[Jonathan Fagan]: Tcheke sa yo te fè pou swa etidyan nou an yè swa. Li sanble enkwayab. Papa m, Avi Fagan. Mwen te blag ke li te soti nan retrèt pou sa, kidonk nou te reyèlman rekonesan. Mèsi a volontè nou yo ak anplwaye nou yo Reese ak Eli. Yo deja vann kèk liv.
[SPEAKER_00]: Ak nan kou patnè mwen Shayla, mwen pa t 'kapab fè li san li.
[Jonathan Fagan]: Galar chita sou eskalye yo ede kontwole son an, jis isit la. Ak nan kou, gen Terry Carter, reyèl rezon ki fè sa te rive nan West Medford Community Center. Li te yon pati nan kominote a ak yon powèt enkwayab. Tout se byen. Oh, ki lòt moun mwen te bliye? Jim ak Bruce te ede tou ak kèk fotografi pandan wikenn nan. Se konsa, menm ak anpil moun, li toujou pran yon anpil nan kontribisyon finansye diferan fè tout bagay rive. Si ou gade nan banyè nou an, nou ta dwe gen pi fò nan patwone nou yo. Medford Community Media, ak nan kou West Medford Community Center, Medford Arts Council and Popular Culture Council, ak Arts Vital Medford Foundation. Sa a se tou premye ane nou travay ak founisè manje.
[SPEAKER_00]: Danish patisri kay andedan.
[Jonathan Fagan]: Yo te kreye yon layout enkwayab ki konplètman depase atant tout moun. Ant melodi yo, ant bann yo, ale wè yo. Genyen tou twalèt entèn pou moun ki bezwen sèvi ak yo. Wi, genyen tou Triangle Manor (yon konpayi mayo lokal ki fè gwo mayo pou tout moun) ak EXP Realty. Genyen tou patwone endividyèl, tankou moun ki te enskri nan paj Patreon nou an. Sa a se yon abònman chak mwa epi li vrèman bon pou jams ak lòt gig pandan tout ane a. Gen kòd QR toupatou pou moun ki santi yo enspire fè don, kit se Venmo nou an (ki fèk rive nan Medford Jazz Festival), oswa yon paj Patreon espesifik, ki tèlman sipòte. Oke, mwen devine se li. Mwen toujou santi mwen bliye yon nèg konsa, men wi, tounen pita epi Terry Carter pral di w yon ti kras sou premye gwoup la ak espas la.
[Terry Carter]: Gwo, mèsi, mèsi. Jonathan Fagan se òganizatè ak fondatè Medford Jazz Festival ak yon konpozitè enkwayab ak pyanis nan tout domèn mizik, kidonk ou pral tande pale de li talè. Sa a se West Medford Community Center. Nou te nan mache a pou 90 ane. nou ye Kominote istorik Afriken Ameriken Medford a, ou konnen, nou nan bò kote Mystic River la. Nou gen yon istwa long ak gwo larivyè Lefrat la ak twa lari yo, tout bagay ou pral tande pale de pita. Men, nou vle rive dwat nan pwen an epi asire w ke li pa pran tan nou an. Premye zak nou nan dezyèm jou a. Pou tout moun ki te avèk nou yè swa, nou te pase yon bon moman ak de gwoup ki te jwe yè swa, enkli Morningside Jazz All-Stars nan Morningside Music School, ki te enpresyonan. Apre sa, ak Anita Wood ak ekip li a, AJ ak ekip la, mwen vle di, nou te gen yon eksplozyon. Yo te kite m danse anvan fen lannwit lan, kidonk li te oke. Se konsa, mèsi. Debbie te chante ak Morningside Jazz All-Stars yè swa e li te gwo. Premye zak nou samdi a se te yon resitasyon samba, ki te pran nan koral Jacob de Bandolim ki gen menm non an. Ki sa sa vle di nan Pòtigè se, mwen jis dekouvri, ou konnen, nan sous la, Recipe from Samba, yon aplikasyon ki rele apre yon gwoup ki gen objektif se montre diferan gou mizik brezilyen nan fòm pi bon kalite li yo, san aditif atifisyèl, ke mwen renmen, tankou tanbou elektwonik oswa echantiyon elektwonik. Chèf yo, kizin yo, mari ak madanm Ana Borges ak Bill Ward, ak itilizasyon sèn mizik brezilyen Boston an pou yo kwit sèlman pi bon an,
[Unidentified]: Se sèlman pi bon an.
[Terry Carter]: Pi bon bossa nova ak samba, osi byen ke espesyalite lokal tankou fò, ijhecha ak kakawo.
[Clayton]: Mwen espere ke mwen fè byen.
[Terry Carter]: brezilyen mwen an pa, ou konnen? Li te fèt nan Recife, Pernambuco, Ana Borges te kòmanse karyè li nan Brasilia, chante nan klib lokal yo ak teyat.
[Unidentified]: Apre yon tan, li te aprann jwe gita e li te antre nan yon lekòl mizik nan Brasilia pou etidye chante. Jane DuBose Shinseng etidye teknik klasik ak pòp nan koral.
[Terry Carter]: Apre li te travay kole kole ak gitaris brezilyen Aljoson Alcántara pandan plizyè ane, li te deplase nan Boston, kote li te kòmanse kolaborasyon mizik li avè l. Bill Ward, Bill Ward, Bill Ward. Li se yon pyanis, gitaris ak chantè ki te fouye nan diferan linivè mizik. Mwen renmen sa. Sa a se powetik. Li te kòmanse kòm yon pyanis dyaz, li te pran Sondaj Downbeat nan lekòl segondè, epi pita te etidye nan Konsèvatwa Oberlin ak Dan Wall ak Sam De Margolis. Nan laj 13, li te fè premye dosye l 'ak Giorgio Berto, men yo pa t' kraze jiska kolèj. Pi fon ak pi fon, sa a se vre pwezi, nan toubiyon mizik brezilyen an. Dènyèman, li te plonje tèt li nan mond lan nan pyano klasik, li te pran yon Master's Degre nan Pèfòmans Pyano nan Boston University, kote li te etidye ak Goya Charon ak Gilda Goldstein. Mesye dam, san plis, ann resite samba a.
[Clayton]: Mwen rive matant mwen, mwen rive matant mwen, mwen pa gen anyen Li ta, mwen pèdi anpil lanmou Li byen ta nan douvanjou, mwen pèdi mwen jis danse Vil, tanpri padone m. Mwen pat konnen ou te konn yon bèl vi konsa. Vil, tanpri padone m. Mwen te panse mwen ta prale, mwen te panse mwen ta pral mouri. Vil, tanpri padone m. etranje Padone m, men mwen pa t konnen ou te konnen lavi te tèlman bon san mwen. nou renmen ou! Bon chans!
[SPEAKER_02]: Mèsi anpil. Premye chante a te ekri pa Carlos Vira, ou konnen, youn nan bondye bossa nova yo. Donk tanpri padone m si li twò ta. Se tit la. Mwen pral eseye tradui li.
[Clayton]: Mwen pa trè bon nan li, men mwen panse ou pral jwenn yon lide sou sa mwen chante.
[SPEAKER_02]: Kidonk moso kap vini an se tankou yon enfliyans djaz. Lè sa a, te gen enfliyans nan djaz. Se konsa, mwen li chante a tou, tankou enfliyans yo djaz ak solis la. Donk tankou lè w ap pale de solo ou genyen sa, men djaz genyen sa. Ou konnen, ou pral wè ki jan bagay yo ale.
[Clayton]: etranje etranje Ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale Ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale
[Unidentified]: tout
[Clayton]: etranje etranje Ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale Ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale, ale Mèsi. Mwen panse ke pwochen moso nan, jan ou pwobableman konnen, se yon vag. Men, mwen panse ke li se jis yon aksyon ou ka pran. Li enposib pou w kontan poukont ou lè w renmen. Mwen pa t 'kapab abitye ak li paske mwen pa t' konnen sa pou m' di. Sa yo se ti bagay ki vini ak ale. Benediksyon, meditasyon, kè kontan pou kont li pa posib. Sa a se yon vil. Sa a se yon vil. Sa a se yon vil. Sa a se yon vil. Sa ki ka wè sèlman pa ka wè. Mwen pral tounen nan plaj la. Li enposib poukont ou isit la. Sa mwen pa konnen kijan pou m itilize se bagay lapè mwen pa bezwen. Vèt ak ble, vèt ak ble. Li enposib poukont ou isit la.
[Unidentified]: Mwen pa konnen lyrics yo. mizik .
[Clayton]: epi Mèsi.
[SPEAKER_02]: Mwen vle ale nan pwochen an.
[Clayton]: Pafwa nou diskite sou "Mwen vle chante chante sa a." Mwen te panse, mwen pa vle jwe chante sa a. Mwen te tankou, kisa? Men, li pa enpòtan. Nou toujou. Mwen pral nan peyi Jezi a pou m danse samba, bwè limyè, epi gade tenis. Majik sedui mwen. Kè m ap debòde. Mwen te nan Bahia, pati nan lari. Cantina da Lua gen samba. Bwè limyè a ak wè tenis yo ankò, yon kalite maji sedui m '. Kè m ap debòde. Mwen nan Bahia, mwen la. Mwen vin nan fèt lalin lan Nan Moon Tavern ou oblije desann. Ou ka asire w ke tab la blan. Mwen pral bat bravo ak konviksyon nan kè mwen. Mwen soti nan sante, se la mwen soti. O, o, o. epi OK Mwen soti nan Escoregal, mwen soti nan Izu de Noe, mwen gen konfiti gwayav ak kale bannann. Mwen soti nan sante, se la mwen soti. Mwen soti nan Gamboa, nan Praça Mauá, mwen se yon dansè samba. Mwen menm, mwen menm, mwen soti nan sante, mwen soti nan la. Li te kòmanse lè Pop te Mamba Bamba. ♪ Mwen soti nan Estacio, mwen soti la ♪ ♪ Chapo, Panama, de-ton nan pye yo, twal fin blan ♪ ♪ Mwen, mwen menm, mwen soti nan Tel, mwen soti nan, mwen manke blan la ♪ ♪ Nan demen, 2 Desanm, mwen pral Bahia pou ekonomize 2 Desanm la, ♪ pwochen Desanm ♪ Jou, mwen pral Bahia pou fè ekonomi, mwen pral la ♪ Mèsi. Chante João Bosco yo toujou fou. Sa a se peyi Jezi a, kote li soti.
[SPEAKER_02]: Sa a se yon kote nan Bahia e Bahia gen anpil e nou gen anpil kontribisyon Afriken. Se tankou li te dekri kote li soti, epi li se yon chante trè pwisan ak bèl. Chante yon samdi maten se difisil. Chantè renmen chante nan mitan lannwit. Oh, mwen fatige. Kidonk, ann tounen nan lòt la, e se samba. Sampa se tankou abrevyasyon nan St Paul. Se travay Caetano Veloso, ki dekri tou pou premye fwa kisa sa ye pou yon samba. Kòm yon vil, São Paulo se tankou New York. Se konsa, li te di yon bagay bèl ak powetik sou Sen Pòl. Li pi trankil fason sa a.
[Clayton]: Yon bagay te pase nan mwen, sèlman lè mwen te mache nan Avenida Epiranga ak São João, epi lè mwen te rive isit la, mwen pa t 'konprann anyen. Natura, pwezi konkrè nan chante li yo, pridan gracelessness de fi yo. Tradiksyon konplè li a poko disponib pou revanj mwen. Yon bagay te pase anndan mwen. ♪ Sèlman si w travèse Ipiranga ak Avenida São João ♪ ♪ Lè m fè fas ak ou fas a fas, mwen pa wè figi m ♪ ♪ Mwen rele sa move gou, e sa mwen wè se move gou, yon move figi ♪ ♪ Se jis ke ou te fèt fèb, men sa a ♪ Li poko fin vye granmoun Pa gen anyen la anvan Lè nou pa t mutan Se te yon demaraj difisil Mete sou kote sa mwen pa konnen Sa a soti nan yon lòt rèv ak vil lajwa Byen vit aprann rele tèt ou reyalite 'Kòz ou andedan deyò andedan deyò deyò deyò deyò deyò. Oprime yo nan keu a, nan keu a geto. Soti nan pouvwa a nan lajan, li ka bati ak detwi bèl bagay. Akoz lafimen son dezagreyab. Mwen wè powèt ou yo, estidyo forè ou yo, bondye lapli ou yo soti nan jaden ak espas. Pan America, Lafrik, Utopia, Samba, gen plis chans nouvo zonbi kilombo ak nouvo bahians Nouvo boyar yo pral kapab pran plezi. ♪ Mwen wè powèt ou yo soti nan jaden ak espas ♪ ♪ Atelye forè ou yo, bondye lapli ou yo, ale! ♪ ♪ Pan-Ameriken nan Afrik utopi, gen plis chans pou tonm samba, nouvo quilombo zonbi ♪ ♪ Nouvo Bahia ap mache nan farinen ♪ ♪ Nouvo Bahia ka ba w... ♪ Mèsi. Mwen panse ke si ou vle danse ou ta dwe konnen sa a epi santi w alèz.
[SPEAKER_02]: Mwen pap di anyen.
[Clayton]: Samba. epi Men, kalite samba melanje ak dans Maracana, epi Sa ki pi enpòtan li mete nan wout sa mwen vle fè eksperyans paske samba se vivan epi sa mwen vle se samba men sa a se samba melanje ak maracatu ansyen samba nwa, samba nwa ou ak pi enpòtan samba sa a tèlman fre ou pap vle li. Mèsi anpil.
[SPEAKER_02]: Tout se byen. Plis chante pou danse. Sa a se pa Chico Buarque, youn nan pi renmen m 'yo. Li enkwayab. Se konsa, sa tradui nan, kite ti fi a danse. Pa sispann li nenpòt ki lè. Li pa yon bon mari, non. Se konsa, kite l danse.
[Clayton]: Ou an sekirite avè w, pitit mwen, men w ap fè erè, men w ap fè anpil erè. Li fè dizè, samba a cho, li fè femèl kontan, li fè fi a danse ak kalm. Mwen pa t vle voye konfetti, men mwen te oblije di li. Ou te fatige tèt ou. Ou ap soufri. Ti fi yo ka anwiye si ou kouri tankou mari sa a. ♪ Dèyè yon gason ki tris toujou gen yon fanm ki kontan ♪ ♪ Dèyè fanm sa a gen mil gason ki toujou janti ♪ ♪ Donk pou dedomajman w, oh, retire l nan tèt ou ♪ ♪ Oh, li merite pou w gen fi sa a ♪ ♪ Mwen pa konnen si ou ta dwe kontan ♪ ♪ Tann yon minit ♪ Li fè dis è samba a cho ♪ Fè femèl la kontan ♪ Kite samba a poukont ♪ Dèyè yon gason ki tris toujou gen yon fanm ki kontan ♪ ♪ Dèyè fanm sa gen mil gason ki toujou janti ♪ ♪ Donk pou ou, oh, wete l nan tèt ou ♪ ♪ Oh, li merite pou w gen fi sa a ♪ ♪ Si se poutèt mwen se poum fè sa devan ou ♪ ♪ ♪ Men bagay yo mal vre ♪ ♪ Li fè dizè e samba cho ♪ ♪ Fè femèl yo kontan ♪ ♪ Kite samba an poukont ♪ ♪ Mwen pa vle voye konfet, men fòk mwen di ♪ ♪ Li fè mal,♪ Li fè twazè ak samba a cho, kenbe femèl la kontan epi pa deranje chantè samba a. Dèyè yon nonm tris, toujou gen yon fanm ki kontan. E dèyè fanm sa a, toujou gen yon gason. ♪ Kidonk, pou dedomajman w, o, retire l nan tèt ou ♪ ♪ Oh, li merite fi ou ♪ ♪ Mwen pa konnen si ou ta dwe kontan, ti gason mwen renmen anpil ♪ ♪ Men pèsonn pa ka pran li ankò ♪ ♪ Li nan twazè ak tout sa ou dwe fè se dòmi ♪ Mèsi. Mwen jis vle remèsye nou tout ankò pou envite m 'ak Greg enkyete ansanm.
[SPEAKER_02]: Sa a se premye fwa nou. Li se gwo yo dwe isit la. Renato Malavati. Non mwen se Ana Borges. Tanpri santi yo lib pou rantre nan lis adrès Medford sou lis adrès Samba Recipe nou an. Mwen ankouraje evènman yo. Mwen menm tou yon pwomotè konsè. Nou fè menm bagay la tou nan Medford. Epi li bon pou jwe lakay ou. Trè bèl, trè bèl. Oke, ann ale lè sa a... Ou pwobableman konnen sa a tou.
[Clayton]: ♪ Ou wè lanmou sa, mwen pa janm wè anyen konsa ♪ ♪ Sa rive, li pa sispann Men, gade m ♪ ♪ Si l' tounen m'ap kouri dèyè l' m'ap mande, m'ap pale ♪ ♪ M'ap di ou renmen se fèt pou bay ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Lè li wè ti fi a ap vini, li rete konsa li leve ♪ ♪ Li te vini, li te toujou gen figi lèd sa ♪ ♪ Ou wè, li dwe, ou pa janm bezwen renmen ♪ ♪ Pa jodi a, di wi, mwen fatige tann ♪ ♪ mwen pa t ' sispann dòmi, mwen jis pa t ' vle dòmi. ♪ ♪ Casso, men ou pa vini, ou vini ♪ ♪ Lè sa a, kite sa fèt, jis pale, mwen vle pale ak syèl la, men ou vini ♪ [♪ Chante an Pòtigè ♪♪ ♪♪♪ Mwen te mande ou, men ou pa vini ♪ Ou te wè sa lanmou ye, mwen pa janm wè anyen konsa ♪ ♪ Li te pase, li pa menm kanpe, men li jis gade m ♪ ♪ Si li tounen map ratrape li, map mande, map pale ♪ ♪ map di nou, gade, se renmen ete, se renmen ♪ pou ete ♪ ♪ ♪ Lè li wè ti fi a ap vini, li rete konsa li leve ♪ ♪ Li te vini, li te toujou gen frè sa nan zye li ♪ ♪ Ou wè, li dwe gen, pa janm gen moun mwen renmen ♪ ♪ Pa jodi a, li di wi, mwen bouke tann ♪ ♪ menm m' pa t 'menm sispann dòmi li pou mwen, mwen te mande. ♪ ♪ Men ou p'ap vini, ou pral vini ♪ ♪ Lè sa a, mwen p'ap di li, mwen jis di li, mwen te di cheri, men ou pral vini ♪ Mèsi.
[SPEAKER_02]: Ann fè yon bolero. Wi, li te renmen bolero. Ann fè sa. Sa a soti nan Dorival Caymmi. Sa a se yon lòt chante sou lanmou. Ann fè yon bolero.
[Clayton]: ♪ Renmen yon moun pa fè w anyen ♪ ♪ Se pa mwen, se pa mwen, se pa mwen ♪ ♪ Mwen pa t envante lanmou ♪ ♪ Se pa mwen, se pa mwen ♪ Lanmou rive nan lavi. Yo pran w sou gad. Kòm sa rive, mwen menm tou. Menm jan ak kay enpòtan ak renmen anpil nan lavi nou, lavi tou fè jwèt li yo. Si ou renmen yon moun, ou pa fè tèt ou okenn favè. Sa a se pa mwen oswa nenpòt lòt moun. Lanmou rive nan lavi. ou pa konnen. Mezanmi, fè jwèt ou yo enpòtan tou nan lavi nou. ♪ Ou pa fè tèt ou okenn favè lè w renmen yon moun ♪ ♪ Se pa mwen, se pa mwen, se pa mwen ♪ ♪ Mwen pa t envante lanmou, se pa mwen ♪ Lè lanmou rive nan lavi, ou pa prepare e mwen pat prepare. Chè, soti nan lavi nou nan lavi, ki jan li enpòtan, Pa gen anyen ki bon pou renmen yon moun. Se pa mwen, se pa mwen, se pa mwen. Se pa mwen ki envante lanmou. Se pa mwen, se pa mwen. Mèsi. Sa a se chante nou ka chante tout lajounen, menm chante a, pa vre? Trè bon. Mwen renmen sa. ankò? Tout se byen.
[SPEAKER_02]: Li se gwo yo dwe nan Medford ankò. Ou gen yon odyans gwo ak espesyal avèk ou. Yon gran mèsi ak tout moun ki envite nou. Padon, mwen pa ka sonje non tout moun.
[Clayton]: Li twò bonè. Men mèsi ankò paske w te resevwa nou. Ann chante yon dènye chante. Ki sa ki pi bon sou dènye chante a?
[SPEAKER_02]: bwè? Wi, ann fè sa. Èske w konnen sa? Bwè ak ekilibre? Tout se byen. Sa a se yon lòt chante Joao Bosco. Se konsa, ann kòmanse. Enèji a wo ak nòt yo ap monte.
[Clayton]: Figi Epi bay chak zetwal frèt yon limyè klere. Epi nyaj yo nan syèl la souse pwen touman an. Su etranje etranje Chak etap nan fason ou ka blese Balanse Espere ou konnen pèfòmans chak atis Mèsi. Mèsi anpil. Bill Ward, Greg Toro ak Renata Maravazza. Non mwen se Ana Borges. Nou ap jwe nan Harvard Square semèn pwochèn. Si w mande m, mwen ka di w plis. Mèsi. Tout se byen.
[Terry Carter]: Oke, sa a se West Medford. Ou pa bezwen châche. Resheta De Samba, Bill Ward te jwe pyano. Voze pa Ana Borges. Greg Toro sèvi kòm basist. Lè sa a, di m 'ankò. ak tanbouyè Renato. Tout se byen. Trè trè bon. Oke, donk nou pral pran yon ti repo epi prepare pou Act Two. Mwen rekòmande anpil vizite Danish Patisserie jan yo fè li élégance. Gen anpil bon manje anndan an. Tout sik la, tout bè nan pati farin lan ak anpil gou nan pati bon plat la. Se konsa, ou konnen, jis fè li tèt ou. Yo gen limonad ak dlo frèt. Se konsa, tout bagay anfòm. Tout se byen. Nap wè nan kèk minit.
[SPEAKER_03]: Mwen pa janm konnen kisa yo te kapab. Mwen pa ka kwè ou tonbe damou pou mwen. Ou di tout moun mwen konnen mwen nan panse ou tout kote ou ale. mwen pa ka kwè ou ye Nan fen jounen an, mwen santi mwen gen chans. Mwen pa t 'kapab kwè sa yo te kapab fè. Mwen pa ka kwè ou tonbe damou pou mwen. Ou di tout moun mwen konnen mwen nan panse ou tout kote ou ale. Pi pre lakay mwen, mwen konsidere tèt mwen gen chans.
[Terry Carter]: All right. All right. Hello everybody. All right. So we had a beautiful first set. They said that they samba was marvelous. Really really good. And hopefully we will at least meet if not exceed your expectations for the second part of our program today. For those of you who don't know me or who I haven't had a chance to meet yet, my name is Terry Carter, Terry E. My mother says use the initial, that's why I gave it to you. So it's Terry E. Carter, E stands for Eugene. And I direct elder services here at the community center. I'm not going to talk a lot, but I do want you to know just a little bit about We've been in business for 90 years representing the historic African American community of West Medford and this is the second building on the site. The first building was little more than an old army Quonset hut that was brought here from the defunct army base in East Boston going way back, World War II. And it was set on the site and it remained our home from like 1945 to the early 2000s. And then it basically collapsed under its own weight. And we were fortunate enough over the next several years thereafter to build this building. And this is the current home of an organization that really, really is very near and dear to my heart. I grew up in West Medford. I'm born and raised on Jerome and Monument Streets, not too far from here. And so the community center, Duggar Park, where all the basketball players are, well, you know, another story for another day. And, let's see, Duggar Park. the Hervey School, Shiloh Baptist Church, a couple other places. If our parents didn't know where we were, they knew where to find us, okay? Because we were at one of those three or four places. But in any case, Jonathan and I, Jonathan Fagan here, who convened and founded the Jazz Fest, yeah, absolutely. We got together, it's going on six years ago, we decided that we wanted to do something project-wise, him as a musician, me as a poet, that would bring those two worlds together under the banner of jazz, because he's a splendid jazz composer, arranger, and poetry, and I'm turning into more of a lyricist as time goes by. I just started out as a garden variety poet, but now I can add lyricist and poet laureate to my name. Okay, so we're gonna start off with where we think, as a community, we start off. So we're gonna do a tune called Hired by the Mystic, okay? All right, now, everything that we do is this intersection of jazz and social justice, okay? Some of it might not fit your ears real easily, but I ask you to open your hearts because I speak the truth in love. Is that cool? All right, all right, very good. All right, let's do this. They gave my people the lowlands, and not much of it. Just a few streets high by the river. Banks turned to fly and die behind the red lines, and it wasn't about the money. Class was an irresistible force. Race was an immovable object. Perhaps it wasn't the written rule, but white folks knew the legal tool to keep us in our place in this mystic valley space, where slaves and rum and chips had built some mansions, made some millionaires, and hid some old money. So it was hard by the mystic we went, muddy and a bit turned down, the only place where one could be brown in this ancient Middlesex County town. But we named it and claimed it and made it our own. Even in the heat of summer, when the shores were parched and the soil was rank, with the decay of aquatic alchemy, we were one with the river. We followed its flow to the lakes and the sandy beachfront. Like our own Jordan Shore, we baptized and blessed our brothers and sisters in Christ. We caught the little fishes to and became the TV multitude who our Lord Jesus fed, hired by the mystic. We became community. We commanded unity. We embraced the village and raised up our children in the way they should go. As the river ebbs and flows, the tides would turn and our fortune grows. A few more streets become our home. Houses on Sharon join Kin on Jerome. From Duggar Park to the railroad tracks, the landed folk make more room for blacks. The color line recedes a bit. Church and school and center sit. The ville becomes the heart of it, hired by the mystic shore. Now the worm has surely turned, and folks who left have surely learned things couldn't stay the same. That muddy mystic most days is clean. The banks are freshly cut and green. Faces once distinctly brown are not the only ones in town. These streets that once were our confines must now embrace what gentry defines, condominium culture, bedroom convenience, university sprawl, access, egress, excess, and largesse. Now those lowlands have become the highlights of a trending city. And sometimes that success isn't pretty when it's at the expense of your black and brown and tan family. And yet the river still turns and bends. from where it begins to where it ends. The only place where one could be ground in this ancient Middlesex County town where we named it and claimed it and made it our own. All right. All right, okay, now, okay, we're into it now, okay? We're into it. So this is a cool segue because... There were, in that ancient Middlesex County town where we named it and claimed it and made it our own, there were a few institutions, especially for us kids. There was, of course, Duggar Park. There was the Hervey Schoolyard where we grew up and played on that side of town. There was the West Medford Community Center where all of us kids came for Cub Scouts and Girl Scouts. playing pool and bumper pool and ping pong and so on and so forth. And one of the other institutions that was particularly near and dear to our heart was right around the corner, a few streets down on Jerome Street, and it was called The Little Store. It was a tiny red hovel on Upper Jerome. a bit run down and rough around the edges. And Mr. Henry seemed so old to us even then, with a lot of whiskers, impatient, and a little scary. One would suspect that he didn't even like kids, but he really must have loved us. Or else, where did all that penny candy come from? He had all of it, no, seriously. We'd bust in there with a few nickels or a handful of pennies, all loud and unruly. He'd hush us up while he finished with grown folks' business. Then he'd be back, like a black Willy Wonka up in that old shack. He'd peer over those old horn-rimmed glasses and tell us he didn't have all day. Then he'd blow open one of those small brown craft paper bags. and get to stuffin' while we were oohin' and ahin' and huffin' and puffin'. See, Mr. Henry had all the treats, all of our favorites, a hundred great sweets. Root beer barrels and pixie sticks, squirrel nut zippers and banana splits, green mint juleps and button strips, red licorice ropes and bottle nips, He had bazooka Joe bubblegum and a tiny sucker called a dum-dum. Jawbreakers and Tootsie Rolls, sugary love for little kids souls. Candy necklaces to wear and bite, and waxy red lips was such a sight. Fat gum cigars and kid cigarettes, right beside the crunchy six legs. Mary Jane chewies and BB bats, hot fireballs and Mexican hats. Just the genuine Hershey's Kisses, all of the hits and none of the misses. Like kid taffy squares and Necco wafers, liquor made in Boston baked beans. Gold rocks, nuggets of gum in a bag, a kid's idea, sweet tooth swag. Before the days of Laffy Taffys, we would gobble up peppermint patties. Before we knew about gummy bears, Twizzlers always came in pairs. Chewy cow tails with creamy filling, but sugar babies had top filling. Reese's peanut butter cups had us squealing like newborn pups. mica nights and orange slices, salt water taffy and tiny prices. Lifesavers and charms and fruity flavors. We grab those bags like potty favors. Uncles were a favorite choice, and milk duds made us all rejoice. Jolly ranchers and bitter honey, we always got a lot for our money. Talk about kids getting excited. Our greedy fingers could barely wait. You can't imagine the flame he ignited to take that candy like fish take bait. from cold January to chilly December. More kinds of candy than I can remember at the Phil storefront on Upper Jerome. I knew I had to write this poem. See, Mr. Henry had all the treats, all of our favorites, a hundred great sweets. All right. All right, all right. Yeah, yeah. We love it. Okay, so here's the band. Jonathan Fagan on the keys. All right. Greg Toro on the little sexy. This is not the big sexy. The big sexy is the really big bass. This is the little sexy. It's still very sexy, but it's a smaller bass. And my man, Gordon Engelgau on the traps here. Okay, we are the Ally Project. We're going to move this thing along. Boy, where am I? Yeah. OK, here we go. So I'm not going to lie or front as we say in the hood. The neighborhood has changed pretty dramatically, all right? So I'm gonna talk a little bit about how I remember it and what it's become, okay? So this piece is called Corner Lot. All right. standing at the apex of Arlington and Jerome, trying to remember the black and the brown and the tan. Ronnie and Otis used to live in the big house on the corner lot. It's probably changed a half a dozen times since then. Current owner's been there for a minute. He's good with his hands and he knows his way around wood and tools. Place has been gussied up quite a bit. Picket fence is not quite white, but if you know, you know. Asian kid in a Tufts hoodie just whipped by in a helmet and roller blades. Didn't see much of that back in the day. The university sort of hit on the hell side, trying its best to be a baby Ivy. But the co-eds come here all the time now. Basketball, tennis rackets, pickleball paddles in tow, on bikes, in Benzos and roller blades. We used to bust ourselves up pretty good on those rickety metal skates with clunky keys and leather straps. Nothing a little Vaseline and Mercurochrome couldn't handle. How did Henley put it in Invictus? Oh yeah, bloody but unbowed. Not too many white and off-white kids hanging out here back there then. It was as if the invisible lines once drawn to keep us in sometimes kept other folks out too. Now they've pretty much taken over. Dug a park, the Rhone tennis courts, the Hervey schoolyard, and a hundred addresses on Arlington, Lincoln, and Jerome. A host of our remembered places, so few of our original faces. Meanwhile, back in Ronnie and Otis' old place, I'm still standing like that centurion, knowing that Jesus doesn't have to go in to heal his servant. He just has to speak a word. I guess I keep hoping that he'll speak a word to the corner lot, too, and bring back the black and the brown and the tan. Across the river, it's low tide. The smell is gone and the grass is greener than I recall. That was our little park, away from dugger and a lot less hectic. We had makeshift bases or discarded cones for football and softball. We lost a few in the river, but nobody was going in that muck to retrieve anything. We'd probably wait in that water today. They planted some trees there many years ago. They're all pretty big now. Maple and ash, I think. Nobody plays baseball or football there anymore. But there are lots of dogs frolicking off leash and gaggles of fat Canadian geese daring pitties, pugs, and poodles to chase them all. I can't imagine my childhood without losing a few softballs there. I can't imagine not hearing Mrs. Allen call little James Michael to come and eat, or little Charlie to watch us play from his folding chair, because his spindly legs were too weak to let him run. I can't imagine that I'm still here. But Ronnie and Otis, Darryl King and Frankie French, Aaron McDaniel and Marky Davis are all gone. Mark was as thick as a big tree trunk, so we came up with Oak for him. Aaron was Spud, Frankie was Fruit Man, and I was Top Cat. Too cool, ran to school. Everyone wants the corner lot now. A little more land and perhaps the new perspectives that angles create. I wonder if that meant anything to Ronnie and Otis, or Jed and Miles and Gib, Barry, Coco, Keith Wing, and Kenny Byfield. Certainly meant something to the white folks looking to displace, transplant, and uproot the local color. Black folks built homes here, only place where they were allowed to be, where they could color inside the lines Medford once drew against the perceived discomforts of darker skin. We were here first. First firefighters, police officers, war heroes, shop owners, tradesmen, postal chiefs, teachers, artists, and preachers. We were the human bedrock of the only neighborhood they'd let us build. The old church is gone now. Nelson even changed the street number as if to erase the fact that the original Shiloh Baptist ever existed. But if you know, you know. That corner still has a cornerstone. 1900, and Nelson couldn't do nothing about it without a more draconian demolition. Two more condos in the house of the Lord. Two more houses that us first folk can't afford. Two more dismissals of the blessings of his word. One more holy stone rejected and ignored. Thank you. Thank you. All right, we're going to switch it up a little bit. You're familiar with the jazz canon. You know a couple of the players. You know Duke Ellington and Miles Davis and maybe Herbie Hancock and a few others. And then maybe you know John Coltrane. All right, so Coltrane, some of the best of the jazz standards were his compositions with that beautiful horn of his. And one of them was about one of his loves. Her name was Naima. And so if you know Coltrane and you know jazz a little bit, you probably have heard Naima before. So this is a riff, a take on Naima. It's called Reprise for Naima. He would blow this note in the midnight air, aloft in the ether it floats out there. Staccato cadence sets a mood of bluesy lyrical attitude. Improvisational mystery like Monk's piano epistrophe or Miles' tone poem in a silent way or Flanagan's peace at the end of the day. Syncopated in sharp, bright tone, a countdown to stardust, a twilight zone, like a blue train running against the night, setting the pace, then out of sight. With heartmen crooning or bags-on vibes, trios, duets, quartets, and tribes, the blues, the ballads, the avant-garde, incredibly gorgeous, impossibly hard. Giant steps move us miles ahead. Cooking up bop for Harlem street cred. Melody's hand to the harmony wed. Piano's lullaby fresh in the bed. Rhythm rocks where the drummer led. Rhythm rolls where the bass man sped. Rhythm birthed what the saxophone bred. Rhythm heard what the master said. How could he make the bitter taste sweeter? How could a tortured mind deleter? How could the mellowed scotch be neater? How could the smoke from each cigarette create blue beads that cast a net, create blue beads of cascading sweat, create blue haze that confounds regret, create blue nights that we can't Coltrane's notes are a crystal scale, a velvet scream in the urban travail, the heavenly riff of a love supreme, the pungent riff of a lover's dream. Coltrane's notes are a cozy romance, the breezy bounce of a bop and a dance, the languid lilt of stray's lush life, the cakes cut by the artist's knife. Coltrane's notes are a standard refined, like gold in a pan or gemstones mined, the sparkling glow of a hopeful dream, hot black coffee with a hint of cream. Coltrane's notes are Naima's reprise, like madness that brings a man to his knees, or sadness that comes when lovers part, the gladness removed from the balladeer's heart. A tight arrangement cuts the gloom. The melody says that love's in bloom. The harmony spirit engulfs the room. The bride says yes to her lyrical groom. The groove and the beat then jump the broom. The kip drum resounds with a sonic boom. As genius is birthed in a soul filled room. Musical mythology mocks, a twisted path the hero walks. With shield and sword the hero stalks. The temperance shakes her twisted locks. Medusa's snakes, his vision shocks. Holds up the mirror to stony blocks. The harp and the horn melt icy rocks. Serpents retreat and symphony talks. Coltrane's notes are a roller coaster, a hallelujah and a paternoster, the glorious jolt of the maestro's hand, the saxophone titan is in command. Coltrane's notes are a crazy rhythm, the squawk of chords and playful schism, the frenetic pace of Mr. P.C., the coolest round midnight will ever be. Coltrane's notes are genius refined, like gold in a pan or a gemstone's mine. The sparkling glow of a lover's dream, hot black coffee with a hint of cream. Coltrane's notes are Naima's reprise. Like madness that brings a man to his knees, or sadness that comes when lovers part, then gladness revived in the balladeer's heart. Thank you. Thank you very much. All right, all right. So we're going to stay on the jazz frontier for a minute. Herbie Hancock, and later Quincy Jones, they did a tune, Quincy covered it, Herbie Hancock did it for us, and it's called Tell Me a Bedtime Story. So we do a little riff on Tell Me a Bedtime Story, it's called Tell Me Another Bedtime Story, all right? It's just a sweet little jazz ditty, okay? Cool. Is this where the sandman picks up each grain, restoring the beauty and reducing the pain? Is this where we fly to never never land, like the troop of lost boys with Peter Pan? All of the mystery of hidden dreams. Nothing now is as it seems. Tell a sweet tale that sugars and creams with flashes of sardines and shining moonbeams. As I lay down to my slumber, paint a landscape of ochre and umber. Let there be a hint of romance. Turn up the quiet. Love wants to dance. Tell me a bedtime story, please, of secret gardens and pecan trees, of babbling brooks and waterfalls, of gentle breezes that summer calls, of hidden havens and wondrous spaces, of astral planes and mystical places. Let it be a melody that sings in four-part harmony. Let it resound in symphony that folds into dreamland's reverie. Tell me a fable of Arabian nights spread on a table of earthly delights, free from the label of anger and fights, willing and able to scale higher heights. Tell me a bedtime story now, as the baby rocks in the maple bough, as the blue ox puts his nose to the plow, and the sweaty farmer wipes his brow, as each green seedling happily vows to yield each fruit the ground allows, and seven dwarfs whistle a happy tune, and sleeping beauty awakens soon. Let there be a melody that sings in four-part harmony. Let it resound in symphony, then fold into dreamland's reverie. This is the time when the sandman whispers and seven grooms meet seven sisters. And the prairie sings an ode to love as the angels release the turtle dove. For now, I lay me down to sleep and pray to God, my soul to keep. All right. Jonathan Fagan on the keys. Greg Toro on the bass. Did you hear that? You heard that, right? All right, that's Gordon Yango, guy on the drums. All right. All right, so listen, we're going to the intersection of jazz and social justice, all right? All right, and when I say we ain't playing, we ain't playing, but we're playing. Is that okay? All right, all right. So we ain't playing, but we're playing. Okay, this is called alienation. Good? Okay. All right. Here is a fence without a gate. You can't get in, you have to wait. You can't be foreign or somehow strange. This isn't your home, home on the range. You can't arrive in a rickety boat. Our castle has a treacherous moat. We won't host refugees at our door. You're not the sort we're looking for. Take good note, we stay on guard. We don't want you in our backyard. Despite the danger you seek to avoid, our best deterrents have been deployed. You say our country's full of peril. But like stray cats, we think you're feral. We think you're prone to filth and crime. We don't want either at this time. We don't care what the nations say. They won't do more than hope and pray. Our stance is clear on human rights. Lock the door. Turn off the lights. You saw that statue in the bay. It stood for liberty until today. It welcomed tired and huddled masses, not criminals from your underclasses. We've got militias on the border. They own big guns to keep the order. Law enforcement lets them stay to help them keep your kind at bay. Why do we feel that this is good? Why can't we share the neighborhood? Is it because you're black and brown? No, we just choose to stand our ground. Stay in your place. Deal with your issues. We'll send lots of coal and tissues. Don't form caravans and run. You'll find yourselves in the sight of a gun. There are no streets here lined with gold. Our eyes are closed, our hearts are cold. There is no flowing milk and honey. American skies are not that sunny. The fences we build keep aliens out. They serve to keep our faith devout. This land we scheme to make our own is ours, you see, and ours alone. As long as you stay on the other side, we can maintain our national pride. Please don't show us your anguished faces. We're cutting back on other races. We've had enough of global inclusion. We're ridding this country of race confusion. We know how to win these fights and limit all these civil rights. safety nets and the welfare state will have to stop for the lost and late a rising tide that favors the rich that's our famous favorite campaign pitch me too movements and black lives matter in all due time your ranks will scatter you think that you shall overcome just cross this line we'll give you some We'll give you a taste of burning churches and black boys hung from oaks and birches. We'll give you a taste of incarceration in prisons.com, the corporate plantation. We're taking this country back to the time when a brown life wasn't worth a dime, except for the way it worked in the field, except for a bushel of crops to yield. We're taking this country back to the day when white meant right in every way, when men of privilege could rape and beat and kill for spite, then lie and cheat. We're taking this homeland back to the season when hooded marauders needed no reason to hunt folks down with rifles and dogs through the lonely woods, the swamps, and bogs. When confederate flags were boldly raised, and crosses in the darkness blazed, and the land was full of racial hate, served with grits on a breakfast plate. You thought this worm had surely turned, and young black bodies no longer burned. Yet here you are again today, with the specter of prejudice winning the day. The MAGA caps you wear with pride, they let us know who's on your side. The pointed hood and long white robe, fine clothes for the xenophobe. Perhaps this place that immigrants covet can somehow heal and rise above it. Until that day, our best advice to call this home, you'll pay a price. You'll pay a price as many misguided embrace the hate their voice provided. His Twitter rants and sound bites full of ethnocentric cock and bull. You'll pay a price as higher walls lead great climbers to greater falls, where fences are the new condition announcing the refugees' abolition. This isn't our nation's greatest hour, this flexing of white supremacist power. And yet the season is fully revealing the stain of hatred we've been concealing. So take good note and be on guard of deadly traps around the yard. Our agents are on high alert to keep you foreigners off this dirt. Tolerance is in short supply. We won't let your kind occupy this sacred land our forebears built. We don't subscribe to Anglo guilt. This fence was built without a gate to keep out all who come here late. To all you aliens, we don't like strange. No room at the inn in our home on the range. All right. Hard troops, admittedly, but troops nonetheless. All right, so we're gonna stay there for a minute, and then we'll try and ease up off of your feelings. This piece is called The Ally, and it's actually kind of the eponym for our project. So we're gonna do Ally for you. Friends become distant and strange as if you have some creeping mange. Family wonders why and rings their hands. How could you choose them over us? We're your blood, bone of your bone, and flesh of your flesh. They're not like us. They're so different, less than, not equal to, beneath. Declarations have been made. Arrangements are in place. These are matters of our kin. Signs have been painted. You're going to be cast out. You're going to be shunned. You need to stick with your own kind. An ally? Is that what they're calling you? Well, it's a hard road to hoe. You're making strange bedfellows. You're casting your white pearls before swine. You weren't raised to behave like this. Our family is a proud and honored clan. We'll never be lower than any black man. There's no room for them at this table. There's always been two sides of the track, a right and wrong side of town, our kind and their kind, your people and those folks. It's going to kill your mother and your daddy's turning over in his grave. You want to shout out, Black Lives Matter. But the master plan is to make them scatter, to serve them pain on a silver platter. Our people own them. They worked this land for 200 years. They were our property, our Negroes. Hell, our Negroes to make it plain. You can't be out there with them. You can't be shoulder to shoulder with the ones we need to dominate, relegate, subjugate, eliminate. They want reparations. Well, we're making preparations to give them 40 acres of hell and a mule kit to the gut. You don't seem to get it, son. This is the way the races run. There's not enough room for everyone. The time for black and brown is done. Show your pride and pick up your gun. Pick the side that has always won. You can't be out there with them. You can't be shoulder to shoulder with the ones we need to dominate, relegate, subjugate, eliminate. All right. All right, all right. Yeah, yeah. All right, all right. Once again, the Allied Project. Jonathan Fagan, Greg Toro, Gordon Angle Guywin, I'm Terry Carter. Too cool, these bros got me sweating out here. Got me sweating. All right, okay, so we're at a couple of different spots and then we're gonna finish up. But let's do something nice and mellow. This is called Legacy, okay? Everybody enjoying themselves? All right. I know it's warm out there. I know. But you're braving the elements and enjoying the day, hopefully. Very, very good. It's not for you to tell your own story. That is the burden of your children. They must shoulder this yoke with love and loyalty. And yet, you have not gathered them up and bid them sit before the campfires of their elders. You have not seasoned their meals with the spice of their identity and the savor of their names. How will they learn to walk the walk and talk the talk? How will they learn to tell your stories even as they live out their own? Sons and daughters and heirs, if you didn't smell the burning ash or feel the warmth of the flame on your neck, you don't know. If you didn't revel in the growl of the griot's earthy reply or the trill of the mockingbird's cry, you don't know. If mama was too tired and daddy too long gone to carry the wood, light the spark and stoke the flames, you don't know. And until the lion cub knows how to tell the pride stories, the hunters will always tell them first. The good book says train up the child in the way they should go. Will we let them depart from the community of faith and the city on the hill without the master's touch, without the oil of his anointing and his full measure of grace? Will we not show them Anansi's clever ways, Popo and Fafina's journey, Mufaro's beautiful daughters, the people who could fly the wonders of Wakanda, and Songololo's new tacky. The prophet says he will encourage fathers and their children to return. But how will they know the way home if no map charts the seas, measures the roads, cites the peaks and valleys, and names each forest despite the thickening trees? Will the burden of the elder stories be too heavy for the children? Will they care to carry? Will they dare to tarry? Will they linger at the foot of the griot? Will they hunger for the wisdom of the sage? We must put them on this page, where hard work earns a man his wage, where power is measured by God's own gauge, where miracles scarf at the wand of a maid. We must share with them the truth that is loyal and fierce like Naomi and Ruth, that doesn't wait for the confessional booth, that has the bite of the panther's tooth. This is the gift of legacy, where a glorious past sets the captives free, and a candle's light beckons liberty. Sons and daughters and heirs, I bid you sit before the campfires of your elders, hear their stories, gather up their stones, and build up your strength. They will show you Anansi's clever ways, Popo and Fafina's journey, Mufaro's beautiful daughters, the people who could fly the wonders of Wakanda, and Sanga Lolo's new tackies. Soon you will be the herald. Write these things down on the tablets of your spirit. Let them put a running in your feet. With each quickening step, you repel the arrows of the hunter. With the shield of abiding faith, you capture the flags of your enemies and gather up their spoils. You remain the lions of the pride and your tails will always be your children's bread. You will never abandon the community of faith. Though you build a thousand cities on a hill, drawing wondrous strength from the master's touch as the oil of his anointing fills your clay jars with his grace. Thank you. All right. Quite a while ago, it was either my first or my second book. Speaking of first and second books, I've got books up there. There's actually a Ally Project CD, for those of you who still have a CD player. And it's got a lot of our music on it. So if you're interested, it's up there. We also have a book. Jazz Festival t-shirts, which are lovely, and our food venue, the Danish Pastry House, will still be here after we leave. So if you didn't get a snack and you wanna get one, come back and sit out under the tent and talk, or however the move hits you, it's all there, still there for you. All right, okay, so I think we're gonna do two more, and then we're gonna be done. All right, so. I love that, I love that, I love that, I love that. If it's not fake, if you're faking it, don't do it. But if it's, oh, okay, I love it, okay. What are we doing? Oh, we're doing Bobby, okay. All right, so a while back, on one of my early books, I think it was the second one, I have a painting in my house. It's called, what's it called, T? Oh, it's called Bobby Doesn't Live Here. And basically what it is is my attempt, my humble painting attempt, to kind of depict black women in all shapes and sizes, because they come in all shapes and sizes. And there may be one or two of them who are very, very narrow and somewhat Barbie-like, somewhat Angel Reese-like. But for the most part, it runs the gamut. So I wrote this poem called Barbie Doesn't Live Here to go with that. piece of artwork. And every once in a while, you revisit a piece of poetry and you say, well, what could I have done differently? Or what could I have said differently? So I had this notion, and it came out like this. And it's called, If Barbie Had a Choice.
[Unidentified]: Hahaha.
[Terry Carter]: Si Barbie te gen yon chwa, mwen panse li ta fè l nwa depi premye jou. Mwen ta abandone po krèm epi ale pou yon koulè Ebony klere. Nan vrè mòd larenn li ta di nan dyalèk Igbo: Nan lanfè ak kolonizatè yo! Mete m 'nan yon bwat woz ak ekri blan sou li ak yon background nan anpil pye palmis plaj ak sab. Mwen pa panse sa. Ou pa ka anfòm gwo tete sa yo ak bounda bough @ branch nan miniskirt psikedelik Goldie Hawn sa. Mwen te bezwen yon bagay ki pi enpòtan. Mwen bezwen gwo gwosè koton Senegal ak totèm batik klere ak tout koulè patri a. Mwen te bezwen yon tayè Wakandan ki te fèk soti nan Ruth Carter School pou m te pare epi montre mond lan sa m t ap fè. Mwen vle yon pwodwi ki fèt pa Dahomey, pa youn ki fèt pa Mattel ak Disney. Seryezman, si Bobby te gen yon chwa, Ken ta sanble plis tankou Ali oswa Denzel oswa Britanik chokola nwa hottie Idris Elba. Li pral bronze, pa sèlman ate, epi pa gen plis papye tisi Nwèl pase papye sab 150. Li pral swashbuckle tankou Marvel's T'Challa, leve tankou Tupac, epi travay tankou Malcolm Brothers. Mwen ta bo nonm lan ak bouch tifi nwa, san manyen, san botoks, tankou yon forè plivye. Li ta vale nonm li nan chak pous k ap tranble nan kwis nwa powèt la. Si ou pa konnen, gade li sou YouTube. Ou pa bezwen operasyon bounda bwezilyen, Beverly Hills boob operasyon oswa klas Adobe Photoshop. Manman Afrik ak genomic rich li te pran swen tout bagay, ou konnen sa mwen vle di?
[SPEAKER_07]: Si Barbie te gen yon chwa, ou pa t ap janm ka achte l nan Toys R Us, FAO.
[Terry Carter]: Schwartz oswa Mary Arnold. Li pa pral yon fo mennaj, yon karaktè sipò, oswa Bonnie Clyde a. Li pa pral American Girl Addie, Wicked Straight, oswa Dance Moms Maddie. Li pa pral yon ti fi Margot Robbie, yon Cherry Pie Barbie, oswa Diddy Harvey. Mwen ta fini pwosesis la ak plis rim ak jis kèk baton metal ta fè li nan tan. Nouvo tankou Bobby pa tolere istwa san sans. Pèsekisyon frè nou yo pa ka rete san rezoud ankò. Mèvèy Rezèv tanpon fanm li yo pral vrèman imans. Jwè yo pral tou senpleman jwenn jwèt yo twò entans epi yo pa janm gen yon chans reyèl yo touche rekonpans yo nan renmen. Pandan ke li te kapab rive nan yon Bentley oswa Rolls-Royce, li ta echwe akableman nan yon estasyon gaz reyèl Queens. Nouvo barbi Nubian an ta dwe trete ak anpil respè. Li pa santi l tris oswa li pa inyore. Li pral goumen pou li tankou yon elit Goji. Li p'ap dou, li p'ap debwouye oswa piti. Sa pral fè yon diferans. Mwen parye. Tchoul oswa gason pa reprezante okenn menas. Menm jan bèl pawòl Dèt Nasyonal la, bèlte li ak bon konprann p'ap fè ou swe. Sa a trè blan Barbie ka gen yon avyon jwèt, men li pa te ateri yon avyon nanm ankò. Rèn Afriken mwen an te bliye pwoblèm reyèl la, byenke li ka vle kenbe korvèt woz sa a. Ou ka vle kenbe sa a. Wi, ou ta ka vle kenbe li. Tout se byen. Bon, ann fini kote nou te kòmanse, ki se ak fanmi, paske tout moun isit la, tout moun isit la, ou konnen, mwen vrèman rekonesan e nou vrèman rekonesan pou tout moun ki ap brave chalè a paske nou konnen yo pral avèk nou. Se konsa, ann wè si mwen gen nenpòt espwa jwenn li.
[SPEAKER_07]: Vle ekri yon powèm sou tab la kwizin? OK OK OK OK
[Terry Carter]: Tout se byen. Mwen konnen ke anpil nan sa mwen di jodi a ak sa nou ap pale sou jodi a, ou konnen, yo pral rezone yon lòt jan ak yon rezonans diferan ak tout moun. Men, powèm patikilye sa a, petèt tankou "The Little Shop," fè ou tounen nan ki jan lakay ou te tankou nan yon sèten tan. Mwen ka prèske garanti ke kèlkeswa kote ou soti, ki ras ou ye, ki jan background ou ye, nan yon pwen, mwen priye, mwen espere ke kay ou a pral tankou sa a nan yon pwen, e mwen espere ke li toujou. Powèm nan rele "Kitchen Table Poem." Pa gen moun ki vle ale. Yo se tankou tach blueberry yo sou tabliye manman an: kalm ak kontni. Manje li te genyen an te bon, mayi fre ak chou frize, poul fri ak sòs salad pòmdetè. Vant yo gra e plen. Sa a se chanm sa a. O Bondye mwen, fi, ou serye kounye a? Sa a se yon konvèsasyon reyèl. Nou se moun reyèl. Fanmi, ou konnen de sa m ap pale? Nou se yon fanmi. Ou ka pran sant lanmou an lontan anvan pòt la louvri. Ou te konnen ta pral gen tat pecan. Yo pral sèvi te dous glase. Sid yo pral abandone fòm nò a, aksan yo ap ogmante, ak lonbraj la nan peyi a pral byento santi yo pi pre vil la. Yo rete sou tab sa a anpil tan apre yo fin ranmase ti kal pen yo, yo fin lave tout asyèt yo, epi yo mete manje a ale oswa yo mete yo nan sache Tupperware ak Ziploc. Tout moun pral gen yon sak chyen ak yon istwa pou rakonte. Gason yo pral pase yon bon moman. ♪ Mete yon bagay ki pi piti ♪ ♪ Pale kèk kaka ♪ ♪ Souri an pral gwo epi ri a pral kontajye ♪ ♪ Fanm yo pral fan tèt yo ak plenyen ♪ ♪ Bondye, li konnen li twò gwo pou rad sa ♪ ♪ Se pa yon rad dimanch ♪ ♪ ♪ Ou konnen mwen gen rezon, fi, ou konnen mwen gen rezon ♪ Pa gen moun ki vle ale. Yo te tankou je nwa Jezi nan ansyen foto sa a, plen lanmou ak pèsistans. Manje nanm grate koupe. Jenn mwen te priye nan syèl la ak ti bebe a te chante chante l 'yo. Tout moun kontan ak kalm. Sa a se chanm sa a. Mwen vrèman manke papa m. Èske kansè tibebe w la nan remisyon? legliz. Sa a se yon konvèsasyon reyèl. Nou se moun reyèl. fanmi. Èske w konnen de sa m ap pale? Nou se yon fanmi. Medam ak Mesye, Pwojè Alye yo. Jonathan Fagan jwe kle. Greg Toro sèvi kòm basist. L'ap kouri, mesye. An reyalite, li pral marye byento. Sa a se nonm mwen an. Tout se byen. Gade sa. Li se yon konbatan rebèl. Li te pral ranmase fwèt la ak fè nan yon maryaj nan Connecticut. Tout se byen. Lè sa a, gen nonm mwen an. Gordon Angle te youn, sèl tanbouyè a. Tout se byen. Nou se yon pwojè alyans. Demen nou retounen nan Medford Jazz Festival la ak de lòt show. Nou pral gen etidyan mèt ki soti nan peyi sa yo Berklee a Gender Justice Jazz Institute, ki te dirije pa pwòp Terri-Lynn Carrington Medford la. Li pa pral isit la, men elèv li yo pral, epi yo ka ale. Youn nan batri yo ki pral dirije efò a se yon jèn fanm ki rele Ivana Cuesta, ki se tankou Terri-Lynn Carrington nan 22 oswa 23, kidonk ou ta vle vin tcheke li. Lè sa a, nou pral genyen Enkonparab ak san pran souf. Oke, gen Donna McElroy, li se aktyèlman prezidan depatman vwa nan Berkeley epi apre prezidan aktyèl depatman amoni nan Berkeley, non li se George Russell, Jr., ak George sou klavye a se Poetry in Motion. Se konsa, seryezman, si ou kapab, ou ta ka vle konsidere retounen si Dimanch ou pèmèt li, paske sa ta zanno. Oke, nou di ou mèsi paske ou rete avèk nou epi akonpaye ou pandan tout jounen an. Mwen espere ou byen idrate. Si ou pa, antre epi bwè kèk dlo ak kèk te glas. Si ou grangou yon ti kras, ale jwenn yon bagay pou manje. Yo toujou gen yon anpil nan patisri bon gou, sandwich, krwasan pitza, ak tout bagay sa yo diferan yo fè. Nou renmen yo. Sa a se sirèt Danwa. Yo sitiye sou Boston Avenue, nan kwen Boston ak Winthrop.