Music and Traditions

As an Afro-American, I’ve been to countless family cookouts and gatherings, and I can always predict the songs that will be played. Classics like Before I Let Go by Frankie Beverly & Maze, New Edition’s greatest hits, Boyz II Men’s, and plenty more are staples at every event. It’s more than just music—it’s a part of our culture, a tradition passed down through generations that instantly brings people together. The moment those first few notes drop, everyone knows what time it is, whether it's time to groove, sing along, or get up for the electric slide. These songs hold memories, reminding us of family, love, and the deep-rooted connections we share through music.

Joy and Pain by Frankie Beverly & Maze isn’t just a feel-good anthem; it’s a cultural staple. Released in 1980, it speaks to life’s ups and downs, a theme that deeply resonates in the Black community. The moment that beat drops, uncles nod, and aunties sing, the younger generation gets a lesson in soul. More than just music, it’s a connection across generations, blending joy, struggle, and tradition.

I still remember my dad’s birthday cookout when I was about four years old. It was a warm summer evening, and everyone was outside, laughing, eating, and just enjoying being together. The adults were lounging in their chairs, talking and relaxing after plates of barbecue, mac and cheese, and baked beans. Then, out of nowhere, Joy and Pain by Frankie Beverly & Maze started playing through the speakers, and it was like a switch flipped. The energy shifted instantly—uncles got up, aunties started moving, and before I knew it, the whole family was on their feet, dancing and singing every word like it was second nature. Even at four years old, I could feel how special that moment was, watching my family come together through music, celebrating not just my dad’s birthday but the joy of being with each other.

When I turned eight, I had a birthday party I’ll never forget. The whole family was there, and I was dressed up like one of the members of Boyz II Men, rocking a white button-up, black dress pants, and even a tie, trying to match their signature smooth style. At some point, End of the Road came on, and without hesitation, I grabbed a fake microphone and sang the entire song from start to finish. Everyone cheered me on, laughing and hyping me up as I put on my best performance. Looking back, it was more than just a fun moment; it was a reflection of how deeply that music was woven into my family and my childhood.

I also followed up with a new edition of Can You Stand the Rain and Still while dressed sharply in a suit and tie. Even as a little kid, I stood in front of everyone, singing my heart out without a care in the world, fully embracing the moment. I wasn’t worried about nerves, judgment, or anything else—just lost in the music, feeling every lyric, and letting the performance flow naturally. It was pure joy, confidence, and passion, a moment where I felt completely free and in my element.