OPINION: Once upon a time in African America, I didn’t love “Complex Simplicity.” I have no idea what that younger version of me was thinking. At all.
Editor’s note: The following article is an op-ed, and the views expressed are the author’s own. Read more opinions on theGrio.
Over the past twenty years of writing on various platforms — my very first ever blog post was on June 3, 2004 — I’ve shared my thoughts and opinions thousands of times on any number of topics. I’ve written about race, politics, culture, music, film, family, etc. In fact, if I had the ability to access all of my writings, I’m sure I’d find tons of pieces I would cringe at and others where I’d be delighted to know that younger me said a thing that older me still believes in. What I also know, for sure, is that I cannot remember the vast majority of opinions I’ve had about any number of things that I’ve written about.
There are a few exceptions to this, however. I can remember a few pieces I’ve written that I wish I never had. I think the response to those pieces turned them into core memories of my writing journey. And there are a few musical opinions I’ve had at various points that I simply cannot believe I ever had. One such opinion is one that I shared with folks in 2004 about Teedra Moses’ debut album, “Complex Simplicity,” released on Aug. 10, 2004, making it 20 years old.
I vividly remember telling people that I thought the album wasn’t good. I know this because I remember the super-heated arguments I got into with two specific people who absolutely loved it and couldn’t believe how ridiculous my take was. (They also remember the arguments and agree my take was ridiculous.) Because this album came out after I’d started blogging and because I often farmed my personal conversations for inspiration, I’m about 90% sure that, at some point, somewhere, I wrote a blog post or something that expressed my dislike for that album.
Younger me was an idiot.
Here’s how I know that younger me was an idiot. At this point in my life, “Complex Simplicity,” is one of my favorite albums, maybe ever. I’m not sure it’s in my top 10 but it is surely in my top 20. Any album that has a song (like “You’ll Never Find”) that opens up with the words, “Ooooh cat daddy,” has to be one that I take seriously. The album’s opener, “Be Your Girl,” is probably one of my favorite opening records, too, partly because I love the sample of Ahmad Jamal’s “The Awakening,” but also because I love how Teedra cuts straight to the chase; she’s like, “Boo, what’s up with you and me … your girl will be alright!” Who hasn’t thought about somebody they didn’t know like this? Shoot, Christina Milian should be glad that social media wasn’t really a thing when I had a crush on her or I’d be sending her lyrics like those to this song daily. I’m a romantic like that. Or a stalker — there’s a fine line.
And don’t get me started on “Caution,” easily my favorite record on the album and literally a song I will be listening to until the good Lord calls me to glory. And even then, when I hit those pearly gates, I’m asking if “Caution” is available on whatever platform they use to stream music in Heaven.
Look, I can do this for every single song on this album. I love them all. I absolutely love “Complex Simplicity.” It along with Res’ “How I Do” are the two most defining R&B albums of my 2000s. Each of those records lived in my car’s CD changer. When I think of Panama Jackson in the mid-’00s walking through New York City or Washington, D.C., or trips to Los Angeles or wherever, I have songs from both of those albums in my head. “Complex Simplicity” is quite simply a wonderful and enjoyable listen from a woman whose voice is beautiful.
Panama Jackson
Associated Press
Mariel Turner
Associated Press
Associated Press
Mariel Turner
Panama Jackson
Michael Arceneaux
It’s for that reason I’m so excited to know that I cannot find written proof of me making blasphemous and nonsensical negative comments about that album. Now, I did get into a slight row with Teedra Moses some years back about an opinion I wrote about how she set the blueprint for the R&B of the 2010s that was less subtle and more in your face. While I think my sentiment was accurate, I do think my approach was reckless in a way that came off as offensive, which used to be my calling card — the point was more important than how I got there. I also cannot find that piece, mostly because while I remember writing it, I cannot figure out when I wrote it and some of those older pieces are truly impossible to find without a date to peg them to. That works great for me as I hate reading things I wrote that I now view as stupid. Shouts out to growth. And don’t be stupid, Panama.
As a music lover and one who would find albums that touched my soul, I am so sad to know and remember that I ever thought Teedra’s album was anything less than a stellar work of art that makes the world a better place. That’s how I feel right now, and I think that’s the right way to feel about it. To know “Complex Simplicity” is to love “Complex Simplicity,” and there is simply no other way to view that. Even 20 years later, the music sounds as fresh and as sonically jamtastic as it did in the 2000s, save for that one day I didn’t like it.
Today is not that day, for today is a day that I acknowledge that I’m in love with “Complex Simplicity,” and I’m so happy that it’s still part of my life two decades later.
Panama Jackson is a columnist at theGrio and host of the award-winning podcast, “Dear Culture” on theGrio Black Podcast Network. He writes very Black things, drinks very brown liquors, and is pretty fly for a light guy. His biggest accomplishment to date coincides with his Blackest accomplishment to date in that he received a phone call from Oprah Winfrey after she read one of his pieces (biggest) but he didn’t answer the phone because the caller ID said “Unknown” (Blackest).
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