"Unphased"

On Black manhood, art, love, sex, and sadness. By Robert Jones, Jr.

For this Brovah I know, whom I love. And see.

The album cover for Phases III by Arin Ray.

“It took many years of vomiting up all the filth I'd been taught about myself, and half-believed, before I was able to walk on the earth as though I had a right to be here.” – James Baldwin, “They Can’t Turn Back,” Mademoiselle (February 1, 1960)

“Black men are always having to answer for negative things that other Black men have done. We live that every day. That’s the burden.” - Edwin Raymond, An Inconvenient Cop: My Fight to Change Policing in America Edwin Raymond and Jon Sternfeld

On the cover of Arin Ray’s new album, Phases III, the darkness cascades.

He is hidden behind a bouquet of long-stem red roses. The flowers cast a shadow so that his face is obscured, but we can see his eyes: mysterious, staring; because he’s a Black man, some might say “leering.” But I say: forlorn; searching, maybe; weary.

The way his lined-up edges are arranged tells me that it might finally be safe for men to sport baby hair without fear of ridicule. Or maybe not. One of the world’s favorite pastimes remains telling men what they mustn’t do in order to be considered “real men.”

But in my estimation, the best artists, musical or other, are the ones who understand that they must allow themselves full, complete, and uninterrupted access to all of their energies—feminine, masculine, every-ine—which is to say: their whole-entire creative selves. Luther Vandross couldn’t have been the greatest male singer on the planet if he didn’t allow some of his honey-child to have its say. When they disrupt the balance, are pushed to devalue or neglect one or the other, they, from my perspective, necessarily produce lesser art. The end product might be serviceable. It might even be popular. But it will never be transcendent.