I instantly fell in love with Song. Her presence was welcoming, and her reflection was encouraging. Every time I looked at her, I looked at the possibilities of who I would one day become. She was royal. Perfectly flawed, human, and raw. She was my sister. She spoke life into me. She was a mother, and patiently showed me how to guide Hasan. Love. Every action was made gently with love. This was good for me, seeing as I didn’t move with such grace. I was hard. Never learned delicate, had never seen it for that matter. Song invited me to her studio one afternoon. It was a room in her apartment, fully equipped with keyboard, guitar, microphone, and an array of other instruments.
“I want you to hear this track I made,” she said. As the music played, the dreamer in me instantly took center stage in my head. I saw movies, plays, books, clothing lines. I saw an army of queens.
“Dope!” I yelled over the instrumental while nodding my head to the interesting layers that unfolded with every melody.
“I want you to sing on it with me.” Song looked at me in anticipation, awaiting my response.
Secretly, I had always dreamed of singing. I would sing at church and actually was in a band for a bit, but it didn’t end up lasting. During that time, it was my first experience of anyone thinking I was great at something. I could remember being in high school singing and my friends laughing at me. One of them even told me I couldn’t sing, so the idea of standing up and confessing that I was a “singer” or a “poet” or anything was paralyzing.
“Uggghhh, I don’t sing.”
Song instantly started laughing.
“Girl, stop playing, I’ve heard you! Why would I even ask if I didn’t think you could sing?”
Obviously I wasn’t getting off the hook that easily.
“I ain’t never wrote a song before! I don’t know how.”
“That’s okay, don’t worry about it.” Before I could think twice, Song put on the track and hit record.
At first I was really insecure, but her assurance and guidance helped me push.
We ended up writing an entire song together within an hour.
“See, I knew it,” she said with that smile on her face.
“God told me to call you.”
We had been working on music together for about five months. We’d do little gigs here and there at churches and open mic nights. One afternoon we were in downtown Oakland at a music festival with Hasan. We saw a really cute restaurant with a patio that we wanted to try, so we decided to park and walk to it. Somehow we made a wrong turn and ended up walking for a few blocks. Song and I were both free spirits so we weren’t too frustrated, more so enjoying the walk.
“Oh, an art gallery!” I loved art. I loved anything involving art. I would always tell myself that I would love to check out more art shows, but never seemed to have the time or opportunity. There was no way I was going to pass this up. Before I could say it, Song suggested we check it out. We headed up the stairs of a two-story building and entered a studio. It had a sort of hippie seventies vibe so instantly I was inspired. We were met by a beautiful tall woman with a red rose in her hair. I remember looking at her yellow fishnet stocking and thinking, She’s cool.
She explained that the display featured a local Oakland artist famous for his pieces that feature actual items from the community. How perfect is it being in a place where you belong?
In the midst of us checking out the exhibit, in walks an extremely tall and thin eccentric-looking man. Afro flying free. Instantly, I thought, He’s cool. Cool to me is people in their natural state. People who don’t run from self-expression.
I realized that there were pictures of the man on the wall with a guitar and figured he must be a musician.
“You play?”
Song had her guitar on her back—she refused to leave home without it.
“Yeah, I play a little.”
Why do we do that? Like dream about things our entire life, then get in the presence and hide.
Before I could even think, the words flowed out of my mouth “Pshhh, she’s dope!”
He looked at me and laughed. “Don’t do that, ‘cause if she’s weak I’m a tell her.”
“Play me something.”
Song looked at me in shock; through my eyes I sternly looked at her guitar, as if to say, Pull that thang out, girl!
Hesitantly, she pulled out her instrument and began to serenade the room.
Everything grew still: she captivated every listener.
By the time she was done, he asked his friends to come in and listen.
“Can you sing it again?”
This time, they all pulled out their phones and recorded while she sang.
When she was done, I looked at him and smiled, “I told you.”
He ended up giving Song his business card so they could work together in the future. We left so excited, in shock at how organically the encounter took place. We found the restaurant and ate the best burgers known to man…. Seriously, the Chop Bar has some of the best burgers in Oakland.
When we left, we hit the corner and found the car. We looked at each other in amazement. If we had gone that way, Song would have never met the artist.