Sunday: Listening Party 14: The Music of Gil Scott-Heron

June 11

Backwood wrappers are in the street you know, as time stands still on the Bromo Seltzer Arts, while the uptown natives can't see it from their homes with walls glazed with sweet paint chips. The new catchphrase tagline here is unity. Real people don't want to hear her officials give their spiel because big businessmen's cards have been peeped, as they push chicken boxes and half-and-half's aside in favor of crabs and beer. The youngsters who were programed to continue fucking up woke up one morning inspired by a man named Freddie, who his father and all his statesmen paint as a villain. A bastard grandchild conceived by the water some 288 years ago was born an adult with a strong desire for dominance, primal sexual urges, and a fetish for black skin. He takes after his father and rapes indiscriminately mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, and anyone whose brown skin in the sunlight looks golden. The present still mocks us, good story-tellers with strong accents condemn voyeurs who ask us to melt our skin and integrate, eager to feel burdened and victimized by their power. Young teeny bopping revolt-on-weekend hipsters leave the domicile hundreds of miles away to decry new hyper-segregated surroundings as foster children, sweeping under the thrifted rug the connection to their biological fathers back home. They become runaways who walk the streets with black people waiting on the 13 bus line, anxious to return back to their real fathers with a nice degree in art or medicine. We don't need anymore saviors to move here. Your father made life hell on a looped live stream, and you want me to to help you fix what your family broke. We good dug. We let the lead babies lead. Ruin what you can in the name of your uncles Schaefer and O'Malley, but leave us alone please. Make public transportation free for the things others like, if you have a clue at all. When the fleeting joy of murals are gone and when the moisture-wicking fabrics start to fray as the truths comes out in the wash; who will survive in America? Who will survive in America? Who will survive in America? Who will survive in America?

- A modernized Baltimorean rendition of Gil Scott-Heron's “Comment #1” in honor of the Gil Scott-Heron listening party Baltimore Kissa Society. 6-8 p.m., Normal's Books & Records, 425 E. 31st St., (410) 243-68888, normals.com, free. (Reginald Thomas II)

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