March on. February we hardly knew you.

In like a lion, out like a lamb, baby.

Mar 01, 2021

Howdy. Welcome to another edition of 10 Bands.

Let’s get to Spring, already. Let’s get those vaccines in our bodies. Let’s also not forget that there’s a helluva lot of our elected officials who continue to enable lies and fraud and racism. Let’s not lose site of that fucking inciter of riots; he’s still on the loose. Our work is not done.

Ok. Political rant over.

To the music:

Last week, Philly’s King of the Quiet Storm, the legendary DJ Tony Brown, passed away at the age of 75. For almost 50 years Brown commanded the airwaves in Philly, many of them on WDAS-FM, on the evening shift, where he hosted the Quiet Storm. Many a nights I spent listening to Tony, where he turned me on to some of the greatest R&B slow jams ever. Smooth, silky, turn the lights down low kind of jams, that spoke to the emotional hearts and minds and spirits of his listeners. Heck, I didn’t think I even knew what true love was or meant when I was a yon teen in the 70s, but listening to Tony, uh-uh-uh, he just oozed with sensuality and always played the right songs at the right times.

Anthony Chocolate Brown used to do this thing during his show right before the midnight hour he called “The Transition.” This was theatre of the mind at its best. Over a fusiony instrumental - Mandre’s “Interlude,” - you’d hear what was the sound of a space ship taking off, with lasers and beeps, and then the voice of a genie would invite you to come with him to “our universe of love, beauty and other funky things.” I mean, once “The Transition” started, you could not help but hop on board, to take the journey of “Brown In Space.”

Listen:

Lots of radio listeners in Philly were raised on Tony Brown’s Transition. Lots of babies were made, as well. The Transition to me, was always about promise, and when he went from one day into the next, I couldn’t think of anything but the optimism of a new day. And of course, those “other funky things.”

So, Tony, if you can telepathically hear me as I write this, me and hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions more will miss you on the airwaves. Thank you for being there for us, behind the mic, playing the music. We’ll always remember the nights you took us to a special place, wherever that would be.

For the memory, here’s a special Quiet Storm playlist.