MOG

It may not need to be said again here (because I know you all really, really GOT DOWN to her John Cougar duet on Van Morisson's "Wild Nights,") but Me'Shell is a thermonuclear BADA$$ on the electric bass. I remember growing up in DC in the 80s, she would show up now and then and sit in with my buddies in Circus Mind (extra f'ing credit if you remember them...), and just DESTROY.

Anyway, after Madonna signed her in '92 or '93 she had a couple fast hits, but decided to go deeper, not necessarily avoiding popularity, but definitely focusing her attention elsewhere, both musically and thematically.

"Cookie..." is an outstanding document. I knew it right away when I first heard it, but was recently reminded - - driving in a car with no stereo - - just what an amazing listen it is, especially on headphones. The band, well, whatever, just listen and decide for yourself. Programmed or live, the drums hit with a quickness; the guitar is by times itchy and funky, or rocking like Jimi; the sax is 472% jazzier than anything you're liable to hear on any jazz release these days, and through it all her bass is a true chameleon, whether funked, synth, or pure ambient, she's no wankazoid solo machine, just all flavor, all the time.

Lyrically, what can you say. She goes there. I guess some find her insistence on going deep a little much, but if you want to hear a girl get real, on this album alone she covers communism, the modern American class struggle, media and culltural hegemony, the prison system, religion, urban violence and it's socio-political roots (and branches), lesbian sexual politics, and, of course, blackness: its multivalent "definition," its pain, its enduring beauty, and all the glory, shame, pride, and anger associated thereto.

Aside from the consistently stellar playing, programming, and overall sonics, there is layer on layer of eloquent, complex, shifting spoken word on this album, not only from MeShell, but also such luminaries as Etheridge Knight, Claude McKay, and Angela Davis (not to mention Kiggo Wellman, WHATS UP, 202?). There is always something here to listen intently to, and usually a banging groove, as well...

(Akel Dama, Field of Blood)

Who covers themselves with the light, as if it were a garment? Who makes the angel's spirit from the flames of the fire? Laid the foundation of the earth So that it shall not be moved Covered it with the deep of the ocean Who stands above the mountains And at your word, they fled, They hastened away; Send the springs into the valley That flow through the hills, And give drink to the beasts of the field And quench their thirst;

By you the birds of the heavens Have their home and sing amongst the branches The earth is satisfied by the fruit of your works, Cause the grass to grow for the cattle, And the vegetation, for the service of the human, So that they bring forth the fruit from the earth: The wine that makes glad the heart of man, And oil that makes his face shine; The wine that makes glad the heart of man, And oil that makes his face shine

I like to watch the leaves fall, last breath Sweet ash from the slash and burn And lazy eyes from being in a dream Talk to the trees... Please, me, see, be, free, Heed, believe, see, breathe; Need and want nothing, I need and want nothing.

Dry roses hang from the bed, Nakedness is all around, Barren is my soul.

I beg to be a child born for Love So I sway to the pulses of the rivers of blood That flow through my body For I believe in things you cannot see;

To some god is the light That leads them to believe, That they see, And know, everything; To some god is the light That leads them to believe That they see, And know everything.

But if one is to truly be born again You would have to gouge out your eyes, Cut out your tongue, and grieve; And cry like a baby that's been snatched away, Cry like a baby that's been snatched away

Sister, Cry like a baby that's been snatched away

Brother, Cry like a baby that's been snatched away