Artist Spotlight: Buka

Strangers In The Street

       

        Ever since I was young I’ve been an avid observer of details.  Some say it’s a gift and a curse.  When my uncle used to drive us to the mall, while everyone else would be focused on the latest fashion trends, I’d silently focus on the social interactions between people passing by.  For whatever reason, the art of communication has always fascinated me.  Over the years, I’ve watched it build grand standing relationships that endure all the tests of time, and with its misuse, I’ve watched it tear down even the greatest of men and women.  Over the past few months I spent a lot of time in Houston’s inner city.  Before class, I’d sit on the same bench on Congress Street and Main and just people watch.  And every day I’d see the same trend of by passers:  College students crossing the street, businessmen (and women) in sophisticated suits, and of course the vast legion of homeless people.
        
       The students, ambitious and anxious about their studies, levied all of their attention on their education (or lack there of), in hopes of one day getting a job (that they’ll likely eventually come to hate).  Freshman with heavy backpacks, and pen holders.  Pretty girls in sorority shirts, cadets running up the hills.  Each of them a subgroup of a greater circle of ambiguity.  None realizing how close they are to falling into one of the other 2 groups.  

       The homeless, who ironically impressed me the most, had a grand story to tell:  Pain and hopelessness.  Many of them staggered aimlessly down the street, damn near void of life, searching for, as Jimi Hendrix put it, “Some kind of relief.”  These people were impressive to me because they represented the most visible images of real life.  In a society where nearly everyone wears a mask, covering up the pain, depression and sadness that from time to time we all feel, these people were the most vivid images of honesty one could imagine.  If death and pain were near, these poor souls wore its mask like a badge of honor.  The beautiful agony.  To this day, they are the realest people I’ve ever met.

       The businessmen, or “suits” as one of my classmates called them, were obviously the most skillful of the bunch.  If anyone was sure to dismiss the existence of the others, it was this group.  Ironically, this group impressed me the least.  Perhaps because they were strangely familiar to me.  Like a scene out of the film, “Wall Street” these guys, “fit the mold.”  They were as to be expected, the most intelligent.  They sped down the street swirling Marlboro cigarette smoke from the side of their mouth, digesting the Wall Street Journal, and the Chronicle, looking for the next big shift in the market, oblivious to the treasures all around them.

       What astounded me the most was the lack of humanity between each of these groups.  Each of these groups passed each other every day, not knowing, or caring that the others even existed.  And none of them could see how diverse and beautiful they made each other.  They each allotted the others as unmentionable objects in their linear world, not even worth taking time to assess, much less diagnose why they were there.  A sad spectacle of the larger society that we as a people have become well adapted to: every shark for themselves.  We’ve slowly become a culture focused only on the rise of individual gains.  This “me” centered way of thinking has infiltrated nearly every facet of life from the economy, to our music, right down to religion.  Bruce Lee once held his finger up to the moon and said, “Don’t concentrate on the finger or you will miss all that heavenly glory.”  His wisdom couldn’t be more needed today.

Written By Ryan Carr

The Fall of A City Cat: The Red Cat Jazz Cafe

Low tempered lights pouring down and engulfing passion red chairs.  Bar tenders who with nothing more than a slight head nod knew your favorite drink the moment you took your seat.  Musical geniuses from as far as Tennessee blowing the saxophone strong enough to sweep away any bad day.  On a cold night last year, they all said goodnight forever.  No curtain call, no grand finale, no white flag signifying the end.  Just lights out for the Red Cat that stood on Congress and Main Street.

2010 marked the end of a grand monument in the city of Houston that stood strongly for years.  The Red Cat Jazz Café was a cultural legend that stood amongst city giants.  Its influx of jazz music, fine wine, and renaissance art gave it a powerful image of something surreal, almost too good for the city street it stood on.  On any given night you could walk in and get lost in the atmosphere, losing sense of the stress and frustration that stood outside its doors.  I first stumbled across the beautiful neon red cat as I stepped off of the train with a few friends on Main on a Wednesday evening.  On our way to a familiar Thai restaurant nearby, I felt intrigued and drawn to the cat that seemed to be staring back at me, almost like a siren drawing in her victim.  I said, “Hey let’s try that place.”  After a small debate, the rest was history.  We stepped into a world of artistic glory, smoke and perfume filling our nostrils as we stepped through the doors.  The bar tender looking at us completely nonchalant, not smiling, not frowning, but altogether engaging.  I took a look at the stage which stood about 10 feet from the entrance, and saw Reggie’s New Jazz Movement commanding the audience, which included men and women dressed like they were going to Cinderella’s Ball after they left.  Little did I know, the show was right there in front of me.  Not wanting to feel out of place, I sat right near the front.  My classmates hesitated, but soon followed suit.  I ordered a glass of Absolute Vodka and married the moment.  We all did.  This was our new spot.  We would come in every Wednesday and sit in the same spot and order the same drinks.  I felt like Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca.  The Red Cat had even influenced my style of dress.  I began wearing sports coats around the city, a reflection of the culture that was now a part of me.

Today you won’t find any remnants of the historical café.  The building has been completely stripped, and the Red Cat removed.  A vanishing history from the heart of the city.  But for those who were blessed enough to be there during its golden era, The Red Cat Jazz Café will forever remain the legend of Congress Street.

-Sophia Tone

Tales from the City of Lights.

As city that has quickly risen from an oil based plain into the 4th largest city in the United States, it's not hard to see why Houston is such a powerhouse.  But it's not the bricks and mortar that define this city, it's the intriguing stories of the individuals residing in it.  Engulfed in mystery, love, power, artistry, and grandiose, the citizens of this city tell a dramatic story of rags to riches, corruption to glory, and pain to triumph.  Over the next 12 months we will divulge deep beneath the lights of the city and reveal empowering tales of unsung heroes, undying loves, the rise and fall of businesses, underground power struggles, and legends in the making...

-Sophia Tone

And Sophia Tone Was Born...

Culture. Art. Intellect. Style. Life.  Welcome to the Sophia Tone Project...