Meshell Ndegeocello is an artist in full, a human being continually challenging herself toward change and reinvention, a fierce assignment that has delivered extraordinary depth and versatility to her musical forms of expression.
From her head-turning 1993 debut, “Plantation Lullabies,” onward, Ndegeocello has treated her career like a cauldron and a cocoon, a place for searing and metamorphosis, a means of tempering her transformations. That she has been nominated for 11 Grammy Awards (winning twice) seems more of a testament to the Grammy’s sense of adventure than her own sense of achievement. Mainstream recognition is not the goal of her ambition.
Through all the intrepid questing that feeds her artistry, nothing has taken hold of Ndegeocello more profoundly than the writings (and other socio-political declarations of independence) of James Baldwin. The latest fruit from that inspiration will be provided Saturday night, Dec. 7, when Ndegeocello will perform two sold-out shows at the Walker Art Center entitled, “No More Water: The Gospel of James Baldwin.”
Ndegeocello fell under Baldwin’s sway in 2016, when she was commissioned by the Harlem Stage to collaborate with director Charlotte Braithwaite on a theater performance, “The Gospel of James Baldwin: Can I Get A Witness.” Like Baldwin, who died in 1987 at the age of 63, Ndegeocello is Black, gay, provocatively curious and fearlessly honest and intimate in her creative expression. Although she had read a few of his books, it wasn’t until working on the play that she picked up “The Fire Next Time,” a relatively short but riveting volume Baldwin wrote to his nephew in 1963, describing in unflinching detail the grim reality of being Black in America in the mid-20th Century.
“That book changed my life,” Ndegeocello told Ari Shapiro of National Public Radio in an interview last June. In particular, she recalled, it softened her view of her parents, saying it “allowed me to really step back from my anger and lack of compassion.
“My parents were born in the 40s, and I could never in my wildest dreams imagine what they experienced being people of color,” Ndegeocello continued in her conversation with Shapiro. “(It) just really opened up my heart to a different kind of love, that could transcend the pain, the sorrow, the difficulty.”
(Walker’s press contact, Rachel Joyce, said Ndegeocello declined media interviews in conjunction with the Walker shows).
Supple and nuanced
Ndegeocello chose the centennial of Baldwin’s birth — Aug. 2, 2024 — to release the sprawling musical album that bears the same name as her Walker performance. It reflects the turbulent sea changes — in herself and in this nation — that have occurred since she started the Harlem Stage commission in the final months of Barack Obama’s second term, leading up to what is now the final months before the second term of Donald Trump.
The album is a kaleidoscope of emotions and musical genres. Baldwin’s prose added perspective and fuel to both the anger and outrage Ndeogeocello felt following the naiveté of her “post-racial” optimism during the Obama years, and to the compassion and circumspection necessary to more safely negotiate and comprehend the dangerous minefield ahead for those of minority race and sexual preference.
Another reason “No More Water” stands as Ndegeocello’s most enthralling work to date — and a serious contender for Album of the Year — is because the music is supple and nuanced enough to reflect the essence of this complicated emotional agenda.
“I started writing music in collage form, through sampling,” Ndegeocello explained to Downbeat writer John Murph about her formative years in a Washington, D.C., music scene where hip hop and the regional dance funk of “go go” music thrived. Then she added, “I think in a jazz virtuosic way,” which provides “a place for self-expression.”
Contributing to the variety are a handful of spoken-words pieces, including two excerpts from Baldwin’s 1963 lecture, “The Artist’s Struggle For Integrity,” read by the Jamaican poet and performance artist Stacyann Chin (now living in New York), who also contributes a pair of eloquent, self-penned diatribes calling out police brutality (“Raise the Roof”) and patriarchy (“Tsunami Rising”).
The collage-infused songs often harken back to Ndegeocello’s seminal contribution to the neo-soul movement of the 90s, involving bands like Soul II Soul and PM Dawn. The opener, “Travel,” mixes that in with some African-inflected guitar (a mixture of soukous and juju styles) from album co-producer Chris Bruce and a delightfully scattershot vocal arrangement that is a staple of other tunes, as well. “On the Mountain,” which attempts to humanize Baldwin’s life beyond his iconic reputation, has beseeching vocals reminiscent of Seal or Marvin Gaye, drawn-out phrases that are contrasted by brisk beats (including the too-rare treat of Ndegeocello’s thumping bass line) and a milky way of keyboard effects.
“Eyes” has the spacious grandeur of a Queen song interspersed with that pleasant neo-soul chill. “The Price of a Ticket” is a standard singer-songwriter folk tune sharpened by the fact the narrative is gently pleading for her life. “Trouble” is likewise subtly ominous, the music wafting as the vocalist calmly intones: “What’s another word for trouble?/Because that’s what we’re in/Everyone’s down for the struggle/Until it begins.”
“Thus Sayeth The Lorde” gives spirited props to the poet Audre Lorde, who famously challenged Baldwin on his misogyny. And two songs celebrate being gay. “Pride I” has the lilt and clamor of a parade, goosed by a soca beat,” while “Pride II” provides another welcome opportunity for Ndegeocello to get busy on her bass, tagged by Bruce’s electric guitar solo.
Overall, there are 17 songs, comprising more than 75 minutes. Worth every minute.
Baldwin’s wisdom
Judging by the set lists and videos of previous performances, the two shows at the Walker will take advantage of the theater space and the greater intimacy of direct live communication, while covering the bulk of “No More Water” and perhaps a song or two from Ndegeocello’s previous album, the Grammy-winning, “The Omnichord Real Book.”
As with the Harlem Stage play, the set and costumes evoke a church service, with an instrumental sextet and feature vocalist Justin Hicks coming onstage in robes. Hicks is a galvanizing presence with a gorgeous voice allowing the show to lean into song-craft and testimony.
In almost every prior performance Ndegeocello has paired the songs “Love” and “Hatred” back-to-back and the sophisticated, kindred approach to both stark words is in the bedrock of the project’s theme.
“Love” has a soothing soulfulness that can bathe your entire body and have you walking out of the theater remembering Hicks. But the lyrics pry beneath the pleasure. “To live in love/Is to be uncertain/To live in love/Is to bear the burden/Of so many who yearn to know/My life matters.” And then, later, “Love takes off the mask/That we fear we can’t live without/And know we cannot live within.”
The song gets to the crux of Ndegeocello’s understanding and appreciation of her parents, after reading “The Fire Next Time.”
“Hatred” also is informed by Baldwin’s penetrating wisdom. When Shapiro asked Ndegeocello if there is a message from Baldwin that continues to resonate within her like a bolt of lightning, she replied, “One cannot deny the humanity of another without diminishing one’s own. What you say about me says a lot more about you.”
Consequently, “Hatred” displays none of the anger you might expect from a song with that title. It opens with that Baldwin factoid: “Hatred, which could destroy so much/Never failed to destroy the one who hated.” And in the second verse, “One of the reasons people cling to their hate so stubbornly/Is because they sense that once/Hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with their pain.”
The song concludes with an ever-so-soft and delicate taunt. “I knew I was right/Cause it hurts you so/To see someone not like you/Getting off/Getting off/On this here ride.”
At the end of some of the previous performances, members of the audience were given a white strip of paper and a pencil so they could write down what they were grateful for, and drop them in a box on their way out.
Since being commissioned for the Baldwin play, Ndegeocello increased her collaborations with other artists on their projects, put out a collection of cover songs and devoted an album in tribute to the avant garde jazz artist Sun Ra as well furthering the Baldwin project.
Near the end of her interview with Shapiro, she had this to say: “I’m 56 and for the first time in my life, the last two years, I’m really starting to create the life I want.”
Britt Robson
Britt Robson has covered the Timberwolves since 1990 for City Pages, The Rake, SportsIllustrated.com and The Athletic. He also has written about all forms and styles of music for over 30 years.