Listen to your elders

Before I ever accepted that I was going to be a music journalist, I was and am a music lover. That fact sometimes gets in the way of me being a Karen Civil type. A decade later, I still go geek when I hear a song I like or when an artist teases, for the third year in a row, that that album really is coming “by Dezemba.” Every now and then, I get reminded that the music doesn’t exist without the musicians. Obvious, I know. But as fans, we can act entitled to the musician and seldom allow them to go through the human experience – with its range of emotions and prompts to make personal decisions – that often plants the seed of the music that shoots up from their soul. Quick aside: a few weeks ago, I went to interview an artist who rarely speaks to writers. He was apprehensive and told me a story about his favourite journalist – one of my mentors in my head – who was set to interview him while he had hot songs on the charts but his personal life was a hot mess. She, according to him, closed her notepad and said they’d have to talk music another time because in that moment, he clearly just needed someone to let him be. I tell you that story to make this point: sometimes we have to accept that musicians are people, too. This morning, I took to Facebook to ask about what practical ways we can help a legend who is in hospital. Yes, I know about the option to donate money. But was that it? Is all we can do as music journalists and lovers of music dig into our pockets? Can SAMRO and RISA and the government and musicians in general not guide us as to what can be done for this legend and others? I don’t have the answers to these questions. But in that Facebook post, a friend responded with a picture of an article about this beloved musician. In it, he reportedly asked for us to Read More …

Triggers and taking shots

Everybody got a story. We all ghetto, b. Last year was tough for me. No, let me be specific. The last half of 2016 showed me flames. It burned my outlook on life, left me with a charred ego and my self-esteem? Mlora. This weekend, something happened that triggered those feelings of where I was last year. If I were in a Rihanna song, my knuckles would sting from fist fighting with fire. But that trigger reminded me about how I got over. How I am still standing. How, you ask? Long story short: months went by and on a good friend’s cheat day, she and her husband and Dude and I went to eat burgers. We were just talking and back then, I was the most negative, most down-in-the-dumps Dineo I’d ever been. I just couldn’t see life getting better for me. The three of them were talking to me about the beliefs I held for and about myself. It wasn’t a lecture. Just one of those casual conversations that changes your life, you know, no big deal. Then my friend said she’s going to send me this other video that might give me some food for thought and then we stuffed our faces with burgers bigger than our mouths could handle. This was the video. Watch it first and then continue reading. Done watching? Don’t lie to me. Go watch then come back. Done? Cool. So, I’m not here to try and convince you to radiate the things and ways you’d love to have and be. I’m here to say when you’ve exhausted all options and can’t see yourself being who you are now for the rest of your life, then you’ll be open to vibrating higher. Once I got that, I started to shoot my shot with just about anything. If you’re following me on Twitter or the ‘Gram then you know how much my life has changed. If not, please follow me so that Reebok can send me some M.E. Ha. So, I take my shot often and sometimes, when I’m slowing down my vibration because Read More …