Gil Scott-Heron, an African-American truth troubadour passed away last year. It was all in the words. There were no gimmicks, no staging, nothing to take you away from the truth of his message. His poems and music are timeless. Revisit.
Here is a video of photos of Gil Scott-Hereon by Monique de Latour
The Irony is that some of the insight contained within Scott-Heron poems did not spare him a difficult existence (my judgement, of course) and may have consumed him. Substitute the addiction and it is the same story.
“See that black boy over there, runnin’ scared his ol’ man’s in a bottle. He done quit his 9 to 5 to drink full time so now he’s livin’ in the bottle. See that Black boy over there, runnin’ scared his ol’ man got a problem Pawned off damn near everything, his ol’ woman’s weddin’ ring for a bottle. And don’t you think it’s a crime when time after time, people in the bottle.” Gil Scott-Heron, “The Bottle”
“Go away, I can’t stand to see your face Cuz you seen the weakest link And now you know I’m only human Instead of all the things I’d like to be” Gilbert Scott-Heron April 1, 1949 – May 27, 2011
It seems our hero’s always disappoint and our excuses for them just doesn’t cut it. Their suffering, family, race etc. are not necessarily the cause of their genius or their personal desperation. They are often unable to see themselves, the good and the bad that they produce in their lives. They see themselves as being exempt. Gil Scott-Heron was able to see himself and didn’t like what he saw, but he didn’t see enough to care to change his ways. He just could not inspire himself.
“I had read how great I was before I disappeared. It makes me afraid to show up.” From New York Is Killing Me by Alec Wilkinson. The New Yorker Mag.