1 - Please read this article on the last Wizards' game.

2 - Please listen to this song (featuring Eric Roberson) off of Robert Glasper's latest offering. The lyrics are depressing, but it's a good song, that R. Kelly needs to listen to:



3 - My Philadelphia Eagles are in the playoffs, and there's nothing you can do about it.

Nyles Roman Mobley is now two years old. Two also represents the number of times I've blogged this year, so there is beautiful symmetry there. I know good and goddamn well I should let this blog finally die the slow death it has been dying, but I just cannot do it. So once again, I will attempt to conjure up the energy to get this train going again. In the meantime, you (by you I mean me) cannot go wrong with a birthday picture of young Nyles and his birthday cake.

I love Michael Jackson and I love Nyles. Put it together and...

Nyles F Baby at 21 months

I realized just now that I had good news in my life on Friday, but I neglected to write about it. I had an MRI on my brain on Thursday morning (it was just as agonizing as I remember) and on Friday afternoon around 5pm, they doctor called me and said that I was 100 percent healthy. The tumor they found on the CT Scan did not show up on the MRI, and the doctor blamed this on artifact (something I had never heard of until that day). I suppose I should be angry that the doctor put me through a few days of absolute terror and negative thoughts, but I am happier that I don't need surgery, radiation or anything of the sort. I still have to see a neurologist because I am still having intermittent headaches, so that concerns me a bit.


Part of me wishes I hadn't said anything to anyone until after the MRI, because I caused lots of people to worry over something that was ultimately nothing. Still, I was scared as hell, and who expects the doctors to be THAT wrong? I sure as hell didn't. Still, any mistake that results in things turning out in my favor is a great thing.

Now, per my dad's instructions, I need to a get the type of job that will allow me to write for a living, so I can finally be happy. I don't need someone to throw the "life is short" cliche' at me right now, because I got a taste of it last week.

Good times.

First off, here's yet another article I helped to write.

It is funny how many different directions this blog has taken the last seven years I've been writing. At first it was just about the observations of single man in his 30s. Then I spoke about the challenges of overcoming a devastating fire, then I got married, then I had a son, then I was boring, then I was dormant, I came back by focusing on father's records and then I went silent again. Now it is time for yet another direction.

Last Friday, after two weeks of intermittently painful headaches, I went to the doctor and got a CT scan. On Friday afternoon I was told there was something irregular about the film, and then on Saturday morning I was told there is a tumor in the back of my head. I don't know whether it is cancerous or not, and they aren't exactly sure of how big it is, but surgery is in my future barring a sudden change. I have an MRI on my brain at some point this week--I had one 5 and a half years ago, and I wrote about it here.

As you can imagine, my emotions are all over the map. On Saturday, I felt like I was going to die, Sunday, I wanted to be around friends and family to forget, Monday I was in denial and tried to go to work only to break down crying, and today I feel ok enough to write about it. If you're reading about this and i haven't told you, I am sorry, it just gets difficult to keep telling folks, when I know damn well that I can write it a bit better.

My exact condition is called Meningioma, and based on what I've read, I have an excellent chance at coming out of this with nothing more than a scar that can be shown off at barbecues and Christmas parties. But this is still brain surgery we are talking about, so nothing is guaranteed, and the cancer part still looms large. What I do know is that this is the time for me to rely on what i (used) to do best, and that is writing. I keep hearing the questions, "How do you feel?" or "What can I do?", and the kneejerk reaction for me is to tell folks to be and act normal. But as my boss told me, you can't hear someone say they have a brain tumor and act normal. My mother's reaction was to pray, my brother's reaction was to ask me a million and one questions, my dad took a long pause then shared his own past health challenges. My wife is doing a great job of being strong, but I have no idea how she feels and acts when I'm not around.

I just know i don't want to die, and I want this to be a good, "remember that time?" story one day down the line.

Please read my article right here

Is it arrogant for me to ask you to read my article after I've been dormant on the writing front for almost a month? Perhaps. Has life been kicking me in my monkey ass the past month? Hell yes. Do I promise to be a bit more prolific (anything beats nothing for a month) than I have been? Hell yes. Do I hate those people who ask themselves a series of rhetorical questions? You bet your sweet ass I do.

Anyway, here is some video of young Nyles being captivated by the iPad:

Chuck Mangione - Feels So Good

it is 1:28 pm on Thursday afternoon, and I have just downed two glasses of wine, while finishing Questlove's book that i reference in an earlier blog entry.. The book was brilliant in that Questlove had no problem focusing equally on his failures, successes, near-misses and everything in between. The book also makes me realizes that I am in a severe slump when it comes to writing about me, music or basketball.

My knee-jerk reaction is to blame my son Nyles for my lack of writing production. He takes up a lot of my time (as he should) and when I have quiet time, I'd much rather rest, relax, or talk to the wife, rather than spend time and effort trying to construct an above-average article--but that's not fair to Nyles. Other times, I'd like to blame my lack of production on my wife, because when I'm not doing Nyles-related things, I'm trying (only she could tell you whether I'm succeeding) to be an above-average husband, and that takes just as much effort as trying to be a good father. But again, to blame my lack of writing on my wife is just pure selfishness.

I suppose the reality is that life in general has put me in a place where I do not successfully know how to balance my writing--via my blog or Truth About It, my selfish needs, and the people who depend on me everyday. I'm sure it is an issue that everyone with responsibilities goes through, but since those people did not share their coping techniques with me, I feel like a ship without a captain at times, and it is equally hurtful and frustrating. And the fact that I am writing this much truth on a day when no one is likely to read it (July 4th) is not at all lost on me. I'm sure I'll get it together sooner or later, but right now, I have no clue what I'm doing and what the quick fix is or should be.

* * * * *


Anyway, the next record from my dad's collection that I inherited is Chuck Mangione's Feels So Good. Ordinarily, this record would go against everything I believe in music-wise. It is smooth jazz that was specifically targeting a pop culture audience. Yes there is a bit of a latin feel throughout the album, but in general this album is void of the technical and musical prowess that makes jazz so damn appealing to me. But on the flip side, there is a point when childhood nostalgia becomes the driving force, rather than snobbery, so hearing this song makes me smile. When my wife heard me playing this record, she said that it immediately reminded her of her mother.

There are only five other songs on this album besides the hit title track, and none of them are even worth me writing about. But the title track is enough to carry the rest of this mediocre album I promise you...

I've been on a bit of a writing hiatus because I've been in throes of moving over the last week or so. All of my records are now unpacked, and I'll resume with review my records tomorrow. Today, i have to rant and rave about a book written by someone who is a music nerd like me X 1000 and that is Ahmir ?uestlove Thompson.

The wife was nice enough to buy his book, "Mo Meta Blues: The World According to Questlove", and it basically a memoir about his life and his life-long love affair with all music. My father always told me that he wanted to write a book about his life, with his love for music serving as the backdrop, and one day I hope he does it. But in the short term, this Questlove book is the closest thing to my father's dream, and he nails it. I won't spoil things but giving away stories or his numerous music references, I'm just saying you need to buy it.

Speaking of music, young Nyles is a music fan too:

So the wife had to attend a work function tonight, which means I had to pick up Nyles from daycare, feed him dinner, bathe him, and put his ass to bed. I've done it before, so its really no big deal provided he behaves himself and tonight he did just that for the most part. When I picked up him from daycare he ran up to me and hugged me, when he ate dinner, it stayed in his mouth and not the floor or his hair, and when we read "God Loves Me" at reading time, he kept his grubby hands off of the book. Unfortunately, during bath time, things went a bit askew.

While I was running Nyles' bath water he tried to jump in the tub with his clothes on, but I caught him and politely told him to fall back. He then ran into the living room to dominate and terrorize the tv remote, and I followed him in there because I was watching/listening to PTI, and I had no interest in him interrupting my program. For a split second I lost track of Nyles while I watched Tony Kornheiser and Michael Wilbon interview Jeff Gundy, but I really didn't notice because the interview was just that good. And then I heard three things (in this order):

1) A splash
2) Clapping and yelling
3) Da-da

I immediately took off running down the hallway and into the bathroom, and by the time I got there, Nyles wasn't splashing, clapping, yelling or saying Da-da. He was just sitting in the damn tub looking simple, and after a few minutes he looked up at me and said, "Hi!", and in the tradition of Uncle Leo, I said hello.

I picked him up, dried him off, stripped him buck-ed nak-ed, and put his ass in the tub the more traditional way. We had a normal bath time, and he went to sleep like a champ. The lesson here? I always give my wife a hard time, because she's constantly texting or playing words with friends (a game I still can't play because I refuse to give up my old ass Blackberry) and sometimes she neglects Nyles (not really). So what do I do in return? I completely ignore the little guy for 30 seconds, and he goes hard in the tub like Kareem taking a 33-foot dive. I need to take my own advice and pay attention. The wife is SO winning right now, and I could use a glass--ok five glasses--of wine.

By the way, it was my intention to write yet another installment of I-have-my-father's-records-now, but the record I chose, Stanley Clarke's "Modern Man", absolutely sucked ass. It was more smooth jazz from 1978, and I tried to listen to the entire record, I was just not interested. Here was the only good song:



you may recognize the intro from this Jay-Z song (start at the 12 second mark):

Father's Day 2013

Bobbi Humphrey's Best: Bobbi Humphrey

As happy as I am to have inherited my father's fantastic record collection, there is one dirty, little secret that I've managed to hide all this time: He bought a whole lot of smooth jazz. Now I can justify by mentioning that smooth jazz was a bit different in the 70s, because it was recorded by artists would could and did play classic jazz, but wanted to try something different (see: Miles Davis and Herbie Hancock). And I suppose if I had grown up during that era, I'd have been a smooth jazz fan too. But my roots are more steeped in jazz, so I always reserve a healthy dosage of hate for the entire genre.

Having said that, Bobbi Humphrey is the exception to the rule. She was one of the few women in the jazz genre having being discovered by Dizzy Gillespie while she was in college at SMU. She's played with Stevie Wonder (she had the flute solo on "Another Sun"), and later on in her life--this has nothing to do with jazz mind you--she discovered Tevin Campbell.

Anyway, this particular album, "Bobbi Humphrey's Best" is a greatest hits album and I was just going about my business when I heard the song, "San Francisco Lights", which was sample by Brand Nubian in their song, "Love Me Or Leave Me Alone". So now I know one of the few redeeming qualities of70s smooth jazz: It is chock full of hip-hop samples:

Third Album - Jackson 5

Like most kids who were born in the mid to late 1970s, my introduction to Michael Jackson was ass backwards. The love affair started with "Off The Wall", then it was ramped up several notches with "Thriller", and then I became obsessed with finding all things Michael Jackson whether it was old or new, and that started with my dad's record collection. I grabbed up every Jacksons and Jackson 5 album I could get my hands on, and I begged my father to play them. He'd regale my brother and I with stories about how much he and mother partied off Jacksons' records while he was in college, and he told me that everyone knew Michael was going to be a star way back then.

When I was younger, the two songs that drew me to the "Third Album" were "I'll Be There", and "Goin' Back To Indiana", because they were most popular. Now at 38 years old, after listening to the album front to back, I think I like "Ready or Not" the best--only because I get a kick out of hearing 11 year old Michael Jackson sing the lyrics to what become a Fugess song 26 years later...

Smackwater Jack - Quincy Jones

Since I last wrote an entry a little over a week ago, my grandfather (my mother's father) passed away. He had been battling a variety of illnesses over the last several months that included diabetes, heart issues and cancer. There were several close calls in the last few months, and each time, he'd recover, and go back to his home in Detroit, Michigan. The day before he died he was having some heart troubles and before he told his wife (my step-grandmother) to call 911, he told her, "Sandy, its time". That night he lost consciousness, through the next 12 or so hours he was unresponsive, and at 5:55pm on June 3rd, he passed away--just 5 days before his 82nd birthday, which was when he was buried.

I didn't have the best of relationships with my grandfather, but I always respected the man's sense of family and education. But I went to the funeral to be there for my mother who was a wreck as you can imagine. I'll spare you the details of the funeral, just know that it was good to see the family, but definitely not under those circumstances. Here is his obituary

Now back to the music. This is one of five Quincy Jones' albums my father had in his collection and is entitled "Smackwater Jack". As was the norm for Quincy during the 70s and 80s, there are elements of rock, blues and R&B, but jazz is clearly the centerpiece. And as is also the norm for Quincy, the list of guest stars on his album resembles that of a Macy's Day parade lineup: Hubert Laws (flute and tenor sax), Freddie Hubbard (trumpet), Valerie Simpson (vocals), Bob James (Fender Rhodes), Joe Sample (piano), Jimmy Smith (organ), and even a vocal performance by Bill Cosby on a song called, "Hikky Burr", which was the theme of "The Bill Cosby Show" which aired from 1969-1971--not to be confuse with "The Cosby Show".

There is always a bittersweet quality to Quincy Jones' albums. He clearly believed in jazz, making good music, and gathering the best musicians around to do so. Robert Glasper did this a bit with his grammy-winning cd, "Black Radio", but overall it isn't exactly a concept that has picked up steam. I know Quincy is one of a kind, but still, it would be nice to see someone attempt to pick up and run with that golden baton.

Anyway, here is "Hikky Burr". The lineup is:

Bill Cosby on vocals
Toots Thielmans on Guitar and Whistler
Freddie Hubbard on flugelhorn
Eric Gayle on guitar
Hubert Laws on the flute

1st Haircut

Nyles' hair has been awfully unruly over the past couple of months, but I really wanted to wait until he was two years old, before I pulled the trigger on his first cut. His hair was patchy in spots, plus he has a benign cyst on top of his head, and I worried about whether a barber could gingerly maneuver his way over that, all while taking into account how delicate haircuts could be for a 17 month old. But on Saturday morning, I looked at Nyles' hair, and decided that it was time.

Now originally, this initial trip to the barbershop was just going to be me and Nyles. I knew how important it was my wife to be there too, but the barbershop is still by and large a place for men to talk unfiltered--even when kids are around. In my barbershop, there are a few women with Zhane cuts who come in from time to time, there are women who get their eyebrows down and there are even single women who bring their sons in as well. But 90% of the barbershop are men between the ages of 18-65, so I was not totally comfortable with bringing my wife in that lion's den. I did not want them looking her up and down, and coming up with mental lists of things to say once me and my family left. I've been in the barbershop after women leave, and i know the kinds of things--complimentary, flattering and X-rated--that are said. But I got over myself, and the family took a Sunday morning trip to the barbershop.

When we arrived there were only a few other people there, but my barber did not have anyone waiting on him, so he was up first. I started to sit Nyles in the chair alone, but Stan (my barber) suggested it was better if I sat in the chair, while the youngster sat in my lap. When the clippers first touched Nyles head, he looked back at Stan as if to say, "Who is this dude?",and then he looked at me as if to say, "Are you signing off on this?", but that was the only resistance he put up during his 15 minutes stay. He squirmed a bit, but not as much as you'd expect a kid his age to do. He looked at his mother for comfort, he studied the other folks in the barbershop, and he'd occasionally flash looks at me just to make sure I was still by his side.

When the haircut was over, Stan put a mirror in front of Nyles (like Jerome would do to Morris Day) and he laughed, and then tried to grab the mirror, which in baby speak means I approve. I let him out of my lap, he ran to his mother, and that was it. For the rest of his life, he will go in and out of barbershops requesting all types of wonderful styles, but I'm so glad me, my wife, and young Nyles got a chance to experience this together.

Here's the before:


and here's the after:

Mulgrew Miller, a legendary lead and background jazz pianist, died yesterday at the age of 57. I went to see Mulgrew, along with Ron Carter and Russell Malone (aka the Golden Stryker Trio) about three years ago. Here's how it went.

Maiden Voyage - Ramsey Lewis

I was thinking just now about how I really don't have a record collection to pass down to my son as we both get older. The records from my dad's collection may not be in playing condition in 30 or so years, which would render them downright useless. In fact, the best I could offer my son is my zipfile or hard drivie with all of my music, which may not be so bad--uncovering a record collection is more fun though.

Anyway, I never knew my father had this Maiden Voyage record by Ramsey Lewis, so I listened to it for the first time about 20 minutes ago. Of course, I am familiar with Herbie Hancock's version of this record, so that song was no big deal. But song number two on this record is called "Mighty Quinn", and the first time I listened to it, I noticed some familiar piano riffs being played. I lifted up the needle and move it back a bit (aka rewind) and I listened again, and realized that the riff was used in this hip hop classic:



I'm not saying the rest of the album isn't good, because it actually is. Ramsey Lewis is on piano, Cleveland Eaton is on bass, and Maurice White of Earth, Wind and Fire fam is on drums, strings and vocals. But the Case of the PTA sample is what made me smile the broadest.

"Mighty Quinn"

I'm Still In Love With You - Al Green

I have no problems admitting that I ignored my father's attempts to turn me on to Al Green when I was younger. I knew the music was cool, soulful and tinged with the gospel sound, and his voice was undoubtedly unique. But my young ears just could not appreciate his greatness--that is until Eric B and Rakim's "Mahogany" came out in 1990:



Once that song came out, and my father told me that Eric B & Rakim sampled Al Green "I'm Glad You're Mine", I suddenly had a new respect for Reverend Green, and it started with the "I'm Still In Love With You" album. My second favorite song on the album is "For The Good Times", only because my dad used to sing it to my mom, and replace the word "times" with "wine", which I find hilarious (and ironic considering I'm imbibing right now). Of course now, I realize the gravity of this album, but I have no problems admitting that hip-hop--more importantly the greatest rapper of all time, Rakim--led me to Al Green. I'm Reverend Al appreciates that too.

Golden Hits, Part I - Dionne Warwick

When "That's What Friends Are For" and "We Are the World" were out in the mid-80s, I remember telling my dad that Dionne Warwick did not appear to have a very strong voice..in fact I remember saying she sounded like she had been chain smoking for years. My dad then put on this Golden Hits record, and let me hear how Dionne's voice sounded in its prime, and I was blown away. There was nothing hoarse or scratchy about her voice. She sounded clear, she hit all the notes, and she sounded like a bonafide diva. The music snob in me likes to stay away from Greatest Hits-type albums, because you really cannot truly appreciate an artist unless you buy their collection, and listen to those obscure songs that no one has praised. Plus, the flow and tracklisting of those types of albums rarely make sense. Still, for someone like me who didn't know much about Warwick's career prior to 1985, this was right on time.

"This Empty Place":