everything must change

‘Everything Must Change’ is a special composition, isn’t it?

Yes, everything must change

The young become the old

And mysteries do unfold

Cause that’s the way of time

Nothing and no one goes unchanged

…

And music makes me cry

Bernard Ighner singing live

Quincy Jones had been developing material under A&M Records for 3 years when he came across Bernard Ighner’s vocal demo of the song in ‘72. Bernard was working as a session singer and writer at A&M at the time. Moved by the lyric and performance, Quincy invited Bernard to track the vocal on his arrangement of the song that would eventually be released on ‘Body Heat’ in ‘74. There have been many versions of the track since by Nina Simone, James Ingram, Oleta Adams, Rachelle Farrell & George Benson and more. Shoutout to Bobby Valentino’s old group Mista that took a stab at it on their album in ‘96. All of these are great but it’s really Quincy’s live rendition at the 1996 Montreux Jazz Festival with Chaka Khan and Simply Red that really rocked my shit when I discovered it. Quincy introduces Chaka as “one of the most soulful creatures on the planet”. Simply Red (Mick) holds down the first verse and creates a beautiful foundation for Chaka to really transform the song, and us, as the lyrics to the second verse leave her mouth in French. Her tone is heavy and rich. She ascends then comes back down to meet us again, shyly. She misses her cue for the breakdown before the chorus and we see a glimpse of a child-like and embarrassed version of Chaka. Mick meets her halfway with a smile and they share a laugh about it as the music continues to swell. Real sweet. My understanding of the song was changed forever and I’ll always compare every version of it I encounter to this performance.

Chaka Khan and Simply Red live at the Montreux Jazz Festival in ‘96

I think I realized everything must change somewhere between Vancouver and Dakar. Last Spring, I was invited up to B.C. for a residency in a beautiful home owned by a couple that I deeply respect and I ain’t really been the same since. I was up there in the mountains alone for 10 days, baking jerked salmon and spinning James Taylor Greatest Hits 2 everyday. I’d fall asleep to the sound of the river below me and would wake to either rain or a hot ass sun at my bedroom window. I’d just come off a tour of hyperproductivity and overcompensation as a result of being in survival mode. In the previous months, I’d started a new job, conceptualized, scored and performed an opera, moved into a new apartment, radically accepted my relationship to a parent was over… among many other quests. I was exhausted and I needed these 10 days. I hear God often but it felt like I was being separated from the noise of my life back home so that we could begin a new conversation. One I hadn’t had the language for just yet. We continued our conversations on integrity, musicality and imagination but there were mumbles of a new metric that I’d have to redefine my life by. It was without pressure or urgency but the presentation was grand and I was standing right in it. I’d spend much of the remainder of the year speaking with anyone who would listen about how I’d been changed by the trip. I’d cite the relationship I grew to the surrounding nature as a point of revelation but couldn’t speak of my new calling just yet, as I didn’t know it very well myself but I knew I’d been primed to receive it when the time presented itself.

My bedroom in Vancouver

6 months later, I’d wake from an anxiety attack while in the worst spot you could imagine. On a damn plane. I was coming from Dakar, Senegal where my work Lay Me Down In Praise was being presented as part of the 2024 Dak’Art Biennale. It was my first time on the continent.

In Dakar at the Museum of Black Civilizations with a group of university students and volunteers who welcomed me as their brother. Very affirming, special group. That’s Bamba in the blue striped shirt and shades down there. He’s a big star.

This episode wasn’t exactly out of character. I’d been experiencing attacks through out the summer… and the last 15 years. Shortness of breath, numbness/tingling of the limbs, sweating, heart palpitations, calling 911 in the middle of the night. All that crazy shit. But there was something especially devastating about the series of attacks I experienced around this time. They didn’t feel fueled by impending doom but some sort of spiritual warfare and everything suffered. My confidence, my speech, my sense of direction. I felt out of context and out of body. Sorry if our friendship suffered as a result. I’d developed a roster of techniques to tame or override the attacks but this was out of my hands. I started seeking intervention from forces I deemed stronger than me for the first time. Attending meetings to practice buddhism, bible study sessions, meetings with a psychiatrist … sometimes all in one day. I almost passed out from shortness of breath in these meetings too but I had to try.

Ight back to the plane. I jumped out of my seat to ask the flight attendant how much time we had until our layover in Paris. “2 hours” she replied with a look of concern. Clearly I was going through it but luckily, she was real cool. She made me some tea and conversed with me about things to do in Paris to help place my racing thoughts elsewhere. I eventually came back to center and thanked her profusely for her kindness and patience while I exited the plane.

Dakar was complicated. While grateful to be invited to share a body of work that is of great importance to me and given the opportunity to grow its context with those central to it’s message across the Atlantic, I was pierced by the classism reinforced by the event and my being there. I couldn’t stop thinking about how the resources pulled together to bring me to Dakar could’ve changed the lives of so many living in Dakar. I was there in the name of diplomacy but realized I was participating in an unfair exchange that would truly only benefit me. I felt centered in a way I couldn’t really get with. Maybe the anxiety was triggered by my questioning of “what are we doing?” — a question to my field that loves some good sensationalism with no true impact that defies systems of class and to myself who, with all good intention, could find myself complicit. My vision of what I needed from the world and myself became even more pressing with this new layer to add to the already ticking time bomb.

The call now feels urgent and all my systems feel inflamed. It feels like a kind of death must take place and man, am I grieving. Spiritually, mentally, socially, geographically, professionally, it all must change. I feel like I’m wearing a tight ass sweater that I’ve outgrown. The most frustrating part about this all is that as obedient as I am, I still have not uncovered what the call is truly asking of me. However, what has been made clear to me after years of these anxiety attacks is that they are a manifestation of fear and a lack of honesty within myself. These seasons call for a risky pivot that I’m terrified of and its appetite for me seems to grow each time. I’ve climbed to the top of the mountain of what I thought was security and all that I desired and now I am staring down with what feels like a deep need to relieve myself of it all and choose a more simplistic and soulful metric to define my work and time on this Earth by. I have to also remember to have grace for myself during the transformation, which has proven to be difficult. Last week, I reached out to a childhood friend for some guidance and she said “enjoy the ride” and I laughed. James Taylor said that same thing back in Vancouver on “Secret O’ Life”. Had a good cry in the car about it. So, I’ll sit and wait and write and listen and thank God you can’t impulsively buy anything in Nova Scotia or Vancouver on Zillow.

I’m currently in Lake Arrowhead, on another mountain, listening as I write this. If you’re reading this and identify, see this as an invitation to share a prayer or a song. The song I’m dedicating to myself and you, is Everything Must Change. Thank you Quincy and Bernard.

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