Any Other Way: The Jackie Shane Story
Michael Mabbott, Lucah Rosenberg-Lee
2024, 98 mins.
“I’m gonna touch that part that you didn’t even know was there.”
Sage words indeed from one of the world’s too-long forgotten queens of R&B. But thanks to this marvellously constructed production (notably the rotoscope-driven animation, effectively rendered by AOK, of the numerous phone calls from the star of the past) those who never had the chance to hear, see and feel this extraordinary chanteuse (readily filling clubs in Toronto, Montreal, Cornwall (Ontario) and LA from 1960 t0 1971) will now have the chance to savour/discover, as the case may be, just what they remembered or missed.
Black | Queer | Trans
For music lovers, none of Shane’s modifiers matter; but for those of us in the wider community, it’s an incredible example of how to live life being who you truly are.
On stage, there’s a riveting example of how to capture a crowd through body and voice. From the body side, it seems like Shane never really appeared in the same wardrobe twice and constantly presented a multi-faceted visage that few could look away from. In the vocal department, while not quite in the company of such divas as Ella Fitzgerald and Nina Simone, nonetheless there’s equal amounts of power, nuance and—perhaps most importantly—honesty that make every song a pleasure from opening lyric to closing double bar.
Look/listen no further than her signature song (and greatest hit, eventually forcing racist—in those days radio CHUM, Toronto to play it), “Any Other Way”. And clearly, she wouldn’t have loved her brave, sumptuous life any other way…
And a motto? “The blues are singing’ about life” is a simple truth, naturally evolving from gospel songs—both have much in common. With lines that spoke volumes, especially for the times:
Tell her that I’m happy
Tell her that I’m gay
Magically, boldly saying the truth out loud for all to hear (if only they could).
Eschewing fame and fortune on shows like Ed Sullivan and American Bandstand, Shane refused to change one iota of her act to appease (they thought) the bossy presenters and their predominantly white audiences (thank goodness that doesn’t happen any more…).
The reflections and reminisces of many friends and family (notably Lorenzo Washington), add much to the overall understanding of this singular artist, whose career was shorter than in ought to have been for myriad reasons.
Finally, when That’s all I got to say drops this curtain, those wanting more should run not walk to download her 2016 box set and hear for themselves, especially if wondering who, exactly, inhabits their own skin.
https://www.amazon.ca/Any-Other-Way-Jackie-Shane/dp/B074VTVWVD JWR
A Mother Apart
Laurie Townshend
2024, 89 mins.
“What happened to me was not my own fault.”
Here is a documentary that covers a lot of ground: child abandonment, surrogate parenting, lesbianism and dealing with life as it is—not as, perhaps, we might all like it to be.
At the centre of it all is poet, writer, performer, mom Stacyann Chin. The Jamaican native was left on her own when mother, Hazel, opted for a better life in Montreal. Largely raised by her grandmother, the aspiring hellraiser (on the stage and via words—not in the back alleys)—through sad circumstances—managed, nonetheless, to have a beautiful daughter of her own, the precocious Zuri. Also in the mix is Larah, Stacyann’s older sister (unbeknownst to either of them for a while).
The bulk of the film chronicles Stacyann’s valiant attempts to (a) find her wayward mother, (b) meet up with the one who gave her life, and (c) have some meaningful conversations that could possibly lay bare then heal the hurt/anger of all concerned and, collectively, make life a happier place for both Larah and Zuri.
Gluing much of the scenes together are the podcasts, Living Room Protests, where Zuri and Stacyann boldly share observations about life as they are beginning to know it.
A viewing is highly recommended for anyone who has ever had to endure family traumas of any sort and, hopefully, proactively deal with them head on rather than wish that everything will go away in the silence.
Or, as the motto goes, “Time is longer than rope”, in the fine art of existing together. JWR