I don’t wonder where I got my rock from. All of us are products of Rockin and Rollin. That’s basic conception. The seed is planted and we grew, but we were the product of the primal need for human beings to Rock and Roll ourselves in pleasure. Five days out of 7 I don’t question the primal urges of the human cycle. It is what it has been for many centuries. We exist to let out ya ya's out in the way that fits our need best at the time. Sexually, sonically, physically, or creatively. We live in order to feed the primal urge.
I’ve always been an equal opportunity hedonist when it comes to music. Anything can get me off. Ever since I discovered my Mother’s Nazareth 45 “Love Hurts” had a raunchy B-Side called “Hair Of The Dog” , I was hooked on rock music. As a little child hearing Dan McCafferty wailing in a threatening tone “Now your messing with a Son of a Bitch..” I was hooked. As a kid I didn’t completely get what it was that I liked about the song, besides the fact that he was swearing, but it touched me in a raw way. The stripped down way that the drums were being played and the screeching guitars, mixed with McCafferty’s threat to the unseen assailant, to me were better than watching a school yard fight. Every kid loved to see a good school yard fight, and in a way this song was kind of like listening to a good school yard fight, verbal threats mixed with the physicality of the rhythm section. Rock music was the sonic after school fight.
But loving rock music and being a Black kid seemed to be an oddity to many. When some of my friends’ where dancing to the Double Dutch bus at recess. I jumped in the skipping rope singing both Dust In the Wind and The Freaks Come Out At Night. Sure it caused a lot of my playmates to drop the rope in question, but I didn’t care, because I liked Kansas just as much as I liked Whodini. Somehow the little Black girl in braids and black Clarks wasn’t supposed to like that kind of music.
As I got older I really was fascinated with Hendrix. I remember watching a show on Much Music about Classic rock, and it featured a story about Jimi Hendrix. I watched in awe as this afro crowned rock god did things to the guitar I had never heard before. The sounds that I heard hypnotized my ears. I promptly went out the next day and bought his greatest hits. I played Red House and Little Wing until I knew every change in the music by heart. Eventually I researched more and got deeper into more rock, and blues. From Hendrix to Living Colour. I always get a high off of finding Black musicians that weren’t afraid to rock. When listening to Willie Dixon, Robert Johnson, and Muddy Waters, I knew it wasn’t foreign for a Black musician to make a guitar moan and scream.
Entered the Sandman Metal came and Danziged into my life. Glam rock and me were friends in front of the mirror but Grunge…now that was a turning point for me. When the song Alive came out I became obsessed with Pearl Jam and the Seattle scene. I remember when my group of friends raided the malls in search of checked shirts and long johns to wear under out cut offs. When I went to my first Pearl Jam concert and watched as Eddie Vedder climb around the balcony of The Concert Hall like a wild beast, I was mesmerized. When he climbed to where I was and began to fall into the crowd below, my hands were one of the many that reached out to grab a hold of his sweaty green shirt and ease him back to safety. The energy in that room was unmistakable. The walls of this old Masonic temple sweated with the raw power that Pearl Jam created in that space. I felt as if I wanted to climb the pillars too. I screamed the primal scream, and felt no shame. I’ll never forget that night. Or any of the days or nights that Rock has enabled me to scream the primal scream. May the internal rocking and rolling never cease to exist.
And yes a Sister can rock. Because I sure do and always will.
I’ve always been an equal opportunity hedonist when it comes to music. Anything can get me off. Ever since I discovered my Mother’s Nazareth 45 “Love Hurts” had a raunchy B-Side called “Hair Of The Dog” , I was hooked on rock music. As a little child hearing Dan McCafferty wailing in a threatening tone “Now your messing with a Son of a Bitch..” I was hooked. As a kid I didn’t completely get what it was that I liked about the song, besides the fact that he was swearing, but it touched me in a raw way. The stripped down way that the drums were being played and the screeching guitars, mixed with McCafferty’s threat to the unseen assailant, to me were better than watching a school yard fight. Every kid loved to see a good school yard fight, and in a way this song was kind of like listening to a good school yard fight, verbal threats mixed with the physicality of the rhythm section. Rock music was the sonic after school fight.
But loving rock music and being a Black kid seemed to be an oddity to many. When some of my friends’ where dancing to the Double Dutch bus at recess. I jumped in the skipping rope singing both Dust In the Wind and The Freaks Come Out At Night. Sure it caused a lot of my playmates to drop the rope in question, but I didn’t care, because I liked Kansas just as much as I liked Whodini. Somehow the little Black girl in braids and black Clarks wasn’t supposed to like that kind of music.
As I got older I really was fascinated with Hendrix. I remember watching a show on Much Music about Classic rock, and it featured a story about Jimi Hendrix. I watched in awe as this afro crowned rock god did things to the guitar I had never heard before. The sounds that I heard hypnotized my ears. I promptly went out the next day and bought his greatest hits. I played Red House and Little Wing until I knew every change in the music by heart. Eventually I researched more and got deeper into more rock, and blues. From Hendrix to Living Colour. I always get a high off of finding Black musicians that weren’t afraid to rock. When listening to Willie Dixon, Robert Johnson, and Muddy Waters, I knew it wasn’t foreign for a Black musician to make a guitar moan and scream.
Entered the Sandman Metal came and Danziged into my life. Glam rock and me were friends in front of the mirror but Grunge…now that was a turning point for me. When the song Alive came out I became obsessed with Pearl Jam and the Seattle scene. I remember when my group of friends raided the malls in search of checked shirts and long johns to wear under out cut offs. When I went to my first Pearl Jam concert and watched as Eddie Vedder climb around the balcony of The Concert Hall like a wild beast, I was mesmerized. When he climbed to where I was and began to fall into the crowd below, my hands were one of the many that reached out to grab a hold of his sweaty green shirt and ease him back to safety. The energy in that room was unmistakable. The walls of this old Masonic temple sweated with the raw power that Pearl Jam created in that space. I felt as if I wanted to climb the pillars too. I screamed the primal scream, and felt no shame. I’ll never forget that night. Or any of the days or nights that Rock has enabled me to scream the primal scream. May the internal rocking and rolling never cease to exist.
And yes a Sister can rock. Because I sure do and always will.
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