On Replay: Tank and the Bangas’ Green Balloon
I’ve been feeling… poetically lost this past maybe week and a half or so. Sitting, and thinking. Then, sitting and thinking some more. It’s like I have all of these stories inside of me, working their way up from my toes, and then a struggle starts before they can reach my fingertips. I’ve stopped trying to force words out of myself, feeling as though this puts a very noticeable strain on my work— poems and blog posts alike. Trying to be easy on myself and tend to my spirit even more on days when the last thing I want to do is write; something I’m sure every writer feels. Every creative, no matter how passionate, no matter how determined you are to reach your entrepreneurial goals; sometimes you’re just… tired. Give yourself grace, allow yourself to rest; what is to come will come naturally. Let the art of others inspire and influence you. To be creative, calls for embracing the creativity of others as well, especially on the days when you feel drained. Take time to fall back in love with your craft, over and over again— cherish this lifelong relationship between yourself and your art. Pure, authentic art has been helping me get through. Tank and the Bangas’ Green Balloon (2019) has been on replay. It’s epic storytelling, poetry in motion and, because of how it has mastered transcending genres and celebrates Blackness, something to keep in the time capsule for sure. Tiny Desk brought me here, again!New Orleans’ Tarriona "Tank" Ball and Anjelika "Jelly" Joseph are the queens of adlibs and vocals that are not to be slept on. Their live performance, melodic from beginning to end, instills the reason why it’s so important to banish this image of what modern Black singers should look like, or sound like. They rightfully redefine “beauty,” adding something new to the industry that a lot of artists lack these days— imagination, creativity, funk, joy. There’s an emphasis on color and allowing Black women/femmes to be— colorful, expressive, animated, loud, proud, talented. Honest and poignant, raw, authentic talent that comes from the genuine love of the craft.
This album is doused in figurative language— what I’ve always loved about our music/poetry/art is the ability to think collectively, flow creatively, and create moments that showcase vignettes of Black youth; Black girl becoming Black woman in urban areas. Showcasing Black culture, from the finest elements to the struggle, Tank and the Bangas call out for love and recognize it when it answers! “Ants” and “I Don’t Get High” are amongst my fave tracks, as the relatable storytelling showcases impressive lyricism and multifaceted awareness of time and space. I would describe this group as before its time, absolutely. Lyrics that stand out to me in “Ants” were “Carryin' fish plates on first dates/Fingerwaves and hard hairstyles/Pawnin’ conversations/Pop-lockin' and droppin'/High school sweetheart at the gas station.” As a poet I admire the way other poets are able to implement such strong imagery— paint the picture, place us into the whole scene, and have us feeling like we experienced it all as well. Elements of Black culture throughout this project give us that warm feeling of nostalgia. Every line has a series of moments behind it to unpack. “At home it was Kool-Aid packs and Disney/Lizzie McGuire and One Saturday Morning on the weekends/Never had a pair of Jordans, don’t want none/My jump shot don't need sneakers/More costly than I can afford 'em.” Whether they’re sung from deep down, declared through spoken word, or rapped on whatever beat Tank rides, we get the message. We share this cultural awareness, and feel what it was like to be young, maybe in love, maybe struggling to love ourselves, finding ourselves, having all of these new experiences. Speaking to the soul.
Black women in all of our glory, the beauty in transparency when we allow ourselves to pour everything into telling our own stories. “What if she gets too big for the stars?/Or her head in the clouds, is it all the same?/Am I playing around with my gift? Is this it?/Is it all in my head? Ooh.” With “I Don’t Get High,” it’s epic production emphasizes the way their instrumentals are always on point. Much like “Smoke.Netflix.Chill.” which is on this project as well, it reminds us of how artful the culture is; it reclaims, recreates, and invents a finished product specifically for us. I appreciate artists who show the ingredients (that others discard as scraps yet appropriate in the same breath) of Black culture and constantly spread the message of how museum-worthy it all truly is. Tank and the Bangas’ have no interest in not sharing their influences, and giving credit to the communal joy that should be celebrated. Their projects never skimp on creativity— scatting, AAVE, Ebonics, slang; our ways of generational speech is felt, communication having the history of being transmitted through sound; and even without sound, I’m positive we would communicate with each other in other ways.
“Colors Change” came to me, separately, at a time when I needed it most. This album’s final song gives so much, offers just about everything: vulnerability, reassurance; and allows you to feel. I’ve had to bathe in music that heals wounds quite frequently during these past few months. I remember hearing this song for the first time in the midst of doing some necessary soul-searching, and after playing it over and over again (fascinated by a new thing each time) I’d finally felt able to acknowledge my journey and give myself grace. I’m still learning how to spend less time shaming myself for not being where I’d planned yet, and dedicate more time to celebrating myself for all of the unhealthy spaces I am no longer in. Journeys take time, and not being able to accept change can make the journey more stressful. I am realizing the power that lies in being able to accept change and adapt to it. “Colors Change” expresses familiar feelings of inadequacy, whether they show up in romantic relationships or the relationship with self. “You say I say too much (Ooh)/You say my leaves ain't green enough (Ooh)/You say you can't take that I've changed (Ooh)/Weren't you supposed to do the same?” Realizing the distance in important relationships when people change can be painful, yet still not as painful as avoiding the inevitable. You have grown in understanding yourself a bit more— “(spoken word) I'm not some island/You didn’t discover me, you know/Weren't I on purpose? Weren't I?/Wasn't I waterfall for desert mouth?/Wasn’t I Plymouth Rock?/All of the sudden I'm too hard for you?” You recognize which pieces no longer fit, and learn acceptance— “(spoken word) I am swamp water and ocean tree/Coconut water and mint leaves/Healer and hurricane, spit and shoot/Too fast food for you/Too ready, too weighted/Too window open/Too side door swingin'/Too woman.” There is power in acceptance.
The magic of the New Orleans accent— tough, declarative, one of a kind. Important interludes that shine a light on the pain of seeing your hometown fade and/or become unfamiliar, of wanting to hold onto the past so badly because the future is so unknown and could change at any minute. What my soul has craved the most is the opportunity to pause and love the way things are right now. Take me somewhere? Transport me, take me on a journey, help me escape. That’s music for you. This album makes you feel like you’re floating, and your feet don’t even leave the ground. It reminds you that it’s okay to daydream; to treat yourself like a human being (instead of something that just produces). It’s okay to listen to the music that heals you, and with all the magic that has been in the air during this pandemic, what we can’t do is erase/ignore the work of Black women and femmes. We’ve been getting bop after bop, feel good after feel good, week after week and that’s what they’ve been giving. Being talented, being Black, being a mixture of both influenced and the blueprint all at the same time. It makes a lot of people seethe. It’s true, opinions do make money. Still, creative Black women and femmes don’t receive anywhere near the amount of credit/reward/love that we deserve, considering the amounts of cultural influence. That’ll be another blog post for another day, though. I want to end this with a reminder, that just because we “don’t like” where it comes from, we cannot stifle greatness, joy, or growth anymore. We cannot deny ourselves (and definitely not anyone else) emotion anymore. We harm ourselves and others in these ways.
