What I've Inherited: Chapel talk

*This was originally written to be read aloud at a chapel service.

My first memories of music involve me sitting in the backseat of my mom’s silver 2005 Toyota Prius listening to whatever CD she pulled from the book of CDs she kept in her glove compartment. I loved to watch the CD player eat the discs and hear its satisfyingly robotic sound. My favorites from the book were George Harrison’s All Things Must Pass, Ceelo Green’s The Lady Killer, Frank Ocean’s Channel Orange, and Adele’s 21. An important part of these memories is the duets my mom and I would perform. At the time, I thought that singing was essentially melodic screaming, so I’m sure that the performances were not Broadway standard, but we enjoyed them nonetheless. 

But outside of the car, it was my time to shine as a solo performer. There is a video of me with headphones on sitting on our old gray couch belting “Rolling in the Deep” while holding my childhood cat, Rishi, in 2011. It’s terrible, but I’m sure it felt amazing at the time and it’s a testament to my progression as a singer.  

Every now and then I’ll be reminded of our car rides when I hear a song that I somehow know the words to, but can’t remember how or why. The lyrics and melodies feel as if they are a part of me despite having lost them for years. Usually, I end up realizing that it’s a song from the old silver Prius that was tucked away in the part of my mind that song lyrics lay to rest as they wait to be awakened one day.  

I rediscovered Beck’s 2014 album Morning Phase last year, and was amazed to realize that I knew every word from front to back. It was uncanny to have words and feelings come from what seemed like nowhere. But they didn't come from nowhere, they were a gift from my mom. 

The music that my dad gifted me was usually not about the words. The vibe in the first of my dad’s four cars he’s gone through in my lifetime was more instrument-focused. We listened to jazz, Bossa Nova, and classical on the radio or the cassette tapes that I had not yet managed to destroy by accidentally pulling the tape all the way out. If we weren’t listening to music, we were usually listening to NPR’s “All Things Considered.”  To this day, its jingle immediately makes me feel dizzy and bored out of my mind. However, I believe that the song later inspired my year-long career as a saxophone player which unfortunately came to an end because, like the jingle, the instrument made me feel dizzy. I never had a say in what we listened to in my dad’s car, it was his domain. I guess that my dad was trying to educate me with his highbrow taste.

Although, the taste that my parents worked so hard to build for me was quickly destroyed. At six years old, I attended Silverlake Beach camp. I honestly don’t remember much from the summer camp, aside from the car rides in their seemingly enormous van where I listened to top 40 radio for the first time. In my early childhood, my parents made a conscious effort to intercept my discovery of pop music, but once I was serenaded by Katy Perry in that van, I was officially a victim of the beast we call the popular music industry. 

Pop music disconnected me from my identity. It was what the world wanted me to like or said I should like. The genre was meticulously crafted to relate to most people. Its generic nature is precisely what makes it “universally” likable. I would like to say that I have never been one to try to fit in, but I would be lying. Being mixed race in predominantly white private schools throughout my entire academic career, I have always been different. My hair is different, my skin is different, my parents are different. Pop music is in no way different. It was one thing that made me just a little bit more like everyone else. Much like how I relentlessly begged my mom to fry my voluminous curls because I thought that straight hair was more beautiful than mine. Thank God she never gave in. 

As I grappled with fluctuating issues surrounding my identity, music was a constant. Around thirteen, two cars after the silver Prius, I had been sitting in the front seat for a while and I decided that it was time for me to step up to the important role of car DJ. Now, we had moved on from CDs and cassettes to bluetooth, so I could take full authority over the music. I mostly played songs that my mom had introduced me to within those past few years, like Childish Gambino, Frank Ocean, Alice in Chains, and The Doors. This was a pivotal time in my life. As I discovered some of the artists that have remained in my top 5 ever since like Blood Orange and my beloved A Tribe Called Quest, I decided that it was time to end my decade long ballet career. I filled the upwards of 12 hours in my week that was previously taken up by ballet classes with music. This inspired me to pick up the electric bass. 

Naturally, learning to play bass sparked curiosity. Bass opened a window to what music could be. The jazz that I despised in my dad’s car growing up, became my blueprint. From there, jazz brought me back to my old friend, Bossa Nova and down a path of rediscovery. I quickly learned that music is freedom. It is a way for me to engage with not only the world of both the past and present, but also to better understand my identity. 

Now, if you get into my black 2016 Toyota Prius, you are probably going to hear one of two things, 90s hip-hop or Electronic Dance Music. I don’t mean Skrillex EDM though, think Crystal Castles. To some, these genres may seem contradictory, but it makes perfect sense for me because I am a walking contradiction.  

90s hip-hop and my heartbeat are at the same BPM. I believe that hip-hop is the essence of music because it is an amalgamation of everything that makes music art: poetry, culture, history, passion, and emotion. I inherited my love for the genre from the lessons my parents taught me growing up. Hip-hop is a way for me to connect with my black heritage in my own way. Being French Afro-Caribbean on my dad’s side, I have found it difficult to connect with Black American culture, but hip-hop feels like home. I am deeply connected to it. Hip-hop is my middle C. 

EDM, on the other hand, I found on my own. I know that it’s not “good music,” but I love it. The repetitive synth lines and heavy kick quiet my mind when my thoughts feel loud. Dance music is everything that I once hid away from both myself and the world. When my mom used to play house music when she was the car DJ, I absolutely despised it. But now, I have taken the dance music seed she planted and its roots have taken me to heavier dance music that she doesn’t like.  

Today’s reading [Exodus 1:6-22] begins the story of the Israelites’ escape from Egypt, and their journey toward freedom. It is also a reminder of all the things we inherit from those who came before us, good and bad, which form parts of our identity and form culture. For me, this takes the form of music. I couldn’t choose the music that my parents played for me, but it was a part of them that they were passing down to me. Now, it’s my job to introduce them to new music. I still take my role as car DJ very seriously, and usually the songs I play are taken well. That is, until my mom says something like, “I miss when you used to play Led Zeppelin.” Then, I will always go back to my roots, Bossa Nova and George Harrison.