“….I’ve been here before….”
You and me both, Teena. Damn shame you’re not still with us. Teena Marie meant the world to me as a kid; one of few women in the music business that was writing, producing and performing her own music—and kicking ass. She was her whole self in her music, always. (“I don’t want the fire without the flame…”) Lyrics to live by.
A young white woman signed to Motown back in the seventies who took the R&B charts by storm, but never “crossed over”. Plenty of appearances on Soul Train, but not on other television music outlets: Midnight Special, Saturday Night Live, Austin City Limits, Night Flight, Tom Snyder’s Late, Late Show….she made it to American Bandstand once (in 1984), and MTV played “Square Biz” or “Lovergirl” on really rare moments, but that was about it. She came on the scene ’round about the time apartheid-oriented radio was revved up and in gear; a toxic combination of “Disco Sucks” (and anti-punk/New Wave) backlash, radio deregulation and its niche formatting, and music industry fears of video and cassettes undercutting profits (translation: new artists weren’t exactly promoted aggressively, especially if they crossed genres). But she paid that no mind, and was a frequent flyer up the R&B charts with every new release.
Speaking of new releases, when Motown was reticent about releasing her newer material in 1982—but wouldn’t release her from contract—she sued and won. The “Brockert Initiative” (from Teena’s given name, Mary Christine Brockert; “Teena Marie” is the reversal of her first and middle names) made it illegal for record companies to keep an artist under contract without releasing new material from the artist. She continued making and producing music in the 80s, but through the 90′s, she dedicated most of her time to raising her daughter, Alia Rose; she paid the bills through touring. In 2004, she was back on the block with La Doña, whose intro played with a “godfather” theme (and her italian ancestry). That was quickly followed with Sapphire” in 2006, and 2009′s Congo Square.
Check out Ta Nehisi Coates’ “The Indomitable Blackness of Teena Marie” and Afrobella’s tribute. TV One has an informative documentary; towards the end there’s a duet with her daughter, Alia Rose (who sings just like her!).
I don’t know where to begin. I first heard her on Soul Train doing “I’m A Sucker For Your Love.” Soul Train was one of the few outlets to hear funk and soul music commercially where I lived; Saturday afternoon on WGN for Soul Train was a must! Beyond that, there were a couple of radio stations within listening distance that had R&B shows (a college radio station had a Saturday night show; there was another station with a Sunday evening show). There was the “soul skate” at the roller rink late Sunday afternoons. Eventually, there was a soul station created through cable access—but hell, I only got to listen to that when my parents weren’t home (only one cable outlet, and that was pretty much reserved for sports and news programs my father liked to watch. Music on the tv wasn’t on his agenda). So, I’d sit in my room on Sunday nights taping the R&B songs I liked, because if I didn’t do it then, I’d lose my chance. Teena Marie was part of the soundtrack of my growing up….the more sophisticated part, LOL! She put out “grown folks music” before they were calling it that! Before La Doña came out, I was working in the MetroEast area; a long drive for me but it beat the alternative of being unemployed….plus, the advantage of better radio stations made the drive not-so-bad. Anyway, I heard her do a live performance of “Deja Vu” on the Tom Joyner Morning Show that was just incredible. Made my day to start off the workday with that.
Crucial jams: “I’m A Sucker For Your Love,” “Deja Vu”, “Behind the Groove,” “Fire and Desire,” “I Need Your Lovin’,” “Young Love,” “It Must Be Magic,” “Portuguese Love,” “Shadow Boxing,” “Casanova Brown,” “Aladdin’s Lamp,” “Cupid Is a Real Straight Shooter,” “Lovergirl,” “Out On A Limb,” “Yes Indeed,” “Shangri La,” “Ooh La La La,” “If I Were A Bell.” You can hear some of these on Questlove’s Swift FM station. I think the whole album La Doña is great, but especially “A Rose By Any Other Name” (Gerald LeVert channels his inner Rick James for this), “Makavelli Never Lied,” “Hit Me Where I Live,” and “Black Rain”. “Ooh Wee,” “Make It Hot,” “APB,” and “Love is a Gangsta” from Sapphire, and “Milk ‘N Honey,” “Harlem Blues” and the title track to Congo Square are all good—while so many artists keep rehashing old material, she just kept getting better with age.
Lady Tee, you will be missed.
Another Mother’s Day
I started attending a UU congregation last October. A couple of folks were asked to speak as a mother on motherhood; I was one of ‘em. I resisted at first, trying to explain that my experience was so far outside the norm that people wouldn’t be able to relate……but, I’m known for my Big Mouth and interesting stories. And since it’s been awhile since I posted anything on this blog…..well, here’s my Mother’s Day. I’m having a good one. Hope you are too.
………..
My path into motherhood was, like many other facets of my life, decidedly non-traditional.
My daughter came three months early; at one pound, ten ounces. She was an alphabet soup of medical complications; an impressive case history of three-letter acronyms providing a neat shorthand of her various conditions.
While other mothers were adapting to their new status with feeding and sleeping schedules, my life moved to the unfamiliar cadence of nursing shifts and doctors’ rounds. I learned about PICC lines and blood oxygen levels. I wrapped my tongue around new lingo: “intravascular hemorrhage”, “periventricular leukomalacia”, “necrotizing enterocolitis” and “disseminated intravascular coagulation”. Demonstrating that I could handle words greater than three syllables meant the doctors would tell me more, and wouldn’t soft-pedal it.
I wasn’t able to hold her for the first two months. It was hard to feel like a mother during that time. I pumped my breasts with an almost religious fervor, because it was all I could do to be a mother, stockpiling breast milk for the precious time when she would be able to drink it.
As her condition improved, I learned to change iliostomy bags instead of diapers. When I was able to bathe her, I was mindful of her PICC line and put vaseline on her mucus fistula. I held her hand, sang her songs, described the world to her as best as I could. Told her what the shadows meant as they moved across the ceiling in the NICU, how the light changes during the day as it moves into night. As the planet spins on its axis. Moving us with it.
And how we spin. I was, and am, unmarried. During that time, her father developed a methamphetamine addiction. By the time my daughter came home from the hospital, he was spectacularly busted with a front-page article in the newspaper. He was also an electrician, so going into work the next day—construction sites not exactly being bastions of restraint or compassion—I felt like I was doing the perp walk. Thankfully, no one said anything.
I gave him the ultimatum—-me, or the meth—he picked the meth. We broke up, he spent the next several years in and out of jail. We did not stay in contact. I learned about his death the same way everyone else in the city did…it was on the late-night news. He killed himself by lying down on the downtown railroad tracks.
While he spent his remaining years in and out of jail, I spent mine in and out of employment. The economy was not good for electricians after the heyday of the Clinton years. Mostly, I traveled—-to Alton, Belleville, Granite City. My daughter and I kept up a rigorous schedule of therapies: speech, occupational, physical, developmental. My medical education was extended to include “failure to thrive” and “developmental disabilities”.
I’m a Bad Mother. When people ask me, “how old was she when she learned how to….crawl? walk? speak?” I have no idea. That all happened somewhere in that great sea of activity alternating with exhaustion. Never on time. One of her NICU nurses came to my house and gave me a gift—a “baby book” to write milestones in. I’m ashamed to say that one of the things I have in common with many mothers is that….that book has remained untouched. I can tell you that she learned to read on her own last year, and devours chapter books with a bloodthirsty vengeance.
The acronyms have not yet ended. Now, there’s “LD”, “IEP” and as-yet-undiagnosed “ADD”, but that last one she comes by honestly.
What I have in common with universal motherhood is….from the moment she arrived, my whole world changed. When she was born, when her eyes first lit up with curiosity, when she came home from the hospital, went to daycare, went to school. It’s still changing now, as she grows into young womanhood, coming-of-age.
She gave me a homemade Mother’s Day card of the 101 Dalmatians, with a picture of her. It reads, “For all that you do for me, I Love You.” I don’t know that I could articulate all that she does for me.
That’s my journey into motherhood. For all its struggle, I wouldn’t change it for the world.
(note: in the oral version, I use my daughter’s name after the first four paragraphs, but not before. That was in memory of her physicians not using her name until after the fourth month of her life. Also, that Mother’s Day card? She’s a phenomenal artist. She can draw characters with such incredible physical and facial expressions. She doesn’t draw like a kid.)
Crystal Lee Sutton: Labor Heroine (cross-posted at Feministe)
Crystal Lee Sutton, originally of Roanoke Rapids, North Carolina, died of cancer September 12 at the age of 68. She was instrumental in the 10-year fight to unionize the J.P. Stevens mill, where she once worked for $2.65/hr. You may remember her as “Norma Rae”, as portrayed by actor Sally Field in the Oscar-winning film of 1979.
Crystal moved on from the J.P. Stevens mill after becoming an organizer for the Amalgamated Clothing and Textile Workers Union; she eventually returned to school and graduated from Alamance Community College, who maintains her records of the organizing battle and a website about her life. She was initially denied coverage by her insurance company for treatment for her cancer; her husband worked two jobs to help pay for her medical care. The North Carolina State AFL-CIO is also accepting donations for her medical bills.
“It is not necessary I be remembered as anything, but I would like to be remembered as a woman who deeply cared for the working poor and the poor people of the U.S. and the world.” –Crystal Lee Sutton
Rest in peace, Sister.
Lu Lutta Continua.
headnod: Uniongal
Sunshine Cleaning
Through Feministe, I found a really cool website featuring the undersung sheroes of the film industry, Women and Hollywood; author Melissa Silverstein pumps the hell out of woman-centric films (preferably, those written and/or directed by women). There’s such a dearth of good films by and for women, that I find myself going to this website often to get tips on what to see. If we want our stories told, we need to support the people doing the telling when we can. As my daughter gets older, she is expanding her taste in film beyond cartoons and films based on comic books. Film is an interest we share together, and she is always interested in films about women….I think it’s a way of exploring how she wants to be when she grows up. That, and she’s had a keen sense of women being shortchanged for years. She used to point out the lack of female characters in storybooks in preschool, drew pictures of animals (and pity the fool that said, “what’s his name?” or “what’s he doing?”), and marched through the Body Worlds exhibit at the St. Louis Science Center last year intrigued with the bodies but disgusted at the lack of female presence (“there are only four females in this whole show! Just four!”). Heh, no…I didn’t drill her into doing that……she did it on her own, practically from the moment she could speak. She’s nine now, and growing up fast. She’s always had a handle on the various ways women and our contributions are diminished, but she’s reaching an age where she’s impressed with the ways in which we challenge and change those misconceptions and misrepresentations. I make a point of showing her art (in all its forms) by women to give her models for creating and imagining……resistance, truth, beauty, evolution, revolution…..models I didn’t have at her age. She will be one of many making this world a better place.
A couple of weeks ago, we went to see the film Sunshine Cleaning written by Megan Holley and directed by Christine Jeffs. It’s the story of Rose Lorkowski (Amy Adams), a struggling single mother whose glory days as the high school cheerleading captain dating the quarterback are long gone; she now spends her hardscrabble days working as a maid and trying to make the ends meet. Besides raising her bright, too-imaginative-for-school eight year old, Oscar (Jason Spevack), she also feels responsible for her younger sister Norah (Emily Blunt), a perpetual slacker who still lives with their eccentric dad, Joe (Alan Arkin).
Rose has been the adult in that family ever since the death of their mother. While her salesman/hustler father never met a get-rich-quick idea he didn’t like (or want to try), Rose kept it all together, spending her life seeking normalcy—a convention that has always eluded her. She practices affirmations in the mirror to jump start her psyche in the morning; verbal coffee for the day ahead.
Her only escape is the evenings at the motel with her married, cop boyfriend, Mac (Steve Zahn)—the quarterback who didn’t pick her for his team. After Rose complains about the need to get her son into a different school, one that won’t label his nonconformity as disability, Mac turns her on to the idea of starting a crime-scene cleanup business. “You wouldn’t believe how much money they make!” So, with no training, no knowledge, no start-up money, no contacts (save for Mac, who lets her know where the latest atrocity occurred and who to speak to about getting the job)—Rose jumps in with both feet, dragging her reluctant younger sister along for the ride (“do you want to live with Dad forever?”).
It’s…..messy. Like life itself. Rose finds her guardian angel in the form of Winston (Clifton Collins, Jr.), the owner/propietor of the cleaning supply house she frequents; Winston lends her his study manuals for the certification exam (that she didn’t know she needed!) and doesn’t report her for the egregious code violations that the upstart “Sunshine Cleaning” has already committed. It’s tough. But so is Rose. And so too are Norah, and even Joe.
As Rose and Norah clean up the final tragedies of the lives of others, they learn how to clean up the unfinished business in their own; burying what is finished in the past, and moving toward the light in their futures. “Sunshine Cleaning” isn’t just about smoothing over the surface, spit-and-polish to cover up after the casualties—it’s about how people themselves are assigned stations as the detritus of this life, and how those who are still living don’t have to accept it. This is a film about—and for—survivors.
In Lubu’s Den, me & the cub give it two thumbs up* for realism, recognizable characters, inventive scriptwriting, and a stellar cast that didn’t sleep in. The shots of Albuquerque gave just the right touch. This was Megan Holley’s first script (entered in a scriptwriting contest!). For more on Sunshine Cleaning:
*head nod to fellow Illinoisan Roger Ebert!
Pacing & Howling
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Changing Moods
