Black Music and Black Muses
Music writing that is not restricted by the demands, wishes, and timelines of the music industry. Writing, not advertising. Love, not a battle of the brands.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 12
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- Sep 27, 2026
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- Jul 5, 2026
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Home is my favorite protest song (opens the original)
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The Frozen LakeI’m in the Midwest, near the childhood home of David Foster Wallace, and I don’t abide the tribe of trigger-happy, trigger-warning people, so fragile their fragility tends toward the very evil manipulativeness in deed and language of the fascism they pretend to want to defeat with these big retributive feelings and tantrums of spirit both overdue and overdone— but it is a little triggering to feel at home in every circle of hell. To recall that I was born not far from here and plu
The Sentimental John Coltrane (opens the original)
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Black performance has always been the ongoing improvisation of a kind of lyricism of the surplus — Fred MotenCentennials are commercial ventures and conditions of the Empire’s spectacular brooding department, pacts we make because we need landmarks, direction, somewhere to ascribe the stray significance. We need to grieve and remember in coherent intervals, we need living-dead monuments to human potential—martyrs, heroes, supreme villains, fallen angels. So that when John Coltrane turns one hund
Black Nepotism, two Incidents and a bridge (opens the original)
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This assertive servitude, this family business. D’Angelo’s son Michael Archer Jr. will be playing Biggie in an upcoming biopic on Snoop. The Martha Stewart/Martha’s Vineyard, sanitized, post West coast casual gangsterism Snoop Dogg will perhaps be snatched back on leash into a kitchenette in Gwendolyn Brooks’s novel Maud Martha or held at the Regal, in some antiquated club scene where the son of two musicians (D’Angelo and Angie Stone) who both died young just last year, will reenact the young d
Useless Artifacts (opens the original)
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Implements of domestic (whimsy) as bourgeois affect enforcementStarting off easy, in the territory of arrogant and vulgar luxury, the lace aprons made for eggs by a brand called Gohar World. The same brand sells a pair of dove-carved salad serving spoons that I have added to the cart because they remind me of my grandmother, nicknamed Dove, I’ve told you that before, and I know confession and hav
Dolly, Daddy (opens the original)
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The glamor tends shabby but you can’t outrun it. You cannot outwit it without lies of omission or witness protection. You cannot dismiss what you did not summon. We were naturals and we had tried that and failed. Sleeping on cots in a shelter, playing dead till he was. I don’t think he would have killed us but he might have loved us to death. I set out to elegize Dolly Parton and now I’m in Iowa on a cot with the narcoleptic elevator operator checking in on us between fits, a fugitive from my fa
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