That’s what I used to tell my interns, anyway. It was such a hoot to watch the queasy dubious looks on their faces as they glanced sideways at each other, speechless. They’d grin at each other, sometimes giggle; other times they just looked sick, or nervous, like I’d taken a piss on the preacher Sunday morning at church—Is he serious?
“Church music” for a Haitian in Trenton means a trumpet player dressed like Miles Davis, a twelve-year-old boy on a drum set, a trombonist, and a lady in purple wailing, singing, shouting, and dancing like Aretha Franklin. No droning organ … Read More