THE HEART OF THE ART OF WORSHIP

Art communicates feelings, ideas, moods and experiences--yours, or those of someone else. It can be original or a fabulous fake, painstakingly created or carelessly thrown together-- and someone will still like it. It is subjective. Everyone will not appreciate the same thing, which requires and often demands that there be different styles. Art often aims to please the creator of it first, and those who will experience it second. Art always has an audience, even if there's only one member.The creator of a commissioned piece doesn't have to like it, but the recipient MUST, or the artist doesn't get paid. The heart doesn't have to be in a sincere place for an artist to create what the world will consider a masterpiece. It just takes skill.
Because we are wired to worship SOMETHING, when we do, whether it's a football team, a vehicle, or another human being, it is authentic, enthusiastic, undeniable and sincere--from the heart. People can be passionate about a lot of things and it is obvious. There is a formula, however, for worshiping God. Your worship of God will not always please people, may greatly offend some and inspire hatred in others. Worship tends to upset programs and agendas because it redirects the attention so often placed on people and focuses it on God. At the heart of worship is faith and God's pleasure. If worship is not done in spirit or truth, no matter how aesthetically pleasing it may be to people, it has failed to communicate love and devotion to God. Because God created us all, even when we engage in artistic, religious endeavors, He STILL gets the glory. That's the irony of it all.

MONDAY THOUGHTS: NEAT FREAK

Know when to resist the urge to clean up a mess that someone else had made, and left behind...to stink and crust over...and spread and morph into a science project...and make it impossible to utilize a space. 

If you're a bit of a neat freak, it's sooooo hard to sit in a mess, and just shoot the breeze. The sights and smells around you won't allow you to relax. 

You know that with the right tools, and in a matter of minutes, a space can be transformed into a much more livable, comfortable one. 

So you decide to take matters into your own hands and clean up--and don't be surprised when others, in the same space, are perfectly content to let you. 

You have to know, going in, that no one will appreciate the effort, since you were the only one bothered by the mess. Don't look for a pat on the back.
Be warned. No matter how good or thorough a job you do, instead of a "Thank You", you may get a reprimand, ridicule, or criticism for the methods you used to get the job done. 

How you choose to clean up another person's mess, might get you into trouble if you don't do it the way they would have--if, and when they ever got to it. 

By the time some people get to cleaning up the mess they've made, it requires industrial strength equipment, hazmat suits, and a professional.

If you can't stand mess, instead of taking initiative to eliminate it, sometimes it's best to remove yourself from the situation, and accept the fact that some people really don't mind mess at all. It's true. Some people don't even NOTICE the filth in their midst. They can live in, move around, and pass through it, as if it's not even there. They only notice it when someone else complains, begins to tackle it--or it's no longer there. 

They notice, of course, when something is missing, thrown away, or suddenly back to its original color. At no time does it occur to them to locate a broom, mop, or soap-producing product themselves. You, on the other hand are hoping there's hot, running water, gloves, a gallon of Clorox, a can of original-scent Lysol, and several rolls of Bounty somewhere on the premises.

I especially don't understand how people can be so callous and careless with what belongs to someone else. How do you enter a clean home and reduce it to a dump? 

I hate seeing people treating another person's home in a manner that would be highly unacceptable in their own. It's heartbreaking to walk into a space that was once well cared for, orderly and neat, and see it treated like a trash can, and held in such little regard. 

"I'll get it later" is often the thoughtless reply of a selfish individual. Often, it translates, "I'm leaving my mess, and I don't care how it impacts you. I don't care how you like things arranged. I don't care if you're expecting guests. I don't care about your peace of mind or well being. I don't care if you need to use this space, or these appliances. If you don't like it, or can't wait until I decide to get to it--which could be tomorrow or never--close the door, go somewhere else, or clean it up yourself".

Is it true, that a person's surroundings are an indicator of the state of their lives? 

Is a messy/filthy house the sign of a busy, active family/individual, or a lazy, trifling one? 

What happens when everyone in a household decides to leave the maintenance of a home to others in the home, but NO ONE is doing anything? 
The attitude that "someone" will do it, is fine if "someone" actually shows up and gets to work. People do get tired of cleaning up behind able-bodied others--but do they HAVE to? 

It's generally a contest. Who can stand to deal with mess for a longer period of time? The person with the least tolerance, gets the honor of cleaning, every time.

"When you see something that needs to be done, do it" is an admirable adage to live by, but should be adopted with caution. 

Pick your battles-- and messes. 

Most of all, clean up your own. Maybe, just maybe, it might encourage someone to notice, care, and clean up theirs.

TUESDAY THOUGHTS: MY EVERYTHING

There are times when you hope you don't look like you feel. 

The power had been off the day before, and stayed off on the morning I should have been wielding a curling iron like a pro. 

The dress I wanted to wear said, "Uh uh, Sis. Not this time". 

I'd forgotten my earrings and make-up. There was no time to shop.

My throat was a little sore.

I was so nervous, in a way I don't ever recall being before. 

At sound check, I wanted to run and hide. My voice was cracking, and I didn't feel well. 

It was hot outside that day,  and I was in full menopausal meltdown. 

I felt so unprepared. 

Everyone else in the group was so lovely--dressed as if they remembered we were going to actually be on television. 

Where did I think I was going? An usher board anniversary? Jury duty?

I just felt so out of sorts, and so silly for feeling all of the things I was feeling— considering how long we've been singing. 

The answer for me was comfort. Put on the suit and stop worrying. Several people told me, "You're going to be fine". 

It's true. Sometimes, no matter how many times you've done a thing, it always feels like the first nerve-wracking time.

As I drank water like a camel, I thought of how loved "Is There Any Way" the first time I heard Brenda Roy sing it. It wasn't just a song I was covering, it was a testimony. When Richard told me I'd be singing it, I was speechless. He said it was his favorite Hawkins-penned song. 

I admit, I felt a little pressure. God forbid that you botch the daylights out of someone's FAVORITE song. 

It, however, became a prayer to me that day. 

I really was wondering if I would make it, and how! The high heels I have loved for so many years, aren't exactly being friendly any longer--well, at least not for AS long. They now have a strict time limit, then they go into torture mode. I wanted to get out of them, and away from the unforgiving lights. The cameraman promised me he would make me look skinnier, but of course he lied...lol. 

I don't remember much once we got on stage. Thanks to Youtube, it all came rushing back. I just wanted God to help me through it; hide me; sing through me, so that someone might be encouraged...AND get rid of the seemingly humongous, volcanic pimple that showed up out of nowhere, one minute before we were called to the stage. What am I? Twelve?

I admit I wasn't looking forward to the posting online. People can be so cruel with critiques and comparisons, but I had a chance to sing music I love, that ministered to, and encouraged me for so many years, with people I love--in our own city.

My prayer today is that everyone will remember that God really is everything, and He keeps his promises. 

His presence is assured and His love is unconditional. When anxiety tries to creep in; when insecurity tries to blanket you, and negative self-talk won’t shut up, just talk to God. 

Remember that His ears are attentive, and His arms are open. 

Rest in them. 

He really is everything.

You'll be safe.

WEDNESDAY THOUGHTS: IS "EDUCATION NATION" THE NEW BUZZWORD?

I really want to see "Waiting For Superman". 

I'm interested in the whole "Education Nation" phenomenon.

 
I watched Tavis Smiley's interview with Geoffrey Canada and David Guggenheim, this afternoon. 

I liked what they had to say.
I hope that the increased interest in Education is not just a publicity stunt for the major players. 

I hope that it's not merely another political football. 

I hope school children actually benefit from all of the hype.

 
Face it. Talking about the problems with schools is one thing. Getting up every day and going to teach at a school-- in a nation where your profession isn't respected, but you're STILL desiring to make a difference in the lives of students--is another.

Do I want to return to the classroom? Is that what this is? 

Do I miss teaching? 

I have to admit, sometimes it's so frustrating listening to people who have a lot to say, but would never step foot into a public school. 

I feel such a burden as I watch anything regarding public schools. 

I'm a former student who remembers exceptional, caring, diligent teachers. 

I'm a former teacher, the mother of a successful student, and the daughter of an outstanding educator. 

I saw quite a bit in my tenure as a teacher, and came away convinced that children want discipline, need guidance, and will do what they are allowed to do. 

I'm convinced that teachers have way too much on their plates, that have absolutely nothing to do with the education of the children in their classrooms. 

When people don't respect what you do, or the time required to do it, or if they think that what you do is trivial or too easy, they will endeavor to pad your schedule with what my former Design professor E,H. Sorrells-Adewale called "extemporaneous BS". 

Teachers are often inundated with busy work that cuts into valuable time--time that could be spent helping students.

I watched several education-themed interviews in the past few weeks, and I STILL didn't hear anyone bring up the problem of disruptive, disrespectful students, the need for effective classroom management, and the critical need for parental accountability and support. 

You cannot have an effective discussion on education, but leave out parents and their responsibility to require/demand that their own children to simply follow directions, and show respect and common courtesy for the learning environment, and the people in it.

Go to a successful school and look at their policy regarding student behavior. Look at what they will, and will not tolerate, under any circumstances. Look at what can get a child expelled, then compare it to public school policies. 

When children are instructed about rights without being instructed about responsibilities, it's difficult to maintain order. 

Anyone can learn when given the opportunity. 

Children prove, every day, their capacity TO learn, but the content isn't always healthy or appropriate. 

Learning can't take place in confusion. 

When students know that they can, without consequences, disrupt the learning environment, they will. 

In many public schools, the authority to maintain order has been snatched from adults, and many, in turn, have given up trying to get it back. 

It's sad when the only person learning in a classroom is the teacher. 

Too many parents leave their children in the care of others, but dare them to correct their behavior. 

I firmly believe that if the only person a parent requires a child to heed is him or herself, then they should consider home schooling their child.

Some excellent teachers, who started out wanting nothing more than to make a difference, are just tired of spending 60% of their days being ineffective disciplinarians, (who are daily in danger of being accused of corporal punishment) 30% in pointless, boring meetings that yield nothing of valuable use in their classrooms, and the other 10% producing dog and pony shows for administrator's photo ops.

I did hear, in the interview, unfortunately, that the geographical location of a school often determines just how low or non-existent many people's expectation of student success really is. That is not new, and I experienced it first hand. 

I heard "these kids over here", every day of my teaching career. 

Some teachers simply stopped believing that their students could learn, because they were stripped of all of the safeguards of an environment in which they could effectively teach. Many teachers regarded themselves as overpaid babysitters, and watched the clock until they could retire, or go and teach in Maryland or Virginia, where it seemed that teachers were respected as actual professionals.

Chancellor Michelle Rhee's problem, was that she came in as an enforcing stranger, not an agent of unity. 

As always, when students aren't learning, teachers, no matter what the extenuating circumstances, are the first to blame.

 

When you are given a job, and given directives, sometimes, that's all you focus on, and forget that there are human beings in your view. 

When you're cleaning house, every now and then something valuable ends up broken, or in the trash. The house is cleaner, but there's so much anxiety and suffering, that no one can function happily in it. There's so much animosity, that any good that has been done, doesn't even matter. 

Whether the chancellor stays or goes, will determine if she was working for the Mayor, on behalf of the children of the District of Columbia, or if the incoming mayor has any confidence in her.

It has always baffled me, over the years, that within the ranks of DCPS, NO ONE was deemed qualified to be the superintendent/chancellor. Someone was always imported from somewhere else. 

Rhee adopted the position of the little boy in the story "The Emperor's New Clothes". 

She called things the way she saw them, and folks felt she didn't have the right. Was it racial? 

Intellectual? 

Petty? 

Who did she think she was recognizing that a student, unless highly self-directed, could be no more proficient than the individual tasked to teach them each day? 

We don't like to be told that we are horrible when, for years, our deficiencies have been deemed acceptable. When there is a failure to correct a thing, it is soon considered normal.

I was a DCPS teacher for 16 years. I witnessed a great deal that made me shake my head, but I also witnessed excellent educators and administrators who were committed to the success of their students, and modeled the kind of behavior they expected to see. 

I know that there are excellent educators and public schools in DC, and the potential is there for all of them to be so. 

It's not where you live, but the attitudes and expectations of the people who live there, that matter. 

I grew up in SE, DC, attended DCPS until 5th grade, had a mom who taught in DCPS for over 25 years, and I still reside East of the River. 

I raised a daughter who attended DCPS. It was my aim that she attend the best schools DCPS had to offer. I was told which schools fit the criteria I wanted, and that's where she attended. She graduated high school, went on to college, and will soon graduate law school. 

I KNOW that DCPS can, and has worked. 

I had to do my part as a parent. 

I get messages from former students on a regular basis. 

They are contributing members of society, holding varying degrees, and engaged in varying professions. DCPS is not, and has not been all bad. Sometimes, I admit, I felt as if someone, somewhere WANTED it to be a failing system, and was deliberately working to make it so.

Sometimes, I think the panel discussion producers ignore the success stories--and there are scores of them. 

The common denominator is not wealthy parents, state-of-the-art technology, new supplies, or smaller class sizes. It's parents who aren't so litigious; who are honest about themselves and their children; who knew that if they wanted their children to learn, they had to be supportive of schools and teachers, and instill in their children a few things, including the following:
1. They were not adults, and not in charge.
2. Their job was that of a learner.
3. Education was important.
4. There were consequences for inappropriate behavior.
5. They were at school for the betterment of themselves.
6. There was a time to play. it was called "recess".
7. The teacher was not their equal, playmate, nor enemy.

The power struggle, arrogance, posturing and immaturity among adults has to end. Every adult in the educational process has to see themselves as a servant, not a king or queen who rules over others. When administrations establish an us-against-them climate where teachers work in fear for their economic future, belligerent parents abound, unruly students reign, and their professional competency is based on standardized test scores, what does one expect?

Leadership is required--not puppets who can be told what to do; not bullies with axes to grind; not people who have no vested interest in the education of children; not people with notoriety and fortune in their eyes; not people who spend little or no time in a classroom, and only pass through for Kodak moments. 

People who never cross the threshold of a school can't possibly create policy with any efficiency. Theory sounds good. Practice determines whether the theory is sound.

We can all sit around and talk about what ought to be, but without order--without embracing basic principles--without requiring, seeking, and expecting the participation of parents and students, NO school system can be successful, and teachers will always be the disrespected fall guys.

WEDNESDAY THOUGHTS: HOME CHURCH, FIRST?

A Facebook friend asked, "What happened to "HOME CHURCH first"? Wasn't that a rule?"

 
He added an "lol", but something told me he didn't really find anything funny about what prompted the post. 

It seems my friend is now tasked to find a replacement musician for this coming Sunday's services at his church. 

I could almost hear the frustration, but my empathy soon gave way to concern for the musician.

I have often heard "Charity begins at home, then spreads abroad". 

It seems that the absent musician may have looked for the quote in the Bible, didn't find it (because it's not there), and commenced to accepting, with a clear conscience, the other gig he was offered. Maybe it wasn't, but my first thought was that money was a factor in the musician's decision to let his home congregation figure out a way, this weekend, to keep the beat themselves.

I imagine that "Home church first" loses it's effectiveness when one's musical ability is also one's livelihood, and the bills are piling up. 

The absent musician's decision to take another job, may be less about loyalty and love, and more about economics. 

Bill collectors want cash--not corsages, trophies, certificates, chicken drumettes, sheet cake, and red punch--the things many churches sometimes regard as ample compensation for services rendered.

Just picture what the music ministry would be like, in every house of worship, if skilled musicians had nothing else to do except prepare for each weekly convocation, and NOT have to worry about their financial needs being met? 

But no. We want musicians to be at our beck and call for rehearsals and events-- in and out of the church--and then demand that they have traditional employment as well.

We have been known to brand musicians as "lazy" if they don't have other employment--as if perfecting one's musical skill does not take time, sacrifice and effort.

The church shouldn't be competing with the world for the hearts of musicians, but the world has mastered the art of sowing and reaping in a way that the many churches refuse to explore. 

The world "blesses" and ensures that it presents the best. 

The church often takes its best, and makes them feel bad for being skilled. 

In an effort to keep them "humble", lies, yes LIES are told about a church's ability to adequately compensate them. 

The money is there, in so many instances, but we will pay for EVERYTHING else--the hall, the tablecloths, programs, balloons, catering, flowers, the MC, the visiting preacher and artist, but won't pay in-house musicians. 

Then, we wonder where they are when we need them.

What happened to "HOME CHURCH comes first"? 

It has, in some cases, become the manipulative cry of modern day slave masters. 

When the slaves decide they like the benefits of freedom, and want to be paid for working, an attempt is made to make slavery sound like a little slice of Heaven. 

There's nothing heavenly about being broke and exhausted. 

Yes. Being a musician is WORK, and since many churches shouldn't dare pretend another day to be non-profit organizations, it's hard for musicians to see leaders continually prospering, and then graciously accept the words "We can't pay you".
Further, musicians are no longer feeling guilty about having the ability to feed and spend time with their families. 

While we are criticizing them for taking secular gigs, playing for various organizations, and not showing up, they're somewhere making a bank deposit, and their needs are met. 

They now have something to give besides their musical talent.

Perhaps if we would demonstrate to church musicians that we actually appreciate their skill, time and sacrifice, and stop looking at what they do as a really fun hobby that they are SUPPOSED to share with us, then NO church would ever be scrambling to find anyone who plays any instrument. 

If we really respected musicians, the way we respect other professionals, then every church would have a happy orchestra. 

It's amazing how we expect musicians to serve for little or nothing, at a moment's notice, and entertain us for every event. 

People with other professions in the church would NEVER be expected to offer their services at the same rate and frequency as musicians so often are. 

Unfortunately, musicians are among the professionals whose worth is frequently determined by others.

Every doctor, lawyer, plumber and electrician in the church is talented, too, but see what happens if you expect them to turn down an opportunity to increase their income, cut their rate, or offer their services for free. 

When a musician looks at the contents of an envelope, given to him by those who know and love him, then compares it to the envelope given by strangers, he can't help but want to further explore what his real value may be--away from home.

The illustration today is not one of my doodles, but from a painting by one of my favorite artists, the late Varnette P. Honeywood (1950-2010). It's titled "Jesus Loves Me".

MONDAY THOUGHTS: THE REFRESHING SOUND OF LIZZ WRIGHT

I was so excited this morning, when my “Vision” brother, Byron Nichols, reminded me to take a listen to samples from Lizz Wright's new project, "Fellowship". 

I listened, and couldn't help notice how timely it was, as well as beautiful and thought-provoking. 

I've been an enthusiastic fan of Lizz Wright's music for about seven years. 

I looked to see if the review I'd written for DC vocalist, Dawn Robinson's webzine, vocalmusician.com was still online, and it was. (I love the hoarding spirit of the internet! It lets go of NOTHING…lol)

If you'd prefer to skip the reading, and just dive into the listening, click on the title of this blog, go to Lizz Wright's Facebook page, "LIKE", and listen. You won't be disappointed. 

Here's what I felt, seven years ago. Not much has changed, except Lizz Wright is no longer an obscure talent. I think that's grand, because you KNOW how I adore good singing, and music of substance.

LIZZ WRIGHT at The Kennedy Center and Blues Alley

On May 10th, my sister Lori called and asked, "What are you doing?" 

Of course, I was doing nothing, which is my usual posture when I have a chance to be at home. 

"I have tickets to the Mary Lou Williams, Women in Jazz Festival”, she said. "Teena Marie is supposed to be singing tonight. Wanna go?"
I thought I could use a little "Square Biz", for old time sake, so I got dressed and went with her. 

The first offering for the evening, was a wonderful female saxophonist. I'm ashamed that I can't recall her name. 

Unfortunately, Teena was a no-show, but there's not much else I remember about that night, except Terri Lyne Carrington’s skill on drums, and the unexpected but memorable performance by a modestly dressed, beautiful little girl. She was wearing a long black skirt, burgundy wrap blouse, and flip flops.
She was thin, articulate, and poised. She didn't say very much, other than very humble "Thank you's" to the thunderous applause that rose after each tune. When she did utter words, like very brief introductions to her songs, and acknowledgement of those accompanying her, it wasn’t hard to appreciate the tonal quality of her speaking voice as well.

She sang our souls happy, with a little neo soul/pop/jazz smothered in church gravy, then gracefully disappeared behind the curtains. 

I was glad that I wasn't the only one on my feet, clapping like a crazy person, until she figured we hadn't had enough, and floated back to her mark. 

I didn't even realize I was in tears.

After she left the stage, again, there was chatter going on between total strangers. 

"Is that all?" 

"Who was that?" 

"Oh my, God!" 

"Have you heard her before?" 

People were reaching for their programs; trying to see in the dark. Programs were tilted and lifted, as everyone was trying to catch a glimmer of light, to illuminate the name of the little girl who'd just left us so moved.

"How can you lose your song, when you have sung it for so long? And how can you forget your dance—your dance—when that dance is all you ever had?"

Audience members left the auditorium, and flocked to the tape tables in the lobby, during intermission, only to find that the little girl hadn't brought any product with her. 

We'd all have to wait.
Over and over, like an echo, I heard, "May 13th?" "When?" 

"Someone said May 13th" 

"I think it's May 13th."

What's her name?" 

May 13th couldn't come fast enough for me.
Her name was LIZZ WRIGHT. 

I suppose I've referred to her as the "little girl" for the following reasons:
1. Because she's little (not short, mind you. She just, apparently, hasn't discovered the joy of eating the entire bag of potato chips, or pint of ice cream.)
2. Because I'm almost twice her age, (so I'm entitled)
3. Because I left the Kennedy Center proud to see a young Black woman present herself, and operate in her gift so effectively, without relying heavily on the marvels of modern audio technology, or falling prey to "hoochification" (translation: presenting oneself in a manner that would disgust a seasoned stripper, and declaring to the masses, in tacky song and deed, that it is necessary to master an even more incoherent brand of English, and glorify profane crap.

Yes, I am somebody's mother. Sue me.)

I hurried to "Sam Goody" to pick up her debut CD, “Salt”, and bought three.

I recommended it to the shopper next to me, and she bought it, too. 

I gave away the three I’d bought, within 48 hours. 

I went to "Willies Records", and bought two more. I gave those away. 

I picked up another one, that I was determined to keep for myself. I gave it to my daughter, who gave it to a friend of hers.

"Willie's" announced that its local stores were going out of business. I bought the last three copies of “Salt” left, at the store in my neighborhood. 

I replaced my daughter's CD, put the other one, unopened, in my CD tower, and put the third in my CD changer.
It only came out to go with me to Blues Alley, to be graced by Mizz Wright's autograph. 

I've since ordered two more online. 

When I mentioned her name, in a conversation about singers, during a recent “Vision” trip, Richard Smallwood, himself, perked up in agreement to how impressive she is. 

He'd already had some “Salt”, and he recalled his "Lizz moment" in a record store.
He said that, at the register, he asked the sales clerk about the music playing over the speakers. He asked if it was something new, by another favorite, Oleta Adams. The sales clerk said, "No, it's a new artist - LIZZ WRIGHT." 

Richard said that he told the clerk, "I need that! I'll take that, too". 

His story prompted others to pick up “Salt” at the airport record store, after we landed.

A friend suggested that, perhaps I had been just oozing "mother pheromones" at The Kennedy Center. Maybe I was just wondering what I could have, or should have been doing, musically, when I was 23. Maybe I was just admiring her boldness and good fortune at such a young age.

I hadn't bought that many CD's, by one artist, since Maurette Brown-Clark released “How I Feel”. 

I wanted everybody to hear what I heard. 

I had to make sure I wasn't just in a melancholy, motherly, my-baby-is-coming-home-from-college-mood, that night at the Kennedy Center.
It wasn't a fluke. 

I wasn't just being polite. Lizz Wright was phenomenal; her voice was soaring, rich, and soothing - it was ministry. 

From torch-like, smoky, to playful, she gave so much more live, than the boundaries of the CD. 

The CD just hints at what I believe she can really do, but it in no way disappoints.

Another of Washington's best kept vocal secrets, Andrea Dumas, sent me an e-mail reminding me that Lizz would be at Blues Alley on September 3rd. 

Off I went with my daughter (who was born when Lizz was about 2 years old) to the 8 PM show. 

We met Andrea, and I think I ordered food, but I don't recall eating it. Lizz made her way to the stage, and proceeded to walk us through her CD.

Again, she didn't say much, which left lots of time for her to sing. It wasn't a fluke! I wasn't just emotional! 

She was just as terrific as she had been at The Kennedy Center, and the intimacy of the Alley just made it that much better. 

She didn't come with any of the vocal antics that seem to color what is now passing for singing. Every word, and phrase was deliberate and effectively delivered. There were no high high's, but the range she offered was wide enough. I hate to compare, because there is a definite uniqueness about her, but if I had to describe the evening, it was Oleta meets Lalah with a little Jill, Sarah, and Dianne… and everybody's 23.

"Walk With Me, Lord" wasn't an invitation to buck and shout, but a testament (without the actual testimony) that she definitely had a serious, genuine relationship with God. 

She wasn't merely infusing gospel with the Jazz set, making people wonder if she was confused, or unsure of her niche. It didn't seem as if she was groping for her own sound, by tackling different genres. She didn't slip it in as if to say, "Oh, by the way, surprise, I'm a Christian, and I sneaked in here to save everybody who’s straddling the fence”. 

There was honesty in her delivery. There was no need for apologies, theological bull, nor excuses to the saints, as to why she was in Blues Alley (and the saints were obviously there). 

It was clear that this young lady knows exactly who she is; her calling is sure, and wherever she goes, she need not alter herself to appease anyone.

Every song told a story; rose purely from her soul, and the peaceful, joyous look on her face said it all. 

From Brian Blade's arrangement of "Afro Blue", to the soulful "Soon As I Get Home", Lizz captivated the audience. She flashed a magnificent smile, that said she was enjoying where the songs were taking her, and we were going along for the ride.
"Open your eyes, you can fly!" 

Ok, Lizz. I believe you, child!

When she nodded to her pianist to play, "Salt", it was clear that everyone had been waiting for it. 

The CD delivers that little sermon-in-a-song marvelously, but Mizz Lizz put a little extra contralto stank on it at the Alley.
Poor thing tried to leave the stage, when her set was done, but everyone was on their feet, clapping and cheering, and literally making it impossible for her to maneuver her way to the staircase to her dressing room. All she could do was turn around, and take the stage for one last song- like we wanted her to. 

She laughed as she took the mike, and said we blocked her in on purpose. 

Yeah. We probably did…lol

Mel Prince was handling sound for the evening, and Lizz and her trio had just the right balance. 

The 10:00 crowd was milling in, and I realized I was still in my seat trying to decide whether my credit card could take another hit. Lisa, Andrea, and I had the good fortune to meet Lizz, and I have to admit, I haven't been so psyched about an autograph in a long time.

"What is it", you ask? 

You don't get it? 

Frankly, I just appreciate good singing. If you're looking to follow up the cabbage patch with the new electric slide, the “Salt” CD's not for you. 

If you're looking for a lot of smoke, mirrors, and visuals, that make you forget there's singing going on, Lizz live is not for you. 

If you know how to get into a zone, where you just want to be moved, need a little encouragement, or just want to applaud a young lady who is using her powers for good, then try a pinch of “Salt”. 

I can only imagine her getting better over the years. I hope her historic label, Verve, is investing for the duration.

Check out Lizz Wright on "Till Then", pianist Danilo Perez's new release, and revisit her on Joe Sample's "Pecan Tree". 

She'll be at  The Birchmere (in Alexandria VA), on Monday, December 1, at 7:30.  

Taste for yourself, if you don't want to take somebody's mother's word for it.

SEE THE BEAUTY

I'm always reminded just how creative and excellent God is. There's so much beauty to appreciate; so many things that compel you to smile...and risk having your cell phone snatched out of your hand by the wind, and end up demolished under the wheels of a speeding vehicle...After I took the last picture, I thought I'd best not press my luck, put the window back up, and put my phone back in my bag.
The sky was especially beautiful. I thank God for the privilege to have seen it, the heart to acknowledge and admire it, and the ability to capture a little of it--and not lose my cell phone in the process...: )