Book Suggestion: Soul Music By Richard Cartwright
Synopsis
Soul Music finds four friends at the precipice of life-altering events during the tumult of the Civil Rights
movement and the changing face of West Oakland, California.
Excerpt from SOUL MUSIC
A multi-colored strobe light plate, the kind that families haul out every Christmas Eve to ensure Santa Claus didn’t trip over his own feet leaving presents, rotated slowly across the front room where kids congregated, stood in place or danced to what Eddie Bullard pulled from his record stack. Blue and Red lights glowed on the walls of the room. Lafayette stared at the wall imagining the shadows of kids; other colors joined the blue-red scope in between; the yellow to the green and also to the orange that casually strolled around the walls of the room. Lafayette stared at the wall imagining if the shadows of those bodies could peel themselves from the wall would they start dancing to Eddie’s record drops and joining the few kids, still in their graduation dresses and dress shirts and ties, in a dance before their lives would forever change. He scanned the room some more. Most Ambassador Club dances sagged into small chattering affairs of young people: semi-private conversations about special violations of love or who was the worst teacher at McClymonds High School, or even what clothes were to be gotten that summer from the new Montgomery Wards catalog. And that was always something Lafayette enjoyed — that Negro kids had a safe place to sit and relax and talk without having to pretend to be extra-special just to exist in a hostile environment. He saw Bevvie Beaut holding court with her crew of beauty queens; even Trudy Miller’s teeth sparkled, for once, like a warm, glowing night light alighting the group as they sat couched in the dark corner by the large living room window overlooking Pine Street. Further up that line was Deacon Penniston leaning into Mr. Mulhall and speaking emphatically into his right ear, and Mulhall just nodding his head, expressionless. Nothing Deacon Penniston said was going to make him laugh or chuckle unless McCarter was sitting there. Lafayette surmised that McCarter and Mulhall’s dead wife were the only
humans to ever regularly see his teeth. Uncle Red and McCarter’s Mother, Mabel, sat with Mother Penniston just gazing out over the room and smiling and occasionally saying things to each other’s ears
and giggling. Mabel McCarter rarely said much of anything. Always polite and considerate, never obstinate or nosy, she always treated the Ambassadors like brothers to McCarter. She didn’t have the
DNA in her to nag or impose. Lafayette thought she looked just like Ethel Waters in Cabin In The Sky, with maple syrup skin and a bright, egg-white sheen to her teeth. But because she worked so much in
white people’s homes in Piedmont and the Oakland Hills, McCarter often had to fend for himself. She never came to an Ambassador event, so he understood this was special.
Just then, Cherry Daniels lowered herself to one knee to give both women two short glasses of something adult. Lafayette didn’t know what Mabel McCarter’s drink of choice was in 1964, but he knew Mother
Penniston enjoyed her frequent snatches of brandy when the time was right; Cha Cha told on her because of his frequent “special deliveries” from his Daddy’s Seventh Street liquor store while she often
denied her interest. Cha Cha would claim to Jerry about his Mother, “You know I love Mother Penniston more than the rest of you mugs, but she is lying about her love of brandy. I got the receipts to prove it!”
Jerry would mull it over a second and then spout: “Her and her God have a special understanding. What do you want from me?” Lafayette saw Ruben “Cutty” Brown Jr. lingering near the open kitchen door munching on a Mother Penniston Fried Chicken sandwich. They made eye contact earlier, but Cutty didn’t seem particularly interested in talking to Lafayette. That was fine with him because Donna’s brother was someone not to be
trifled with; and he usually looked upon Lafayette with a great deal of suspicion because Lafayette was a writer, just like his sister. But in the past, sometimes, Cutty sought him out to talk about what’s happening in the streets that dumb High School dudes just wouldn’t understand. Cutty was a known cutter: a street cat with a fierce reputation and with the rare ability to filet an artery in someone’s neck with an ice pick. He was built like a solid middleweight boxer or brick wall; the freckles exploding all over his face belied his cherry-brown skin and reddish hair that was combed-back like a finely-manicured conk. He was handsome — all the girls thought so — but he had an edgy look to him as if someone or something was close behind, ready to strike. He wore a black, short-sleeved Ban-Lon knit shirt that was open down to his upper chest, and with a skinny gold chain looping out from the front. And he was Donna Brown’s brother.
When Lafayette began courting Donna Brown and making the occasional visit to the Brown home, a two- level Victorian on Adeline and 15th across the street from DeFremery Park, Donna would ask him to wear
a crisp shirt and tie to make the right kind of impression. Lafayette read that as how to impress her Mother, Patricia Brown — a doyenne of the Negro Arts and community affairs set around Oakland. It was
likely that her picture brandished the pages of Bay Area Negro newspapers on a weekly basis; typically a picture with her standing next to the next Landston Hughes or Romare Bearden, or her at a ribbon-cutting
at a refurbished community center. Cutty sneered at Lafayette upon his visit to the Brown home, seemingly aiming his assault on his malleable fashion choices.
After a supper of spaghetti and meatballs, and Donna reviewing all of her accomplishments of that day, Cutty finally caught up with Lafayette, sitting on the front porch watching the pickup basketball players at
DeFremery Park nearly come to blows over a hard foul. He was hoping for Donna to come outside so they could take an evening stroll, but instead, Cutty sat next to him, pushing his right shoulder as he sat
down.
“Stop wearing this shit,” Cutty hummed in a low voice. “He flicked Lafayette’s tie in front of him. “Makes you look like one of those dickheads in debate class talking about the Emancipation Proclamation and the
wisdom of Abe Lincoln. Cut it out!” Besides having the up and coming young thug pressuring him on the front steps of his girlfriend’s parents’
home, Lafayette was amazed at the reasons Cuttp provided — him, sounding like a very no-nonsense athletic coach of young, wayward Negro boys.
“I know you doin’ it to impress my Mother and sister, but cut it out! My sister is an asshole for asking you to do it. She is an asshole, trust me. I love her and all, but she’s a pure-d asshole.” Cutty looked hard at
Lafayette to make sure he was listening. “She walks around all day correcting everything I say. Like I say, ‘Plums are purple and very sweet’. She’ll turn around and say, ‘that’s not correct Ruben Jr. because plums are actually purplish with a brown and gray tinge and can hold a healthy amount of acidity, taking away from its core sweetness’. All fucking day
I have to hear this shit, which is why I stay my ass in the streets!”
Lafayette twisted his body slightly to get a clear view of Cutty and show that he was, in fact, listening intently and not a candidate to get hit upside his head by Cutty’s palm. “Look! All you gotta do is come with a nice-looking Ban-Lon and call it a day, don’t matter if it’s long or
short sleeved. That’ll do the job,” Cutty told him while slowly rising to his feet. “Hear me?” Lafayette nodded his understanding. He didn’t want to look Cutty in his eyes because of the way the
young man’s greenish ovals held a sharpness to them that told the receiver of them that they could get harmed at any moment.
“You better claim your nuts right now,” he said, clutching his. “Or she’ll have you running like a goddamn chicken with his head cut off! Don’t make me have to tell you this shit ever again.” The young thug turned to go back into the Brown family home. Donna emerged, wearing a brown shawl
over her shoulders, as her brother blurted out, “Don’t forget what I told you, Lafayette.” “What did Ruben Jr. tell you, Lafayette?” the almond-eyed girl sweetly asked him.
“That I look good in a shirt and tie, and that I should keep wearing them when I come visit. It’ll make your Mother happy.” A loud cackle accompanied the young thug as he retreated into the house.
Author Bio
Richard Cartwright has been a radio producer and program director, communications strategist, Air Force Medic, youth worker and a freelance writer for various publications including The Crises, an American quarterly magazine published by the NAACP. His fascination with his hometown — Oakland, California — fuels his writing towards futurity. His first novel, Soul Music, is the first book in his West Oakland Chronicles story series.
Author Interview
Why did you want to write Soul Music?
Probably more out of a compulsion than anything else. Writing about Black people and Oakland is a compulsion at this point in my life. Oakland is a curious and fluid place — fascinating, really. And the= people I grew up around forced me to give them some kind of form that allows them to exist, express and do what they do — as characters in this and other stories I’m currently writing. Soul Music, to me, is simply an expression of appreciation for the people and the place I discovered at a serious moment in the history of the United States.
What is it about Oakland that you want to show in Soul Music and the other stories as part of the West Oakland Chronicles series?
The rhythm, fluidity, the audacity and gumption of the place and the people at interesting moments in social and cultural history. In so many ways, Oakland speaks for itself, so I’m not certain I’m adding anything of significance with Soul Music per se. But what I’m interested in — in story form — is the everyday Black person that gives the place a kind of richness and quality that sings to me in its own kind of lyricism.
Being around black bus drivers, postal workers, liquor store owners, domestics and barbers and, essentially, being born in West Oakland (a Black town), was nothing less than operatic. How people walked and talked, the way they accented words when telling stories and how their bodies would dip and dap when overwhelmed by some funny point made by them or someone else. It feels like soul and spirit to me. It was all musical and I wanted to show some of that in Soul Music.
Soul Music seems to be centered on black male characters, their connections to one another and how those connections run deep multi-generationally. Why was creating this kind of connective thread with characters important to you?
I’m fascinated by black men and their interactions. Simply put. Prior to writing Soul Music, I had written a number of plays centered in Oakland across different eras like the August Wilson decalogue. In writing
these plays, I discovered there were many more questions I had to deal with than not. At the same time, I had been ingesting writing from white writers and quite a bit of contemporary Black women’s literature
and seeing the most flammable, one-dimensional characterizations of black men and saying to myself, ‘I don’t even recognize these dudes being written about’. No disrespect to the writers and content creators
who get down like that, but that work just doesn’t resonate with me in regards to black male characters in those stories. It seemed like these characters had to be beasts, serial-cheaters, earth-wanderers, beaters
of black women and children for them to be transactional in the marketplace. I’ve learned nothing about them. So it is important for me to show aspects of black maleness that aren’t hyper-violent or peculiarly
transgressive or non-thinkers divestors or whatever else. The connectedness amongst black men is an important element in the West Oakland Chronicles series for me — and Soul Music is a simple introduction
to their world.
Why is music so important and ever-present in your novel?
To me, Black music is the mighty gift to a rotten world. There is nothing like it, regardless of what part of the planet we refer to. It is what it is. When I listen to something like “The Ankh of Amen-Ra” or “Oh Allah”
by Alice Coltrane, I know I’m being transported through some metaphysical shit. And my soul yearns for it because it says something about my spirit, my consciousness (or lack thereof), my ability and willingness to continue breathing. Black music has always done that for me. So, of course, characters in Soul Music
are imbued with this same kind of belief. Ultimately, it’s their expressions of love and how the music girders deeper bonds between them and others around them.
Soul Music takes place in 1964 and deep into the throes of the Civil Rights movement. Any particular reason why this was a key time period for the novel?
In hindsight, 1964 feels like a pivotal year in American culture. For Oakland, this is probably the case given that the Black Panther Party would be established two years later, but the seeds were already planted and being cultivated in 1964 and 1965. Around that same time, the City of Oakland itself was conceiving of how to plan the future of Black West Oakland by building through it, on top of it, around it and whatever else white politicians and planners wanted to do — to effectively cut West Oakland off from the rest of the city. It’s a fascinating part of Oakland's recent history that still resonates for me and needs to be told a lot more.
What inspired the idea for your book?
My Uncle Otis Forte. He was such an interesting character in and around West Oakland, and so many people in the area seemed to know him. I don’t think he was educated beyond the third or fourth grade, having been a victim of southern racism and antagonisms toward black boys and men. But he was such a fascinating figure to me and someone who didn’t talk about his life, even as he liked to tell stories about the lives of others. The way he moved about, the way he talked, laughed, and loved Blues music made a serious impression on me. Frankly, he’s the personification of people I attempt to write about and write for. I write to them because I want them to have an opportunity to engage the stories on their terms and in their vernacular, and, perhaps, see themselves in the rendering. As a reader, I don’t see those kinds of folk much anymore in black works. So, Soul Music is very much bereft of flowery prose and psychoanalytical musings (laughs).
Since you’re planning more stories as part of the West Oakland Chronicles series, can you share a tiny bit about your plans for it?
Absolutely! Obviously, Soul Music is the first story in the West Oakland Chronicles series. My novella, 1967, is the second story in the series and is currently available as well. The four friends from Soul Music
are now in Vietnam in 1966 and trying their damndest to survive that war and the battle within their own unit to get back to West Oakland. Currently, I’m working on the third story in the series entitled “Jerry Penniston”, who is a primary character in the stories and is on his own journey.
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