I have a complicated understanding of anger, in all its forms. Because I don't make a habit of yelling at people. I grew up in a home where practicality was a virtue and problems were solved via rational conversation whenever possible. And even though onstage I value those good old fashioned emotional extremes, I believe that, in life, anger past a certain degree, though sometimes exhilarating, is foolish. I believe that, unlike passion, or even competition, it can be a dangerous fuel, one that makes you forget who you are, who you love, what you love. It wreaks havoc on your true priorities and hides what you are really feeling. Hurt. Shame. Shock. Betrayal. Pain.
But here is the thing. I am a Mixed Race Black woman. I am a feminist. I work in the entertainment industry. And I live in this very real world.
So of course I am angry.
This anger I feel is not rage. It's not hate. It is generally less explosive in quality, quieter. In fact, though it exists, I don't believe it's really visible to an outside eye without some pretty persistent prodding.
But it's visible in my work.
The legendary Nina Simone has been a frequent topic of conversation recently, after last year's release of the critically acclaimed "What Happened, Miss Simone?" and Cynthia Mort's upcoming film "Nina," with its hotly contested casting of Zoe Saldana in the title role. What keeps appearing in these conversations, somewhere around the third bullet point-- after first discussing her extraordinary talent and musical prowess, and next, her deep commitment to the Civil Rights Movement during the second half of her career-- is that Nina Simone was an angry, angry woman.
And while I can't support the violence that dotted Simone's career, here is where my relationship with anger gets complicated. Because she wasn't wrong. There is so much to be angry about a person can drown in it. Maybe she did. But she also did this.
See what happened when Nina Simone, The High Priestess of Soul, got angry.
We should end on the following poem, by William Waring Cuney, which Simone set to music for a 1964 Carnegie Hall performance and served as the precursor to Four Women.
No Images
William Waring Cuney
She does not know
her beauty,
she thinks her brown body
has no glory.
If she could dance
naked
under palm trees
and see her image in the river,
she would know.
But there are no palm trees
on the street,
and dish water gives back
no images.