronts and empty "apartment homes" for years before 'Rona came callin'. World Market closed its location there earlier this year. And, of course, Penney's is bankrupt. Sad.

I was sort of ambivalent about World Market, frankly. While it has cool stuff in it, and they price their wines pretty competitively, thematically I feel the "world" aspect is hype. They do have an eclectic collection of packaged food stuff but nothing I would keep as a staple in the cupboard (if I had a cupboard). And I don't know what global crockery looks like.All of Sandhills looks beset and highwater now. I mean it looks like it's strapped and making due. That was the real shame of wearing "highwater britches" -- it meant your people were too broke to keep you in clothes that fit properly.

At the village, busted "apartment home" windows are boarded, "available for lease" signs are beginning to sag in retail windows, the grass outside the Regal is wild and thatchy, and movie posters for little-seen features are faded from overexposure to the Carolina sun. It's pretty depressing.

Maybe the village will be re-imagined by some really creative types and see a new life, repurposed and popular, like what Steve Urkel and Dolce and Gabbana did for highwater pants.

Where there is life ...

Officer Friendly

I remember the Officer Friendly campaign from when I was a youngster, but I don't remember street cops from my childhood, and I certainly don't recognize the idealized world father and son illustrators Hy Hintermeisters depict in their series from the '50s. It appears to be a suburban enclave where avuncular police officers help little white children get to and from school. Yes, Rockwellesque but I think the Hintermeisters were not as clear-eyed about America as Norman was.

This illustration is going for approachable but serious. I'm not sure that's the message 

that was needed.

It's not clear what's going on here but it's a bit disturbing.

Yes, entitled princess crossing.

I'm not personally familiar with the world the Hintermeister's set this series in 

but it's not unlike the one on popular television of the time.

The series seemed to be committed to displaying good behavior 

and interactions between the officer and the children.

I love this shot from the '70s. I don't really care if it's staged; it has a great vibe to it.

Uncle Natchel

The Hy Hintermeisters were also known for their character Uncle Natchel (Natural), who was the brand image for Chilean Natural Soda, a soil additive mined in Chile. I do not get the connection but the character appeared on Chilean Natural Soda calendars for decades. I only recently discovered Uncle Natchel, as the character, which was introduced in 1935, was retired in the '60s.

The Hintermeisters created a world where this kindly old black man was a companion to, apparently, lonely white children. Absent, of course, is any hint of Uncle Natchel's own family or children.



The Hintermeisters often featured young boys and girls together in manners that didn't seem quite age-appropriate. The freakish bow-tied Buster looks like Howdy Doody.

I'm not sure if this is supposed to be the same couple from the previous slide but the dogs are nearly identical.

This might be my favorite of the series, if one is allowed to favor an image so steeped in racial stereotypes and societal fictions. The banjo, of course, came with enslaved Africans and became a staple of American roots music. The Hintermeisters were from New York, so it's understandable if their knowledge of southern life owed a debt to Harriet Beecher Stowe.

Mark Stewart a/k/a Stew

Mark Stewart a/k/a Stew is my favorite songwriter. I don't think I'm being outre by picking someone few people outside of L.A. or New York know. I'm too old to play that game. And I'm not saying he's the best songwriter in the world because what a ridiculous claim that would be. Stew's songs -- highly stylized baroque pop that comment on everything from romance to race -- never fail to connect with me, even if they're not exceptionally composed -- although his best stuff is. He's just really melodic and literate. Even though he never releases the lyrics to his music.

Stew is probably the most unfiltered enigma performing popular music. For years, he fronted a band called The Negro Problem, in which he was the only "Negro" member. The band were critical darlings and huge scene-makers in L.A. Stew's first solo album, Guest Host, released 20 years ago, was named Album of the Year by Entertainment Weekly. His second full-length recording, The Naked Dutch Painter ...  and Other Songs, received the same accolade two years later.

He and his writing partner, Heidi Rodewald, wrote the 2008 Tony Award-winning musical Passing Strange, the last performance of which was filmed by Spike Lee.  Stew won the Tony for Best Book. The show is a semi-autobiographical tale of a young black man who leaves his home in Los Angeles to discover himself (racially and sexually) and his musical voice in Amsterdam and Germany. The musical features several melodic themes from Stew's earlier work.

Here is a lovely song from late in the show, where the narrator, Stew, explores the connection between performance and pain.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UckfZ8rds-g

Haters gonna hate

The Black Mirror episode Nosedive, one of the most highly praised for the celebrated series, is set in a world where the expression "haters gonna hate" does not exist. One's wealth and well-being depend on how well-liked one is, as measured by interpersonal exchanges that are rated by the other person. High ratings get you substantial discounts and upgrades on purchases and services. What a brilliant way to shape human interactions for the better in an acquisitive, status-conscious world! The episode's lead, an intrepid Dallas Bryce Howard (this woman, Ron Howard's daughter, might be the bravest young character actress currently performing), discovers how quickly one can fall out of favor after a lifetime of building affirmation points. Her fall is precipitous but she eventually discovers her true value through some healthy animosity and truth-telling.

The problem with this clever story (co-authored by Rashida Jones of #blackaf) is, well, "haters gonna hate," no matter what we do. Somebody's gonna resent your drag or your swag -- what you wear or how you act. Some folks have been reared to be sensitive to this possibility and to be complimentary and non-threatening, to cultivate lots of friendships and try not to make other people uncomfortable. We should have people liking the hell out of us at all times because it will pay off in the end.

Others of us may have received the same counsel but learned eventually that hatred will precede some of us into a room and will be sitting at the table waiting. This is why some people of color ask when invited to an unfamiliar place or event, "Who's gonna be there? Anybody I know?" We're trying to gauge the "hate potential." If other people of color will be there then it shouldn't be an openly hostile crowd.

I'm no masochist, but I don't use that meter as much anymore. I think it's more a factor of my age than of my becoming inured to people's hostility. I've been to some events that were cavalcades of microaggressions and left annoyed but relatively unperturbed. I handle indifference and animosity as they come. I set my mind (swag and drag) as I suspect many people of color must -- on "IDGAF." Life's too short to spend it humoring fools and being a fool's fool.

Hambone's Meditations

The single-panel comic Hambone's Meditations was a front-page feature in The (Memphis) Commercial Appeal for 52 years, 1916 to 1968. The title character was a stereotypical minstrel black man whose musings about the boss and Miss Lucy and Ol' Tom were rendered in dialect. He was reportedly based on an actual person. The panel was drawn and written by J. P. Alley until his death in 1934 and later by his wife and children. One can detect changes in the character over time; his exaggerated features became less so but the gutbucket wisdom persisted. Alley's son Cal also drew The Ryatts, a syndicated strip about the domestic adventures of a white family. It stood in stark contrast to the other, a study in inequality. Hambone's Meditations was discontinued in November 1968, following pressure from civil rights organizations who argued its depictions and humor were offensive and harmful. It might also be noted Martin Luther King Jr. was shot to death on the balcony of a Memphis motel seven months before the comic was discontinued. Change follows death.

Tuesday Morning

Tuesday Morning has become my go-to "wanderland," a place in which I roam to marvel at all the brightly colored crap on display for thrifty nesters. Maybe that's too harsh. It's not all crap. A lot of stuff is kinda cool if you're into discount tchotchkes with cloying messages about the joys of being a homebody and how God loves you and me and pets and the United States. You might think only women take their custom to Tuesday Morning but you would be wrong. Every time I've gone, there have been men and women, singles and in pairs, creeping up and down the aisles (now uni-directionally because of COVID-19). They were buying bathmats and birdfeeders and jars of olives stuffed with garlic, pillows and end tables in mad displays of impulsivity. Today I bought shower curtains and a cool drying cloth and wooden rack to use after washing dishes. (I never knew such a thing existed!) The stuff is remarkably chea ... , er, inexpensive and I love the dinginess of the store's carpeting. It's like visiting an elderly relative who's an unreformed hoarder. Shopping there is like going out for comfort food, all the guilt without the carbs. Tuesday Morning is Spencer's Gifts for people who would rather burn pomegranate-scented candles and nosh on tea biscuits than have sex.