The List (18 page)

O
n Friday night, I stood in front of my full-length mirror, checking out my outfit for Apache Café. I had on a hip-hugging pair of flared jeans, a black tank top and a midriff blue jean jacket with leopard print accents I had picked up in the Little Five Points bazaar. I blew out my afro—Angela Davis style—and put a flower behind one ear.

I listened to Isaiah's CD the whole time I was getting dressed. I found myself thinking about his bio and coming up with questions to ask him so I could start writing his show. I was a little concerned that he was a gospel artist, though not in the traditional sense. I could hear Rayshawn's disdainful comments about me being a holy roller, trying to turn BTV into TBN. It didn't matter. He was a great artist, regardless of his genre.

Apache was pretty crowded when we got there. Thankfully, Isaiah had reserved a table for me and Erika. I remembered all too many trips to Apache when I didn't get there on time and had to stand the whole night. Especially for the packed-out Wednesday night jam sessions.

We sat down front, right at the stage. I looked around the club, considering it as a potential taping spot. It had exposed brick walls, crowded tables and chairs in the front, standing room in the middle, and couches in the back. There were abstract original paintings on the walls. It had an artsy ambiance that would be perfect for the show.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that Eva Kennedy, the young girl with the red afro we had auditioned, was opening for Isaiah. I'd get a good idea of what she was like on stage with a band in front of a crowd.

Her four-song set of original music overwhelmed me. I found myself lifting my hands like I was worshipping in church. There was something spiritual about her, in spite of the somewhat risqué lyrics she was singing. I had never seen a more passionate performance. She poured her whole soul into what she was singing, and the crowd loved her. She got a standing ovation and did a quick encore song before Isaiah came on.

When he first came onto the stage, I realized I had forgotten how cute he was. He had on some acid-washed, bummy jeans and a T-shirt that said, “I Sing Because I'm Happy.” He said a few words, thanking everyone for coming and went right into the first song.

It was an upbeat song with poetic lyrics that declared each person's responsibility in making change to overcome poverty, war, and other societal ills. I could tell everyone was feeling him on the social consciousness vibe. I was anxious to see how they would respond to the worship, though.

I didn't have to wait long to find out. The next song he sang was the one he auditioned with about the beauty of the presence of the Lord. The atmosphere was electric. It didn't seem to bother anyone that he was singing the name of Jesus. His passion and his voice filled the room and were infectious.

I tore my eyes away from him for a few minutes to see how the crowd responded. Everyone seemed mesmerized, staring or closing their eyes, listening intently.

At the end of the song, he ad-libbed about how being in God's presence brought so much joy, love, life and laughter. I felt every word he said.

Next, he sang a love song about meeting a girl that blew him away, and even though he didn't know her, he couldn't see spending the rest of his life without her. His use of words was beyond poetic. At first, I thought I was imagining things when I thought Isaiah seemed to be singing to me. When Erika nudged me and smirked, I knew it wasn't just me.

He sang a few other worship songs, a couple of love songs, and then a warfare praise song with African rhythms that made everyone dance. He stopped it several times, but people kept clapping and dancing. The guy on the congas kept playing, so Isaiah started it up again and again.

Isaiah finally put down his guitar and took over the conga drums. I thought he did it to end the song, but he started drumming, and the crowd went even wilder.

After about five minutes of showing his skills, he gave up the drums and started to dance. He looked like an African warrior, stomping his feet, jumping, and slinging his locks. His agility and energy had the crowd on their feet.

I kicked myself for not bringing a camera crew with me.

After he finished performing, he came off stage and hugged a few people. He stopped over at our table in the midst of everyone congratulating him on his show. “Can you hang around for a little? I promise I won't be long. I'd like to hear your thoughts before you go.”

Erika yawned. “I've got to go, but I'm sure Michelle can stay around for a while.”

I wanted to smack her, but smiled at Isaiah. “Sure, if it's not going to be too late. It's already way past my bedtime.”

He grinned. I knew I'd be sitting around for the rest of the night if he took that long. I tried to squelch the little pang in my heart, but seeing him perform had gotten to me. I told myself it was the musician magic thing and that I refused to be a groupie.

I grabbed Erika as she stood to leave. “Where do you think you're going? At least stay until he comes back. I know you ain't trying to leave me here all by myself.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I guess I better stay to make sure you don't try to sneak out.”

“It's the least you could do.”

She sat back down and leaned over to say, “So, he's extra sexy and fine, talented, and real spiritual too. Seems like your type.”

“Erika, this is business. I'm not gonna date talent.”

“You and your excuses. You're determined to end up alone, aren't you?”

Ouch.
“No, I just know the importance of being professional.”

“Girl, you and your professionalism is gonna make you an old maid. You need to relax your rules a little. God is sending you all these wonderful men, and you keep turning them down.”

“Wonderful men—like Larry, huh?” I glared at her.

“You're never going to let me live that down are you? How was I to know the guy had the plague?”

I had to laugh. “Exactly. So, please understand I won't be needing anymore hook-ups from you.”

“I ain't hooking you up. Looks like you pulled this one all on your own.” She stood as Isaiah approached the table. She shook his hand. “I guess I'll be leaving now. Thanks again for inviting us. I really enjoyed your show.”

“Thanks, Erika. Hope to see you soon.”

“You definitely will.” She winked at me when he turned his head, then made her exit.

He turned a chair around backward and sat down at the table across from me. “So, what'd you think?”

“It was great. You have awesome stage presence. I'm looking forward to shooting your episode of
Indie Artist
.”

He nodded and grinned. “Great. Thanks—that's great news.” His smile faded. “Oh, one thing though. I don't know what your time frame is like. I'm about to go on a short tour.”

“When are you leaving?”

He bit his upper lip. “Tomorrow morning. I'll be back in eight days.”

“Dang. That makes things difficult. I wanted to do your show first. I planned to start writing this week and to shoot by next week. I guess I can put Eva first.”

“Oh, man! I was first?”

I nodded.

“Well, what would you need me to do to still be first?”

“I basically need to do your interview so I can start writing. We could tape it as soon as you get back. But if you're leaving in the morning . . .” I knew good and well we could tape his show last and still air it first.

He looked at his watch. “I got about eight hours before I leave. I can run down my whole life story in about four hours. It would be a squeeze, but I think I could hit all the high points.”

I laughed. He smiled at me, and I felt myself falling. I looked down at my watch. “Do you have any idea what time it is? It's almost midnight.”

“I'm a musician. The night is just getting started. Come on, I'll buy you coffee while we talk. If my life story isn't interesting enough, the caffeine will keep you awake.”

Go home, Michelle. Interview him when he gets back.
“Okay. But you gotta get your whole story into an hour. That's all you get.”

“That's impossible. No way you can get to know everything you need to know about me in an hour.”

“Your show segment is only a half-hour long.”

“I'm not talking about for the show.”

Oh, my. I raised my eyebrows. “Is that so?”
No flirting, Michelle. Keep it professional.

He nodded. “That's so.” He looked down at his watch. “The only places open long enough for our four-hour interview are IHOP, Waffle House, or City Café.”

“I guess City Café is the closest. I'll follow you there?”

“Aha—the don't-get-in-the-same-car-on-the-first-date rule. Smart girl.”

I laughed. “Exactly. And this isn't a date. It's an interview—remember? Meet you there in a few.”

 

I waited for him in the entrance of the restaurant. After we sat down and ordered some dessert, I took out my notepad to remind him of why we were there. I pulled out a pen. “So, tell me about your genre. I've never heard of folk gospel before.”

“Gee. All business, huh?”

“Yep. Folk gospel. What is it?”

He chuckled and rubbed his goatee. “I sort of made it up. It's worship music with an acoustic flow to it. It's kinda Bob Marley meets Israel Houghton. I couldn't think of what else to call it.”

“Nice.” I scribbled a few notes. “Tell me about your journey as a musician. When did you first know you wanted to do music, and what has gotten you to where you are now?”

The waitress bought over a cup of tea for him and ginger ale for me.

He put cream and sugar in his tea. “The best thing that happened to me was my parents being missionaries. I grew up all over the world, and the person it made me is what inspires my music.”

I found myself becoming deeply intrigued as he described his love for music since childhood. He had studied African music and rhythms during his time in Kenya and Cameroon in his early teens, then Brazilian drumming and Cuban music as well. Even after he left his parents' house, he continued to travel all over the world, chasing music.

“I was raised in a strong Christian home. My whole life was one big missions trip. It was in Nigeria, under the ministry of Benson Idahosa, that worship was born in me.”

He continued on about how his favorite influence in the Bible was King David and how he considered himself a worshipper, warrior, and king as well. He also discussed his frustration with the American church and how their worship was steeped in tradition. “It seems so ritualistic. Rather than trying to pierce the heavens and enter the awesome, sweet presence of God, we're stuck on three praise songs, two worship songs, shed three tears, then get out of the way for the offering.”

His voice was low and melodic, soothing—almost hypnotic. “You've never praised until you've danced with all your might to the rhythms of the master drummers in South Africa. You've never worshipped until you've sat under the stars by the waterfalls in Brazil, singing a private love song to God. I try to share all these experiences in my music. So that's why it's folk gospel.”

Oh, my . . . .oh, my . . . oh, my. I sat there silent for a while. I couldn't seem to gather enough words together in my brain to form the next question.

The waitress brought our desserts, which gave me a chance to get my mind together.

He cut a large bite of coconut cake and said, “So tell me about you. I feel like I'm doing all the talking here.”

I cut a small bite of carrot cake. “That's because this is an interview. Me interviewing you, remember?” I knew I smiled too much when I said that.

“So, how do I get to know you? You know my whole life story now. It's only fair that you tell me about yourself.”

“I don't know your whole life story. There's still stuff I need for the show. So, do you plan—”

“Wow. You're so serious. I guess we're going to have to go out another time, when we're finished with the show, for me to get to know you.”

I put down my pen. “Isaiah, please don't take this the wrong way, but this is work. I don't date where I work.”

“Really?”

“Really.” I said it firmly.

“Too bad. You should rethink that. You might miss something special following that rule. How do you know this isn't a divine hook-up? God sending you the desires of your heart?”

My heart fluttered a little at his using my special scripture specifically about God sending me the perfect husband. I didn't believe in signs, but I also didn't believe in coincidences.

“Because God knows I maintain a sharp line between personal and professional, so He wouldn't send me a divine hook-up that way.” Why was I even entertaining this conversation? Perhaps it was his smile, or his musky cologne, or the sound of his worship still coursing through my soul.

He rubbed his goatee. “I don't know. You seem like the kind of woman that wouldn't give Him much choice. Your life is probably work and church. Where else do you go that He can send you someone?” His half-grin said he knew he had me.

“You don't know anything about me, Isaiah. How do you even know I'm a Christian? You could be trying to push up on an atheist.”

“Nah.” He shook his head. “I know better than that. You're a God's girl. Definitely. I can tell by your face when you were listening to my worship songs. Only someone familiar with His presence looks like you look when I'm singing. You're not looking at me. You're thinking about the One I'm singing about.” He tilted his head to the side. “Am I right?”