The audience laughs, but there is an underlying tension in the room. The whole night feels like that, as if it’s on the verge of going wrong, though so far everything has gone right. Given Grip’s complicated history with LAPD, the organizers of this event weren’t sure he’d accept their invitation to perform at the Black and Blue Ball, held to promote better relations between communities of color and law enforcement. Maybe that’s why they sent his cousin Greg to ask. With “Bruise” so closely reflecting the message of the event, Grip didn’t hesitate to accept.
“I grew up in the part of the world that gave rise to the Watts riots and Rodney King. I was five years old when Rodney King was beaten.” He gives a quick laugh. “I barely knew my name, but I knew his. He was a cautionary tale for us, and our mothers made sure we knew.”
He grabs a stool and props himself there before going on.
“Even with all that, I thought police officers were dope.” He disarms the crowd with a bright smile. “They had flashing blue lights and sirens. What could be cooler than that?”
The crowd laughs a little, some offer smiles. A few expressions remain tense because some people aren’t sure where he’s headed or what he’ll say. Which side of the black/blue line he’ll land on, and if he’ll come down like a hammer.
“That footage showed me getting stopped in the neighborhood where I grew up. Some wondered if I would do this show tonight.” He looks out at the crowd, eyes dark and earnest. “I’m here because the system needs radical reform. Unarmed men and women are dying. And there are cops who, if they don’t do it, see it and remain silent. Do nothing, making them complicit.”
He looks out over the crowd.
“And then there are cops like my cousin Greg, who has dedicated his life to actually serving and protecting, not just policing the communities we grew up in. I’m here for him and all the cops who say enough is enough and are ready to do something about it. I want to reimagine the system, rebuild it from the ground up.”
Grip clings to the mic as if it’s grounding him. He laughs, shaking his head.
“The best way to tear down the walls that divide us is to meet someone, to know someone on the other side of that wall,” he says. “Cops were a ‘they,’ a ‘them’ until my cousin Greg became one. White people were a ‘they,’ a ‘them’ until I went to school with them. Until one of them became my best friend.”
Grip turns his head toward stage left where he knows I always stand, his eyes tangling with mine.
“Until I fell in love with one of them,” he says softly.
My heart contracts. I blink at the tears he inspires in me all the time. With his words, with his hands, his kisses. He has so many weapons at his disposal to break me down, every one more effective than the last.
I look out over the crowd, faces of every shade and walk of life, and wonder if they’ll understand, if they’ll hear w
hat I heard from the moment Rhyson played “Bruise” in our meeting months ago. We’ll see. Grip signals the drummer to drop the beat.
“This one’s called ‘Bruise’,” he says softly.
Am I all of your fears, wrapped in black skin, Driving something foreign, windows with black tint
Handcuffed on the side of the road, second home for black men
Like we don’t have a home that we trying to get back to when PoPo pulls me over with no infractions,
Under the speed limit, seat belt even fastened,
Turned on Rosecrans when two cruisers collapsed in Barking orders, yeah, this that Cali harassment
Guns drawn, neighbors looking from front lawns and windows I know cops got it hard, don’t wanna make a wife a widow
But they act like I ain’t paying taxes, like your boy ain’t a citizen
They think I’m riding filthy, like I’m guilty pleading innocence.
They say it's ‘Protect & Serve’, but check my word
Sunny skies, ghetto birds overhead stress your nerves,
They say if you ain’t doin’ wrong, you got nothin’ to fear, But the people sayin’ that, they can’t be livin’ here . . .
We all BRUISE, It’s that black and blue
A dream deferred, Nightmare come true
In another man’s shoes, Walk a mile or two