"On Lafayette Street recently, where a 55-bike station has been assembled near Astor Place, a couple leaned on the kiosk as if it were a well-worn city bench, plotting their next move with their daughter waiting in her stroller. Nearby, on University Place, Alfred Haffenden, 71, sat between a bike station and his table of available consumer items —
two Al Franken books, a baby-care advice book and VHS copies of 'The Shawshank Redemption' and 'Wuthering Heights.'
The stations would be a change, he said, but who would want to live in a New York that refused to try something new? 'There’s not much you can do about that type, my friend,' he said, leaning toward the kiosk. 'Some people can’t see. Some people just don’t want to see.'"
Florence Welch is unstoppable. After a week of steady listening to the raw gospel sound of Sister Gertrude Morgan remixed, I made a sonic transition into Florence + The Machine. In some ways, they're not so different. You can hear in both the sounds of bliss, power, hope, heartache, and triumph.
Walking through downtown Philadelphia tuned into a Florence playlist, I felt like I heard a new sound in a few of her songs. Florence's subtle nod to gospel can be heard throughout her catalogue. It's influence is undeniable in a song like "Lover to Lover," which shifts into a crashing gospel-tinged meltdown near the end. Not surprised to find there's a 'walk into the sea' moment in the music video.
The gospel sound is clear as day in the frenzied spirit of her breakthrough hit "You've Got the Love." Disco was about esctacy and release, and The Source and Candi Staton original is essentially an early gospel/disco mashup, cathartic in every way.
Florence Welch on how it feels to sing "You've Got the Love" –
"As a kid, going to clubs and raves, this song made me feel love. At Bestival last year we were top of the bill on that stage, so we were thinking of an amazing cover we could do, and I thought of Candi Staton. Even in rehearsals, playing it was just the most euphoric feeling. Then playing it live and seeing everyone's arms in the air, and the faces – it was the best feeling ever! I was dressed as a genie sea-monster, and I remember looking at my guitarist as we played the first chords, and then there was the reaction and it was like tearing ourselves open and just exploding on the crowd, and they all did it back. It's a feeling you couldn't express."
Her tale of performance reminds me of the great disco singer Sylvester, whose biography is one to read.
He would often compare the ecstatic feelings that accompanied his onstage performances with the feelings experienced in a gospel choir in a Pentecostal church. When performances reached a certain level of heightened emotion, he would comment that "we had service." [from Wiki]
At least, that's what I thought. A child-like painting of boxy buildings with square windows, swirling with angels in hot oranges and reds caught my eye. It was the work of street preacher Sister Gertrude Morgan. I have a book of her paintings, along with a copy of the one gospel album she recorded in the 70's, and a remix of that record later produced by the Philadelphia-based DJ King Britt. This was the first time I ever came face to face with her paintings. A book does not compare.
Sister Gertrude Morgan Singing and Playing the Tambourine on the Front Gallery of the Everlasting Gospel Mission, c. 1974 Joshua Horwitz (American, born 1955).Sister Gertrude was a preacher by calling. Like many of the outsider artists in the exhibit, she received directives from God to create (why hasn't this happened to me?). Born in Alabama in 1900, Morgan was 39 years old when she was summoned to deliver God's message to "the headquarters of sin." That would be New Orleans, Louisiana. She left her husband behind and soon became a regular in the French Quarter, living in the Lower Ninth Ward – a neighborhood later devestated by Hurricane Katrina – until she died in 1980.
As it goes with outsider artists, Morgan had no formal artistic training of any kind. She began painting in her 50s, working with whatever she had around, adding color and divine messages to lamp shades and pieces of cardboard. Though she received recognition for her artwork during her lifetime, Morgan had little interest in pursuing a career as a painter.
Around 1970, Sister Gertrude laid down the tracks to Let's Make A Record in New Orleans at Preservation Hall, her first and only foray into the recording business. She had no interest in being a musician either, but you can't tell that from the raw gospel album she created. Morgan's fiery vocals, the frenetic shake of her tambourine, and the occasional sound of a stomping foot together make an intense collection of sounds, full of transcendent moments and a kind of voodoo spirit.
The album cover for King Britt Presents: Sister Gertrude Morgan shows one of Sister Gertrude's colorful self-portraits.That the obscure record would attract the attention of an electronic music DJ years later now seems like part of some divine plan. In 2005, King Britt released a remix of Let's Make A Record. Layered with kinetic beats, King Britt Presents: Sister Gertrude Morgan brought a new energy to Morgan's solo verse. The addition of electric basslines, lap steel slide guitar, percussion, piano, and other instrumentation add depth to Morgan's rhythm.
I'm not a religious person, but I find catharsis in music, and there is plenty of that in gospel and electronica.
Touring as "The Sister Gertrude Morgan Experience," King Britt and co-producer Tim Motzer turned World Cafe Live in Philadelphia into Morgan's Everlasting Gospel Ministry, where even after death, she possessed the ability to physically move believers and non-believers.
And that is how I was first introduced to Sister Gertrude.
"Through the storm, through the night Lead me on to the light."
My favorite track on the album is "Precious Lord Lead Me On," a rendition of the 1931 gospel song "Take My Hand, Precious Lord," written by the Reverend Thomas A. Dorsey, based on an old hymn by the American composer George Nelson Allen. Dorsey wrote the song as a way out of his own inconsolable grief after the death of his wife and infant son.
What attracts me most about "Take My Hand, Precious Lord" is the incredible sense of self-awareness in the lyrics and of the moment.
I give pause whenever I hear any version of it. Sister Rosetta Tharpe, the Godmother of rock & roll, sings the song in 1941 with a rebellious spirit, lightness, and her signature electric guitar – you just know she'll make it through. Elvis Presley croons sweetly with The Jordanaires in 1957 in an endearing 'put your head on my shoulder' kind of way – a reminder to 'love the one you're with,' to borrow from another song. Mahalia Jackson will make you want to go to church, or walk into the sea depending on your mood.
A favorite hymn of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., there are reports that it was the last song he requested moments before he was shot to death at the Lorraine Motel. Mahalia sang it at his funeral in 1968.
Imagine the song's meaning bending during the civil rights movement, reaching deep into crowds to inspire perseverance and courage, a vocal balm soothing broken spirits.
Just three days after King's assassination, the great Nina Simone wrapped listeners in the song quietly, bidding adieu at the end of a live performance at the Westbury Music Fair. "Goodnight, everybody," she whispered at the end of her set.
"I sing God's music because it makes me feel free," Mahalia Jackson once said.
Why did Sister Gertrude choose to sing? Was it freedom? Or, just another way to spread the Word?
Though the song comes from the black hole of grief, I can't help but feel a renewed sense of promise after listening, especially in King Britt and Sister Gertrude's version, with the soaring strings and light tambourine tap.
The exhibition "Great and Mighty Things" left me with similar feelings of promise. Outsider artists are often poor or marginalized, yet here they are on display in the Parthenon on the Parkway. (And would that matter to any of them?)
What I admire about the Bonovitz's collection is that they don't see a difference between outsider art and mainstream work. There is only good and bad art.
It matters not that Sister Gertrude painted on toilet paper rolls, used ballpoint pen, or even cared about her art at all. At the end of the day, she was a preacher by calling. Her paintings, like the record she recorded, were merely tools of her ministry.
Watch King Britt and Tim Motzer discuss what it was like "collaborating" with Sister Gertrude.
Thomas A. Dorsey tells the story behind "Take My Hand, Precious Lord" in the great documentary, Say Amen, Somebody – jump to the 5:09 minute mark. I likely never would have seen this film had I not begged my way into Professor Gayle Wald's English course on identity and popular music at the George Washington University. Was this also part of some divine plan?
Home sick and watching videos. Came across two new documentaries about the Philly Painting project, which I first explored a few months ago. I've been struggling to understand the scale of the project, but noneless its drawn me in and I've been watching it with curiosity.
North Philadelphia is stressed. There has been a lot of media coverage about the Philly Painting project, much of which glosses over the extent of the damage in the neighborhood, both structural and emotional. It's interesting that Hub Footwear, a dutch sneaker brand and maker of the videos, would take one of the most objective looks. The documentaries represent another track of life in Philadelphia, the true realities of which took a back seat in many reports on the mural. How real does it get? Watch the artists Jeroen Koolhaas and Dre Urhahn explain to filmmakers why they don't wear seatbelts – you never know when you'll need to duck and cover from gunfire riding through North Philly.
Sit back and watch, if you're interested in neighborhood dynamics, poverty and violence in cities, art, and community. Highly recommend, even if I now have more questions than before.
If you're following the Philly Painting project for the longhaul, another story worth reading is architecture critic Inga Saffron's review, which asked whether or not the colorful intervention will actually drive economic growth in the commercial corridor and result in measaurable impact. "It's naive to think that painting over this depopulated blightscape can do anything more than mask the avenue's failure," wrote Saffron. That critique was pounced onbymany, but none of the responses adequately discussed what is next for the corridor, important for a number of reasons.
The project afterall was positioned by the City of Philadelphia as part of a "larger economic development plan" for the neighborhood. Even the people in the video below are asking, "What's next" – from the artists themselves to shoppers and residents.
"Enthusiasm can turn pretty quickly into disappointment," says Gary P. Steuer, the City's Chief Cultural Officer, adding "we need to think about how we sustain that enthusiasm."
At the closing of the short follow-up vide, a member of the painting crew comments –
"A lot of people making promises, so we waiting to see if people put they money where they mouth is at."
Philly Painting is a complex project, worthy of continued exploration.
So what is next?
These are appropriate questions.
Philly Painting is a collaboration between the City of Philadelphia's Mural Arts Program and the Dutch artists Jeroen Koolhaas and Dre Urhahn, also known as Haas & Hahn (or the Favela Painters).
[8 min. Challenge the Obvious: This is not the end - January 2013]
Dre Urhahn: "You don't paint questions away, you paint them to the surface… What happens next? What happens with the street after its painted?"
[30 min. Challenge the Obvious: A day in the life of Haas & Hahn - September 2012]
Jereon Koolhaas: "[American] people have the idea that when you are poor, that you are not really living life."
Yay, Philadelphia! There is a new campaign on the scene promoting the City of Philadelphia and the video features lots of clapping and whooshes. Discover PHL. [3 minutes]
Timelapse of Diner en Blanc Philadelphia at Logan Square, the whitest and most magical picnic I've ever been too. All's well when the entire party ends up in the fountain. [48 seconds]
Klip Collective's amazing Meadow 1.0 installation at Bartram's Garden, part of Data Garden's The Switched-On Garden 002. I felt like I had stepped into The X-Files. Another favorite event from 2012. [60 seconds]
Storyteller R. Eric Thomas' hilarious TEDxPhilly talk about his early perception of the City of Brotherly Love (somewhere in-between the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air and Philadelphia, the movie). [8 minutes]
A guy rides his bike around the city with his cat on his shoulder because that is the kind of thing hipsters do, and it's true, his cat can probably ride a bike better than you can. That cat rules! [4 minutes]
And for a little perspective, music videos for rapper Meek Mill's Ima Boss and Bike Life Philadelphia, a wild look at ATV riding in the city. This actually happens. Keeping it real and dangerous. [5 minutes]
Todd Heisler/The New York Times
bike share, 
