CONVERSATIONS IN HEAVEN (A Tribute To Bernie Mac and Isaac Hayes)
WRITTEN: AUGUST 10, 2008
As the Love Unlimited Orchestra, headed by Barry White, grooved to 'Satin Soul', suddenly, the arrangement screeched to a halt.
Something just wasn't sounding right. Feeling disenchanted with the music, perhaps taking his expertise for granted, the man that had so much to give needed more.
"I think we practiced this enough," the Maestro declared.
Marvin Gaye, echoing the sentiment, suggested something political. "I love the way you made my jam ‘Inner City Blues’, jump," he hollered. "Let's run through that again."
"Nah, Sugar," a statuesque female uttered. "This is my time baby." The cream- colored queen, with happiness sparkling in her eyes, strutted confidently to the front of the band. This woman, named Phyllis, had finally found the love she never received on Earth. Embraced by the Lord thirteen years ago, she was eager to sing its praises whenever the opportunity arose.
"Chill, Sister Hyman," Luther Vandross said. "Now you know that between you and me, girl, we got this ‘love’ thing covered. The joy and pain, sunshine and rain of it all, the whole gamut. We need something fresh."
Johnny Griffin, the tenor saxophone genius known as the Little Giant, slapped hi-fives with his bee-bopping brother Miles Davis. "Yeah, man," he concurred. Having recently arrived from France last month, he too felt the band needed an infusion of style. "We need a bad mutha."
James Brown and Gerald Levert, exchanging puzzled looks, couldn't for the life of them think of who to summon.
Suddenly barging in the heavenly auditorium was Redd Foxx, Robin Harris and Richard Pryor, breaking up the confused tension with an argument about the new addition to their Kings Of Comedy Tour.
"Ya big Dummy," Fred Sanford screamed. "We could use Bernie up here. He had me in stitches with his Def Jam routines."
Richard Pryor disagreed.
"Nigga, Mac done got Cosby on us with that television show. He got all commercial on us. He don't talk about f***** enough. All comedians talk about f*****. When the president was making speeches, we talked about f*****. Even the coolness of women who like it as much as we do. I remember the Playboy bunny..."
"Nobody's talking about f***** up in here, so shut up, ya test-tube baby!" Leave it to Robin Harris to Bring the pain. "Look at you with your cornrows, Richard. They tied so tight, that I bet you sleep with your eyes open. Remember, you had a T.V. show once too."
Ever the bold one, Robin climbed up the stage stairs and grabbed Phyllis Hyman's hand and rubbed at her smoothness.
"Those aren't press-ons nails," he announced.
Phyllis slapped his hand away. "Shut-your mouth," she said, barely concealing her laughter.
At that instant, the whole room got silent. Humor and harmony becoming one, comedy and composition congregating in a meeting of minds, Richard Pryor and Barry exchanging knowing glances, smiled. Luther and Fred Sanford lowered their heads for a minute, then lifted them. Tears mixed with joy and sadness ran a race to their chins. Gerald, Johnny and Miles gave each other skin, then shared a group hug.
As the Love Unlimited Orchestra, headed by Barry White, grooved to 'Satin Soul', suddenly, the arrangement screeched to a halt.
Something just wasn't sounding right. Feeling disenchanted with the music, perhaps taking his expertise for granted, the man that had so much to give needed more.
"I think we practiced this enough," the Maestro declared.
Marvin Gaye, echoing the sentiment, suggested something political. "I love the way you made my jam ‘Inner City Blues’, jump," he hollered. "Let's run through that again."
"Nah, Sugar," a statuesque female uttered. "This is my time baby." The cream- colored queen, with happiness sparkling in her eyes, strutted confidently to the front of the band. This woman, named Phyllis, had finally found the love she never received on Earth. Embraced by the Lord thirteen years ago, she was eager to sing its praises whenever the opportunity arose.
"Chill, Sister Hyman," Luther Vandross said. "Now you know that between you and me, girl, we got this ‘love’ thing covered. The joy and pain, sunshine and rain of it all, the whole gamut. We need something fresh."
Johnny Griffin, the tenor saxophone genius known as the Little Giant, slapped hi-fives with his bee-bopping brother Miles Davis. "Yeah, man," he concurred. Having recently arrived from France last month, he too felt the band needed an infusion of style. "We need a bad mutha."
James Brown and Gerald Levert, exchanging puzzled looks, couldn't for the life of them think of who to summon.
Suddenly barging in the heavenly auditorium was Redd Foxx, Robin Harris and Richard Pryor, breaking up the confused tension with an argument about the new addition to their Kings Of Comedy Tour.
"Ya big Dummy," Fred Sanford screamed. "We could use Bernie up here. He had me in stitches with his Def Jam routines."
Richard Pryor disagreed.
"Nigga, Mac done got Cosby on us with that television show. He got all commercial on us. He don't talk about f***** enough. All comedians talk about f*****. When the president was making speeches, we talked about f*****. Even the coolness of women who like it as much as we do. I remember the Playboy bunny..."
"Nobody's talking about f***** up in here, so shut up, ya test-tube baby!" Leave it to Robin Harris to Bring the pain. "Look at you with your cornrows, Richard. They tied so tight, that I bet you sleep with your eyes open. Remember, you had a T.V. show once too."
Ever the bold one, Robin climbed up the stage stairs and grabbed Phyllis Hyman's hand and rubbed at her smoothness.
"Those aren't press-ons nails," he announced.
Phyllis slapped his hand away. "Shut-your mouth," she said, barely concealing her laughter.
At that instant, the whole room got silent. Humor and harmony becoming one, comedy and composition congregating in a meeting of minds, Richard Pryor and Barry exchanging knowing glances, smiled. Luther and Fred Sanford lowered their heads for a minute, then lifted them. Tears mixed with joy and sadness ran a race to their chins. Gerald, Johnny and Miles gave each other skin, then shared a group hug.
Barry White shook his head.
"Let's call Bernie Mac and Isaac Hayes. We sure could use em, up in here." he suggested.
"Sho ya' right," they all shouted in unison.
All, that is, except one.
"Cool," was all brotha Miles stated. "Cool."
"Let's call Bernie Mac and Isaac Hayes. We sure could use em, up in here." he suggested.
"Sho ya' right," they all shouted in unison.
All, that is, except one.
"Cool," was all brotha Miles stated. "Cool."
William's Thought: Over the weekend, we lost two in the physical spirit. But they remain with us spiritually, in the laughter shared, and the head nod of a cool melody. Give praise to God for allowing us to witness the brilliance of their journeys, as be joyful, for they will give Our Father so much fun in their own special ways.
Rest in Peace, Bernie. God Bless You, Issac. Y'all were some bad mutha...
It' s okay, ya'll can say it to me.
SHUT YO MOUTH!
Rest in Peace, Bernie. God Bless You, Issac. Y'all were some bad mutha...
It' s okay, ya'll can say it to me.
SHUT YO MOUTH!
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