To the extent that Black Music goes hand in hand with Black Love…without a soundtrack, most lovers would opt to go without the rituals of romance at all…
Imagine all the stages of love…the beginnings, middles and ends…the breakups to makeups…the long, slow distances…the emotions…valentines, love letters and sexual expressions. Among the first things that lovers acquire is “their song.” And it doesn’t cost either one of them a thing. Their “Love’s Theme” is divinely assigned by sweet fate or circumstance. Sometimes it’s “My One and Only Love.” Sometimes it’s “Me and Mrs. Jones.”
Can it be that it was all so simple “then” – somewhere in the past – when a man could sing “You Send Me” or “I’m So Proud” and the woman of his dreams would swoon. Somewhere along the way, those love songs became “Close the Door and “Do Me, Baby,” making certain messages sharper and clearer. Ain’t nothing wrong but, ultimately, it’s all about a kinetic balance of a love-starved heart and a deliciously dirty mind…steady catchin’ vibes until our “Phone Dies.”
Can we take it all the way back to when man found rhythm rubbing two rocks or sticks together to start a fire, the rhythm of which became a musical massage of the ears – when the literal analogy of lighting a fire stirred the nexus of some woman nearby. It all goes together. A man engaged in an urgent purpose of providing heat and light that happens to be created with fervent rhythmic rubbing, which, when successful, impresses and comforts a woman, creating another kind of heat leading to a duet of his ooohs and her ahhhs that, too, are straight up music. The vibration is elemental. Cuz even if you can’t hear the music…you can feel it. It literally connects us as human beings.
What would love be like without music? Without the sound of a seductively blown saxophone, a tenderly strummed guitar, a rhapsodic rendering across some piano keys, a core rumbling bass line, or sweet nothings whispered softly in your ear?
While a scene is being set, a meal being prepared, candles being lit and a hot bath being drawn, surely there is music being carefully selected, sequenced and set to play…to orchestrate the evening for wave after wave of passionate peaks.
And as fast as new slang emerges within the lexicon of language, a song is born right along with it. “My Girl” morphed into “My Boo” – a boo being your sugar pie honey bunch – `til “boo” went from a noun to an adverb on “Booed Up!” Love is a circle defined by cycles and it eventually becomes calibrated by RPMs (rotations per minute).
At the end of the day – anywhere in the world you may play – love is for everybody. But for Black Folks, love is everything. Our heartbeat BOOMS with exaggerated decibels of low-end theory from our chariots of choice, our riddims rock more relentlessly, and our voices pierce the clouds `til the rain comes down.
When money was scarce and distractions few, love – too often – was all we had.
Be it in the midst of renaissance or revolution, Love makes our word go around…
A. Scott Galloway
