I keep thinking about what that smooth tenor meant to everyday people. For folks of a certain age, “You Are My Lady” was never background noise. That record was the slow drag at the house party, the number your uncle requested once he finally coaxed your auntie onto the floor, the melody slipping out a cracked car window on a Friday in July. Plenty of singers could handle a love song. Freddie made you fall for the whole idea again, even after the last one left you flat on your back.

Harlem raised him. Born in 1956, he cut his teeth on gospel over at White Rock Baptist Church, and that church stayed in his throat for good. You can hear it if you sit with the records. The way he reined a phrase in instead of showing off. How he’d hang on a breath a beat longer than you expected, then open the note up slow. Church teaches control long before it teaches flash, and this brother owned both ends of that.

Before any of the fame, he paid dues the honest way. This brother ran a stretch with the band Mystic Merlin. For a spell he backed Melba Moore, soaking up the business from the inside, studying how a true professional carried herself. Melba adored him right to the end, too. After the news broke, she put it plainly: “My heart is broken over the loss of a great singer and even a greater friend.” That wasn’t a tidy press line. Melba lost somebody she’d come up next to, and it showed.

If you want to know why so many people are hurting tonight, go back to 1985. That was the year “Rock Me Tonight (For Old Times’ Sake)” sat at number 1 on the R&B chart and would not move for 6 weeks running. A debut almost never hits like that. Here was a grown soul with a mature sound at a time when the dial stayed crowded with whatever was flashy that month. Everybody else kept turning the clubs up louder. Freddie went the other direction entirely, into the slow stuff, the after hours, the bedroom and the heartache and the long road back to each other.

The hits kept rolling from there. “Have You Ever Loved Somebody.” “Jam Tonight.” “Tasty Love.” “Nice ‘n’ Slow,” which handed him an American Music Award in ’88. A pair of Grammy nods landed on that mantle as well. The New York Times once pegged him among Black pop’s most elegant performers, somebody who could lift a heartbreak song into a whole philosophy, and honestly that read is dead on.

Here’s a truth we rarely say out loud. Black Men of his generation needed a figure like him, needed to witness a man romantic without apology, tender without shame, strong and soft in a single breath. That representation mattered more than people admit. In a world forever flattening brothers into one hard, guarded note, he gave voice to the entire spectrum of us. The yearning. That bottomless devotion. And the quiet shame of wanting to do right by somebody yet coming up short anyway.

His footprint stretched past the turntable, naturally. Freddie teamed with Irene Cara on “Love Survives” for All Dogs Go to Heaven. You might catch him charming Sophia in a lounge on The Golden Girls, or popping up on Family Matters, and “Rock Me Tonight” later turned up in Love & Basketball for a crowd that discovered him a touch later. Even Outkast tipped a cap. Big Boi slid a nod to him into “So Fresh, So Clean,” holding the crooner up as the living picture of unbothered cool, the kind that keeps its own climate no matter the weather outside. That’s the sort of immortality the culture grants on its own terms, one bar at a time.

What gets me most is this. Jackson never coasted. Long after the industry’s eye wandered off, he was still in the studio, still putting records out, My First Love landing in 2023. What he chased next were stages close enough to see every face looking back. The big rooms stopped suiting him and he admitted it flat out, saying he’d rather a night feel like you walked into his living room and took a seat. During the pandemic he started a podcast and got to talking straight with his people. By 2022, a radio show was on his mind too. Fresh ideas stayed on the stove, same warmth behind them as always.

A hard season came too, and he met it well. Back in 2024 he let the world know he was dealing with kidney disease. A lot of folks would’ve gone silent and private with news like that. Freddie didn’t. Instead he stepped out front of it, put his name behind kidney awareness, and said he meant to meet the fight with his faith intact and his feet under him.

I won’t pretend the man and I were close. The voice, though, I knew the way you know a sound that scored your finest and your lowest seasons. First dances. Ugly breakups. Those long drives where a tune on the dial felt like the only thing on earth that understood you. That is the peculiar gift of an artist like this one. Freddie becomes part of the furniture in your memory, woven into the architecture of how you loved and lost and gathered yourself to try one more time.

So tonight I’m digging the old albums out of the crate. I’m letting “You Are My Lady” spin again, good and loud, exactly the way it was built to. Somewhere out there a grown man sits in a parked car, letting it ride all the way through before he heads inside, thinking hard about somebody he hasn’t laid eyes on in 20 years. That is Freddie’s work. It’s the inheritance he hands every one of us.

Frederick Anthony Jackson leaves behind a sound we will keep passing down long after the headlines fade. Rest easy, king. The quiet storm is yours forever now, and yes, we will surely miss you, even though that velvet never fully clears a room once it’s played. Thank you for every last note.

Staff Writer; Jamar Jackson

This brother loves poetry, music, and the culture that raised him… His words come from somewhere honest, and they speak to everyday Black folks just living their lives… Reach him at JJackson@ThyBlackMan.com.

After watching the Netflix series A Different World: New Generation, I observed and listened to the reactions of the Black community regarding the changes in the physical appearances of the actors, as well as our collective perception that the series’ plot lacked depth and originality, without giving much thought to the statistical data that roughly only 20-40% of Black Americans who are children of college graduates go on to graduate themselves, while 20-30% of Black children from non-college graduate households attain a degree. If we do not acknowledge that the college graduation rates for Black children with college-educated parents are not significantly higher than those from homes where parents did not graduate, then we are missing depth and complexity. I wonder how much more depth we truly need as a community. Should we seek entertainment when we watch television? Or should we challenge ourselves to see entertainment for what it truly is, understanding that some deeper meanings can only be appreciated with a little extra perspective—like a third eye—developed through a mind trained to recognize subtle depths that might not be immediately obvious?

Things will never be the same.

We are all familiar with the statement The more things change, the more things stay the same. Yes, I will be the first to admit that our level of respect in the Black community for our elders, ancestors, Black men, and Black women has changed, and I am afraid that if we don’t make drastic changes quickly, things will never be the same. Longevity and a long life have traditionally been valued in our community, along with the natural changes that come with aging—like grey hair, hair loss, weight fluctuations, a changing physique, wrinkles, and shifts in appearance. These aspects were once embraced and even revered, reflecting the wisdom and experience that age brings. Historically, our community appreciated and celebrated Black women in roles like Big Momma or auntie.

However, today, even prominent women such as Jasmine Guy, Jill Scott, Viola Davis, Michelle Obama, and Leslie Jones, among many others, face ridicule both inside and outside the community for not fitting our narrow aesthetic standards as they age.  Seasoned Black women and men might start questioning whether aging is as remarkable as their ancestors suggested if their community no longer finds them aesthetically appealing. Historically, we treasured Big Momma and our aunties equally, regardless of their appearance, and we held the men in our community in high regard despite their decline in vitality. Some community members might argue that because we have largely failed to recognize the beauty in our Savior (Isaiah 53:2-4), we may also fail to see beauty in one another as we ought to. Moving forward, our community must acknowledge, embrace, and appreciate the ongoing physical changes everyone will eventually undergo.

Don’t say anything at all.

Even within the Black community, we live in an era where people seek visibility, voice, and viral fame for their opinions and ideas, often without regard for the facts. Has our desire for fame, recognition, and riches overtaken the lessons we were taught as children to value and esteem others? The great, soulful singer Jeffrey Osborne reminded us all, “If my brother or sister is in trouble, so I am.” How have we descended to such a low point that we now perceive our community, our brothers and sisters, as burdensome, leading us to justify exploiting them in some manner or form for personal gain?  Our personal and community desire for worldly gain has caused us to loudly criticize the image, reputation, and social influence of Black women when they don’t match our beauty standards.

Similarly, Black men who speak their mind are often labeled as sassy, and our LGBTQ+ sisters and brothers are frequently viewed as unworthy of recognition because, to many of us, we feel we must voice our opinions without all the facts. Remember childhood, when we learned an important lesson: if you don’t have anything nice to say, it’s better to stay silent. Those moments shape how we connect with others even today. I’m not asking that we become mute to injustices, sin, or wrong, or that we stop speaking truth to power. For the sake of our community, I am asking that we stop speaking without facts and stop speaking in ways that strip away anyone’s humanity for riches and viral fame. Sometimes silence is the best option.

Time to Operate Differently

Are we in a different era than before? Yes, we are. A clear sign is that our love for ourselves and our community is either weak or missing. The dynamic duo of Donny Hathaway and Roberto Flack raised the question in 1972 by asking, “Where Is the Love?” Today, I ask once again: Where Is the Love? For yourself, your community, and your God—like time, many believe it has shifted or grown tired. Yes, time brings about a change, but with change comes the chance for new opportunities. Since today gives all of us a new opportunity, I challenge all my Black queens and kings to operate differently: queens, go back to being a girl’s girl who uplifts her sister and brother. Keep aiming high when others go low. Kings, I urge you to stay consistent, present, and vocal, as your family and community rely on you to embody these qualities and more.  The cost is too high for us to go back to our old ways or stay the same. Change is possible, and we all need it.

Five Affirmations

1. I choose to see value in myself and others beyond appearance, status, or popularity.
2. I will honor the wisdom of those who came before me and help build a stronger future for those who come after me.
3. I speak with truth, facts, and compassion, knowing that my words have the power to heal or harm.
4. I embrace change as an opportunity to grow while remaining rooted in my values and identity.
5. I will operate with love, respect, and purpose, even when the world encourages division and selfishness.

Three Quotes to Live By

1. “Time changes everything, but character determines what remains.”
2. “Before speaking, ask yourself: Is it true? Is it necessary? Is it kind?”
3. “A community grows stronger when its people choose dignity over popularity and love over criticism.”

Two Courses of Action

1. Practice Intentional Encouragement

Commit to uplifting at least one person each day. Encourage an elder, support a young person pursuing education, celebrate a friend’s achievement, or defend someone’s dignity when they are being unfairly criticized. Small acts of affirmation help rebuild community trust and respect.

2. Lead With Facts and Humanity

Before sharing an opinion online or in conversation, pause and ask:

• Do I have all the facts?
• Does my comment preserve this person’s humanity?
• Am I helping solve a problem or simply adding noise?

If the answer is no, choose reflection over reaction. Thoughtful silence is often more powerful than uninformed commentary.

Staff Writer; Jamie Seals

May also connect with this brother on Twitter; mychocolatemind.

Also drop an email at; JSeals@ThyBlackMan.com.

King Solomon told me in Proverbs 14:12:  “There is a way which seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death.”

The reboot of the iconic TV show from the nineties, A Different World, reminds me of this scripture.

Beloved actor, director, and writer, Debbie Allen is the executive producer; and she added Felicia Pride to be the writer and producer.

I have no idea who Pride is, but from her writing credits I know why.

I am very disappointed in the reboot and especially of Allen.  She is legendary for producing very thoughtful, substantive shows.  Shows that make you think.

The reboot is my worst fears coming true.

The original A Different World followed students at Hillman College, a fictional historically Black university, navigating academic life, friendships, and campus challenges. Known for its authentic portrayal of Black college culture, it addressed social and political issues seldom seen on mainstream TV. Praised for strong performances, cultural impact, and thoughtful writing, it remains a significant hit in syndication.

One of the most iconic, memorable episodes from the original is by far the “If I Should Die Before I Wake” episode. It is the twenty-third episode of A Different World’s fourth season which was first broadcast on April 11, 1991.

Challenged by a speech-class assignment Josie (played by Tisha Campbell) reveals that she is HIV-positive, prompting her fellow students to re-examine everything they thought they knew about AIDS.

This episode explored the issue of AIDS from angles that were very evocative, powerful, loving, and yet real.  Everything that the reboot is not!

I am sure you can find this episode on the internet.

In the reboot’s first episode, Kadeem Hardison’s character Dwayne, goes off into this anti-Trump rant without mentioning Trump by name.  “…This is a watershed moment.  This country that we [referring to Blacks] built is trying to erase our Black history, our gains, our culture.  They [he never tells us who they are] want to demoralize us.  They want to deport us [American citizens cannot be deported] , they want to jail [only if you commit a crime]  us, they want to shoot us down in the streets [this is not happening].  But you, you all are their greatest threat [how]. You, future leaders who care about justice and community and each other.  I know you will stand up.  I know you will fight, build and you will change the world.  Now let’s get to it.”

I knew I was in trouble at this point.  I literally had my finger on the off button to turn the TV off; but forced myself to continue watching.

This diatribe is straight out of the liberal playbook.  This emotional rant is like the tinkling cymbal or the sounding brass; full of sound and fury signifying nothing.

I watched three and a half episodes before I had to shut it down.  I refuse to watch another episode of the reboot, EVER!!!

During the fourth episode all of a sudden out of nowhere you are thrust into a scene of two males being naked in bed together.

ENOUGH!!!

Not on my TV.  I was disgusted and extremely disappointed in Debbie Allen for putting this on the air.  There are so many needed and necessary storylines that should and need to be addressed on the reboot, but homosexuality is not one.

Allen is a known liberal, but I never viewed her as part of the extreme radical elite liberal part of the Black community.  Felicia Pride is definitely part of this fringe element within the Black community.

As to be expected, the homosexual community is high fiving all over the place.

According to Pride, “…This is the world we live in…That’s how I approach storytelling. It’s from a truth perspective. Queer people are all around us, and they need to be a part of our storytelling. So it was a no-brainer for us.”

Maleah Joi Moon, who plays Deborah Wayne, stated, “…We have fully embodied queer characters on this show so that everybody can feel represented…And I feel like that is something that we kinda toss to the wind a lot. But there is safety, and there is preciousness in representing people, and I think that’s a huge pillar of our show…”

This is why I am encouraging my followers to not watch this liberal garbage.

Renee Harrison’s character, Candace, was asked by one of her classmates how she juggled all of her responsibilities on campus.  Her response was repulsive, “…I have an unapologetic  commitment to being that bitch…”

Really?

So now Debbie Allen is promoting the rachet notion that a Black girl at a prestigious Black university thinks of herself as a bitch.  Really?  You put that on TV?

Where are the conservative voices on the show?  HBCUs were founded on the best traditions of the Black church, yet this founding principle is totally ignored in the reboot.

In the original show, there were real, honest debates from left to right on various topical issues of the day.

In the reboot, there is enough cleavage on this show to supply milk to the whole continent of Africa for years.  This never happened on the original show.

Bill Cosby, the creator of the original show, would never have allowed that to happen.  There are a couple of reasons why this type of buffoonery never happened on the Cosby Show or A Different World.

Cosby had a PhD in education; and second, he hired famed Black psychiatrist, Alvin Poussaint as a media consultant on scrips and storylines for both shows.

It seems like Allen hired Snoop Dog as her consultant!

Then when I did a little digging around and talked with some of my Hollywood friends about the reboot,  the reason for the shows radical extreme liberal foolishness became crystal clear.

Pride, along with Allen’s blessings stated the obvious, “…We had an all-Black writers room: seven writers plus myself, plus our support staff.  About half of the room went to HBCUs, a lot of D9 [Divine Nine sorority and fraternity] representation…We had an all-Black directing team that were all women and queer.”

As with most Black liberals, the goal of the show is not to produce great content for a great show, but to push a radical liberal extreme ideology upon the Black community.

Cosby and Poussaint would never have allowed the reboot to prostitute the integrity of the original show.

And let me say for the record, of all the work I have done with high profile people, I am most proud of my work with Bill and Camille Cosby during some of their most trying times of their lives.  And to see firsthand the number of prominent Blacks who turned their backs on them was disgusting, but I digress!!!

And to Jasmine Guy.  She is one of the sweetest, nicest people you will ever meet and know.  I will go through hell and back for her.  Nuf said!!!

Once again, Blacks have failed the Claudette Covin test.

Colvin was the Rosa Parks before Rosa Parks.  She could not become the face of the civil rights movement because she was a fifteen-year-old unmarried girl who was pregnant.

In other words, the Black community and its leaders enforced a standard within the Black community.  Not binding by force of law but binding by community standards that were self-imposed.

Blacks had to wait almost a year before Rosa Parks came along.

What is the Colvin test?

The Colvin test is when one has all the right skill set and background but is the wrong person for the mission at hand.  Legally, Colvin’s arrest for refusing to give up her seat had the same fact pattern as Rosa Parks’ case.

Debbie Allen and Felecia Pride are definitely not the right persons for the mission at hand, thus they failed the Colvin test.

The garbage they have put out with their reboot is a different world from where I come from!

Staff Writer; Raynard Jackson

RJ is a Pulitzer Award nominated columnist and President & CEO of Raynard Jackson & Associates, LLC, a Washington, DC based global public affairs consultancy.  Feel free to visit his website at: www.raynardjackson.com.  You can follow Raynard on Twitter @ RealRaynardJ or Gettr @ RaynardJackson.

Los Angeles claimed him first, in the summer of 1999, the firstborn of a supermodel and a nightlife entrepreneur, a life gone public before he could walk. Fame like that is not earned, only inherited, and it arrives with a bill. At fifteen the contract with IMG Models landed, and with it an industry where his surname opened doors while inviting comparison in the same breath. Scouts, though, do not build a career on sentiment. The talent was real. So was the ease in front of a lens.

A runway bow came at a Moschino show in 2016, and the bookings that followed read like a fashion week itinerary. Dolce & Gabbana, Calvin Klein, campaigns and editorials, plus work for Celine, put him under lights his mother once owned. Gerber held his own on those runways, and that deserves saying plainly, because the running joke cast him as a lucky kid coasting on genetics when the reality was a working professional keeping a demanding schedule.

Here is the part the gossip pages tended to skip. Modeling never looked like the final destination to him. In 2023, he spoke about working toward obtaining his real estate license while developing ideas for a business centered on mental health and community. That is not the mindset of someone content to ride a birthright forever. It sounds far more like a person quietly plotting a route toward something he could call entirely his.

Photography was where another side of him surfaced. A separate account held the images he shot, including candid frames of his sister Kaia and small moments most cameras miss. Behind the glass instead of posing in front of it, there was an artist working things out.

The noise was real too, naturally. In 2020 the word MISUNDERSTOOD went across his cheekbone, a choice that lit up comment sections before it was removed roughly a year later. People laughed. Almost nobody paused to wonder what a young man in his twenties might be trying to communicate. The ink told part of his story anyway. Barbed wire on one hand, his sister’s name on his arm, and her own tribute to him on her shoulder, a young man mapping his identity in the most visible way a person can. None of those choices gave strangers the right to claim they understood everything going on beneath the surface.

Some chapters hurt and played out in full view. A DUI arrest in 2019 brought three years of probation, a court-ordered DUI program and community service. For a stretch the reply to critics came on Instagram Live, complete with dares to say it to his face. Bravado, sure. Whatever people made of those moments, they were seeing only fragments of a life that would later become the subject of far more personal conversations about depression, addiction and recovery.

By 2023 the register changed. On the Studio 22 podcast, depression got discussed without a flinch, and Presley said that helping even one person escape the place he had once been in would make his efforts worthwhile. He eventually brought that same openness to Mental Health Mondays, a recurring series on his page built around plain conversation with followers. One week explored recovery circles and finding common ground with strangers. Another dug into childhood as an active kid who surfed, swam, and played water polo, only to watch that fade once work took over. Ten years passed, by his own admission, before the need to move his body again finally clicked. Small confessions, honestly delivered.

What made those clips connect was their refusal to perform wellness. No perfect comeback was being marketed. This was a dispatch from inside the fight, and the energy turned outward too, through his work with A Sense of Home, a Los Angeles charity that helps people leaving homelessness furnish a first home. Presley also supported the organization through a clothing collaboration. His interest in helping others extended beyond social media, giving people who had faced difficult circumstances a chance to begin again with something tangible.

The final stretch was rough, and pretending otherwise was never his style. In December 2025, he posted a video filmed in a sauna, speaking openly about his mental health, panic attacks and the medications he had been prescribed, including Xanax, Valium and buprenorphine. He also described the grief behind his struggles. A lot of loss in many forms, by his account, not an excuse so much as the reason for where things stood. His mother replied underneath with words no writer can improve, reminding him that he was loved and not alone. In March 2026 came a trip to Mexico for ibogaine treatment, which Presley discussed publicly as part of his efforts to address addiction. He spoke about facing difficult emotions and hoping the experience would help him move forward. His willingness to share those moments did not mean that every part of his recovery belonged to the public.

Kaia may have captured him better than any headline. Weeks before his death, she told Vogue that the family had spent most of their lives fiercely private, and then her brother came forward willing to be, in her phrasing, very human for everyone. She spoke about the impact his struggles had on their family and expressed pride in his willingness to share experiences that others might have hidden. The two were close, working side by side and traveling together, which by his own telling made the whole thing a lot less lonely.

So how do you honor a celebrity’s kid as a full human being rather than a footnote to bigger names? You take the contradictions seriously. Presley Gerber was a booked runway talent, an amateur behind the camera, a reluctant lightning rod for internet cruelty, and, toward the end, a young man willing to speak publicly about addiction and despair. His difficult experiences became part of conversations that could help a stranger feel less alone on a bad night. He wanted the mistakes he had made to become lessons other people might learn from, and that desire deserves to be remembered alongside everything else.

Twenty seven years, that was the whole span. The surname got him through the door. Everything worth remembering after that belonged to him. Rest in peace, Presley.

Staff Writer; Jamar Jackson

This brother loves poetry, music, and the culture that raised him… His words come from somewhere honest, and they speak to everyday Black folks just living their lives… Reach him at JJackson@ThyBlackMan.com.

Our top pick is In Home Music Mentor for San Jose families and adult learners who want locally sourced, background-checked teachers sent directly to their door, with no contracts and a 50% off first-lesson offer that makes it genuinely easy to try before committing. It covers the three most-searched instruments – piano, guitar, and voice – and tailors every lesson to the student’s own goals rather than a fixed syllabus, which is exactly what the at-home model should deliver. For families in the South Bay suburbs who need coverage well beyond central San Jose, Musicians Mobile is the strongest alternative. And for students still exploring which instrument to pursue, Orange Music Studio stands out thanks to a free trial that removes the risk of guessing wrong.

Below you’ll find a quick at-a-glance summary, a short note on how we chose, the full ranked list with honest pros and cons for each service, and a locally specific FAQ answering the questions San Jose parents and adult learners ask most.

How We Chose

We weighted six criteria, with the in-home delivery model given the highest priority since that’s the core promise this guide is built around. First, delivery model – does the teacher actually come to the student’s home, or does the family travel to a studio? Second, instructor vetting: whether teachers are background-checked and professionally screened, which matters enormously when an educator is entering a family’s home. Third, instrument and genre variety, with piano, guitar, and voice prioritized as the most-requested (bass guitar and other secondary instruments earned bonus consideration). Fourth, age and skill-level inclusivity, from young children through adult beginners and returning players. Fifth, scheduling flexibility and contract terms – no-contract, month-to-month arrangements scored higher than lock-ins. Sixth, low-commitment entry options such as free or discounted trial lessons. We favored providers who build genuine musicianship over those who simply push students toward the next exam. Where a provider is studio-based rather than in-home, we’ve said so plainly and positioned it for the readers it genuinely serves.

The 7 Best In-Home Music Lesson Services in San Jose, CA

The seven services below best meet the needs of San Jose students across those six criteria, with true in-home delivery carrying the most weight. Some are dedicated at-home services; a few are respected neighborhood schools included because they’re the right answer for specific families and locations. Number one is our overall recommendation for most learners – here’s a quick summary before the full breakdowns.

• In Home Music Mentor – best for fully managed in-home lessons with vetted local teachers
• Musicians Mobile – best for families wanting in-home lessons across South Bay suburbs
• Elena Le Piano – best for in-home piano students seeking specialist instruction
• Legato Music School – best for Willow Glen-area students wanting an established local school
• Bytes & Notes – best for families seeking a long-running neighborhood school with flexible formats
• Orange Music Studio – best for kids and adults wanting a broad instrument menu with a free trial
• Almaden School of Music & Art – best for south San Jose students wanting a one-stop arts school

#1. In Home Music Mentor – Best for Fully Managed In-Home Lessons With Vetted Local Teachers

For the vast majority of San Jose households weighing convenience, safety, and flexibility, In Home Music Mentor is the clearest pick. It’s purpose-built for the at-home model this guide is about: teachers travel to the student rather than the reverse, and every instructor is locally sourced for San Jose, background-checked, and professionally vetted before they ever set foot in a family’s home. That screening standard alone separates it from services that draw from a scattered national pool.

If you want to book in-home music lessons in San Jose without signing a long-term commitment, this is the lowest-risk starting point on the list – there are no contracts, and a 50% off first-lesson offer lets you test the fit before spending full price. Lessons are shaped around the individual: a returning adult guitarist rebuilding technique, a seven-year-old just meeting the piano, and a teenager preparing to sing solo all get instruction mapped to their own goals and learning style, not a one-size-fits-all curriculum.

Key Details

• Delivery model: 100% in-home – the teacher comes to the student’s home
• Instruments covered: Piano, guitar, and voice/singing (additional instruments may be available – confirm current roster)
• Age range: All ages, from young children through adults; all skill levels, beginner to advanced
• Pricing: No published fixed rate; 50% off first lesson; no contracts required
• Coverage: San Jose, with locally sourced instructors

Pros:

• Teachers are locally sourced, background-checked, and professionally vetted
• Lessons are customized to each student’s goals and learning style – no rigid syllabus
• No contracts, and a discounted first lesson makes it easy to start
• Covers the three most-requested instruments (piano, guitar, voice) under one service
• Eliminates studio commute and the performance anxiety of a classroom setting

Cons:

• In-home only – no studio drop-in or group-lesson option for families who want a social classroom environment
• Pricing isn’t published as a fixed schedule; you contact for a quote
• Availability for niche instruments may take longer to match by neighborhood
• No permanent physical location or in-house recital program of its own

Who It’s Best For: Families with school-age children and adult learners anywhere in San Jose who want a fully managed, zero-commute lesson experience with rigorously vetted teachers – and who value flexibility and a low-risk trial over a classroom community. If a social group setting or a formal end-of-year recital is your priority, one of the school-based options below may suit you better.

#2. Musicians Mobile – Best for Families Wanting In-Home Lessons Across South Bay Suburbs

Musicians Mobile leans into the in-home promise and extends it geographically, which is its real edge. For families who live in the suburbs ringing San Jose – Milpitas, Santa Clara, Campbell, and the wider South Bay – the central-city studios simply aren’t convenient, and a service oriented around traveling to the student solves that neatly.

Pros:

• Explicit focus on bringing lessons directly to the student’s home
• Wider geographic footprint than providers anchored to a single neighborhood
• Practical for suburban families who find central San Jose studios a hassle
• Scheduling flexibility that fits the in-home model

Cons:

• A smaller brand with less public visibility than the larger schools
• Instrument range and teacher depth may be narrower than a full-service provider
• Limited publicly available detail about vetting standards – worth asking directly
• No physical location for in-person enrollment support

Best For: South Bay suburban families in cities like Milpitas, Santa Clara, or Campbell who want the in-home model but sit outside the reach of centrally located providers. Confirm the instrument list and screening process before you book.

#3. Elena Le Piano – Best for In-Home Piano Students Seeking Specialist Instruction

Where the top two picks are generalists, Elena Le Piano is the opposite – a dedicated piano specialist offering at-home lessons across San Jose and neighboring areas. If your child (or you) already knows piano is the instrument and you want depth over breadth, a focused specialist can push technique and musicianship further than a jack-of-all-trades roster.

Pros:

• Dedicated piano focus – genuine depth rather than surface-level breadth
• At-home delivery in San Jose and surrounding areas
• Personalized approach well suited to a committed piano student
• A strong fit for learners aiming at grade exams or recital performances

Cons:

• Single-instrument focus – no help if you later want guitar or voice too
• Solo-instructor model, so availability may be tighter than a multi-teacher service
• Less public visibility and fewer reviews than the larger schools
• Limited scalability if a household wants multiple instruments under one roof

Best For: Piano-only students – particularly those preparing for grade exams or recitals – who want specialist expertise and don’t need a multi-instrument service.

#4. Legato Music School – Best for Willow Glen-Area Students Wanting an Established Local School

Legato Music School, operating since 2009, is a community-rooted option for families in and around Willow Glen who prefer a physical school with a track record. It’s primarily studio-based, so it doesn’t compete head-on with the pure in-home services above – but for neighborhood families who value a bricks-and-mortar home base their child can grow into, that’s a feature rather than a flaw.

Pros:

• Established since 2009 – a real local track record and community trust
• Presence in Willow Glen, one of San Jose’s most populous and walkable districts
• Private-lesson format with reasonable flexibility
• Broad instrument offering including piano, guitar, and strings

Cons:

• Primarily studio-based – students travel to the school
• A smaller school, so the teacher roster may be limited for some instruments
• Not the right choice if you specifically need in-home delivery
• Physical capacity caps enrollment compared with a distributed in-home service

Best For: Willow Glen families who want an established community school with a fixed location, recital opportunities, and the sense of belonging that comes from a local institution rather than a visiting teacher.

#5. Bytes & Notes – Best for Families Seeking a Long-Running Neighborhood School With Flexible Formats

If longevity is your proxy for trust, Bytes & Notes is hard to beat – this family-owned school has been operating since 1997, making it the oldest provider on this list by founding date. Nearly three decades of local operation buys a kind of community credibility that newer entrants can’t manufacture, and for many parents that history is exactly the reassurance they’re after.

Pros:

• Family-owned and running since 1997 – exceptional local tenure
• Flexible lesson formats (confirm current options directly)
• Deep, hard-earned community trust
• Warm, family-friendly atmosphere

Cons:

• Primarily a physical school, not an in-home delivery service
• Long tenure doesn’t automatically mean the most current teaching methods
• A smaller operation may carry waitlists for popular instruments
• Less convenient for students who need at-home lessons

Best For: Trust-focused parents who prize longevity and local roots, and who are comfortable traveling to a neighborhood school rather than hosting lessons at home.

#6. Orange Music Studio – Best for Kids and Adults Wanting a Broad Instrument Menu With a Free Trial

Orange Music Studio earns its spot on the strength of two things: a wide instrument menu and a low-friction trial. For a student who hasn’t yet committed to a single instrument – the child torn between drums and guitar, or the adult curious about piano but not sure it’ll stick – being able to sample before paying full price meaningfully lowers the risk of an expensive false start.

Pros:

• Broad instrument menu – ideal for undecided students
• A free or low-cost trial lesson reduces the financial risk of trying something new
• Serves both children and adults
• A range of options available under one roof

Cons:

• Studio-based model, so students travel to lessons
• Breadth can come at the expense of specialist depth in any single instrument
• Less information publicly available than the larger schools
• Trial-offer terms should be confirmed before booking

Best For: Kids and adults still exploring which instrument suits them, who want to try before they buy. The trial makes it the lowest-friction way to test the waters – just verify the current terms first.

#7. Almaden School of Music & Art – Best for South San Jose Students Wanting a One-Stop Arts School

Rounding out the list, Almaden School of Music & Art serves the Almaden Valley and the south San Jose corridor – an area often underserved by central-city providers – and pairs music instruction with broader arts programming. For creative families where one child wants guitar and another wants to draw, a single school that spans multiple disciplines is a genuine practical advantage, and it plugs neatly into San Jose’s wider arts scene.

Pros:

• Combines music with broader arts programming – a one-stop shop for creative households
• Serves Almaden Valley, an area with fewer nearby options
• Established local address and community presence
• Convenient for siblings pursuing different arts disciplines together

Cons:

• Geographically focused on south San Jose – less convenient elsewhere in the city
• Studio-based, with no in-home delivery
• A niche school, so instrument depth may be narrower than larger providers
• Limited public detail on teacher vetting – ask before enrolling

Best For: Almaden Valley and south San Jose families who want music lessons alongside visual or performing arts under one roof.

Frequently Asked Questions

How Much Does a 30-Minute In-Home Music Lesson in San Jose Typically Cost?

Most local providers don’t publish fixed rate cards, and in-home lessons usually carry a modest premium over studio lessons because the teacher’s travel time is built into the price. Expect rates to vary by instrument, teacher experience, and neighborhood, and always ask whether there’s a separate material fee for books or supplies on top of the lesson rate. Because pricing shifts, the practical move is to request a quote directly – and to take advantage of trial offers, like In Home Music Mentor’s 50% off first lesson, to see the value before committing.

Are In-Home Music Teachers in San Jose Background-Checked?

It depends entirely on the provider, which is exactly why you should ask. A managed service like In Home Music Mentor states that every teacher is locally sourced, background-checked, and professionally vetted – a standard that matters especially when an educator is entering your home and working one-on-one with a child. Smaller solo instructors and some studios may not publish their screening process, so if vetting is a priority, confirm it in writing before the first lesson.

Do In-Home Music Lesson Services in San Jose Offer Lessons for Young Children?

Yes – most services on this list teach young children, though the ideal starting age varies by instrument. Piano and voice tend to be accessible early, while some string and wind instruments suit slightly older kids for physical reasons. In-home lessons can be especially good for young children because they learn in a familiar, low-pressure setting without the anxiety of a classroom, and a good music teacher will adapt pacing and lesson length to a child’s attention span.

Is It Better to Take Music Lessons at Home or at a Studio in San Jose?

Neither is universally better – it comes down to what the student needs. In-home lessons win on convenience, safety, and comfort: no commute, no traffic, and a familiar environment that eases performance anxiety, which is why services like In Home Music Mentor and Musicians Mobile suit busy or suburban families so well. Studios like Legato Music School or Bytes & Notes offer something in-home can’t: a physical community, group lesson options, recitals, and the social energy of a shared space. Weigh your schedule and your student’s temperament.

How Do I Choose the Right In-Home Music Teacher in San Jose for My Child?

Start with the non-negotiables: confirm the teacher is background-checked and experienced with your child’s age group and instrument. Then look for a match in teaching style – a customized, goals-driven approach tends to keep young learners engaged far longer than a rigid syllabus. Use a trial or discounted first lesson to watch how the teacher connects with your child, and ask how they track progress and build genuine musicianship over time rather than just drilling for exams.

Where Can I Find Adult Singing Lessons in San Jose?

Adult beginners and returning singers are well served by the in-home providers on this list – In Home Music Mentor covers voice for all ages and skill levels, and lessons at home spare self-conscious adult learners the discomfort of singing in a busy studio hallway. If you prefer a studio setting with a broader menu, Orange Music Studio serves adults too and offers a trial. Whichever you choose, look for an instructor who tailors technique work to your voice and goals.

Which In-Home Service Is the Easiest to Try Without Committing?

For the lowest-risk entry point, In Home Music Mentor stands out: no contracts and a 50% off first-lesson offer let you test the fit before paying full price. Orange Music Studio is the runner-up here thanks to its free or low-cost trial, though it’s studio-based rather than in-home. Trial offers and no-contract terms are the smartest way to sample a teacher before locking in a routine.

The Bottom Line

The right choice ultimately depends on your student’s age, goals, chosen instrument, and where you live within San Jose – a Willow Glen family wanting recitals and community will value something different from a Milpitas parent who just needs a vetted teacher at the door. That said, for most families and adult learners who want convenience, safety, and flexibility without a long-term commitment, In Home Music Mentor is the standout: locally sourced, background-checked teachers, lessons tailored to the individual across piano, guitar, and voice, and a no-contract model with a discounted first lesson that makes it genuinely easy to start. If in-home instruction is what you’re after, it’s the one we’d try first – book a first lesson, see how the fit feels, and go from there.

Staff Writer; Terry Brown

My people kept a radio going on the porch back home. Grown folks out there half the night, arguing who could sing and who was just loud. Marvin got named. Aretha, Sam Cooke, the whole church of them. Then somebody would bring up Stevie and the porch went quiet, because what was there to argue.

Start with Music of My Mind. He was barely grown, freshly loosed from the tight leash Motown kept on its young talent, and he showed up playing damn near everything himself. Synthesizers most cats had never touched. Out of wires and keys he built rooms of feeling, and the thing still breathed like something alive. That first swing told you he was done being anybody’s puppet.

Then here comes Talking Book, and now the fella is grinning at you from the cover with braids and shades, sitting in red dirt like he belonged there. “Superstition” hit the streets and every barbershop in the South cranked it loud. Flip the record though and you get “You Are the Sunshine of My Life,” soft as Sunday morning. Same artist. Two different worlds. The man moved between them like it cost him nothing at all.

Innervisions is where I usually stop and get quiet. That project looked the country dead in the eye. “Living for the City” told an entire story in a single track, a young brother leaving Mississippi with hope in his chest and getting chewed up by the machine. My uncle used to play it and just shake his head. Blind since infancy, and yet he saw us clearer than folks with two good eyes. Shortly after it dropped he nearly died in a car wreck, and the community held its breath.

Then he came back. Fulfillingness’ First Finale gets slept on, and that has always bothered me. Quieter, sure, more inward, but “You Haven’t Done Nothin” was a straight fist raised at the White House. He could whisper and shout on the same set of sides, sometimes inside a single song. Recovery did not soften the young genius. It sharpened whatever was already there.

And then the mountain. Songs in the Key of Life. Man, where do you even begin. He made the label sweat for it, took his sweet time, and handed back a double album with a little extra disc stuck on like he just couldn’t stop. “Sir Duke.” “I Wish.” “As.” “Love’s in Need of Love Today.” Some of it swings like a big band, some of it prays, one song is a straight up lullaby for the new baby. He poured the whole man onto tape and did not hold a drop back.

Now here is the part that keeps me up at night. Five projects. Four years and change. And not one of them sounds like the last. Most artists find a lane and ride it till the wheels fall off, and I do not blame them, because a lane pays the bills. What that boy did was refuse the lane entirely. He treated each set like a fresh canvas and dared himself to become somebody new every time he walked back into the studio.

Sit with the pressure of that. You put out a masterpiece, the world claps, and instead of running it back you burn the blueprint and start over. Talking Book does not repeat Music of My Mind. Innervisions does not lean on the goodwill that came before it. Each go-round he raised the ceiling and then climbed above the fresh one. That takes nerve most of us simply do not carry.

Here we sit in 2026, and I still get the question at least once a month, usually from some young cat who just discovered the catalog. Will we ever see the like again? I hate being the bearer of hard news, but no, I do not believe we will. The business changed. Back then a label would let a genius cook, would front him studio time and trust him to return with gold. Today the clock runs faster and the money runs scared. Streaming rewards a quick single and a viral second, not a patient double LP that begs you to sit with it for an hour.

The tools changed too, and not every bit for the better. A kid in a bedroom can build a whole record on a laptop now, which is a beautiful development, do not misread me. But that same ease nudges everybody toward matching textures, matching drum patterns, the same safe glow. Steveland was reaching for machines nobody understood yet, bending them to serve his gift instead of the reverse. Curiosity drove him. These days the algorithm does plenty of the driving.

And here sits the piece nobody wants to name out loud. He had something to say. Every project carried weight because his gaze stayed on his people, on the city, on love and God and the sickness in the halls of power. The genre we call soul earned its name honest, because the finest of it came from somewhere deep and true. You cannot fake that depth, and you surely cannot stream it into being overnight.

I have made peace with it, mostly. We were handed a gift, a window of a few years when one blind boy from the Midwest showed the planet what our genius looks like when it is turned all the way loose. That window is closed. New windows will open, some of them glorious, and I will be there clapping when they do.

But that particular stretch, those five sacred records in a row, each one different and each one a peak? No. I will not hold my breath waiting on a sequel. Some lightning only strikes the once.

So I do what any old head does. Wipe the vinyl down, keep it in the sleeve right, tell the young ones the stories whether they asked or not. And some evenings I just go sit out there, shut my eyes the way he never got to choose, and let it run. Glad it happened. Still shaking my head that it happened the way it did. Pretty sure in my bones we won’t get that lucky twice, not in 2026 and not in whatever comes next.

Staff Writer; Jamar Jackson

This brother loves poetry, music, and the culture that raised him… His words come from somewhere honest, and they speak to everyday Black folks just living their lives… Reach him at JJackson@ThyBlackMan.com.

I watched the reaction roll in from my spot down here in North Carolina, and it looked the same everywhere I turned. Cookouts got loud. Group chats lit up. Folks raised on Signed to the Streets started typing the same three words: he coming home.

I hate being the one holding cold water. But somebody who loves this brother needs to say it plain. The Chicago artist beat the murder for hire accusation, and that part is real. It carries weight. What he has not done yet is win his liberty.

Here is the piece plenty of people skipped while the news was trending. Back in June, roughly two months before he was set to face a jury, the government filed a fresh superseding indictment. Prosecutors recast the broader allegations around what they called the Banks Gang Enterprise. Off that theory they charged him with violent crimes in aid of racketeering, dragging in allegations tied to an old Chicago homicide and a 2019 Atlanta shooting that had no connection to the matter being weighed by the California jury.

His lawyers, led by Drew Findling, swung back hard and landed a blow. In July, Judge Michael Fitzgerald agreed to peel those newer counts off into their own proceeding. Sharp move. It kept a mountain of ugly gang testimony far from the folks weighing the Quando Rondo shooting. Yet splitting a case does not make its second half disappear. It simply parks that half down the road. And down the road is precisely where Smurk sits tonight.

So picture the real shape of his situation. The panel said no on the gunfire outside that gas station near the Beverly Center, the attack where Quando Rondo was the alleged target and his young cousin Saviay’a Robinson lost his life instead. Genuine relief, no argument. Still, the feds have a whole separate racketeering-related battle loaded and waiting. And anyone who has watched these prosecutors work knows they are nowhere near ready to hand this man his coat.

This is the cruel arithmetic of the system, and our people have watched it run a thousand times. Beating one round never equals strolling out the door. Getting held in federal court does not hinge on whether the last group of jurors believed you. It hinges heavily on questions the bench keeps circling: are you a danger, and might you run. Former prosecutor Neama Rahmani spelled it out for Complex, noting federal prosecutors would almost certainly push to keep him locked regardless of an acquittal, since that call leans on flight risk and public safety far more than on the verdict from one case.

And they already have their talking points stacked. Recall, when agents grabbed him back in October of 2024, federal authorities alleged he had booked multiple international flights and was preparing to leave the country. They have also accused him of leaning on witnesses. The bench already rejected a bail package running four and a half million dollars with around-the-clock home monitoring and private security, deciding that figure represented only a small portion of what the man was believed to be worth. Sit with that. His own success became part of the argument to keep him inside.

Now a few attorneys spot a crack of daylight. Adanté Pointer, another trial lawyer, told that same outlet the acquittal hands him a legitimate shot at some form of release, maybe house confinement with an ankle monitor, especially since the remaining allegations overlap with some of the same broader claims prosecutors have already presented. Worth something, sure. That would let him hold his kids under his own roof. Even so, the softer path is far from promised, because the government can turn around and appeal a release order. It happened to Karl Jordan Jr. in the Jam Master Jay saga. Nothing lands as clean until it is genuinely clean.

So what does freedom even mean here. That is the true question humming under all the noise.

For him, and for a whole generation of young brothers pushed through the same machine, liberty is not one door you kick open on a dramatic afternoon. It arrives in fragments. Beat one, then brace for whatever comes next. A headline reads like triumph while a brother stays boxed in the identical cell he woke up in. That gap between what the timeline cheers and what he actually lives is where too many of our stories unfold.

And let me be straight about the full picture, because I owe you that much. A young man is dead. Saviay’a Robinson belonged to somebody, and no ruling on earth returns him to his people. Carrying two truths at once is the grown thing to do. There’s room to exhale that this brother walked clear of that nightmare, even while the crush of a life stolen way too early hangs heavy. Real ones never flatten grief just to savor a win.

What I want the culture to sit with runs bigger than one artist. The government tipped its hand the moment it piled fresh counts into a prosecution that had already been building for close to two years. Understand the design there. Those added charges expanded the battlefield and guaranteed that even a spotless verdict in Los Angeles would not automatically open into blue sky. It is a reminder that the federal apparatus does not power down simply because twelve strangers speak the words supporters prayed to hear.

So enjoy the not guilty. Durk earned it, his defense earned it, and a room of everyday citizens studied what the feds laid on the table and refused to convict. Let that land. But keep your feet planted about what tomorrow carries. A separate federal case involving racketeering-related allegations is still breathing. Custody hearings are still to be argued. And if a judge eventually orders some form of release, the government can still challenge that decision.

A win belongs to him. His freedom does not, at least not yet. And until that second fight settles, the wisest thing his supporters can do is stay loud, stay clear eyed, stay ready. Because the story that turned in that Los Angeles courtroom Friday is nowhere close to over, and the chapter ahead is the one that truly decides whether Smurk ever gets to go home.

Staff Writer; Jamar Jackson

This brother writes with a love for poetry, music, and real conversations that reflect everyday life in the Black community… Much of his inspiration comes from old records, spoken word, and the kind of stories people carry with them for years… One may contact him at; JJackson@ThyBlackMan.com.

[Verse 1]

Laura Loomer please stop attacking Black women in the press!

You are viewed in the world as a total hot mess.

Sonny Charles and the Checkmates would be ashamed of you,

Espousing racism in the way that you do.

Picking on Black women that are the cream of the crop,

Shut your mouth gal…it’s got to stop.

[Chorus]

You probably had no friends of distinction in your high school days,

Hatred is the only tool you recognize anyways.

Stop this madness and apologize…

Don’t let your life be compromised.

[Verse 2]

I know you must have a lot of time to fill,

Trying to impress likeminded friends on Capitol Hill.

The world is watching as you make a fool of yourself,

Put your foolish pride and the racism on the shelf.

Denigrating sisters who have made the world a better place,

That’s not the way it’s done according to God’s Grace.

[Chorus]

Please remember the Golden Rule,

Your deeds are coming back to you…don’t be a fool!

One day you’ll look back with regret at what you’ve done,

Especially in the eyes of your daughter or son.

[Bridge]

You know full well you sought to curry favor with a party of one…DJT,

The White House is surely proud of you,

Please stop these foolish verbal attacks… it only shows the brains you lack.

[Outro]

So take a moment, pause, and reflect,

The impact of your words can cause so much wreck,

Choose love over hate, let kindness drop,

Laura Loomer please stop, just let it stop.

Laura Loomer Please Stop!

Copyright (c) 2026

TriDreams Productions Inc

Stanley G Buford

What Laura Loomer Actually Said

Last week, Laura Loomer attacked five college educated black women who are among the most influential individuals in the United States via a video on Twitter. In the video, Laura refers to U.S. Supreme Court Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson and Democratic Congresswomen Angie Nixon, Ilhan Omar, Ayanna Pressley and Cori Bush as “ghetto Black b****es” among other derogatory terms. The word “ghetto” is very important here and holds centuries of pain and intent to demean and insult people of lower socioeconomic status who are often Black and of marginalization compared to people of higher status and of other races. Her justification? “Stereotypes exist for a reason,” she concluded emphatically.

Congresswoman Angie Nixon responded the way that a woman who has been dealing with this her whole life responds – with crystal clearness and without ducking. “Been called a dog, a m*nkey, an a*e and g*rilla” Angie Nixon told Newsweek. “But I’m going to keep speaking truth to power.” Even Marjorie Taylor Greene saw fit to disown Loomer, writing that “The Republican Party owns Laura Loomer and her nonstop vitriol.” When Marjorie Taylor Greene is the voice of reason in a battle, you know that you’ve crossed a line.

This Is Not New. This Is the Old Playbook.

Scholars have long named the hatred of Black women that combines racism and sexism as “misogynoir”. So, what Laura Loomer did isn’t random, it is strategic and intended to accomplish one goal: to make black women seem less, to diminish their credentials, and to reduce a Supreme Court Justice to a slur.

The word “ghetto” is inscribed with centuries of racism and hatred toward black people. Initially it described bad neighborhoods where marginalized people lived due to segregation, redlining, and other forms of government neglect. But today it’s largely used by a further emancipated class to denigrate people of a lower socioeconomic status. Loomer knows exactly what she is doing when she uses it. This is a choice, not ignorance.

The scholar Ta-Nehisi Coates wrote that the wealth gap in America is not an accident but the logical result of deliberate policy decisions. The same is true of these attacks on Black women in public life. They follow an old, well-documented playbook: weaponize ugly stereotypes to distract from the substance of what these women are actually doing and saying.

Black Pearl: The Song That Stayed With Me

As I began writing Laura Loomer Please Stop, I couldn’t get out of my head one other song in the archives of a bygone era. In 1969, Sonny Charles & The Checkmates recorded “Black Pearl,” which was produced by Phil Spector and penned by Tony Wine, Irwin Levine and Spector himself. The single hit its peak at No. 13 on the Billboard Hot 100 Chart and No. 8 on the R&B Chart. But its impact far exceeded any chart success. 

Toni Wine – who wrote it – explains why he wrote it: “It was a very tough period. A lot of the Black women were depicted as being housekeepers, rather than having positions in companies, whether they were capable or not. And it was about time to have a song putting them on a pedestal.”

I thought the chorus of this song from decades ago was so pretty and I still sing in the chorus: “Black pearl, precious little girl — you’ve been in the background much too long.” The song was inspired by the Sidney Poitier film For Love of Ivy about a Black woman who had spent 9 years of her life as a maid and finally went back to school to pursue her education and her life. This song was a declaration in 1969 when it was written. The declaration still needs to be made in 2026.

That is where my song comes from. Laura Loomer Please Stop is my version of that same declaration — updated for a moment when the Supreme Court has a Black woman on it, when Black women chair congressional committees and pass legislation, and when one particular loud voice keeps trying to drag them back into a box they were never meant to fit inside.

My Daughter, Kathryn Cherise

I have to tell you about my daughter. Kathryn Cherise recently finished her PhD. at the University of Maryland. She has gone further than anyone in my family ever has to attain such height. When she walked across that stage, I thought about all of the generations before her who were dismissed by the world and told to stay in the background and to be quiet, and to be small. I thought about women in Sonny Charles’ song – carrying other peoples’ children while their own dreams wait. 

I told Stinky, a nickname given to her at birth; shortly after I changed her first diaper. “Kathryn the sky is  the limit,” I believed that then and I believe it now. But when I heard Laura Loomer call educated, accomplished Black women in public office those names — I felt something shift inside me. Not just anger. Grief. Because Kathryn is stepping into a world where some people still see her and think of her only in slurs, no matter her credentials.

That is why I wrote the song, not to argue politics and not to score points. I wrote this song for my daughter to know that her achievements will be recognized and her excellence celebrated and acknowledged and not perceived through someone else’s fear.

What the Song Says

Laura Loomer Please Stop is not a hate song. It is not even an angry song, exactly. The song is exhausted. So am I. It is the type of song that is written from exhaustion of watching attacks repeat themselves across generations with different names but the same bile.

It says: we see you and we know what you are doing. And we are not going back. The women you sought to destroy through hate filled rants on public media- Ketanji, Angie, Ilhan, Ayanna and Cori – worked their way up to public office through hard work and sacrifice. Their credentials cannot be touched by your racist slurs.

Sonny Charles sang in 1969 that the Black woman had been in the background much too long. More than fifty years later, she is at the highest levels of American public life — on the Supreme Court, on the floor of Congress, in laboratories and lecture halls and operating rooms. The background is not where she belongs. With all due respect, Laura Loomer, please stop pretending otherwise.

Closing Thoughts: The Sky Still Has No Limit

I am very proud of what I created in my home  studio. The song was derived from true feelings of love of a father to his daughter, her accomplishments, and anger at the destruction of achievements that people have given their lives, sweat and everything to earn.

Black Pearl was written for a generation of Black women to place them on a pedestal for whom they could be adored. Laura Loomer Please Stop was composed fifty-seven years later to defend that same principle with equal urgency and love.

To Kathryn Cherise: the sky is still the limit for you. Let no loud voice, old playbook or threatened ego convince you otherwise. You worked very hard to earn that PhD. You sacrificed a lot to get to where you are today. You are not in the background anymore.  Amen!

Associate Editor; Stanley G. Buford

Feel free to connect with this brother via Twitter; Stanley G. and also facebook; http://www.facebook.com/sgbuford.

Also his email addy is; StanleyG@ThyBlackMan.com.

So when I watch what Ryan Coogler and Michael B. Jordan have built over these last 13 years, something in my chest loosens. Two Black men who found each other early in their Hollywood journeys and decided, apparently on purpose, that the other one winning was a good thing. Not a threat. A blessing.

The years line it up plainer than I could.

Start with Fruitvale Station back in 2013. Coogler was 26, working on his first feature, and he chose to tell the story of Oscar Grant, the young man shot by a transit police officer on an Oakland platform on New Year’s morning in 2009. A hard thing to put on screen. He needed an actor who could make you love a flawed brother across 90 short minutes, so that when the bullet came it took something out of you too. He picked Jordan. Jordan had already done strong work in television and film, but neither man was a major Hollywood name yet. Both were betting on the other.

That is the part folks skip when they tell this. It was mutual risk. A first time director trusting an actor with the most important thing he had made. An actor trusting that same director not to waste his face and his time on something small.

Then came Creed in 2015. Coogler took a franchise everybody assumed belonged to Sylvester Stallone forever and handed the gloves to Jordan. The picture worked. Stallone got an Oscar nomination out of it. The whole thing felt less like a reboot and more like a passing of something sacred. A Black face at the heart of a story white America had held close for four decades, and not one soul had to be pushed aside for it to happen that way.

Which brings us to Black Panther in 2018. Now here is where a lesser pairing might have cracked. The director is running a billion dollar Marvel machine, and the actor is playing the villain. Not the hero. The villain. Killmonger. And Jordan took that role and made him one of the most quoted, most argued about, most mourned villains in the whole comic book business. He did not sulk about not wearing the crown. He knew a great villain is what makes a hero worth a damn. Serve the picture, you serve your partner. Lift your partner, and somehow you come up too.

You see the pattern yet? Each time, one of them stepped back a half step so the other could move forward a full one. And somehow they both kept rising.

By the time we reached Creed III, Jordan had moved behind the camera himself. He directed the picture, while Coogler, who helped develop the story and served as a producer, backed his longtime collaborator as he took that next step. Jordan turned it into the highest grossing film of the Creed trilogy. Plenty of partnerships get strange when one person starts occupying territory the other once owned. This one kept moving forward.

Then Sinners. 2025. Their fifth film with Coogler directing Jordan, counting Jordan’s brief return as Killmonger in Black Panther: Wakanda Forever, and the first that belonged to nobody but them. No Rocky. No Marvel. No existing thing to lean on. Coogler wrote an original vampire story set in the Mississippi Delta in 1932, put Jordan in it as twin brothers named Smoke and Stack, and dared the whole industry to bet against him. Warner Bros. put down a reported $90 million on an R rated horror movie with no built in audience, and gave Coogler an unusually filmmaker friendly deal that included ownership rights reverting to him after 25 years.

And it hit. More than $370 million at the worldwide box office. It became the highest grossing original live action film domestically in 15 years, going all the way back to Nolan’s Inception. People lined up. Old folks, teenagers, film nerds, my barber. Everybody had seen it or was about to tell you why they were going.

The money is not even the part that stayed with me, though. Watch what happened next.

This past March, at the 2026 Academy Awards, Sinners showed up holding 16 nominations. Sixteen. That topped Titanic. It topped La La Land. No single film in the entire history of that ceremony had ever pulled more. Coogler won for his screenplay, the first Oscar win of his career. And Michael B. Jordan, on his very first nomination, took home Best Actor.

Jordan got up to accept and did not rush through his mama and his agent and hustle off. He stayed at that microphone and called the roll of Black Oscar winners whose footsteps he was following. Sidney Poitier. Denzel Washington. Halle Berry. Jamie Foxx. Forest Whitaker. Will Smith. Named them so the room would remember whose shoulders he was standing on.

That is a man who knows he did not arrive alone. And he was only up there because somebody, more than a decade back, said I want you for this and truly meant it.

I keep thinking about the brothers coming up now, scrolling their phones, being told again in a thousand fresh ways that another man’s shine dims their own. That your homeboy’s promotion is somehow your failure. That there is one plate on the table and you had better grab yours before it is gone. I want every last one of them to look at these two.

Because what Coogler and Jordan proved, over and over, on the biggest stages this culture has to offer, is that the old math was a lie the whole time. Two Black men lifted each other and neither one shrank in the process. The director got his masterpiece. The actor got his statue. And the rest of us got to watch, for once, brotherhood do exactly what brotherhood was always supposed to do. Build something.

Not compete. Build.

My granddaddy had a saying about how a flame gives up nothing of itself when it lights the wick next to it. He mostly said it about church folk who guarded their little bit of authority like it was gold. But he could just as easily have been talking about these two men, who have looked across more than a decade at one another and decided, again and again, that the surest way up was side by side.

That is the lesson sitting right there in plain sight. We were never actually each other’s competition. We were always supposed to be each other’s proof.

Staff Writer; Lee Walker

This brother is a fitness trainer with 12 years of experience, focused on building strength, clarity, and real health within the Black community. Through his writing, Mr. Walker hopes to uplift younger Black men and men in general through honest conversations about fitness, financial pressure, fatherhood, discipline, mental wellness, and the importance of brotherhood.

Have questions? Reach me at LeeW@ThyBlackMan.com

Writing about Cassandra Wilson presents its own challenge because you cannot pin the woman down. I have covered Black music most of my grown life, and every time the word jazz came up around her it fit like a coat two sizes too small. Sure, she could swing. But then here comes Robert Johnson, sung so slow and so low you swore the man was standing in the room. Hank Williams got the same treatment, a country weeper coming out sounding like it grew from Delta mud. Joni Mitchell, the Monkees, whatever struck the mood, all of it got pulled down into that dark register and belonged to Cassandra by the time she turned it loose.

So where does a sound like that come from? You go back to the house on Albemarle Road.

Cassandra Marie Fowlkes was born in December of 1955, last of three. Now the daddy, Herman Fowlkes Jr., that man could play. Guitar, upright bass, taught it too, and he ran with the cats on the local scene back when nobody up North was writing any of it down. Cut records with Sonny Boy Williamson II, understand. So the blues was already living in that house before the child could climb up on the piano bench. And the mama, Miss Mary, she taught school, went and got herself a doctorate later on, kept Motown going on the turntable. Think about that mix. Berry Gordy shining out of one room and a bluesman working his changes in the next.

Piano lessons started at six. Then clarinet, marching band, the whole business. By the time the teenage years hit, the drills had worn thin, so the girl went to her father asking him to teach guitar. You know what he did. Handed her a Mel Bay book and told her to go figure it out. Some folks hear that and think the man was being hard on his child. I hear somebody who knew exactly what he was doing. He wanted those fingers finding their own way, and Lord, did they. Little folk songs came pouring out after that, running behind Joni Mitchell and Joan Baez.

Church got hold of the girl too, of course it did, standing between mother and grandmother of a Sunday. Anybody raised in the Black church knows that building will teach you more about a lyric than any music school ever could.

Millsaps College was first, theater and philosophy. Then Jackson State, a mass communications degree finished up in 1979. A drummer named Alvin Fielder got in her ear and pushed toward the real jazz work, the improvising. New Orleans had the woman for a spell. Then New York City rang in 1982, and child, that is when school really started.

Up there came Steve Coleman and that M-Base crowd, the Abbey Lincoln and Betty Carter sides worn clean through, the craft of taking one line and making it mean two or three things at once. First album as a leader, Point of View, dropped in 1986. By 1988, Blue Skies had arrived, a standards date, and heads started turning. But the big one, the album that changed everything, that arrived in 1993. Blue Note signed on and out came Blue Light ‘Til Dawn.

And this right here is the part that gets me, the part a whole lot of us who came up in this part of the country carry around. Think about it. Years and years gone from home, all that New York shine worked in, and what does the woman do with it. Turned right back around toward home is what. That low, smoky thing in the singing was Mississippi through and through. You could hear the heat of a front porch in it, the hush of a little country church, the stillness of the delta after dark. New Moon Daughter arrived in 1995 and earned her first Grammy in 1997. After that the records just kept coming. A tribute to Miles on Traveling Miles in 1999. Belly of the Sun soaking in the light in 2002. Then Glamoured, then Thunderbird with T Bone Burnett at the board. Loverly arrived in 2008 and brought home a second Grammy in 2009, and years on down the line Coming Forth by Day laid a wreath at Billie Holiday’s feet. Somewhere in all that came a turn shoulder to shoulder with Wynton Marsalis on Blood on the Fields, the thing that won the man a Pulitzer.

Time magazine went and called her the best singer in America back in 2001. Took the crown, Cassandra did, and never once acted like it sat on her head.

You want to know what stays with me, though. It is the coming home. January of 2010 the Mississippi Blues Trail set down its hundredth marker and put that name on it. They planted the plaque right in front of Brinkley Middle School, across the road from the very house where a little girl used to shinny up trees. John Horhn, the man who is mayor of Jackson now, grew up on that street with her. He likes to tell about the two of them in second grade, him hollering up at the tree to come on down while the answer came back that she was headed for the top. And you know what. That is precisely where she went.

There was a thing said at that ceremony I have never let go of. Told the crowd that our music has gone out and touched the whole wide world, that the blues sits down at the bottom of pretty near everything we sing, bebop on up to rock and roll. Coming from a woman who had sung in the grandest rooms on the planet, that was no small offering. It was a thank-you to the dirt she came from.

By 2026 the honors ran about as deep as they give out. The NEA made her a Jazz Master in 2022. Colleges lined up with honorary doctorates, Millsaps and Berklee and The New School among them. Europe threw prizes, festivals gave medals, the home state pinned a Governor’s award on her chest. None of it, not one piece, changed the plain truth of the matter. A girl off Albemarle Road took the whole shape of Black Southern song and carried it to Tokyo, to Paris, to any stage on earth with a good piano waiting.

We lost a giant today. For those of us who write these things down, who came up in the same red clay, it lands like losing blood kin. What Cassandra showed a body is that you could go clear across the world and never once turn loose of where you started. Every young artist stuck in some little Southern town, wondering if anybody out there is ever going to listen, ought to sit a while with all of that.

Rest easy now, Cassandra. The marker is still standing across from the schoolyard. The records are still turning down here where summer never lets up. You took the sound of Mississippi farther than any of us had a right to hope. May you rest in peace.

Staff Writer; Jamar Jackson

This brother writes with a love for poetry, music, and real conversations that reflect everyday life in the Black community… Much of his inspiration comes from old records, spoken word, and the kind of stories people carry with them for years… One may contact him at; JJackson@ThyBlackMan.com.