We Can’t Hardly Wait for “Brown Girls,” Already My Fave Web Series of 2017
Open TV is a Chicago-based beta platform for “original series about independent art and artists.” While this may sound like your standard production company, Open TV is different because they focus on stories told by artists who are queer, trans, and people of color. In its first year alone, Open TV has given us original queer series like Two Queens In A Kitchen and Been T/Here. Both of these shows address life, politics and self-care among queer communities of color with a refreshing honesty most TV writers aren’t afforded.
This morning, they dropped the trailer for Brown Girls, their latest web series in 2017. The synopsis:
Brown Girls is a series putting the stories of two young women of color front and center. Leila is a South Asian-American writer just now owning her queerness. Patricia is a sex-positive Black-American musician who is struggling to commit to anything: job, art and relationships etc. While the two women come from different backgrounds, their friendship is ultimately what they lean on to get through the messiness of their mid-twenties
Directed by Sam Bailey and written by Fatimah Asghar, Brown Girls promises to be a triumph of queer, intersectional, and brown-based storytelling. The trailer alone tackles topics like eating ass and being single forever while brown ladies kiss each other and moms judge disappointing roti recipes. Looking at the credentials of those involved, there’s little doubt that Brown Girls was created with mindful intentions and purpose. Creator and director Bailey handpicked the team behind the series and said of Brown Girls, “When I was putting the crew together, I really focused on making sure that the people behind the camera represented the story they were telling in front of the camera.”
While major shows like Queen Sugar and Jessica Jones have promised to have women direct every episode and take charge behind the scenes, it’s refreshing to see a web series get the opportunity to pull off this feat. “Our crew was probably 95% women, people of color and/or queer people. We got on set every day and the energy was just different. You could feel it. Everyone was so invested. It was personal for them and I think that comes through in the final product,” Bailey said of production. That energy shows in the trailer. 2016 has seen the expansion of black storytelling on major TV networks with shows like Insecure and Atlanta, but Brown Girls’ DIY attitude and background opens up the possibilities of experiences that can be shared.
“On the first page, where the characters are listed, Fati (the series’ writer) wrote: All of these characters are to be portrayed by people of color. Once we got into it, I was immediately drawn to how this story celebrated brown people and their unique relationships with one another. How often do we see that? Very rarely. I grew up in a neighborhood that used to be full of different POC so this story spoke to me on a personal level. I knew I wanted to explore those relationships and highlight them in a way that shows that while we’re not a monolith, we are worthy of complex depictions that show us laughing and crying and struggling and loving. All the things that white characters get to do on TV every day.-Bailey”
If that dedication to honest depictions of queer POC wasn’t enough, Brown Girls also features a soundtrack put together by Chicago-native Jamila Woods, whose music is all about #blackgirlmagic. Brown Girls debuts in March 2017 and you can check out the trailer below. Need something to tide you over until then? Check out Sam Bailey’s previous web series, You’re So Talented and Open TV’s full slate of queer-focused programming.
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Please Let Me Take A Seat: Solange’s New Album and Healing My Black Femme Self
I’m weary of the ways of the world
It’s difficult to start the process of healing. We grow accustomed to holding onto our anger, jealousy, or sadness; it starts to feel like a comfortable baseline. As a black femme, this year has been particularly difficult. I continue to see my people shot and killed in the streets. My social media feeds are still filled with videos of horrific murderers. Each day feels like an uncertain battlefield and I never know what armor I’ll need to survive. As a black queer femme, these fears are magnified to an even higher degree. There have always been few spaces where I feel safe and even fewer spaces where I feel safe to be my black, gay self. But 2016 feels different — the realities of the boundaries I exist within as a queer black woman feel even more constricting. The dangers of my existence are clear; I see the evidence every day.
I’ve grown accustomed to that fear; to the anger I feel. As I watch this year’s political proceedings or see Kylie Jenner wear cornrows, I can’t help but feel anything else. How can healing take place when I’m still trying to convince the world that my negative feelings are valid? That I’m more than an Angry Black Woman? I don’t know that I can answer that completely, but I do know that A Seat At The Table represents a starting point for healing my black femme self.
Artists like Beyoncé, Jamila Woods and Noname have created beautiful musical depictions of black girl magic and empowerment this year. Lemonade made me demand space for myself. It made me proud to exist as a black woman no matter how flawed or trying that existence may be. The childhood hand games prevalent on Woods’ HEAVN reminded me of my connection to generations of black female unity and my right to love that young, black girl inside of me who prayed she’d wake up white one day so the taunts about my hair would finally stop. Noname’s Telefone helped me realize that I have every right to grieve over my losses and difficulties.
These albums created a beautiful narrative exploring the variances and common ground between black women. They spoke openly a coded language that I’d only been accustomed to sharing in knowing glances and nods when I came across other black femmes. I felt connected and empowered in my blackness, but it didn’t change the fact that I was still tired, angry and sad. While I could now give voice to those feelings, it didn’t change the fact that I was weary and hurt by the world. I still felt a need to fight, to defend myself. It wasn’t until I listened to A Seat At The Table, that I finally felt like I could put my armor down. While Solange gave voice to my anger and sadness, A Seat At The Table asks us to look forward to healing and acknowledges that the journey isn’t easy.
“Cranes in the Sky” reads like my own troubled journey of realizing my own need for self-care. She tries to drink it away, sex it away, run it away. She tries to be alone, she tries to keep herself busy. These are all tactics we as black women use because we’re not supposed to show weakness. The Strong Black Woman trope is one that acts like a burden as much as it is empowers. I looked at my own ever-growing to-do list; the looming deadlines. I started to see them as the distractions they were — accompaniments meant to make my armor seem more appealing. In order to take a seat at the table, I needed to put these things away.
The very title, A Seat At The Table, hints at a place of acceptance. It asks you to put down your baggage and take a seat at the table; you can finally stop shouting for your place and allow yourself to be served — it’s safe here. It felt unlike anything I’d ever experienced to finally hear someone acknowledge what I was going through and wholeheartedly accept me for it. It felt like one of those embraces that lifts you up, straightens your spine. It felt like my mother gently detangling my hair while roughly pulling at my kitchen; oiling my scalp and asking me, “doesn’t that feel better?” It does.
This album is for us black, weary and tired women. It’s a place for us to celebrate our blackness rather than defend it. In a world that thinks anyone but us invented our cornrows, box braids and bantu knots, A Seat At The Table is a quiet shared side-eye among black femmes. We know the truth and in this space we can embrace that truth. Solange has created a space where healing can happen. “F.U.B.U.” makes Solange’s intent was entirely clear. While Beyoncé hinted at “Formation” being for those of us with negro noses and Jackson 5 nostrils, her status as a superstar made it easy for white audiences to gloss over those points and embrace the song as another “feminist” anthem. Solange doesn’t give those audiences the chance.
“All my niggas in the whole wide world,
play this song and sing it on your terms.”
Her use of nigga is at once aggressive, communal, and joyful. I broke down when I heard her sing, “When you feeling all alone and you can’t even be you up in your home,” because someone was finally giving voice to my entire lack of a private sphere. So much has been appropriated and reprimanded that even in my home, images that glorify whiteness and white standards seep in; to acknowledge this felt at last like catharsis. It felt ok to slow down, to mourn, to acknowledge my pain; an album had never made me feel this way before.
Then my inbox started to fill up again with requests for immediate hot takes and perspectives on the album. As though white audiences demanded I make sense of this work for them. It felt overwhelming when all I needed was time to process, to heal. It’s not easy to find the words that explain what A Seat At The Table means for all black women or all black people. I only know what it means to me; it’s entirely personal and holistic. I decided to take my time. I sat with the album every day since its release. I tried to think of a way to present this work to people outside of my experience and I still couldn’t find the words. Then I realized I didn’t want to find them. I didn’t want to be assigned media translator for something that required explanation for white audiences. I know that A Seat At The Table is for me and if it’s for you, you know it too. You know it incalculable ways that unify and diversify us. If you can sing along, you are singing along joyously, proudly. If you’re not, don’t be mad; you’ve got the rest of the world. But for us, we’ve finally been given a seat, please give us a moment to put our feet up and enjoy it.
Playlist: 10 Lyrics to Help Your #BlackGirlMagic Shine
What exactly is #BlackGirlMagic? The phrase has been around for awhile, but has been popping up even more as Michelle Carter, Simone Biles and Simone Manuel make the 2016 Olympics a showcase for black excellence. While there is joy in seeing the first black female swimmer win Gold or break records, like most magic, #BlackGirlMagic has its own complexities. For every moment of triumph, #BlackGirlMagic is also what powers us to get through the difficult moments. For every Simone Manuel, we must also deal with the horrific events that took Korryn Gaines and Rae’Lynn Thomas from us. It’s easy to forget just how powerful #BlackGirlMagic can be with what seems like a never-ending onslaught of everything from police to brutality to Kylie Jenner’s latest appropriative hairstyle. Luckily, two artists have blessed us with a Summer ’16 guide to everything #BlackGirlMagic.
Jamila Woods and Noname (formerly Noname Gypsy) both hail from Chicago and are regular co-conspirators with the likes of Saba and Chance the Rapper. This summer saw both of their debut releases, HEAVN and Telefone respectively, and they could not be more black. Both albums perfectly capture the difficulties of the black femme experience while the city of Chicago creates a perfect backdrop for the danger, joy, tragedy and strength inherent in #BlackGirlMagic. Most importantly, these albums are about loving your full black self. As Jamila Woods says about HEAVN, “For black and brown people, caring for ourselves and each other is not a neutral act.” In fact, it’s the backbone of our magic.
While both albums deserve a thorough listen (trust me, Telefone will be the album you put on repeat this winter when you need a reminder to stop dating and stay moisturized), a few lyrics have made their way into a Daily Mantra for those days when I’m out of coconut oil and everything seems impossible.
1. Jamila Woods – Blk Girl Soldier
See she’s telepathic
Call it black girl magic
Yeah she scares the government
This song is the very anthem of everything #BlackGirlMagic is – dangerous, intimidating and persistent. Woods reminds us that our magic comes from a long line that connects Harriet Tubman to Rosa Parks to Assata to our efforts today. When you feel that legacy behind you, it’s a little easier to get through the day the next time a white girl asks to touch your hair.
2. Noname – Reality Check (ft. Eryn Allen Kane & Akenya)
Granny gone turn up in her grave
And say, “my granny really was a slave for this?
All your uncompleted similes and pages ripped
You know they whipped us niggas
How you afraid to rap it?
You went to heaven after so we could free them now,
Ain’t no ocean floor when you can be a Yeezus now.”
There’s nothing that motivates me more than a stern talking to from my Grandma. Noname’s “Reality Check” is already a track that’s gonna make you open your calendar, schedule your wash days for the next 6 months in advance and get your whole life together, but these lyrics in particular are the encouragement you need to make every last one of your ancestors smile down on you.
3. Jamila Woods – Holy
Woke up this morning with my mind set on loving me
I’m not lonely, I’m alone
And I’m holy by my ownYay, the bad days may come
The lover may leave
The winter may not
Hey, the map of your palms
The tempo of your beat
You’re all that you got
“Holy” feels like a religious track and definitely borrows from classic gospel songs in a way that almost makes me feel like I’m back in the Missionary Baptist Vacation Bible School of my youth. Woods replaces the religious aspects with self-love and a reminder that you’re all that you’ve got. Nobody can harness your #BlackGirlMagic but you, so don’t worry about that date who isn’t texting back.
4. Noname – All I Need (ft. Xavier Omär)
You remind me to love myself for the principle
For the kid inside, til the end of time
There’s something about being a black femme in our society that doesn’t allow for childishness. Too often, we’re forced to grow up too quickly. We take on responsibilities and are subjected to treatment that steals our childhood away. Take Quvenzhané Wallis for example – remember when The Onion thought it was funny to call the 9-year old a “cunt”? Remember when a reporter asked her at 11-years old if she watched Annie “when she was a little girl?” Quvenzhané wasn’t having it and replied, “Well I’m still a little girl.” Demand space to be childish and love that little black girl inside, til the end of time.
5. Jamila Woods – LSD (ft. Chance the Rapper)
I won’t let you criticize
My city, like my skin, it’s so pretty
If you don’t like it, just leave it alone
“LSD” is a love song to Chicago, Lake Michigan and the Lake Shore Drive (LSD, get it?) highway that snakes along the coast of the city. You can’t deny the problems Chicago has — segregation, police brutality, poverty — but as a fellow Chicagoan, there’s nothing more irritating than the constant focus on the negative when so much positive work is being done. #BlackGirlMagic 2016 has no patience for these haters — if your response to Black Lives Matter is to focus on black-on-black crime or something else you think will demean my skin or efforts, please take several seats.
6. Noname – Yesterday
Check my twitter page for something holier than black death
Who am I? Gypsy black
The vacancy of hallelu
Me hollow in my interviews
Me only wearing tennis shoes to clubs with dress codes
Cuz fuck they clubs
There have been way too many mornings this year where I’ve woken up to videos of black men and women being murdered on my social media feeds — black death casually interspersed between cat videos. While Noname definitely has a twitter worth checking out, these lyrics have inspired me to live my blackest #BlackGirlMagic life without fear of judgement. Wear tennis shoes to the clubs, fill your social media with the things that make you happy and holy. Just be who you are, even if it’s imperfect, even if it doesn’t fit the narrative other people want. My #BlackGirlMagic can make black death as entertainment disappear.
7. Jamila Woods – In My Name
I like to make you wash your mouth before you talk about me
Keep my name out your mouth cuz you can’t handle the fleek
Don’t cut your tongue on my syllables
Bet you need a syllabus to teach you how many vowels sound
It’s a long “i” baby, but your tongue too lazy
Fix your face and say your grace
Before you pray to me
I mean, does this even need explanation? This is just everything. #BlackGirlMagic demands others put respect on your name or take a step back.
8. Noname – Casket Pretty
And I’m afraid of the dark
Blue and the white
Badges and pistols rejoice in the night
And we watch the news
And we see him die tonight
Tonight the night his baby said goodbye
Roses in the road, teddy bear outside
Bullet there on the right
Where’s love when you need it?
“Casket Pretty” is the most heartbreaking song on Telefone. The loss of young lives in the black community has become so common that Noname’s refrain – “all of my niggas is casket pretty” — comes off as reserved and complacent. #BlackGirlMagic is the ability to experience the greatest of tragedies and still keep moving towards something that justifies the heartache.
9. Jamila Woods – Way Up
Just cuz I’m born here
Don’t mean I’m from here
Being black in America is to never really feel at home. Something always feels like it’s missing and people are quick to exclude you when they talk about “real America.” The constant chants of “Make America Great Again” don’t sit well for those of us who never had it great in America. “Way Up” captures this feeling perfectly and the ability to use your #BlackGirlMagic to soar way up above it all.
10. Jamila Woods – VRY BLCK ft. Noname
Black is like the magic, and magic’s like a spell
Naturally, these two ladies had to do a track together. The rhythm reminds me of the hand games I would play with my friends on the playground as a kid. “VRY BLCK” is a mantra to blackness and the #BlackGirlMagic theme song. I’m very black, can’t send me back. We’re here and we ain’t going anywhere.