This is what 27 looks and feels like.

Untitled, (2013) © Oluseye

His locks are growing. He gets the occasional nod from the other dreaded brothers in the streets - construction workers and potential pipe layers. Tricks and shamans, alike, nod in unision, filling him with their eyes, acknowledging his being - spirtual and perverse. He is satiated from the bottom up. 

Brendan Philip and Jahmal Tonge, For you, Sex Symbols & Love Conspiracies Pt.2 (2013)

Boys that sound like an Azan, the Muslim call to prayer, are all the rage – Drake, Rocki Evans, Iman Omari, The Weeknd, How To Dress well, Frank Ocean and JMSN, but Brendan Philip gives the most engaging performance of the lot. If you’re based in Toronto and have been fortunate to see Brendan perform his yet-to-be released “For you” then you know exactly what I am raving about.

“For you” is the gut-tugging emotional rollercoaster that Philip actualizes in his live performance of the said track. It is a performance that borders hysteria. Phillip literally shuts his set down with a bouncing-of-the-wall-cuddling-up the-floor spectacle. It’s evident music is his therapy. As the percussion builds up he lets loose – exorcising the emotional strains that weigh him down and delivering himself from their bondage. Raw emotion and performance collide ingeniously, bringing to mind Hendrix’s 1967 guitar burning performance at Monterey Pop. But the stage antics, spiritual epilepsy, emotional frenzy – call it what you may – are only a portion of the Brendan Philip experience. Of course there’s a voice, not just a good one, but one that’s perfectly suited for the emotional chaos and nostalgia present in his lyrics. Philip’s voice is soothing yet it roars with bowel-deep intensity. His heart’s been pierced and the wound still stings fresh. The synthesizer amplifies the experience causing his cry to resonate and ripple its way down the crowded bar. And then there’s the crowd, a spectacle in its own right, with characters as diversely appealing as the hairstyles that adorn their heads – dreaded high-tops, braids, weaves, and all their non-black equivalents. Bodies sway and heads bop in unison to the bittersweet sentiments of abstract R&B.

Sadly, there’s no studio version of “For you” available just yet. Brendan and Jahmal are still experimenting with the sound of their upcoming EP Sex Symbols & Love Conspiracies Pt.2 – we’re waiting with patient excitement.

In the mean here’s the link to Brendan’s bandcamp page. Top picks are his cover of Neil Young’s Harvest Moon, all three tracks on his collaboration with sAvidA and personal projects, Wait and Wild side. His work with Lord Quest under the moniker Purple Hearts is pure soultronica. Get it here. 

photo: Yannick Anton

Untitled, Denyse Thomasos, (2012)

The exhibition ended at 6pm. I slipped in at 5.45pm hoping it would be empty. I got lucky. I wanted to be the last person to experience the collective power of these precious works, before they were shipped off to their new owners. It was already dark out and the gallery was impossibly quiet: an unending moment of silence in honor of the deceased artist. The atmosphere seemed appropriate given the circumstances and my mind was soon clouded with existential thoughts. I found myself imagining what Thomasos’ life must have been like, if she was happy, what her final thoughts could have been and how it feels to die – what happens in those final moments? Fortunately, I didn’t entertain these thoughts for long because before me were these mind-blowing paintings that spoke, on a grand scale, of life, passion and immense energy.

Thomasos’ art gave me the impression that she had lived a rich life and was well on course to her nirvana, if not already there. With this in mind, the exhibition offered a distraction from her death. Instead, it served to commemorate Thomasos’ life - the talented force, the woman, the painter, the coloured woman painter. It also presented a visual journal of her wanderlust: Thomasos liked to travel and her vivid images captured the complex spirit and haphazard beauty of the very places she visited. The chaos, bustle and skeletal architecture of the cities she traversed are evident, and are all the more real given the illusion of depth she achieves on canvas. I saw West African mud houses and thatched roofs, floating slums in Mumbai and housing blocks in China. Her work and her travels were only an extension of her multiracial identity. “Born in Trinidad, raised in Toronto and with East Indian, African, Chinese, and Spanish heritage”, Thomasos was a true citizen of the world and used her art to express a “voracious” interest in “global current affairs” and issues of social injustice (Rutgers Magazine, 2010 and (Mirloy, 2012). She explored issues relating to human trafficking, black incarceration in US prisons, war, and genocide – all of which allude to the idea of “a contemporary manifestation of slavery” and her ongoing investigation into “the architecture of slavery” (Rutgers Magazine, 2010 and Canadian Art, 2010).

Thomasos died from an adverse reaction to a dye used in MRI scans. She is survived by her husband and daughter. Her memorial took place at Carr Hall, the same venue where, only two years earlier, her wedding reception had taken place. Ironically, Carr Hall is home to Babylon, one of her most iconic paintings which was acquired - 5 years earlier - by the same Father who presided over her wedding and her funeral mass. To be married, remembered and celebrated in the same space, under the gaze of your own art attests to the magnitude of Thomasos’ legacy.  She had essentially crafted her own eulogy.

Josiah Wise + GodBodi, paraboLA, (2012)

Social media is a thing of greatness. It’s a modern day spiritual force, a god of human connection. It has the capacity to unite us with greatness, allowing for relations that would otherwise have been impossible. About a month ago I stumbled on a gorgeous creature: Josiah Wise had great hair and a sense of style that conjured visions of an ancient otherworldly majesty – a Yoruba nomad on an intergalactic “journey for success and self-identity”(Josiah Wise/GodBod).

He was a vision of something familiar yet elusive – a version of myself I couldn’t quite place, the hyper eccentric one I sometimes dream about. It was beyond intrigue. I knew right away that this wasn’t a by chance encounter. Josiah would be a part of my life. We would meet some day and we’d be life-long friends, ageless beings (as we refer to ourselves) on a quest for an abundant life.

Josiah is exactly as I knew he would be: spiritual royalty. artist. innovator. singer. healer. free spirit. goofball. sacred. lover. musician. peace keeper. sunflower. historian. dancer. traveler. An incredible being through and through. My catalyst for self-fulfillment.

Mr. Wise is a 21^st century troubadour, a musical intellect, so to speak. His genius is immediately evident in his vast vocal range, kooky arrangement and abstract lyricism. His story has only just begun with the release of his first EP, paraboLA - a mind shifting spiritual concoction of gospel, experimental r&b, folk, jazz and Negro spirituals. It’s deep but not contrived, with a universal message for us “to elevate our thoughts and perceptions of [ourselves]…to recognize and see how limitless we are” (Josiah Wise/GodBod). It’s a musical celebration of our being, of what it means to live freely, and as Ledereach so eloquently writes “somewhere between memory and potential…in a creative space, pregnant with the unexpected.” 

And so my spiritual experimentation begins. Josiah and I talk every other day. We inspire each other with positive things happening in our lives. Soon he’ll visit and we’ll burn lavender incense, play with pyrite stones and listen to soulful house. We’ll also dance to trashy pop and vogue anthems – cause he has a not so serious side too.

Download Josiah + GodBodi’s EP: paraboLA

Photo: Steven Duarte

our story isn’t new

our story isn’t new,

we’ve always been [a part of the movement]

black souls woven

into the earth,

dispersed at sea,

bound yet free [floating].

we’re everywhere and everything

bizZarh, The Cover up, (2011)

The first step to healing a broken heart is a night out. Hoping to find something to do on a Thursday night, myself and the other bearded bitch – fragile and in need of a good distraction – headed out to fight the blues. The night was good to us: we quenched our thirst on gin blossoms, teased our palates with venison tartare and then desecrated it all up with some good old poutine. Itching to dance, we headed to the Beaver to shake our man tits to an Erykah Badu concept night, the 6^th installment of Sheroes – a monthly party/performance series hosted by reeraw and featuring “chopped & screwed remixes”, digital art, audio-visual installations and live tributes to music’s “league of extraordinary ladies” (reeraw). It was a major black-up: there at the back of the bus bar, a pansexual bevy of beautiful black beings, diehard Erykah fans getting their fix of soul, art and the occasional brap!

Charlie and Paris were only part of the congregation, well, not until they grabbed mics and introduced themselves as bizZarh – stressing the ‘zzz’ and giving the word a new found onomatopoetic quality, one evoking ideas of awkward coolness, alternative hype and offbeat magnificence. Part of larger collective, 88 Days of Fortune, BizZarh got things heated with their set – an experimental collage of neosoul, 90s-hip hop, dubstep, electronica and funk – beautiful for its detailed imperfection. Girls got me creaming with their do-it-yourself-mind-blowing-goodness. RAWsome!

bizZarh – The cover Up mixtape

88 days of fortune is an impressive youth-led grass roots, queer, trans and straight identified, music and multi media collective. 

88 days of fortune - Mixtape

Sheroes is back for its 7^th installment: Etta James, February 23^rd @ the Beaver. 

Image: jahgrey 

Portrait of John Alleyne, V. Tony Hauser, (1986)

It’s less than three weeks till I go see the Alvin Ailey Dance Theatre. Boy, am I excited! It’s on a Friday night and I’ve already figured out where I’ll be dinning and imbibing prior to and after the show. It’s going to be amazing – all those sculpted black creatures, twirling and jumping and glistening in the light, titillating just by being.

In the spirit of dance I thought I’d share the first item on my wish list for 2012. I saw this portrait of Canadian ballet dancer, John Alleyne, over the holidays and was captivated – the smile, so brilliant you can almost feel the laughter; the sharp angles and the soft ones too; the immaculate lighting; Alleyne’s innocence and almighty grace. God! This image is beautiful, so damn beautiful I was tempted to spend my advance on it. It was two days to Christmas and as much as I felt like treating myself, I let prudence get the better of me. I did, however, make myself a promise – to own this smiling sculpted beauty by year-end.

Flashdance…What a feeling, Hollywood, Mon Amour featuring Yael Naem, (2008)

Real love can’t be staged – it just sort of happens – but if you anticipate you’ll be falling in love soon or if you’re looking for music to make love to, then you might want to consider a playlist that includes this ballad version of Irene Cara’s 80’s dance anthem, ‘Flashdance…What a feeling.’ Yael Naem lends her soft vocals to this reassembled cover, and behind the track’s dreamy arrangement is Marc Collin of Nouvelle Vague. This track, discovered purely by serendipity, was the  key to an amazing New Years Eve - full of emotion, sky-high euphoria and gratitude for all the amazing people in my life.

Consistent with Nouvelle Vague’s concept, Collin presents, Hollywood Mon Amour, a collection of 80s soundtracks reworked and underworked for that less is more quality of Bossa nova-inspired lounge music. Other 80s hits reworked for this project include Prince’s ‘When doves cry’, Duran Duran’s Bond anthem, ‘A view to kill’, and Blondie’s ‘Call me.’

Hollywood, Mon Amour - Flashdance… What A Feeling

Nude Male II, Boscoe Holder, (1999)

Norwich, Fall 2009: partly employed, quasipoor, uninhibited and curious, I made the phone call that would place me on the other side of the drawing board. It all happened quickly. One minute I was fully clothed and the next I was in a cold room in what used to be an old shoe factory – baring my soul, ass and pole for a two-digit Pound note, the red kind, fortunately. It wasn’t about the money, though I confess it did come in handy replenishing the pleasure pantry – booze, art exhibits, gladiolas, artisan treats, the commute to London and with this the promise of East End merry making.

In the dark room, I was brightly illuminated to enhance my pigmentation – the vast spectrum of ochre and terracotta visible in my skin. My audience, an art class, evidently, but not quite what I was expecting. Sprawled before me was a group of seniors, about twenty of them, Caucasian, all retired, veterans of all sorts – teachers, pilots, archaeologists and gardeners – with impressive histories but now sat before me with eyes peered through thick spectacles, awaiting my first pose.

For two months I posed for this potpourri of remarkable characters, listening to their incredible anecdotes as I transitioned between poses – bending, twisting and raising my limbs to my own amazement.  At intervals, with my privates concealed, we gathered round the radiator to keep warm, chatting over Earl Grey and stale ginger snaps. When my time was up, I would be handed my remuneration, which often came with numerous offers for a ride home. I’d arrive home, aching and stiff-necked, marginally richer but enriched, content to be creating the anecdotes of an eventful life. 

Rolling Thunder, Gorgeous Children, (2011)

I may finally have found the soundtrack for my blog persona, the gorgeous creature. An eerie dreamlike track coincidentally by a collective called ‘gorgeous children.’ It’s the perfect accompaniment to those pleasant but tragically transient moments of reverie – that fearless place where ideas are born, where creativity thrives and where reality and fantasy unite to inspire art, design, photography, music, literature, and all the other things in which we lose ourselves [and find ourselves]

Gorgeous Children - Rolling Thunder

Looking for Langston, Isaac Julien, (1989)

The other day I discovered a true beauty in the most unexpected of places. It was well past 2am and after writing for what seemed an eternity, I decided on some porn (as one would do on a lonely night). Two minutes in and it wasn’t the sex that had my attention – it was the soundtrack. Right there amidst the raunch and perversion was this gem of a track: ‘Relaxin’ at Club F****n’ by Koop.  A soothing electro jazz number reminiscent of the score to Issac Julien’s 1989 ‘Looking for Langston’ – a dreamlike rendition of black identity, art, culture and sexuality during the Harlem Renaissance. 

Koop - Relaxin’ At Club F****n

Ben, me an my bike series, Simon Di Principe, (2010)

God bless Ernest Michaux and Simon Di Principe. The former for inventing the modern bicycle and the latter for capturing the freedom and sublimity of youth in his photographs of everyday bike owners. The ‘Me and my bike’ series is profound, but perhaps, in a way only an avid biker can appreciate. The bike and the biking experience – the symbolism of the bike, the practicality of the act – and everything that it conjures: freedom, discovery, independence, wanderlust, and restlessness.

I feel most attractive on my bike, and perhaps most unstoppable – an unstoppable beauty, a gorgeous creature in control of its destiny. Everything is at my disposal and this bike will get me where I need to be – work, the beach, the clubs, dates, booty calls, you name it. It affords the freedom to be here, there and everywhere between, prompting the philosophy that who I am is where I am. 

It’d be impossible to discuss biking and not relive some of my fondest memories with Marc – those days of invincible coolness. Biking with our seats high up through Montreal’s plateau, meandering through life in our various capacities – as undergrads, culture buffs, faux hipsters, self-proclaimed in-things – gracing the streets in all of our no-frills glory. Our story, however, isn’t special nor exclusive to us or anyone else for that mater: Over the pond in London is friend and brother from the motherland, Ben a.k.a. Kusi Kubi.  Ben’s bike is essential to the many facets of his life. It’s key to living out his inner Renaissance man - PR professional by day (the bills need to be paid), fashion stylist (because he has amazing style) and East London DJ by night (because everyone loves a good old retro, pop and RnB mash-up).  The two commonalities are his boundless talent and his quasi-bohemian mode of transport. 

Biking can in many ways be representative of or, perhaps, conducive to the perfect urban experience: effortless access and tranquil solitude weaving in and out of the urban chaos.  Everything is at your disposal, but only in custom made portions.  Not bound by distance or details, your adventures ad-libbed and your options ad nauseam.  Your participation – in dancing, eating, drinking, socializing – is based in the moment, the mood, and most importantly your own motivation.  If your sensibilities are not completely satisfied, then you change gears without hesitation. Mischief awaits elsewhere.  

Co-author: Raymond Reid

Photography: Simon di Principe

Zinzi and Tozama, Zanele Muholi, (2010)

I finally have the lesbian friends I’ve always wanted – beautiful, black, and ambitious sisters: sisters with dreads, sisters with weaves, butch girls and girly girls too.  Strong black women, living and loving deep and insatiably. Their lives - an attestation to the words of South African photographer and visual activist, Zanele Muholi: “it is through seeing ourselves as we find love, laughter [and] joy that we can sustain our strength and regain our sanity as we move into a future that is still sadly filled with the threat of insecurities.” 

Muholi is exactly the kind of artist I’d be honored to meet. Her work is beautiful and provokingly so - what I’d like to call political art. Her agenda is evident and it speaks through her body of work. Her quest for black queer rights is boldly emblazoned in her black and white photographs and documentaries – most depicting the innocence, beauty, and often harsh realities of African lesbianhood; women who still risk the brutality of correctional rape.

Muholi’s visual activism began with her first solo exhibition - ‘Visual Sexuality: Only Half the Picture’ at the Johannesburg Art Gallery. She’s since then exhibited in Amsterdam, Milan, London and perhaps most significant (to me, anyway) at the Centre for Contemporary Art in Lagos. She’s got an MFA in documentary media form Ryerson in Toronto and naturally, her thesis explored the visual history of black lesbian identity and politics in post-Apartheid South Africa. 

Dinner at Ruby WatchCo – Thursday, July 28^th 2011

Good food is well worth the wait – even if its three months in the making.  I first heard about celebrity chef, Lynn Crawford, at the agency. I had gotten a call from a photographer who needed a senior hair & make up artist to style Crawford for the cover of her latest cookbook. As you’d expect when dealing with celebrities, there was an unsettling exigency about the photographer’s excessive calls. She kept confirming I had booked the best stylist possible, one who could tame Crawford’s thick hair.  And so I was prompted to look her up.  I thought to myself: Who is this Lynn Crawford, anyway? What’s all the fuss, and why should I care about her thick hair? 

What I found made my mouth water, and suddenly, there was nothing appetizing about my $5 chow Mein lunch. Crawford is a gastronomy genius and in an industry dominated by men, she’s soared past the glass ceiling and into the upper echelons of chef-hood. Executive chef at the Four Seasons New York and Toronto, Iron Chef alumnus and restaurant makeover star – Crawford is a big deal and thankfully a local and accessible one too. You can imagine my excitement when I found out she’d quit the Four Seasons to open up shop in Toronto’s East end strip – Ruby WatchCo, a cozy dinning room with a prix fix daily changing menu. 

Three months later, I’m sat in Ruby WatchCo. I’ve especially prepared myself for the experience – I’m tired and famished from work but my senses are super alert. I’m looking out to see if the experience will live up to everything I’d heard and read about, and fortunately I am not let down. The ambience was really relaxed - sophisticated but with a neighborhood feel, the staff was incredible, and the food - you’ll have to try it because my writing won’t do it any justice. The restaurant really does capture the essence of a family dinner – the kitchen is visible, servers charmingly unveil dishes like mother would, meals are served in Le Crueset pots to be shared by the table (so cute), there’s a familial winter coziness about the ambience, and all of that familial bliss is very contagious – guests are buzzing with camaraderie and inter-table chat keeps the evening alive.

THURSDAY, JULY 28^TH 2011

WALNUT HILL FARM’S PORK SHOULDER SALAD

Green Cabbage, Ruby’s B&B Pickles, Grated Carrots, Pickled Mustard Seeds, Brown Derby Vinaigrette

RUBY’S B.B.Q BRICK CHICKEN

Grilled Ontario Corn with Queso Fresco & Chipotle Aioli,

Warm Fingerling Potato Salad with Caramelized Onion & Dill Dressing,

Sovereign Farm’s Tomato & Cucumber Salad with Basil Pesto

BLUE HAZE BY ABBAYE DE SAINT-BENOIT DU LAC

Strawberry & Port Jelly

WARNER FARM’S APRICOT BAKLAVA

Amaretto Mascarpone, Honey Roasted Apricots