JHELISA / “Far I Have Come, Far I Must Go”

07 Far I Have Come.mp3 (4.46 MB)

Sometimes I think everyone in the world can be divided between those who wander and those who stay put. Everyone of privilege anyway; admittedly, the majority of the world’s population has no choice in the matter.

Jhelisa is a wanderer. I’m only stating the obvious, of course. To figure out that much for yourself you don’t even have to listen to the music. It’s right there in her song titles. To whit, my favorite song on Jhelisa’s new album, A Primitive Guide To Being There, is “Far I Have Come, Far I Must Go.” “In long wet grass,” the song begins, “A young bird looked at me.” If you think she’s getting to a point, she isn’t. The next line is the chorus: “Far I have come, far I must go.” Another of the stand-out tunes is “Flute Band In Gauteng.” I didn’t know what ‘Gauteng’ was, so I looked it up. It’s the smallest, but most populous, province of South Africa, home to some 9 million-plus. In case you’re wondering, I didn’t find anything about flutes.
 
Jhelisa’s new songs are the sounds of a young woman growing older, of a weary troubadour refusing to settle down, of a warm-hearted optimist clinging to her ideals. Jhelisa is a lover of independence. She labors in near-obscurity, but it’s mostly by choice. Several years ago she came very close to super-stardom, close enough to decide that stardom wasn’t where she wanted to be. Her choices since then speak for themselves: long periods of inactivity, inscrutably-titled tone poems, shunning of major label contracts. Her philosophy seems to be that life is in the doing, not the having.

She won’t stop moving because, for a wanderer, stillness is death. Which brings me back to the opening line of “Far I Have Come.” Jhelisa never gets to the point because she isn’t telling a story. She’s sharing an experience. I get the feeling she’d be happy with you listening to her music, but she’d be even happier if you turned off the CD player, went outside, rolled up your pants legs and waded out there in the long wet grass yourself. Who knows what you might see.

—Mtume ya Salaam


          Jhelisa — Ashe        

It is 2:17 AM on Friday morning. In a couple of hours I will be flying to New York City, allegedly to attend a conference, but really to hook up with comrade/musical partner Fred Ho, a fierce, fierce Chinese-American saxophonist/composer who is successfully battling cancer. I’ve just opened Mtume’s notes for this week’s BoL. I will be on the road putting it together and posting to the internet. I won’t have access to most of my music. I won’t have hours to spend searching and researching. I won’t… and Mtume drops Jhelisa Anderson. Her new album, the one that you can get as a CD/DVD package, includes a DVD I’m on because part of it was videoed at WWOZ when I had a program called the Kitchen Sink. This was pre-Katrina.

There is so much I want to say.

I wrote the liner notes for Jhelisa’s CD. For Jhelisa I would write whatever she needs or wants written.

It’s hard to write about a friend, a person you admire, about someone who has been out there, way out there, circling the universe, literally, and you know she’s going to keep going, and we email each other from time to time. I haven’t seen her since before we all un-assed the city in front of/behind Katrina.

What I mean about "hard to write" is because there is a bunch of stuff I want to write, but I don’t want to just gush like a broken New Orleans water main, I want to direct some flow so that the words are informative/productive. Y’all just don’t know.
 
People don’t know
How hard it be
To be something
Other than what the system
Allows/encourages/rewards/needs/trains/indoctrinates
Tortures/offers/defines

To be something other
Is a dangerous
Extremely isolating
Profession

People will look at you and ask
(in all seriousness)

So what do you do?

And when you say:
I be something else

So few will accept/understand
That something else
Is cool to be

People will fail
To understand how
Being something else
Is an honorable life profession
Especially when we are
Walking through the valley
Of death


 
Look at this
Woman
‘s face
facing
whatever
future tomorrow
might bring

which, of course,
in her case will be
partially shaped by the fierce
of her tender spirit

hard shell
soft center
her spirit is

must be strong
to keep from being eaten
by isms/schisms
by enemies of life
enemies of light
enemies who are
afraid of our dark

check this woman
facing us
with music
facing us
with example
with wise words
warm words
soft/strong song
encouraging us
we don’t have to
break down
we don’t have to
be silent
we don’t have to
9 to 5
we don’t have to
back down
 

I suppose I should say something meaningful about Jhelisa’s wonderful, challenging, stand tall music.

I just did.

The music she creates is wonderful. Challenging. Stand tall music.

You can go here to hear Jhelisa’s 2006 North Sea concert—I’ve added two tracks from that concert in the jukebox (just in case for some reason or the other you can’t go online and hear the whole thing). Also check out Jhelisa's Myspace.

 
Whatever it is
Jhelisa is

Whatever it is
That won’t let her be
Stupid Silent Submissive
While struggling
Within the storm
Of human destruction
Humans destroying humanity
Each other
Ourselves

Whatever it is
That teaches a sister
That encourages a sister
That enables a sister
Whatever it is

I say: Ashe
Jhelisa is
Jhelisa
Is
Jhelisa
Is

And we are the better
Because Jhelisa is

Ashe… to be continued.

—Kalamu ya Salaam

 

This entry was posted on Sunday, June 10th, 2007 at 2:04 am and is filed under Contemporary. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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