My lesson in racial profiling

Every Saturday I post a round-up of this blog for readers of AL.com

Here’s this week’s top of the story. Click on link at bottom to read full piece.

It’s Saturday and time for my vinyl countdown AL.com update.

I have five artists here taken from my collection of 678 records, which I am trying to count down (review and list) before my degenerative brain disease makes it impossible. I have so far reviewed more than 150 records on myvinylcountdown.com blog. I encourage you to explore that blog for the countdown plus essays on life, journalism, basketball and whatever might be on my mind.

But every Saturday I do a catch-up, reaching back into the archives, for those who may not be following my blog regularly, and offering up condensed versions of those on my blog. Today I have five widely divergent records (remember I collected these in the ‘1970s and 1980s when I was in my teens and 20s.) As regular readers know I also do a NP (Now Playing) to show the latest reviewed piece.

In the Kurtis Blow review I recall an incident that inspired my headline: Lesson in racial profiling.

The numbers represent where the albums are in the alphabetical, descending countdown format.  In other words 678 would be the first record I reviewed (King Sunny Ade, whose A-name put him first in line).

Go here for full  story on AL.com story.

Kurtis Blow — 638

 

ALBUM: Party Time (1983)

MVC Rating: 3.5/$$

This is early, early rap, hip hop or whatever you want to call it.

I’d put this on at a party  and the white boys would actually get up and dance. Throw in a little Grandmaster Flash and it was hopping around time. Bad dancing. (Except for me, of course.)

I remember once at a small dinner party at our  house, I pulled out my rap collection of about three records, feeling kind of impressed with myself that I was on the cutting edge.

I think I put on “New York, New York (Big City of Dreams)” by Grandmaster Flash. This was early 1980s and we were living in Birmingham. This was the very inception of rap as a popular culture sort of thing. (That means white people were discovering it). Flash and Blow were pioneers, with “The Message” by Flash and “The Breaks” by Blow.

Again feeling a little too proud of myself, I asked a black colleague who was at the party how he liked it.

My colleague said he didn’t like rap. He liked hard rock, heavy metal.

Oops, one of those moments. Um, Mike I think it is time to flip the record on your STEREOtype!

 Yes man, and we will be serving the fried fowl a little later. 

But we were cool. He laughed.

I put on some Led Zeppelin.

Counting down my vinyl records before I die of brain disease.