Artist’s Statement: Light/Dark

Link to playlist

After I finished painting Dark/Light, I realized there were still a lot of ideas in my head about the relationship between light and dark. Call it my Italian blood pumping chiaroscuro through my veins, call it my hyperactive ADHD/depression crossover episode, but I wanted to focus on the idea of being creatures of darkness drawn to sources of light. I have always preferred darkness over artificial lighting (tbh the only light sources that don’t bother me are natural light or candles), and wanted to dive into light/dark juxtapositions in nature. The playlist begins with the soft delivery of heavy material that only Noname could execute so expertly for all the fellow shadow folx out there. As we wander deeper into darkness we find a cave, where we ponder how dark is too dark? Does the cover of darkness allow freedom, as we have nothing to hide in an even playing field of all things hidden? 

Before getting lost in the void of darkness, Big Mama Thornton brings the sun up to greet us and remind us of the beauty in light, as well as a vision of heavenly leisure in “That Lucky Old Sun”. For the 99% of us who don’t have the luxury of living as a lucky sun, “Night Light” brings us back to reality. There’s bitter and bloody work we all have to get through, but following our little spark keeps us from a total blackout. Similar to the refreshing light that Big Mama Thornton brought a song before, Lianne La Havas brings the renewing summer rain to us to encourage us to make a change, get a move on, quit hanging around and do something in spite of our sun coming down. The sun will continue setting and rising, whether we are ready or not, so I wanted to have a heavy, groovy onslaught of the setting sun; cue “Sunset” by Rabea Massaad. 

The setting of the sun is only the beginning of a new party, however, as we celebrate our fellow darkness-dweller the moon. Movement is an important part of each of my playlists; it’s  impossible for me to sit still if there is music playing (which I now know is a part of my autism and that I’ve been stimming in “socially acceptable” ways my whole life, but I digress) and “Qamar Al Massa (Moon of the Night)” should compel you to dance and celebrate the light beaming from the darkness. As we dance into the night, we reach a point where the “Moon Meets the Sun”. 

As a former music teacher and all around music nerd, I have to dive into a bit of context around this song. For starters, history has constantly hidden the accomplishments of BIPOC artists, creators, scientists, mathematicians etc. and often re-written history to falsely attribute things to white people. The history of the banjo is a great example; in fact, what comes to mind when you think of banjo music? White, Southern labor workers pickin’ on their back porch? While that history is there, it often serves as the only banjo history and outshines the multitude of early Black banjo players who came before the likes of Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs. On the album, “Songs of Our Native Daughters”,  Rhiannon Giddens, Amethyst Kiah, Leyla McCalla, and Allison Russell set out to revamp the banjo as an instrument of the oppressed in the tradition of the uncredited Black banjo players before them. The power, beauty, and fierce dissent of “Moon Meets the Sun” says that while the world continues to take from and oppress, our spirit and will to thrive will carry on and compel us to keep dancing. 

It only made sense for the “Rising Sun” to be brought in by a massively  undercredited Black musician that paved the way in rock and roll history: Fats Domino. Parallel to banjo history, rock and roll history is often told through the lens of white people who capitalized on Black art (Elvis, The Beatles etc.). Once the soft rays of light from Fats’ presence start to fade, in comes the gentle rain of “Sunshowers” by Yasmin Williams. Yasmin’s playing explores many textures and rhythms that harken back to Elizabeth Cotton’s playing a century prior that solidified a  style of strumming that utilized the low E string as a rhythmic driver/bass line partner to the higher register of the instrument. Next, we drift off into the swirling colors and lights of “Stardust” played by two of my favorite jazz musicians, J. J. Johnson and Charles Mingus. Out among the stars, we run into the moon yet again for the hidden psychedelic  gem “Yellow Moon is High” by Father’s Brown. After twisting and turning through distorted guitar lines, we meet the cushion of Jenny O.’s electric piano and light, airy voice in “Sun Moon and Stars”, only to be finally set back on Earth by the twinkling glow of Jon Batiste’s keys and Rachael Price’s timeless voice. This finale aims to  place you in the best view of the stars above and the shining of love in your life.