They are looking for both men and women in the New York area who would like to have a supportive and nurturing matchmaker on their side as they search for love! The matchmaker will use her talent and expertise to set her clients up with someone who could be “the one.”

All applicants must:
•       Live in the New York City area
•       Be at least 21 years of age
•       Currently be single & ready to meet the right person!

Anyone who is interested can feel free to email NYCSinglesCasting@gmail.com with the following information:
1.      Name, age
2.      Contact information (phone number, email address)
3.      Occupation
4.      Recent photo
5.      Brief summary describing themselves and their ideal mate

At North Caroline and East Eager in Baltimore stands a non-denominational, “enthusiastic, charismatic” Pentecostal church.  Sunday evening, January 10^th, this center of soul was host to the Mad Genius Drums of–err, Bishop QP (Quincy Phillips) and his merry band of faithful minstrel magicians.  The gathering included:

• The Young Lions Connexion—Chris Funn (Bass), Allyn Johnson (Keys), and QP (Drums, Keys, Vocals);
• Samir Moulay (Guitar);
• Corey Baker (Bass);
• Quamon Fowler (Tenor Sax);
• Linea Boyd and Sabrina Wright (Vocals);
• Bryan Davis (Keys, Vocals);
• Cornell Shaw (?);
• Von Vargas (Emcee) with DJ SOP;
• Kathy Richardson (Spoken Word);
• Tim Green (Alto Sax);
• Lee Pearson II (Spoken Word);
• Tabitha Pearson (Vocals);
• Elevation—Adam Johnson (Bass), Mike Reed (Drums), and Kenny Shelton (Keys); and
• Micah Smith (Vocals).

I attended as a friend of the Bishop, a curious observer, and a lover of music.  However, in the standard model of networking this event was an excellent example of a means for an (prospective) agent to expand his knowledge of a local scene and parlay one relationship into many.

East Baltimore Deliverance Church’s neighborhood has a history of struggle—drugs, poverty, teen pregnancy, and crime are all on the rise according to locals.  Buildings and ex-apartments are ramshackle, the green is mostly gray-brown, and the church stands as a lamp’s light of hope a half block up from a mostly vacant strip mall.

The building creaks, thumps, and hums with the spirit of its people.  Downstairs there’s talk by teens of getting ‘the group’ back together if their soprano comes back from NYC.  She’s shy to sing in the presence of the others.  An impromptu “Lean on Me” fires up and, amidst the laughter, the ice breaks. When it does, the shy girl sings and it’s silken from the start. They know to break upstairs with at least 30 minutes to spare to ensure premium seating.

I’d arrived in the morning by train, bleary-eyed and thanking the cold bite in the air for the wake-up call.  It wasn’t long at Penn Station before QP arrived. He lives clean—no smoke or drink—but had been up late playing and so was a bit bleary-eyed too.

Through the years I’ve found myself guest in many homes. It’s something I’ve always been comfortable with and it’s always warming to be received kindly.

QP is not one for introductions and doesn’t have to. Grandma (the Apostle) and I connected immediately as I’m sure she’s accustomed to—the church’s matriarch and founder, the Apostle is clearly the Bishop’s charismatic lineage.  She and the many others I met over the course of the day were extraordinarily welcoming.

The evening featured many performers.  A few performances really hit home with me.

Elevation is a gospel collective cobbled together from years of world traveling with such gospel luminaries.  Their first song captured their presentation and caught me by surprise, starting with an extended mood-groove (not the kind I’m personally fond of but it was well-executed) and shifted into a rock-gospel drive that, though very different in sound had a similar effect as listening to Jimmie Hendrix and Stevie Ray Vaughn’s versions of Voodoo Child.

Kathy Richardson read a single (and thankfully) extended poem.  Now I’ve long-wanted and often tried to write a poem about music, about its effect both universal and personal, about its character and power.  There’s no longer any need.  Kathy, if you are reading, I would very much like to acquire a copy—preferably, of you reading it.

Quincy Phillips took the occasion to introduce some spiritually-influenced solo work. It was fantastic and not what one expects from ‘spiritually-influenced’ music.  With him on keys and vocals and Linea Boyd, Sabrina Wright, and Brian Davis singing backup, the audience was treated to something akin to Andre 3K’s piano-driven songs.  “Prototype” comes to mind.

The Young Lions Connexion means the Young Lions stand-ins on horns made the excellent even better.  Phillipine 4:13 and Shades of Joe (both compositions by members of the Connexion) captured the spiritual context of the night without a single word sung or spoken.

Lee Pearson is a big name in drums, having played with Roy Ayers, Roy Hargrove, and Lauren Hill, for example.  He delivered a surprising and powerful sermon directed at his fellow musicians but speaking to the universal pitfalls of pride and losing one’s sight of the Good.

Micah Smith … Wow, what an amazing voice he has and performer he is.  His songs were in a format most would easily recognize as gospel/soul, which provides an excellent showcase for his talents.  I’ll be looking him up for some time to come.

The Bishop said it opening the show and I agree: Baltimore has some of this Nation’s and by extension the world’s finest musicians.  I look forward to returning.

If a story can’t be told full, it’s best to tell a tale well short.  God speaks succinct in verse, rhyme, and rhythm; so I shall try.

Quincy Phillips is the leader and drums behind the Young Lions (clap, clap).  He entered Café Nema from the back wearing a black suit and dark tie knotted thick and worn short.  He was uncharacteristically late and appeared haggard.  My entrance earlier, a mere prequel, was a relative thunder—to red-eyed musicians,  disbelieving regulars, felicitations from former and current staff alike, and an owner’s embrace.

QP paused to a regular’s beckoning, but beyond fashion’s timeliness, his rapid apology toward the stage was compelled. Chris Funn and Ted Baker rolled along as the setup ensued.  I immediately recognized something askew, but hadn’t settled on what it was.

Bass, tom, hat, and snare were present but not much else save two cylinders of wood, leather, and rivets.  But wait—

Have you seen QP?  Thelonius-slim with the goat to match… Spike-meets-Blakey-meets-Mingus… A grin that pauses just long enough for the next to say, “gotcha, and you loved it.”

Sax and bass set the mood and cued conversation.  Then, a tapping emerged—like that from a well-intentioned raven.  The first song drew to a close.  The dimly lit, below-street bar dimmed further and glowed a deeper shade of orange.  The stage was set.

Duke peppered forth.  And then, that different feeling came to me again.  Bawp-bawp…2, 5… Bop-bawp… a smattering.  It was like discovering a sound as a child: new, natural, something supposed to be found.

Next song; see: drum solo.  Four beats of interlude followed by QP’s old tricks on a truncated setup—rapid fire and peerless drum magician-ship.  On the fifth round the bing-bong-bap got rolling and the whole became seamless, transcendent.  Funn and Baker—apparently unconscious—followed suit and three minutes of magic ensued.

Ecstatic, my jaw-dropped, the drum solo concluded, and the last stanza carried the newfound focus to a conclusion no one wanted: Silence.  Five seconds hung in infinity.  There was no applause, just a collective stun.  One clasp echoed and heavy hands gathered in multitude, moments after.  The third-filled tiny jazz club erupted.  I heard myself mutter loudly (as one does in a state of shock), “yes… again… 15 minutes more of that,” before realizing the same sentiment had rung out from the front table and the table right in front of me just a moment before.

I channeled my trusty-companion to all things jazz and moniker-maker extraordinaire all the way from Romania and thought, “the Mad Genius Drums of U Street.”  I fumbled to my phone to tell him, but was foiled by a time zone differential realization.  I turned to my right and told the owner, “His new name is the Mad Genius Drums of U Street.”

QP knew what was up and decided to push further.  The next song opened and Quincy quickly moved back to the bongos for punctuation, this time harkening what I believe was Dizzy’s Afro sound.  The Mad Genius kept the lid down and the energy simmering for about three minutes, letting loose again on the drum solo.

Each new batch of solo bars brought wider diversions and for each round the company—now including a guitar—followed.  I have no idea how it lasted so long and it’s a testament to the talent of all because the Mad Genius was conducting two trains, one funk and one jazz, toward one another.  HORRIFIC CRASH!

The music stopped, but the beat didn’t; it just kept going, quieted, humbled… until it didn’t.  QP stopped to search for survivors.  By the open of the next set, all had gathered again, stronger, steely-eyed knowing a collision could recur, and probably not happy QP had gone so far.

I can’t rationalize the disaster and it felt mostly wrong, but something different had happened and I remain suspicious whether Mad Genius Drums of U Street had duped us all, taught us all, or just gone beyond our feeble music minds.

The next set dazzled in classic Young Lions fashion, but the tension from the events prior remained.  To observe these cats gather, especially in Nema’s intimate setting, is to live vicariously through them.  YL shows don’t give you top-to-bottom album-polish or the controlled perfection of a group of 50-year veterans.  Organic and explosive, you don’t know what to expect.  Attempt to anticipate and you might find yourself staring down the bright lights of a locomotive.

Café Nema, D.C.

Jazz

The Mad Genius Drums of U Street