Disappointed! Where Are The African American Bars in Brooklyn?
“When did you fall in love with hip hop?”
Have you ever seen the movie Brown Sugar?
Sometimes I watch this movie and find that I had forgotten some of the elements that make it a hood classic.
I randomly put it on not too long ago and found myself holding my stomach and giggling from the depths of my amygdala. I was reminded of Ren and Ten: The Hip Hop Dalmatians. I was reminded of the scene with Boris Kodjoe, who played the role of a basketball player, dropping his flow in a shameless attempt to prove he could also be a rapper, and I was reminded of the scene where Taye Diggs taps the glass, saying “my divorce” in his head voice, after seeing his wife on a date with another man.
It’s a comedy, but when I think of Brown Sugar, I think of love. I recall Sidney’s love for hip-hop culture, her love for writing, and her love for Andre, whom she affectionately referred to as Dre. It was Black and it was love.
When I think of my favorite spots in Brooklyn or Manhattan, which are usually my favorite because they cater to my culture, I often flashback to Brown Sugar. It’s always love.
But lately, it feels like we are losing them.
In fact, tonight, I write this blog overwhelmed with disappointment, because I feel like there’s an ongoing identity crisis around me that I can’t shake or control.
“identity - the distinguishing character or personality of an individual”
I see how my world is expanding, but as it expands, I see little by little how distinguishing character traits of communities, culture, and establishments fall by the wayside. In lamens terms, I see how they are getting erased.
I grapple with knowing things are changing and fighting the urge to acknowledge and or address the change. It’s quite an Olympic sport.
For context, I went to Bedvyne Brew, my favorite bar of all time in Bed Stuy, which, for reference, is a historically African American neighborhood.
If you have ever been to Bedvyne, then you know that this bar just feels like a safe space. To paint a picture of it, during the old days, pre-covid, you would see a crowd of beautiful Black people, young and old, of every hue rocking fros and dancing to music that touches the sweetest parts of their soul. From wall to wall it was nothing but good people and good vibes two-stepping to Zhane, The Isley Brothers, Earth Wind and Fire, and all the songs your favorite uncle plays at family get-togethers.
After 40 hours a week in a world that does not look like us, see us or appreciate us, this is where we convened to just be. It was no ordinary place.
But lately, I don’t recognize it.
Instead of Soul, R&B, and a 20-minute Reggae set you can vibe out to, the present-day DJs have been more likely to play a lil booty-shaking rap and a lot of Afrobeats and Soca. It’s unfamiliar and screams “new niggas.”
Now, I don’t mind shaking that thang, and from time to time, I will put my Spotify “Afrobeats” playlist on shuffle, but that is not why I’m leaving the comfort of my cozy, warm, living room on a Saturday night at 11 pm to go to a wine bar.
It’s clear that the identity they have established is characterized as a Blackity black bar where you can go to enjoy wine and beer to the rhythm and blues of African America. The precedent they set and the brand identity that people in this borough and neighborhood bought into because it reminds us all of “home.”
As I - an African American woman in love with the Diaspora and all the things that make us both similar and different - write this, there is an internal conflict that once again, I can tie back to a scene in Brown Sugar. It’s like you’re Dre - an A&R executive, who grew up on old-school, hip-hop artistry and is passionate about cultivating the culture forward - and you’re in a chokehold by an incompetent decision-maker, who forces you to sign Ren and Ten and call it hip hop.
Mind you, there was an audience for Ren and Ten… but it wasn’t the audience that Dre represented.
I worry that, because African American culture has struggled to achieve recognition internally and externally, the audience is frequently misrepresented or deprioritized. This is further complicated in the face of gentrification and history that never gets told.
You know which NYC establishments know themselves and have yet to betray their audience? Lovers Rock, Ode to Babel, and Footprints to name a few. What I love about that is not only do the target audiences have a consistent space where they can feel seen, but I also know where to go when I’m in the mood to hear the genres most precious to their cultures.
“At the end of the day people won’t remember what you said or did, they will remember how you made them feel.’”
I said all of this to say, I just wanna vibe out to some old-school soul music in Brooklyn with my brethren again! * distressed face emoji *
But honestly, though, I do.
A mouthful was said, so please do drop a comment and engage with me here.
