Museveni's Children
I lusted, I longed,
but I could not have.
That has been my life.
For a decade and more.
Longing. Desire. Being
thwarted.
more...by this tadoba light, it’s hard to tell, the cataracts foam time.
I’m writing all this
down for the first time.
Writing it down, I’m
surprised I’m not bitter, or tired or ready to give up.
What is it that impels
me forward still? To try again. To keep trying? We've been dream carrying bigger ambitions in smaller carriers...
I cannot explain it
myself. I do not find it in some fortune cookie mystery unwrapped with fingers of laughing impatience. Some haiku wisdom from centuries
of human endeavour. It is not in the (Kwata) split sayings from the clan and
tribe I was born in, whose sayings do not easily drop from my mouth like saliva
but everything of it I’m, more and more I’m told, I’m.
The older I have
grown, the more I have become attached to my past. Not my past of three decades
or so existence, but my past, the communal past of our clan and our tribe and
our where did we come from. The past of so-and-so was born here, he was a great
wanderer, he could not rest, so they gave him the name such-and-such for his wandering,
but he left his mark, he had four wives and 20 children, of those 20 children
came our great, great grandfather. He was a wanted man all his adult years,
because like a true man of our clan, he did not know what it meant to kneel
before anyone, would not kneel, so that is who he was. It was no surprise that
he gave birth to so-and-so who always spoke his mind, who admitted his heart
ruled him before his head....
That past, I’m
attached to it more and more. It makes sense and I’m not running from it anymore.
This Apple MacAir fancier, Aljazeera TV messages decoder, Samsung camera phone fanatic,
who has surprised himself by a late discovery, love of Elvis Presley, king of
the blue-eyed boy music used to scoff stole from the proud black is beautiful
struggle. I go back to the past to make sense of the future that is here now, I
cradle in my arms and who’s crying pangs I lull into a staring contest then
gurgle of love. The future is here and I’m becoming a part of the past,
comfortable with my antique becoming.
The past places
grenades in the fallow earth of the future, so I’m wary where I tread. To live
30 plus years in Africa, eastern, Uganda; a living, creative, dedicated to a
principle and dream, unwavering, staving off the compromises and well meaning corruption
traps; now that is something. After these decades, these thwarting, these
missed chances, in the after midnight hours starting up in your bed of panic to face
new mornings yet to come, still focused, dreaming and working. That is
astonishing. Even to me. Unbroken by the contradictions and paradoxes we live
in and live with everyday, real dreams in unreal situations, never giving up,
not even thinking of it.
I salute you my
generation. My age-mates. Parent-becoming while still confused about whether
childhood is really over and what is this world without permanent rules you are
coming into, where every dream seller almost always turns out to be the rapist
of your nightmares. I salute you, conscious-becoming of your heritage,
throw-back referencing in the YouTube videos of your lives.
We are who we are. Learning to accept this.
This is about Climate Change really, but it's about My Childhood Too
When I was a child, I played in streams I thought were rivers, woods I thought were forests, with children I thought were heroes for knowing everything about those rivers and forests.
They knew how to get “ensonzi” (eels) from the “river,” rub sticks together to make a fire to roast them and they knew how to eat them without the treacherously sharp tiny bones pricking our tongues or sticking down our throats, “Like Obote who was a greedy fish eater,” they used to laugh.
We would go to fetch water in jerry cans without covers, some of us pots, or cross the “river” with our fathers to the farm to help carry back the milk that was going to the diary, in the chilly morning with our teeth chattering and not return until after 10am. When we would find sweet smelling milk with “ekiyansi” and burnt delicious sweet and Irish potatoes waiting for us for breakfast.
If we did not have to go to school, those of us who were too young or who had paid the school dues for that term could go back to the forest for the rest of the day-running feet of happiness, shirtless, shoeless, empty-pocketed, to hunt for the treasures of the forest, to heat our feet in the noonday sun on the caked earth of the great rift valley, in whistling wonder listening to Kasigi retell how God belched and the earth separated to create this rift valley and how one day he might belch again: it could even be today!
The boys would run naked into the “river” and splash water at the giggling girls huddle on the bank and I could see, even then, in the corner of my eye, the boy and the girl who had split from the group to talk in private under a tree away from us. The girl chewing the “ntututu” the boy had brought her and we would know somehow that they would never be like us again.
The older boys would slap the guy on the back and wrestle him to the ground so roughly his knees would bruise and he would have to rub “eshabarara” where the skin had been torn off. The girl would become like a mother, the girls and all the younger ones jealously vying for her attention, and she would turn away no one. She would have answers for the girls that would make them cup their chins in thoughtful attention and she would frolic her fingers though our hair in a ticklish progress that distracted us to no end, then stop, ask us if we could name the cawing bird cry that had just rung out in the forest.
Off we would go! Running for the tree we thought we had heard the booming cry, to stand, up-turned faces of wonder, searching, looking at the sky blue mat of branches and leaves and a spinning sky till we were dizzy from the game.
Sometimes it rained but we never left the “forest.” Sometimes there were accidents, but we returned to the “forest.” Many times we were warned, but no one stopped us from going back to the “forest.” The “forest” was big and we would return every evening from the “forest” when we had not been to half of what it was, the big boys would assure us. But we did not mind because the “forest” was a part of us and we would always go back, we thought.
The “forest” is no longer there, in the village where I was born.
I need you.
I thought it was want. This self-denying, grateful
bed-pillow rest to sit, undrunk, zonked, photo galleries of you floating past
bleary eyes, like gold fish in an aquarium. So many cups of coffee my tongue
now a “natural” brown.
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| Pause |
I thought it was want. This abandonment of chastising vows
in late evening Rubaga Cathedral compound walks, self-mumbling, sometimes
stopping at the brass bands rehearsals, the dusk views into a Kampala where you
live, breathing, sneezing when it became cold, rubbing my eyes. In the bench
pews on my knees, scrapping my joints, looking for the majesty I used to see in
the cathedral windows that I saw that day, talking myself out of turning on my
phone in this holy place to turn on myself. When it would fail, hurrying with
difficulty out, unable to bear a hard-on in front of the holy mother of our
Lord, taking it outside, with threats I would buy an Embassy Lights if it did
not subside.
Come back, my pleas, when I was back home, and stay back
home and stay. You may not be here but my wife would like it, in household
reversal of desires when I’m always too tired from too much office work and she’s
constantly asking if I liked her new silk panties-what is inside is even “better”—
I thought it was want; off the sugared highs of many teas,
cokes, too many longing music playlists, Dominoes ice-creams, emails of rueful
regret, Facebook profile pictures of my hands over yours, James Blunt-Oh God,
James Blunt, & Centenary Park hanging around for accidental meetings of you
with him. all banned, to get this want out of me.
Then I began talking to you in my dreams.
It was not want.
It was need.
I need you.
***** (1:40am)
I got this iPod, like
the one I got you, making you laugh-my thumbs too big on the switch dial, but I
have learned since then, impressing you, even how to keep the ear buds from
tumbling out my bat ears, walking.
I walk a lot, any
chance I get, though I leave the office so late, often with no car, I have
forgotten the mutayimbwa thieves brushes by the I begin walking into song one
of this playlist. Continuing our tradition, loving you to a new song, a new artist,
I promised you he is a major one, you said, “I’ll love him because you love
him, I know...”
A month or so later,
your twitter page blinking up #np She Ain’t You Bei Maejor, u know who u r. Yes,
I did. Our Bei Maejor. No video, no
mass release, not much known. So now Bei Maejor a big part of my playlist &
when I’m walking, past 1 am unafraid, I’m not walking in Kampala but a Javas
for us. I text you sometimes, when I shouldn’t, cracked pavement dodging,
trying not to step on sprawled feet of the veranda sleepers in a city in
darkness and October rains. When I could be mugged, stop smug-boasting, “I have
never been robbed. In fact I have never lost a phone to a thief.”
In the Kampala of
these nights, window standing waiting for your taxi to fill up, teasing, “Kiss
me or I’m going to put my hand through this window and you know where it’s
going to go.” You stifling your alarmed pressing your handbag on your thighs, “Don’t!
Please, don’t. Ok, I’ll give you.” How did we do that? Kiss in the Old Taxi
Park, you inside a taxi, me at your window? How? Walking, after late hours from
the office, Bei Maejor She Ain’t You, yeah, she ain’t you, girl. Unable to
leave the Old Taxi Park that first time, 30 minutes later, on the phone, we
struggling to accept how I could not come home with you, you pleading, “Don’t
load anymore credit, please, you won’t have money for the fare.”
I started to close my
eyes, kissing you. All the way.
Seeing you better,
girl in jeans and black & white canvas shoes. When I opened my eyes, unsure
if I was real, if the ground was still beneath my feet. I was a drink of Gilbeys
in a glass in your hand, your lips softer than any date I have bitten into-I
did not think it was possible.
Walking, I couldn't walk
all this out. I couldn't work it out.
It took your courage, your fingers finding home between mine on the crisis conscience table, "We have what we have. Let us have it."
2 Kings: When Biggie Smalls Crossed Michael Jackson's Path
Can't describe the hair-raising excitement of reading the studio session rap's phenomenal one The Notorious B.I.G had with the King of Pop, Michael Jackson...
Thank you Resonater...here we go...
27th June 2009, 10:26 PM #14
Lives for gear
Join Date: Sep 2003
Location: Los Angeles
Posts: 2,560
I was fortunate enough to work with MJ early in my career.
He was an incredible artist. Talented beyond your wildest dreams. Extremely
generous, and a hard worker. I actually went from a staff assistant at the Hit
Factory in NYC to freelance engineer under Swedien and MJ. They were due to
start in Los Angeles when the Northridge earthquake hit so they moved to New York.
One room was all Bruce, the second room was the writing room. I started
assisting Bruce's writing partner Rene Moore. I would track stuff with Rene,
and Bruce would come in and tell me what I did wrong, sit in for a few hours
and set us straight. After a couple months MJ arrived and the entire tour rig
was moved in along with Brad Buxer, Andrew Scheps, and Eddie Delena. I
continued to assist them until the whole crew moved to L.A., they decided to
take me with them. I would assist Bruce during the day, and help out every
where else at night - assisting, engineering, programming, and on one song
playing guitar. We had two rooms at Record One, and two rooms at Larrabee where
I met John. At one point in NYC we had just about every room at the Hit Factory.
The crew was great, and I learned so much from all of them. I learned to
engineer from Bruce Swedien, John, and Eddie, and got to sit in with producers
like MJ, Jam And Lewis, Babyface, David Foster, Teddy Riley, and Dallas Austin.
I was actually asked to leave the project early on because there were too many
people around and MJ didn't know me. Luckily, I was rehired about 10 days
later. At the wrap party MJ apologized profusely, and expressed his gratitude.
Truly the most sincere man you will ever meet.
Some random memories:
One morning MJ came in with a new song he had written overnight. We called in a
guitar player, and Michael sang every note of every chord to him. "here's
the first chord first note, second note, third note. Here's the second chord
first note, second note, third note", etc., etc. We then witnessed him
giving the most heartfelt and profound vocal performance, live in the control
room through an SM57.
He would sing us an entire string arrangement, every part. Steve Porcaro once
told me he witnessed MJ doing that with the string section in the room. Had it
all in his head, harmony and everything. Not just little eight bar loop ideas.
he would actually sing the entire arrangement into a micro-cassette recorder
complete with stops and fills.
At one point Michael was angry at one of the producers on the project because
he was treating everyone terribly. Rather than create a scene or fire the guy,
Michael called him to his office/lounge and one of the security guys threw a
pie in his face. No further action was needed . . . . .
During the recording of "Smile" on HIStory, Bruce thought it would be
great if Michael would sing live with the orchestra. But of course, we didn't
tell the players that. We set him up in a vocal booth off to the side. They
rehearsed a bit without vocals in, then during the first take Michael sang,
just about knocked them out of their chairs.
His beatboxing was without parallel, and his time was ridiculous.
His sense of harmony was incredible. Never a bad note, no tuning, even his
breathing was perfectly in time.
Once, while we were taking a break, I think we were actually watching the OJ
chase on TV, there was a news program talking about him being in Europe with
some little boy. I was sitting next to the guy while the news is making this
crap up. He just looked at me and said this is what I have to deal with.
I spent close to 3 years working with him, and not once did I question his
morals, or ever believe any of the allegations. I wasn't even a fan then. I saw
him interact with his brothers kids, other people's children, and at one point
my own girlfriend's kids. I got to spend a day at Neverland with them. A
completely incredible human being, always looking for a way to make all
children's lives better. Every weekend at Neverland was donated to a different
children's group - children with AIDS, children cancer, etc., and most of the
time he wasn't there.
He was simply living the childhood he never had. In many ways he never grew up.
I was assisting Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis while they recorded the background
vocals for "Scream" with MJ and Janet. The two of them singing
together was amazing. Super tight, no bad notes. One part after another. When
they took a break they sang the showtunes they used to sing as kids. Again,
perfect harmony. Mj refused to sing the "stop f*ckin' with me part"
because he would NOT curse.
I was the tape op for the recording of the background vocals on "Stranger
in Moscow". Scared the hell out me. Michael was dropping in and out on
syllables, rearranging the notes and timing as he put it down. No Pro Tools at
the time, just 2" tape, and my punches.
I erased a live keyboard overdub that he played one night. He came in the next
morning, replaced it, and never uttered another word about it.
I was there when Lisa Marie was around. They acted like two kids in love. Held
hands all the time, and she hung out at the studio for quite a while. I never
questioned their love for each other.
We recorded a Christmas song during the summer of '94 that needed a children's
choir. Michael insisted that the entire studio be decorated with xmas lights,
tree, fake snow and a sled for their recording. And he bought presents for
everyone.
The last weekend of recording on HIStory he came to me and Eddie Delena, and
said "I'm sorry, but I don't think any of us are going to sleep this
weekend. There's a lot to get done, and we have to go to Bernie on Monday
morning". He stayed at the studio the entire time, singing, and mixing. I
got to spend a couple quiet moments with him during that time. We talked about
John Lennon one night as he was gearing up to sing the last vocal of the record
- the huge ad libs at the end of "earth song". I told him the story
of John singing "twist and shout" while being sick, and though most
people think he was screaming for effect, it was actually his voice giving out.
He loved it, and then went in to sing his heart out. . . .
Later that night, while mixing, everyone left the room so MJ could turn it up.
This was a common occurrence during the mixes, and I was left in the room with
ear plugs, and hands over my ears, in case he needed something. This particular
night, all the lights were out and we noticed some blue flashes intermittently
lighting up the room during playback. After a few moments we could see that one
of the speakers (custom quad augspuergers) was shooting blue flames. Mj liked
this and proceeded to push all the faders up . . . .
MJ liked hot water while he was singing. I mean really hot !!!!! It got to the
point that I would melt plastic spoons to test it.
Bruce and I were talking about walking to the studio everyday in NYC, and what
routes we took. Michael looked at us and said we were so lucky to be able to do
that. He couldn't walk down the street without being harassed. It was a sad
moment for all of us.
The studio crew got free tickets to the Janet show so we all went right from
work one night. About halfway through the show we see this dude with a long
beard, dressed in robes dancing in the aisle behind. I mean really dancing . .
. it was Mj in disguise. Kind of like the costume Chevy Chase wears in Fletch
while roller skating.
He got one of the first playstations from sony in his lounge . . . we snuck in
late at night to play the games that hadn't been released yet.
A couple people on the session hadn't seen Jurassic Park while it was out, so
MJ arranged a private screening for us at Sony.
He was a huge fan of Nine Inch Nails Downward Spiral . . . .
I was lucky enough over the course of 3 years to have access to the multitrack
masters for tour prep, videos, and archive purposes. To be able to pull these
tracks apart was a huge lesson in production, and songwriting. A chance to look
into the minds of geniuses.
Of all the records I've worked on, MJJ was the only company to give platinum
award records.
One day we just all sat in the studio listening to his catalog with him for
inspiration. He loved the process, he loved the work.
__________________
Rob Hoffman
--------------------------
http://www.elicitmusic.com
28th June 2009, 02:00 AM #43
Lives for gear
Join Date: May 2005
Location: Los Angeles
Posts: 850
By the way, to elaborate a bit on the Notorious B.I.G.
session, it was kinda like this. Michael used to call people to ask them to
participate on albums. It was interesting knowing that nearly anyone on the
planet would come to the phone if it were Michael calling. Anyway, I heard
rumors that B.I.G. was going to come, and I was excited about that! I knew that
I would be the one to record that, as I had recorded nearly all of that tune,
"This Time Around".
So, Dallas and I were expecting him any minute, and pretty much on time,
Notorious strolls in. He was quite an imposing figure when he walked in, as he
was quite popular at the time. I had no idea what to expect from him in terms
of attitude, but he seemed nice when he walked in. No problem. But almost
immediately, he blurted out, "Yo, Dallas, can I meet Mike?" To which,
Dallas replied that he thought so. Biggie went on to talk about how much this
opportunity meant to him, as Michael was his hero. Anyway, Dallas tells him
that we're going to lay down the rap first, so Biggie heads in the booth, we
get some headphone levels and get ready to start recording.
So, we hit the big red button (on a Sony 3348 machine), and away we go. During
his first take, Dallas and I looked at each other, because it was spot on. wow.
I was impressed, and so was Dallas. We listened back, and Dallas was like,
"Wow, I think we got it". As I recall, we took another take for good
measure, but I'm fairly certain that we ended up using the first take. So,
Notorious comes in, and asks if he can meet Michael now. We sent word to the
back room where Michael was working that Biggie was finished and wanted to meet
him.
Simply for security, Michael's security would enter and make sure that no one
was in the room that shouldn't be, and once that was confirmed (it was just me,
Biggie and Dallas), Michael came in. Biggie nearly broke out in tears...I could
tell how much this meant to him. Well, Michael could have this effect on
anyone, even the most hardcore rappers! Biggie was tripping up on his words,
bowing down and telling Michael how much his music had meant to him in his
life. Michael was, as always, very humble and kept smiling while Biggie just
went on and on how much he loved Michael. I watched Biggie just become this big
butterball of a man, and it was really very sweet to witness. After all, we are
all just people.
Michael finally asked to hear what we had done, and we popped it up on the big
speakers and let her go. Michael LOVED it and was excited to tell Biggie that!
"Oh, let's hear it again", I recall Michael saying, and we listened
again. Michael just loved it...and thanked Biggie for coming all the way from
Philadelphia. Biggie asked rather sheepishly whether he could get a photo, and
Michael agreed. A shot was taken, we listened again, and Michael thanked
Biggie. Michael said goodbye and stepped out, leaving Biggie standing there
looking completely stunned.
It will always remain a great, great memory.
__________________
The Resonater
GNL Zamba & Mun*G Sept 08, 2010-A Year Back When...
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| GNL & Mun*G-English Voca |
1. When we still had to do interviews
inside a Hiace Van in the parking lot because it would have been way too
expensive for a crew to sit at a Kisementi restaurant and 30 minute chat.
2. When GNL Zamba, recently split from Shadrack
Kutesa’s Platinum Entertainment was trying to sell to sceptics the Baboon
Forest Entertainment group and kept throwing Genghis Khan references in his
conversation.
3. When Mun’G and Big Tril still had to
explain who they are, new Baboon Forest entrants, but did they have to be there
for every GNL Zamba interview. Yes, GNL would roar, they’re my boys.
4. When Mun’G was still a High School
act, talking about songs he claimed were burning up the chats but most
journalists, 10 or more years out of the high school scene, had never heard of,
privately wondered if he and Big Tril were not GNL Zamba hangers-on.
5. Mun’G before Gira Tugire...more
popularly known as Kyaba Too Much, adulterated in Airtel Uganda adverts as
Kyaba too good...
6. Before some Ugandan music industry
watchers began to ask aloud, “But isn’t Mun’G better than GNL Zamba? Me I like
Mun’G. He is so funny.” Like GNL Zamba was not funny to begin with, or had
suddenly lost his humour, in becoming a CEO of Baboon Forest Entertainment. GNL
shrugging them off, “Everybody takes shots at the boss.”
7. In the aftermath of Koyi
Koyi: The Legend of Zamba, GNL still lost, his Speaking Vernacular album
on the burner, unsure what to follow it up with, with 99 problems on his mind
from allegations of beating up his girlfriend to club altercations with a girl
who claimed she had been his lover, sponsor-what a year!
8. A blogger rediscovering his love of
blogging, from of all people, his interview subjects, quoting lines from blog
posts of the past they had read and liked, were wondering, “What’s up? Why you
not blogging?” September 2010, what a year, seriously considering a shop
keeper’s career, it was surely much better than having only M&C, GNL
shocked, “How can you even think of giving up?” Ugandan success stories come
from far!
