In September 2008, I got to experience one of the most magically memorable events of my adult life. Part of the reason I haven’t written about it here yet, is because it’s always proven hard for me to put everything about that experience into words. But I figured it’d be better to do a bad job of recapping the moment, than not to share it at all. So here goes….

I just got back in town late last night from a week of hectic travel for work. And here I am back on the road again, braving Friday afternoon Labor Day weekend traffic on a 2.5 hour drive to McRae.

“What the hell is Mac-ray?” Asked one friend who I’d informed of my trip earlier that week.

“It’s McRae,” I corrected, “and it’s a city in south Georgia”

“And you’re going there for Labor Day weekend?”

A few months ago, I probably would have been as incredulous as my friend if someone had told me I’d be spending valuable off-work time in some small town in the middle of nowhere. But a few months ago, I’d never heard of the Songwriter’s Soul Kitchen. A few months ago, I’d never even heard of Vinx.

Trying to classify Vinx would be futile at best and likely, inaccurate. The most apt description is this: Vinx is music. He’s a multitalented, singer, songwriter, musician, and teacher that Stevie Wonder has been quoted as calling, “the gift you give to someone that you really care about”. A good friend of mine who’d lived in Europe (where the artist has a huge following) had given me the gift of Vinx’s music only a few weeks before I got a chance to see him perform at Smith’s Olde Bar. That night’s performance was one of the purest examples of musicianship I’d ever seen. No flashy sets or on-stage gimmicks. Just this larger-than-life bandannaed and bespectacled man who crooned with the velvety timbre of a Luther Vandross, and easily employed the vocal gymnastics of a Bobby McFerrin. That night, I watched transfixed, as Vinx deftly switched from drums, to keys, to using some on-stage recording device that allowed him to provide his own backup vocals right on the spot. Each tune was like a pit stop on an expressive journey of unvarnished emotion – humor, lust, romance, and joie de vivre. By the time he left the stage, I was so moved, that when the announcer reminded the audience of our last chance to enter a drawing, I didn’t even care what the drawing was for, I just knew that I wanted my name in the hat. As it turned out, what was being raffled off was a complimentary trip to the Songwriter’s Soul Kitchen – a multi-day retreat where singers, musicians, and songwriters gather to hone their crafts at Vinx’s house in – you guessed it – McRae.

The Soul Kitchen Magic

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So it happened that a series of fortunate events (I actually won the drawing) was how I came to be standing on the wide porch of Vinx’s home – an antebellum mansion turned artist’s residence and recording studio in the heart of McRae’s historic district. The door opens, and I’m greeted warmly and familiarly by Katherine, an auntie who bears an uncanny resemblance to Whoopi Goldberg. She takes the bottle of wine I’ve brought as a gift, directs me where to set my bags, and introduces me to the 8 or so other people seated at Vinx’s dining room table, before offering to take me on the nickel tour of the house.

On the tour, I realize just how multifaceted Vinx is as an artist and a human being. Originally from Kansas City, Vinx – who started life as Vincent D’jon Parette – is a military brat, and a former Olympic-qualifying track and field athlete, who got started with music in college as a part-time DJ and a member of Kansas State University’s marching band. After several years touring and recording with the likes of Sting, Stevie Wonder, Branford Marsalis, and Cassandra Wilson, Vinx eventually added visual artist and educator to his resume. He’s now a professor at the esteemed Berklee College of Music in Boston. In addition to his busy music touring schedule, he’s also planning a gallery show where he’ll take small groups of people through a guided tour of his art, performing songs at each installment, creating a one-of-a-kind experience that merges the emotion of the visual piece with that of the musical one.

“It really says something about a person who would open up their home like this.” I overhear someone say this as I re-enter the dining room. Vinx – who’s still seated at the table – informs me that we’re all preparing to introduce ourselves musically to each other. In my mind, I think it’s about to be some scheduled event with a lineup of who will perform when. But from what I can tell it sounds like it’s already happening spontaneously in a room at the rear of the house. Vinx and I chat familiarly for a while, but even though I’m trying my best to concentrate, I’m only about 60% present. The rest of me is wondering who’s riffing* so damned hard on the guitar!? He senses my restlessness, and graciously releases me to go and mingle with the others.

My default question for everyone is, “So how’d you come to be here?” Each response is as deep and reverent as what you’d hear from a devotee on a pilgrimage. There’s Purple Haze, a spitifire sista from Newark who’s got the gift of gab and knows how to use it. Her genre is hip hop, and once I hear her freestyle, I’m convinced that she’s the undiscovered heir to the throne once inhabited by Lauryn Hill and Bahamadia. She shares with me that she gave her 2 week notice before coming down this weekend. Her job? Performing testing and consultations in an HIV clinic.

Ritse is a somewhat timid, open-faced Nigerian-born girl from D.C. who’s obviously a strong vocal talent, but is just starting to come out of her shell musically. She’s travelled here to help spur along her confidence and engage with other artists that are more experienced.

The baby-faced Vince – who over dinner gets dubbed ‘Little Vinx’ mainly because he sports ths same bandana doo-rag that his namesake often does – is here on ‘scholarship’, and hails from Arkansas. From listening to him on the keys*, and how he prods and encourages some of his peers, and digs into cleaning up the dinner dishes, you can tell he also has the same down-to-earth mettle as his counterpart.

Keith – a kinda quiet, kinda lanky white guy from Nashville – is a self-confessed techno geek who’s also a beast on keys and music production in general.

And there’s Ya-Ya – who hails from Philadelphia by way of San Francisco. She’s a novice guitarist who also helps with the administrative work of the Soul Kitchen and makes a mean quesadilla.

Over the next couple of days, Vinx plays the role of papa bear to us, his cubs. He walks us through how and why to register with each of the performer’s rights organizations – BMI, ASCAP, and SESAC, has us break out into different groups to create songs, making sure that the writers, musicians, and vocalists among us all get a chance to express our unique perspective, while learning how to work with unfamiliar genres and challenging subjects. Each musical work that we create in our groups is actually recorded and produced in one of 2 studios at Vinx’s house. One of the group songs I worked on, which had to include the words ‘black belt’ and ‘popcorn’, becomes an absolute work of art after DJ Vando and Jessie – the Soul Kitchen’s resident producers – put their magic on it.

Throughout the weekend, other members of the Soul Kitchen family appear as if from nowhere. One night, Atlanta-based folk singer Doria Roberts shows up to make everyone dinner and dessert crepes. Others like Tubby Love, Gray Mation, B@man, and Ben aka ‘The Big Dipper’, breeze in and out – but no one is a stranger, no one is a star. Everyone is on equal footing and here for only one thing – the love of the music.

During my 3 day stay at the Soul Kitchen, I laugh much, learn more, and sleep little. On more than one occasion I get the feeling that I’m at a grown-up summer camp, or on a reality TV show with the subtitle, “What happens when a bunch of people get together to live in a house and starting getting real…with music?” Having never performed any of my written pieces before an audience, I’m more than a little nervous when the musical introduction that was supposed to happen on the night I arrived, occurs. But as I start to recite one of my poems, I hear The Big Dipper step up to the conga drums and accompany my words, imparting a rhythm I’d never imagined they could have. I instinctively adjust my pace to match his. The other members of the Soul Kitchen family listen, grunt their approval, smile and nod at the satisfactory flavor of my particular lyrical dish. There’s a touch of bitter realness in the words that I share, but when I’m done the only thing that lingers is a sweet smile of accomplishment, and a warm fullness that can only be found in this kitchen.

If you’re interested in cooking up something in the Songwriter’s Soul Kitchen, join Vinx for a special edition of the Soul Kitchen – ‘Vol. 20… The Performance Week’ March 15 – 21. Or, check out the Songwriter’s Soul Kitchen website for future Soul Kitchen dates.

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