Spicy Herbs and Powerviolence
- Elizabeth Smith
- Jun 19, 2024
- 3 min read
"Monthly updates" she said. She lied!
Good morn or evening friends.
I’m a little disappointed I didn’t keep up with my monthly updates. Just a little. I truly wasn’t feeling it. Also, imposter syndrome. She interrupts my thoughts as frequently as I draw breath. I’d sit down at my desk and be hit with a dose of: Do I really deserve to occupy this space as a self-proclaimed evoker of words when it’s a battle to concentrate long enough to convey my thoughts to people in real life, let alone on the wurld why’d webb? The www.?!
More on that some other time. Here I am anyway. Tappity tap tap.
The past few months have been, to say the very bloody least, insane. It’s like the world keeps intruding on its own mayhem to announce “no wait, there’s more!”. A lot has happened globally (and personally) since my first post, that has made me feel frustrated, scared, angry as hell, heartbroken, and mentally exhausted.
Take a deep breath loved ones. In…and out.
On Wednesdays, my boss and I have what we call “our days” at the hi-fi place I work at. Our days are just us listening to good music, making that cash money, and meeting interesting people who like good music too. We chat about almost everything, he and I. So on one of our days, we discussed the things that angered us. I spoke about the church and its deplorable figures. We spoke about anti-abortion laws and how it feels to live in a world that constantly wages war against its mothers and daughters. He spoke a bit on his experience running a small business since the late-80’s as a black man in east London. I mentioned how Africa, to the rest of the globe, is still seen as a money-making machine, and its people a nuisance; our neighbours stare at us with mouths wide open, salivating, thinking “steal, kill, and destroy”.
Then we each had a coffee. He had one of those Nescafe instant coffees, “choca mocha!” he joyfully calls it, and I had mine black with two sweeteners. We packed away our deliveries, and then went back to business as usual.
Then, after work, your girl attended her first powerviolence concert :)
The band’s name is ‘Zulu’. My friends and I went to New River Studios in Haringey to watch them perform. They’re an all-black powerviolence band based in L.A. I discovered them some months back when a friend of mine posted their song on his story - shout out to him for inadvertently introducing me into this world. He showed me quite a bit of music when we worked together actually, and his admiration for MF Doom encouraged me to explore the rappers’ lyricism with greater appreciation.
Anyway, I was intrigued by Zulu, so I dove into their song collection. Never did I think I’d respond so well to the intensity of it all, the sudden changes in speed, and of course, the screaming. I was acquainted with the screaming in my past, but never did I hear it like this. And from the blacks? It’s great.
Their tracks are short and are scooped up by a different soul, reggae, spoken pieces, or some other recording of sorts. One of their tracks ‘On the Corner of Cimarron & 24th’ is twenty-seven seconds of their performance that is then tailed by a rendition of ‘I'm Gonna Lay Down This Heavy Load’. It’s a brief exposure to everything all at once, and an ode to the range and culture we exhibit as a people.
Go forth. Enjoy their music with abandon. It was amazing. They’re amazing (shout out to Dez!!). And it was oh so cathartic to witness my friends getting tossed like salad in a mosh pit. I even felt great the next morning. Joy, she overfloweth.
But then the days went by and I was left alone with these thoughts concerning the things that made me frustrated, scared, angry as a bird, heartbroken, and mentally exhausted. So, I’ve been checked out for a bit - I say a bit, but I’ll keep it real internet comrades, I’ve been checked out since January 1st 2022. Like I’m here, but not all the way. You know? You get?
Anyway, I’m still unsure how to appropriately express those emotions, so I’m sweeping that shit under the rug and revealing something new and shiny for you to look at.
This is my mother.
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