Black folks love Celine Dion

... and other joyous things

Let the lights go out

Let the disco ball come down

Let your water cool your skin

Celebration is extra 

Because our bones remember when we couldn’t dance 

Let your doors be open

Let the heat consume you 

Let your mind and memories mix

Celebration is extra 

Because our bones remember when we couldn’t dance

Black folks love Celine Dion... and other joyous things

I grew up loving and listening to Mary J Blige, Alicia Keys, and Jennifer Hudson. I knew Ray Charles and Maxwell before I knew Brittney or Christina. Saturday mornings, my mom would blast the stereo playing this kind of music and more. The house would be filled with Bob Marley and Lauryn Hill. I got to be wrapped up in the sultry voice of Jill Scott. And every so often the Jamaican cook-out classic, Murder She Wrote by Chaka Demus & Pliers would play (if you know, you know). So that’s what I knew but none of the white kids, who I was mostly around, did.

So growing up, as many of us do, I went through a slight emo/punk rock phase. I listened to Scary Kids Scaring Kids. Situations by Escape the Fate was a constant favorite on my iPod mini. I can honestly say that at least a third of the views for Black Parade by My Chemical Romance on YouTube was because of me. Then of course there was the soft rock/sad boy band obsession. I’m talking SafetySuit. I’m talking Parachute - with a little The Fray thrown in there. 

I LOVED going into Hot Topic, knowing good and well I didn’t know who half the bands on their t-shirts were but wanting to buy them all anyways. I’d never been a huge Top 40 girl. My mom didn’t always let me listen to mainstream radio stations till I was older. And let’s just say Radio Disney wasn’t a mainstay in my mother’s 2002 red Toyota Camry. 

Part of my reason for getting into this music is because my best friend and other people around me were into it. Even so, I loved it too. Even writing this newsletter, I turned on Escape The Fate and still knew every word to Situations. But the problem was that this music wasn’t considered “Black.” It was weird that I was soooo into it. That this was the music that made me happy. This was the music I could jam out to. This was the music I could put on when I was sad. 

I didn’t understand why I couldn’t know every word of Mary J Blige’s Family Affair and still be in the chokehold that Pumped Up Kicks had us in. 

And I got this criticism from all sides - white or Black, it didn’t matter. I knew only a couple of others like me.

I don’t think people realize it just became cool to be different types of Black. The type of Black that loves anime and rock climbing. The type of Black that loves to hike and listen to country music. Hell, I got made fun of for drawing dresses in high school.

It was as if our joy could only be regulated to certain things.

~

Once again, I called upon my dear friend (and yours), Merriam Webster for her wealth of knowledge. According to Webster, joy is “the emotion evoked by well-being, success, good fortune or the prospect of possessing what one desires.” Or “a state of happiness or felicity.” Or “to experience great pleasure or delight.”

If there’s one this Black folk will do - and I mean across the diaspora - we’ll turn anything into a party. There is so much power in our joy. And it can be brought on by almost anything. And that’s why it’s feared.

I want to talk about Black joy this week because Black joy is truly something to behold. 

From the way that we walk, talk, sing, and dance - we have become the blueprint. Have you ever had a Black woman give you a compliment? As the tongue hits the roof of her mouth and her lips form, a Black woman can utter one word that’s actually a novel in disguise. Black uncles will say a prayer over you so fierce that you will wonder if his words contain magic - all because you graduated middle school with perfect attendance. It’s your cousins running across the room because one joke move them to motion.  

There is a history in our expression of joy that comes with a heavy burden. From colonialism to now, Black joy is a form of resistance. Much of what’s deemed “not for us” was started by us. 

Rock and Roll has its roots in gospel, rhythm and blues. It was called “race music” for its connection to Black folk. People call Elvis the King of Rock and Roll with Chuck Berry sitting right there! Rock and Roll was repackaged and repurposed for a white audience. It was then deemed not for us. The roots of this music were cut off and thrown away - forgotten.

It’s not to diminish the work done by the artists of Rock and Roll but highlight the hidden history. The music of Fat’s Dominio and Chuck Berry now fused together with the sound of Elvis and appealing to white teenagers. Their sound became the sound of rebellion and resistance. 

The Black sound became the sound of resistance. 

I’ve found that music and movement are one of the most profound ways Black folks express, deliver, and experience joy. And to be shut out of the very thing we started is a killing of our joy. And when we find joy in these many-faceted descendants of Rock and Roll, we feel isolated. Our joy becomes confined to us.

So it makes me joyous to see Black people who love Paramore. I feel at home in Black folks’ collective love of incredible vocals, hence our appreciation of Celine Dion. 

As I got older and with the expansion of social media, I got to see the diversity of Black joy and interests. I didn’t feel so alone in what music I loved or the movies I liked watching. Growing up in white spaces disconnected me from the Black classics, whether it was movies or language, or even clothes. 

I rarely got to see people walking around in FUBU or Tims but understood the cultural significance. I didn’t watch Set It Off or Soul Food until I was in my 20s but I loved every minute of them both. Because in each of these things I saw aspects of me, my family, and my community. I understood the joy and the impact it brought to the Black community. I knew about the relevance of Set it Off before I saw it on screen. I knew NWA’s was the cultural reset when they came out because I wanted to be Black too. I thought the way I found joy wasn’t right. I didn’t know there were others like me. I didn’t know that my Black joy was just as relevant, just as valid, and just as necessary.

When Black folks are found in spaces that have been traditionally deemed “not for us”, we’re asked for qualifiers for our joy. As if our joy isn’t valid unless we prove it. 

As I’ve said before Black joy is a form of resistance. 

~

I started writing this week’s newsletter extremely late. I seemed to procrastinate at every turn. There was always something else to do. Or me telling myself that I would just watch one more episode of a show that I’ve watched a thousand times before I got started. I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t just start writing. 

And then it hit me…

The issue is that I rarely get to experience this emotion. And I’m talking about joy in its truest form. I often experience what I call second-hand joy. It’s a mixture of me not believing I deserve joy in its purest form and my fear of joy. At times I feel I have to force myself to joy. I’m learning. 

I’m learning about the joy that’s an act of resistance. With anxiety, I constantly fear disappointment lurking around the corner so I stop the joy before it can come. But my joy creeps up on me when I least expect it. It’s as if God knew I needed it but couldn’t tell me it was coming because he knows what I do when I feel joy approaching.

I find joy in my dad’s curry chicken as it hits my tongue. I find it in my mom trying to vogue after watching one episode of Legendary. I feel it watching my sister smile. One day I hope to not fear my joy. I hope to see my Black joy as the blessing it is. 

So to the alt Black girls, the emo Black girls, my hood Black girls, my country Black girls, and everything in between - your joy is valid. It’s beautiful. It’s inspired. It’s what the others wish they had. Delight in it. Even if you have to fake it. Delight in it because it is resistance.