I’m enjoying what many people would consider a successful music career as a performing bassist based in Los Angeles. It might surprise some that, though I’ve been playing the bass since I was 9 years old, I can count the number of gigs I’ve received petitioning labels, promoters or club owners. All my work comes from the relationships I have w/ performers & bands that have gigs & need a reliable bassist.

But, guess what. Things change.

2019 was a very difficult year for me. It seemed to me that, virtually every month, there was another incidence of police killing another unarmed black man. I would get so worked up about the killings that I’d spend 2 weeks incensed, fuming, virtually w/o control. I was emotionally worthless y’all. How could this still be our fate? The next week I’d be better, which would allow me a few days of equilibrium before the next incident of brutality. And the cycle would repeat.

It didn't take too much therapy to figure out these feelings were a reflection of my own history of mistreatment by police. I won’t bore you w/ all of it, but the 1st time police pointed loaded weapons at me I was 13 years old. They said they were looking for two robbery suspects. They stopped my hispanic friend & I as we walked by the park & told us to put our hands on the police vehicle; the same vehicle that they just sped up in. When we lifted our hands from the scalding car hood we turned to see several guns in our faces. We thought we were going to die. In that entire incident the officers never showed a crumb of concern for me. As I walked the 3 miles home I couldn't wait to tell my dad what happened. I knew he'd make things right. However, by the time I'd finished explaining he was disconsolate. It was the one time I saw anything like resignation in the face of injustice from my superhero. He reflected that he had no more control of these injustices as a 43 year old California adult than he had as a 13 year old Mississippi boy. Where do you go when the police hurt you? W/o warning, in my eyes the invulnerability of my father was lost. That same year my son had glancing contact w/ police. The thing that has hurt me most in life was giving my son the same look my dad gave me. Let that sit on your manhood for a minute. What an inheritance! It may be the most terrible & necessary conversation my family has ever had. Repeatedly.

So, by the time the pandemic rolled around I was sick & tired of being sick & tired. As a therapeutic act, I tried to find a way to contribute something positive to the world. Uh oh. Does this mean I’m gonna have to write some music? I tried not to think or make too much of it. I decided to try to let whatever was inside me come out w/o judgment. Perhaps because of this, for the most part, I didn’t know what was coming out until I was a little baby note head breaching the musical vagina. Sure it was late in coming, but it was mine & I was gonna embrace it. In retrospect, I guess its no surprise that, mostly, I wrote about Leimert Park.

Most of you know that The World Stage (in Leimert Park) is my musical home; Dwight calls it our church. It is. I love Leimert for all the positive cultural experiences I’ve had there. From blaring Malcom X & Dr. King speeches on Sunday mornings, through the multiple drum circles & festivals & into the creative venues that Leimert Park is known for; this is my antidote. Leimert Park is where I find my balm along w/ like-minded people willing to make sure its is liberally applied.

Well, I’m going to premiere many of the songs on April 28th @ 8pm @ The World Stage. I welcome you to the event we're calling Leimert Park Anamnesis. We’ve got musical tributes to Billy Higgins & Horace Tapscott, Derf Reklaw, Ron Muldrow & the Anansi Writer’s Workshop.

More information is available @ theworldstage.org or TrevorWare.com.