Friday, April 14, 2017

Welcome and Project Updates


On-going Campaigns:

Belton Sutherland
Project History
GoFundMe


 
 
 
Mt. Zion Missionary Baptist Church (f. 1909) 





The Mt. Zion Memorial Fund (MZMF) is a Mississippi non-profit corporation named after Mount Zion Missionary Baptist (MB) Church (f. 1909) outside Morgan City, Mississippi. Organized in 1989 by Raymond ‘Skip’ Henderson, the Fund memorialized the contributions of numerous musicians interred in rural cemeteries without grave markers, serving as a legal conduit to provide financial support to black church communities and cemeteries in the Mississippi Delta. The MZMF erected twelve memorials to blues musicians over a 12 year period from 1990 to 2001. 

Deacon Booker T. Young and MZMF director 
DeWayne Moore in front of the present day 
Mt. Zion MB Church on the same site
The renewed efforts of the Mt. Zion Memorial Fund since 2010 have been spearheaded by T. DeWayne Moore, a historian and scholar based out of Oxford, Mississippi. The relatives of Tommy Johnson and other interments in Warm Springs CME Church Cemetery obtained a permanent fifteen foot wide and half-a-mile long easement to the important site due in large part to efforts and compelling arguments of Moore, who took over as executive director in January 2014. Under his leadership, the military markers of Henry "Son" Simms and Jackie Brenston were located and restored. The MZMF has dedicated five six memorials--the headstone of Frank Stokes in the abandoned Hollywood Cemetery, Memphis, TN; the flat companion stone of Ernest "Lil' Son Joe" Lawlars in Walls, MS; in Greenville, MS, the flat markers of T-Model Ford and Eddie Cusic, and the unique, yet humble, headstone of Mamie "Galore" Davis. On July 29, 2017, the Mt. Zion Memorial Fund dedicated a marker for Armenter Chatmon, aka Bo Carter, in Nitta Yuma Cemetery.


Barbecue and Blues in Bayport

The Mt. Zion Memorial Fund wants to thank Chris Johnson for holding a benefit in support of our efforts to honor blues musicians by keeping their graves clean in Mississippi.   Here is a laudatory piece from the Minnesota Tribune from Summer 2014.  The restaurant has since exploded in popularity, but no longer serves as a live music venue/juke joint. Not since Nov 2015.

Not your daddy's blues at St. Croix River area barbecue joint.
By Anthony Lonetree - Aug 31, 2014


Not far from the Andersen Windows plant in Bayport is a barbecue place that billed itself (until November 2015) as a juke joint, and while not quite raucous, it's most definitely loose.

One night last week, there was no cover for the music, and no charge for a buffet of Texas-style barbecued chicken, pork and ribs. Everything but the beer, the wine and the moon-shine could be had for tips only — if customers were so inclined, of course. Jars were positioned onstage and on the band's merchandise table.
Minnesota
Star Tribune
Oct 17, 2014


And, yes, you read it right — moonshine, or white corn whiskey. There is no gin-and-tonic, and no light beer, either, at Bayport BBQ, 328 5th Av. N.

Free barbecue is not standard at the club; there were special circumstances involved on Tuesday night. Still, one gets the sense that Bayport BBQ owner Chris Johnson likes to improvise. Whether a band plays inside or outside — or, in the case of the group Gravel-Road, of Seattle, an hour earlier than scheduled — you can't be too sure.

Not to be questioned, however, is Johnson's love for the music of the passionate outsiders who fall under the wide umbrella of "deep blues." Johnson gambled and lost — financially — when he staged a few deep blues festivals before he opened his barbecue joint on Halloween 2010 to support and showcase the acts and their hard-edge sounds.

Seven days a week, Bayport BBQ offers a lunch buffet, and on a recent Friday afternoon, the clientele included a father and his son and a few groups in crisp casual work attire. Playing on a TV in the corner of the room was a live music performance featuring local roots-rocker Molly Maher. Under the screen was taped a message that read: "We are a music venue and will not turn down the music. You are certainly welcome to take your food to go."

Asked if his goal is to gain attention for the quality of the barbecued meats or to sim-ply offer them up to make the music possible, Johnson said that he sometimes will hear people say, "Pick who you are," restaurant or music venue.

To that, he replies: "We are what we are. If you like Texas barbecue and have an interest in food, we have that for you. And if it's the music, we've had bands call us from around the world to play here. We are a destination." Another way to look at it, he said, would be: "We aren't for everyone?' That's the slogan on the back of the club's T-shirts.



Thursday, April 13, 2017

Rappers Say Family Values Important

Rappers Say Family Values Important
By Anita M. Samuels - July 9, 1992


Behind the facade of a traditional-looking four-bed-room house in Jamaica Estates. Queens, the sound of the "Christian pianist," Dino Kartsonakis, blares on an elaborate stereo system. “At home we listen to cool-out music," declares the owner, Rev. Joseph Simmons — Reverend Run of the rap group Run-DMC.


Simmons, at the breakfast counter of his black, white, and red art-deco-style kitchen is trying to get his 5-year-old son, Jo-Jo, to stop gulping fruit juice. Nearby are his daughters, Vanessa, 12, and Angela, 7, and his 5-month-old son, Daniel.  Jo-Jo starts to cough. “Stop drinking it so fast," Simmons admonishes him, as his wife, Justine, pats the child's back.

This scene is typical in many families. But in a society that often perceives rap songs as the stealth missiles of smut and rap performers to be angry, misogynistic, and perhaps even criminal, such a family portrait would not sell records.

Which is why rap artists, perhaps more than other performers, have two distinctly different personalities: a public one and a private one.

Rap artists see themselves differently, at least when they are at home. They say society fails to realize that they, too, are trying to raise their children with “family values.”  Though in public they tend to put on a tough edge, many rap stars express the same fears for their children that other parents experience.

Of a dozen rappers interviewed—among them the Notorious BIG, from Brooklyn; Hammer, based in California; and Monie Love, who lives in Secaucus. NJ—most said they exercise what they see as their parental right to screen what their children see and hear. Often, that means their children do not see their own videos or hear their music.

Two who consider themselves hard-core rappers—Notorious B.I.G. who is awaiting trial on assault and robbery charges; and Kool G Rap of' Phoenix, AZ—say they are struggling to leave their gangsta personae at the front door and walk through it as old-fashioned fathers, shielding their children from the life that they rap about. They argue that in rap they can call women “hoes” and “bitches” and support the slaying of police officers without affecting their own children. and say it is the responsibility of other parents to explain to their children that the world includes bad women and bad police officers.

“I would advise parents to not be lazy and expect the media to raise their kids and stop looking for a scapegoat whenever things go wrong,” said Monie Love, 26. who has a 4-year-old daughter and lives in Secaucus. N.J. She tries to keep the child away from the more profane lyrics and lewd videos. "But if something slips through the barriers and she starts asking questions, I tell her this is not for you." Love said.

Darlene Powell Hopson, a clinical psychologist and author with her husband, Derek Hopson, of the book, Different and Wonderful: Raising Black Children in a Race Conscious Society (Simon & Schuster), said parents who are also rappers often display compartmentalization, by “explaining away” or denying the negativity of rap's messages.

"They shouldn't really focus on certain types of lyrics and expect it not to affect the kids," Hopson said. "As parents we can't just talk the talk; we have to walk the walk."

This is a telling time for the world of gangsta rap, as it is attacked by politicians like Sen. Bob Dole of Kansas, who has called it a destroyer of the nation's social fabric. He has chastised Time Warner for its ownership of Interscope Records, which produces gangsta sap artists like Snoop Doggy Dogg and Tupac Shakur, who have particularly violent messages (Shakur was convicted of sexual abuse and is serving a prison term; Snoop Doggy Dogg is awaiting trial on charges that he participated in a drive-by murder.) Time Warner is trying to sell the label.

Many rap stars who have been sensitive to the issue say they do not want their children — who range in age from several months old to the early teens — to adopt their lifestyles. Like many parents, they say they want their children to go to college and have careers. And for them, rapping is not a 365-clay-a-year life style.

"I am not hip-hop 24 hours a day and I don't play my music in the house." said the Notorious B.I.G. who says he does not know who Dole is. "When I am home, I lay around, snuggle up and play games with my daughter." His wife, Faith Evans, says that the girl, who is 2, picks up "little words here and there," but adds "that's where parenting comes in." Evans does not think rap music is dangerous. “If there weren't guns and drugs there would be nothing to rap about.'' she said.

Simmons's children are limited to listening to the versions of rap music that are played on the radio, which have no profanity. “I can't have them listening to the craziest gangsta rap, it's crazy to me." he said. His own group, Run-DMC, is known for its relatively innocuous rap lyrics.

KRS-One, who weaves mini-lessons about black history into his songs, and MC Shan, a veteran known for his braggadocio, said they allow their children to hear and see all types of rap performers as long as they are followed by explanations from the parents.

Hurricane, a rapper who lives in Atlanta and is the disk jockey for the Beastie Boys, said he explains to his four children, the oldest of whom is 10, that what they are hearing is just a record, or a video, that it doesn't mean it's actually happening. "I let them know that a camera is there and that they can't just listen to a song and go bust someone in the head."

Both he and his wife, Dawn, insist that their children follow their value system. which includes staying in school and "picking the right friends." They enforce those values with spankings, and the loss of video-game privileges. "They al-ready know, once they start disrespecting us, it's time to go," he said.

Some rap artists are taking an active stance against negative messages. A new album, "Jazzmatazz" (EMI) by the rapper Guru, recorded with other artists, addresses the issue head-on, saying in one song, "Watch What You Say," that rappers who put out songs with negative messages are "weaklings" whose words are "pointless."

Hopson thinks all rap should offer positive messages, encouraging listeners to do productive things. "Rappers should attempt to show some degree of social consciousness in their music." she said. "It's hypocritical in music to have certain attitudes perpetuated. While their own kids know what they see is not real, how do others distinguish between the two?" she asked.

KRS-One, who lives in Englewood, N.J., doesn't find the way he is raising his two sons hypocritical at all. "I show them the good and bad of society," he says. "If you just show one aspect of rap, it's damaging because they are not getting the truth, but rather a made-up version."


What about rappers' misogynistic references? How do their wives react? Faith Evans, who is married to the Notorious B.I.G., doesn't object. "Now that I'm married to him I really see what happens with groupies and women in general. I'm not offended. If the shoe fits, wear it," she said. If his daughter should ask why he does this kind of rap music, he said he would tell her, "It's just a job to me."

Tutwiler - Tom Dumas

TUTWILER
By Murphy Givens - 1979
Photos by Jimmy Dempsey & Bill Ferris


Like they say, the Delta is the Delta. Period. People who try to explain it are oblivious to all that it is, and was.

© Jimmy Dempsey August 26, 1979 Jackson Clarion Ledger
THIS SMALL Delta town lies on the map an index finger north of Jackson and a ring-finger's length south of Memphis. It is the railroad junction where the Southern crosses the Yellow Dog. The town sits pretty much in the center of the Mississippi Delta, which is as much a state of mind as a geographically defined place. People tell you the Delta is, well, the Delta, as if to say that is all the explanation needed, or as if the Delta is beyond description. One of the best quotes comes from David Cohn. which is often mistakenly attributed to William Faulkner. The Delta begins in the lobby of the Peabody Hotel in Memphis and ends on Catfish Row in Vicksburg.”


It owes its official allegiance to Jackson, but it is north toward Memphis that the Delta looks. It is Memphis where the Delta Blues were “hearsed and rehearsed” giving the country a new style of music unlike anything else in the world. And it is to Memphis, first, where the Delta poor escape, trading the hot dusty fields for the steamy city asphalt.

But the Blues came straight from the dusty fields and the Saturday night juke-joints of the Delta, and it was in the small town of Tutwiler where W.C. Handy, known as the originator of the unique ballad form, first heard this haunting music.

In his book The Father of the Blues, Handy says: "One night at Tutwiler, as I nodded in the railroad station while waiting for a train that had been delayed nine hours, life suddenly took me by the shoulders and wakened me with a start.

"A lean, loose-jointed Negro had commenced plunking a guitar beside me while I slept. His clothes were rags: his feet peeped out of his shoes. His face had on it some of the sadness of the ages. As he played, he pressed a knife on the strings of the guitar... The effect was un-forgettable. His song, too, struck me instantly. “Goin' where the Southern cross' the Dog.”

THAT IS ONE of two reasons for the visit to Tutwiler. There is a footnote to Handy's Tutwiler experience in a Mississippi historical brochure of a decade ago, and it shows a picture of man named Lee Kizart, called "a current Blues singer in Tutwiler."

I wanted to talk to Kizart about the Blues. And secondly, after living in Mississippi for eight years, it was time to test my toes in the Delta. There is just too much sung and written about it. One has to see for himself what all the commotion is about.

When visiting Jerry Clower in Yazoo City, he stopped his Cadillac at the top of a modest hill and pointed north. That is the Delta, and this is the last hill for...awhile." It is said that no two hills are exactly alike, but every-where on earth plains are one and the same. Texas and Oklahoma are no different from the Pampas in South America. Flat land is flat land. But that is not true of the Delta. It has that sameness, true, but it also has an infinite variety if one looks close enough.

The Delta is a great field of green plants — cotton and soybean — with dirt roads straight as plumb lines running at perpendicular angles off Highway 49, through the fields.

The monotony of all that flatness is broken by deserted brown-shingled tenant houses, sitting in the middle of the fields. They once housed share-croppers who have long since fled to the cities. It has been many years now that the weary backs gave way to the bright new machines — startling green cotton pickers that can swallow eight rows of cotton at a time, moving down the rows faster than 50 field hands.

Looking at the ungothic shacks, I remembered some-thing in a story about a letter found in an old abandoned home, something written from one sister to another that said, "We are not like to ever see each other again.”