For months, I’ve been mentally pacing back and forth, wondering when I will have the guts to open up the laptop to write; wondering when and if inspiration will hit me to do something artsy; wondering when I will finally get back to being the curator I am at heart - exposing people to dope shit and setting out dope vibes for all to enjoy. I’m happy to say that “when” is here.

What does it mean for one to lose sight of their true essence? Better question: what does it look and feel like? I’m here to tell you…it’s a cold place. It’s a lonely place. It’s a place filled with disillusionment and uncertainty. Imagine (if you’re old enough) the day that Christopher Reeve, AKA Superman, lost the ability to walk. It is beyond heartbreaking to see someone who was once flying high (figuratively and quasi-literally) and then, in an instant, be wheelchair-bound. And like Christopher Reeve, I, too, was thrown off the horse. Over the past couple of years I’ve watched that Fayth Hope essence slowly and painfully wither away. Life happens, tragedy happens, responsibility happens, shit happens. The things I’ve accomplished thus far throughout my different endeavors seem almost like a distant, foggy memory. I shamefully admit, sometimes I even catch myself making self-depracative statements like “Back when I was Fayth Hope…” or “I used to be Fayth Hope”. Yeah, hella sad. But lately I’ve been catching glimpses and glimmers of my true self. I hear it in the thoughtful remarks I receive from those who are cheering for me on this journey. I see it in the faces of my tribe. I feel it…in me, beating, reverberating, working hard to bust out of the cocoon and into greatness. One cannot deny what resides in their spirit, and I can no longer continue to deny what resides in mine; it’s what makes me ME - the Creative, the Vibologist, the Visioneer, the Curator, the Soultopian. And with that being said, I want to tell you about what inspired me to write this post in the first place.

Sixty years after it was captured, Blue Note Records released fairly recently a lost recording from a concert given by Art Blakey & The Jazz Messengers in Tokyo, Japan. First Flight to Tokyo: The Lost Recordings is the perfect Christmahannukwanzaa present that every fan of jazz should have gracing their speakers. I purposefully did not read the track listing prior to listening because I wanted to preserve my excitement and wonderment, and AB & The JM’s did not disappoint. Accompanied by trumpeter Lee Morgan, saxophonist Wayne Shorter, pianist Bobby Timmons, and bassist Jymie Merritt, Blakey properly ushers in the spirit on this January 1961 performance with a five-minute solo at the beginning of the opening number (Charlie Parker’s “Now’s the Time”) that I could imagine had concert goers hanging off the edges of their seats. I must admit, I think I stopped breathing a couple of times because of the sense of anticipation the drums evoked. I clapped and cheered when Blakey announced the second song on the setlist, “Moanin’” (written by Timmons), and I was eager to hear the next offering…which I hoped would be “Blues March”. Guess what? It was! I’ve always loved the driving pulse of this tune and how the quintet soulfully bobs and weaves around and throughout the arrangement. To hear it rendered live on stage is nothing short of magical. I’m not going to give you anymore spoilers; I just wanted to whet your appetites for the sonic goodies this album contains, and there are plenty. Now it’s your turn to press play.

So why did First Flight to Tokyo compel me to write this post? The fact that it was buried and “lost” for so many years past its inception and then finally saw the light of day gave me immense hope for my current state in life. I do believe that everything under the sun has a chance to have its day in the sun. It is a precious gift to be able to reemerge after such a long absence, and this album was truly a gift for me. Why? Because it let me know that I can and will also have my day in the sun once again. Well, being that I am on here stroking these keys, I guess the sun is rising. Just had a thought: it’s ironic that the rising sun is symbolized on the Japanese flag - and we’re talking about an album set in Japan. Yep, there is a message in the music indeed.