BACK OF THE BUS

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.

Happy New Year! Yeah, yeah...it's February. I digress. A new year brings new perspectives. new initiatives, new booty and most importantly: new music.

I'm not a particularly ceremonial person, but New Year is the one 'holiday' I hold in any real regard. Fresh starts are important to me. I'm willing to wager I'm not the only yokel that has a few things he wishes he could press redo on, so the specter flipping over the calendar represents is a real mutha in my book. I'm pleased to report I spent this New Year's Eve doing one of the things I love to do most: singing on stage. Was a good show too. That's the type of energy I am striving to carry throughout this year, so don't let me be the only one holding up the light. Go head and shine.

This show is an interesting mix of old and new; smooth and jagged. A lil something for any discerning ear, so listen with your good lobe. Auld Lang Syne!

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.

I had the pleasure of spinning one of the easiest sets of my life recently-4 hours of nothing but Prince music. Prepping for the music alone put me in such a wonderful place; amazing the gambit that man covered in all these years. Felt it was only right that I share the love with the rest of you yokels out there unable to make it out to hear me spin live in Chicago whom remain in need of some of the funk doctor's remedies.

Can't go wrong with Prince folks, so whatever troubles ya bout your day let this mix provide you with some relief. Side effects may include: ass shakin, holy rollin, crotchless chaps & whiplash. Please use as advised, can be addictive.

Nuance is the domicile of excellence, both in romance and finance. The ability to understand and manipulate subtleties is what separates the mediocre from the masters. A lovers attention to how you sigh when your bottom lip is sucked will always be chiseled into the memory. Forecasting the needs of a soul starved society can net you a hefty profit. It's all in the details. Pay attention.

This mix is a subtle meditation in preparation of all that is to come. I suggest a good Malbec & a comfortable chair. Enjoy.

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

I was a mediocre college student. Well, honestly, I was a terrible college student. I partied too much and too late; neglected the knowledge rooted in front of me. That's not to suggest I'm stupid. Just naive at the time about the imaginary singularity we at times pretend to possess.

We are all reflective composites of an incandescent light. Elements of proportion all wrapped in each others exposed tendons & signifying nerves. Beautiful contradictions walking a jagged path. Seeds.

And so, I continue to grow. This beater is a heater if I do say so myself, so shake a hand and make the speakers bounce.

Peaks yield valleys. Or perhaps valleys fertilize the summit. Either way, there is a balance to the highs & lows of life. The enraptured would have you believe happiness is predicated merely on belief, but I'm far more pragmatic in my emotional fermentation. A lil salt always brings out the sweet. That is the beauty of Jazz; it muddles the acrid tang of pain with the black licorice luster of loves lingering scent. The perfect treat.

This mix pulls from the past & future of jazz to choreograph a dance of the senses. Make those isolations stick and point that toe. Enjoy.

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

In the loaded gun called life, baby you've got to pull the trigger. Wrestle with the currents of unpredictability and ride the wave of the future like your life depends on it: because it does.

The sour bowel of loss laced with the ambrosia of a long desired kiss is what under girds funk music. The diametric attraction of the bass lines cry take you underneath the surface...deep inside where the funk lives. Recline and unwind.

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.