BACK OF THE BUS

Life and Jazz are effortlessly analogous. The dynamism of improvisation, the integration of influences, the rewards of risk, the capricious syncopation. Life is often better lived behind the beat, but sometimes you find yourself ahead in the measure. Polyrhythms play off of each other to create the concert of our existence and at the times there is harmony, others dissonance...but always there is an end.

My friend Marc Lundberg passed suddenly while I was in New Orleans for my first Mardi Gras. Marc was a N.O. native and champion with a magnetic personality and buoyant heart. He was loved by many and left too soon. This show is dedicated to him along with my dear friend Ayo Scott, who was gracious enough to introduce me to Marc and into their family.

No sad music here. Nope. Celebrate and second line as this plays people, lawd knows I did. Love to N.O., I'll be back sooner than later.

Another one bites the dust. 2012 is but an annotation in the ledger and 2013 grabs a seat at the table of transformation.

This time of year always foments a desire for regeneration. I suppose it's part of our make up. We walk around shedding dead skin cells daily, oblivious to the decay we leave in our wake. But testament to our durability, we unconsciously recreate ourselves as a function of life. Wounds heal. Shorn hair encroaches upon our shoulders. Fingernails which were the victim of stress push pass the cuticle. You're either growing or dying, ya dig?

Last year seemed rife with so much madness I wanted to put together something to counteract that dissonant energy in the air. No musical thread other than music that makes ya feel deeply. Throw some more coal in the boiler and enjoy.

We tend to discount our ability to levitate as human beings. One need not be a magician to experience the thrill that comes with separation from the oppression of gravity, merely an opportunist. Two things have particular importance in my personal pursuit of transcendence: roller coasters and music. Both demand two things to fully enjoy their bounty: surrender and trust. For the roller coaster, you must surrender to the designs of a mechanical juggernaut and trust that it won't kill your ass in the process. In the case of music, you must surrender to the mood and the melody, trusting them to transport you someplace more whatever you need in that moment, even if it drops you back off where you began.

Music is a tonic for the tethered. It unravels the coils of emotion and reveals the air beneath your feet. Time spent in the arms of a good song should fill you with the rarified air a kite feels when it breaks free on a breezy day.

This mix is a huckabuck hodge podge of goodies meant to get you through these obsequious holidays of consumption. Press play and float on.

I've always found ego repellant. Humility rooted in integrity is much sexier.

This belief system often lends me to acquiesce to my excellence. I'd much rather show you than tell you.

But sometimes, you gotta do like my mother always told me: put on your pink skirt, raise it high and tell people to kiss your natural born ass.

This mix is dedicated to the under-appreciated. Those quietly working at refining their craft and selves without the accessory of bravado. The uncompromising crew that knows happiness is in the pursuing. Don't get bored with what your doin. The pleasure principle is the ruin. Take no shorts and dig in.

Our bodies are the ultimate sci-fi adventures; minus the fiction, of course. Whole universes housed beneath a few dozen feet of derma moving across the space continuum of existence. Constellations of follicles dancing along side the orbit of aeronautical appendages. Endochromatic gravity regulating a complex and hostile terrain. Alien organisms waging epic battles against the army of our immunity. Yet, all of it can be consumed when we encounter the black hole of the soul. Amazing things, these bodies we comprise.

There has been a clarity in the city sky which I cannot easily recall from days past. Between light pollution and good ole fashioned pollution, I'm accustomed to the night consisting mainly of a defiant moon, flashing lights moving along the surface of the night's plane and an occasional North Star. But as of late, the sky has been alive with light coming from far beyond. Deep within the recesses of our understanding, these beams push forward to remind us of our infinitesimal existence; the stars and I are kindred. In spirit and matter. And just like those stars, one day my light will fade and convert into some other form. But for now, I intend to be the brightest I can be.

This mix is soulful and fueled by the fire of growth. May it help you go boldly into the vast unknown. Mazel tov.

Boundaries are duplicitous little fuckers; they can both augment and diminish. It is not uncommon to envy the freedom of an uncaged bird. Their sovereign wings are an elegy to the beauty of abandoning the familiar to find a perch with a different, perhaps more inspired, vantage point. However, there are times where limitations are the most essential of components. The hardest lesson to learn can be when to set healthy boundaries; with our loved ones, in our workplace, even with ourselves. In this thing called life, you gotta straddle the fence.

I've been perfecting my balance on that line between reckless uninhibitedness and pragmatic restraint. A tightrope affair if ever there was one, but there in lies the thrill. Life will test your resolve. Study yourself so you may have an answer at the ready within.

This mix finds me in boho mode. Break out your Birkinstocks and fire one up. Enjoy, mon frères.

Where is inspiration born? Is it an immaculate conception carved out in the back seat of a lonely Buick that fills the virginal void of apathy and allows imagination to procreate? Or is it a communal mind fuck where we all must divine our most erogenous role in the orgy of inventiveness?

It's no coincidence, I suppose, I'm processing the concept of birth in the wake of death I've been experiencing as of late. The cycle of life presents us with such a spectrum of questions and scarce time to uncover their answers. Each moment gives us new life, a "rebirth" if you will, and like children we must be amiable enough to read the meaning of the footprints that populate the ground around us. The inertia of life can pull you into the realm of bitterness and fear. Rely on this moment to give you a new portal to explore your domain; a new canal from which you can be born again. (no christian-o)

This show skews towards rock but is peppered with a helping of soul. Hope yall enjoy. Dedicating this one to my grandmother, who raised hell till the moment she checked out of here, and I love her for it.

Some people fit life into a very linear narrative: you're born. shit happens, you die. There is truth in the simplicity of this perspective, but it misses the very thing that makes life so voltaic
and sating. It misses the cracks in the pavement, the bends in the road, the flat tires, the speeding tickets...those unrelenting surprises that demand we sharpen our mind's knife and force the doors of our hearts open. The devil may hide in the details, but there remains a more sustaining ministry in the minutia if we learn to embrace the moment; to make that u-turn.

Fall is upon us, and the coolness in the air is a harkening reminder that the seasons shall change whether we're ready or not. Best to bundle up, baby. This mix is appropriately autumnal and guaranteed to fill you up. Dig in .

I can recall being very young learning about Phantom Limb Syndrome. Like many African-American families, diabetes is ever present in our blood line and my grandmother lost both of her legs as a result of it. Her stemless body was often stricken with painful flashes of legs that used to lance a path in the ground so deep the trees gave way to her approach. The sensation of what was lost can be more piercing than a knife.

Life manifests this syndrome in less somatic ways, and we often find ourselves feeling for something lost along this unscripted path of existence. The spirit's muscles remember what it feels like to be free. We become married to the feeling of what we allowed to be.

Somewhere along the way, we try to unlearn the urge to grasp and instead let go to the wind. Forgiveness flows in the gulf stream of release if you can set your sail on that path.

All esoteric bullshit to say: forgive yourself. Nobody gave you an instruction manual. You did the best you could at the time. Now, move on. I'm reminding myself of this everyday.

I made this mix on a Monday, so I put something together to arm for my spirit for the week ahead. I hope it does the same for you. Soulful goodness.

get the free download of Manuals' single "MPG" at www.manuals.bandcamp.com

It has always struck me as peculiar people's apprehension towards talking about poop. I mean, I can appreciate the unsavory bits of the experience; noxious odors, painful cramps, e. coli, etc., ect...it's far from fine art. But it is also a big part of the human experience that we all (baring a colostomy bag) must navigate with as much dignity as possible. It unifies us in our collective necessity & shame: this most private moment is where we find a weird intersection. Our bowels all empty in this ravine of earth and mingle with each other; our waste shares a common language. Indeed, shitting is one of the things that makes life worth living. Ask anybody currently constipated.

Digestion is also an essential part of our engine. Converting minerals into energy and removing the remains of this transformation is a miracle of divine understanding, and we'd do well to remember that.

This mix is a gumbo of good music, blending some classic soul with some new offerings & ending on some hip-hop shit. See. Shit is even an essential part of a healthy vernacular. May this music move you like collard greens to the toilet. Flush on.

I marvel at Nature's ability to endure. Chicago has suffered one of its most egregious winters in a long time, yet merely days after the temp cracked 40 there were flowers digging themselves up from the soil outside my home; green, vibrant-alive.

We humans have a tendency to detach ourselves from nature. We think we somehow exist beyond the rhythms the universe has cultivated over the millennia. But we would do well to learn from our horticultural kin. Despite being buried beneath feet of snow, they allow themselves the chance to be dormant & make space for the bounty that is their summer. I can follow the logic.

Spring is upon us good people, so let's get our houses in order so we can go outside and play. This mix is straight jazz, no chaser. It should be the perfect compliment to a day of cleaning-physical, metaphysical or otherwise-and get you in a good head space for the task at hand. Don't skimp on the Pledge.

Shouts to my good buddy down in Nawlins Ayo Scott for letting me use his art work as the photo for this episode. Quite talented, eh? Check him & his company NOYO Designs out at www.noyodesigns.com.

Life accelerates at a rate unproportionate with preparation a good deal of the time. As a child, time feels like cold sap inching along the bark of life's tree. But days transform into quicksilver as the years accumulate, and the finality of the timeline becomes ever more apparent and urgent to your endeavors. Moments must be captured with the precision of a telephoto lens to remain relevant. The clock ticks and the metronome of opportunity can develop an oddly syncopated beat. Best to know where the 1 is.

2010 has been chocked full of nuts. Lots of bumps in the road and wonderful rebounds. Unanticipated discoveries and prophesied disappointments. What a deliciously anguish laced mosaic this path can be. I hope you scrape the plate.

Seventies soul & contemporary contemplation is the spirit of this mix. Even enlisted the help of my 3 year old nephew in recording this, so lets toast to transition and remembering the days when time was a slow drip instead of a raging deluge.

I've recently been forced back into the arms of public transportation, which has afforded me an interesting lens by which I can view the world. Being able to observe human interaction in such close & communal proximity in an unincumbered way offers a very different lay of the land than from the behind the wheel of car. I've had moments of both inspiration and sensory overload, but it has most importantly forced me to slow down. A life less accelerated can be a good thing sometimes for a city boy like me.

As the winter wind comes blowin in slowly but surely, it seems the world is preparing itself for some unintended separation...a cleansing of the remnants this summer has left strewn across the horizon. A karmic colonic if you will. The winds of change are def in the air.

This mix is a lil bit of everything, so open yo mind & wear long underwear. Cheers.

Value is both implicit & derived; all depends on the perspective of engagement. A $100 bill means nothing to the naturalist. A spiritual garb is little more than a costume to the non-believer. The imperative relevance of a young Black man's life is lost on a cop conditioned to fear the melanin embedded within his skin.

The murder of Oscar Grant by BART officer Johannes Mehserle in Oakland last year was largely ignored by the mainstream media. The verdict of involuntary manslaughter handed down to Mehserle apparently was less important that the news Lebron James is going to be moving to a new city and making millions more dollars. Oscar Grant's value was derived from the simple reality that he was a Black man in America. And I am Oscar Grant. Oscar is gone.

This rock laced show is dedicated to all those lives gone too soon without just cause. Not for the easy listener, hopefully this show captures my angst properly.

RIP Oscar Grant

The space existing just beyond our reach is electrified with the shrapnel of love & regret, full of kinetic wonder; infinite. The all consuming nature of one's dreams is both a fluid gift & and a pulsating aggravation. How do we find the alchemy of our life? Surely the recipe must be as varied as fried chicken...we all got a secret ingredient. How do we fill the space?

This mix comes in the wake of my dirty 31st born day, so I was especially moody Little bit of everything, lots of goodness. Help me blow out the candles.

Words escape me. The happenings in the Gulf of Mexico have resulted in a decision to forgo my transition to New Orleans living for the moment. I lament that statement, as I was genuinely looking forward to the change...but even more so I weep for the injury the earth is suffering right now. What will left of the world we knew is yet to be seen; habitats not found anywhere else in the world gone forever, species of wildlife & fish extincted, food shortages...it's too much to ponder at times honestly. I won't spew my political thoughts onto this page, because at the end of the day none of it matters. The earth is hurting. Hemorrhaging. The day looks dark.

I summoned up some Blackness to shake that load off. This mix made me dance & smile while making it, so I hope it does the same for you.

An aside: Fans of the Back of the Bus can help in my effort to support HIV/AIDS research by donating to the show. Until the end of August, 50% of all donations will be used to sponsor Allegra Dolores (http://foxbrownfox.net/the-artists/allegra-dolores/) member Kay Allay as she runs a marathon in support of the Aids Foundation of Chicago in September. You can also sponsor her directly by going to http://afc.aidschicago.org/netcommunity/kimeco. Great cause & a great person, so please give what you can. Thank ya kindly.

Moments appear incidental, but arrive after constant deliberation from our active or passive engagement. We are artisans of our own understanding; architects for the frame our happiness or disgust. We hide behind the mirror of chance, or dance before the lens of indifference hoping to catch our best angle in the image returned. Life is a multi-media piece of haiku, daring you to get all up in the syntax.

Back Of the Bus is officially hitting the road. This is the last show I'll be broadcasting from my home in Chicago, so it marks an ending & new beginning for me. Next we speak will be from the belly of the Bayou, and I'm looking forward to bringing yall the next level of what I do. Typically soulful, this mix is filled with a lot of emotion. Hope ya enjoy. The journey has just begun.

Breath is redirection. A convergence of signals to expel a line that pierces its course, and etches a valley of low-lying pools we must then engage and interpret. Our existence influences that of those miles away thanks to our ever evolving displacement. Our speech impresses upon the world an inheritance of motion and wonder that can never be retracted upon the dawn. We breath life into the world like a kite fluttering against the breeze.

I'm thankful for my breath. For the opportunity to make mistakes; and learn from them. I have an infinite affinity for life, the gangsta bitch that she is. One time for getting old. It sure beats the alternative.

This show is all hip-hop, and dedicated to the memory of DJ Tapedek. One love.

photo credit: DoDo Jin Ming

Life requires release. Those moments we remember the most are the ones where the facade of what we project to the world is stripped of its cloaking abilities, and we are left exposed...sensitive nerves absorbing the fullness of that feeling.

The euphoria of falling. The rush of discovery. The echo of pain.

All provide road marks to the path we have traveled when we must retrace our steps. Each illuminates a corner yet seen. To release and receive them is oft time something we work against, but there is where the journey becomes lost.

This mix blends emotion with music...good for the morning and the midnight. Think you will enjoy.

P.s. happy birthday Tanya, Rachel & Rhonda

Like every other DJ worth his salt, I was obligated to put together a medley of some of my favorite cuts from the King in remembrance of his incredible legacy. To forewarn, the ending is a bit abrupt due to a technical blip...but the vibe was so right so I had to posted it anyway. Hopefully this will help with your dealing...remember the good times.

The journey thru can be rigorous in its incline. The sun rises and descends with the unrelenting will of only a well endowed dominion, and the moon wains even the shine of the sun. At times, it gets difficult to remember the lines...to get the timing right.

But try to remember.

Remember those moments of love and laughter that has fattened you to protect against the winters. Recall the times the moon beat you to bed, and the sun was a smiling reminder of the story you must tell. Try to remember.

This mix is a release: a recollection. For the old soul, but not a boring one. Have fun.