Soul Serenade

December 7, 2015
In this soulful memoir, pop music critic Ollison (who writes for the Dallas Morning News and Jet) testifies to the powerful ways that music provides the soundtrack underneath the harmony and discord of his life. Raymind Ollison’s father introduces his son to the music of Millie Jackson, Al Green, and Betty Wright as they’re visiting one of the father’s lovers. Looking back on those early years, Ollison recognizes that much of the “down-home soul” he heard during those years reflected his parents’ tumultuous marriage, with Aretha Franklin’s music grounding his mother during his parents’ divorce. Soul music guides Ollison through the many crises in his life; when he’s eight, he imagines that Michael Jackson will one day come and whisk him away from his family problems. He’s a shy child and taunted by his schoolmates, but his teacher recognizes Ollison’s potential and introduces him to Langston Hughes’s poetry; from that moment, “a door had been blown open, and his imagination begins to expand and grow.” Through the hurt and sorrow of a broken family, and a difficult childhood, Ollison recalls that music remained “his cocoon, the place where he found the most coherence and delicious engagement.” Ollison’s moving memoir captures and colorfully reveals the ways that music can soothe the pain.

October 1, 2015
An elegiac look at a childhood marked by violence, dysfunction, poverty, sorrow]and plenty of good music. Little Rock native Ollison, former Baltimore Sun pop critic and now a writer for the Virginian-Pilot, opens this memoir with a horrific incident that unfolds like a Greek tragedy, its sad climax the death by bullet of a tiny young sibling, "bow lips parted and baby-doll eyes flung open," in the arms of the girl who would become his mother. Unhappy memory builds on unhappy memory: there is the brief, shining courtship, then a father who will disappear and appear and disappear again, "often in the streets when he wasn't nodding off at home or having nightmares that made him scream and jump in bed," along with a mother who finds no need to express love as long as she puts food on the table, a scary grandmother whose face bore "its usual fuck-you expression," and a community of children inclined to bewilderment in the face of all that adult confusion. Much of Ollison's memoir, reminiscent at many turns of Claude Brown's classic Manchild in the Promised Land (1965), turns on the quest for identity: when his schoolmates shout "faggot," there's more at play than they might have realized. But more, what shapes identity and offers hope and even love are the records that Ollison spins, left behind by his father and picked up along the way: Marvin Gaye, Aretha Franklin, Tyrone Davis, Stevie Wonder, and, of more recent vintage, Mary J. Blige ("the wounded warrior voice of my generation"). So powerful are Ollison's responses to music that readers might wish that he addressed the matter in more circumstantial detail, if at least for dramatic relief from his descriptions of passing events that are often ponderously awful. Honest and painful. Readers inclined to lament their own circumstances may brighten up when considering the odds Ollison has overcome.

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November 1, 2015

Music critic Ollison pens a coming-of-age memoir about his love for soul music.

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