Luca “The Man” Carson
Dayton back then was a hotbed of funk. Kool and the Gang, The Ohio Players, The Zapp Band, Lakeside, etc. It was also the closest real city to my hometown. It had a gritty, throbbing feel to it. Like some smiling, inaccessible secret was going in plain sight if only I could let go, give in and hold on. One afternoon I was in Dayton with my best friend to rent tuxedos for the senior prom. I was sitting on the second-floor of the inner-city store filling out the rental details with the sales-person. Next to me at the table was a fantastic looking black man. He was wearing shades, a lavender leather jacket with matching pants and lots of gold. He was reclined back in his chair with his feet on the table, apparently looking off into the nowhere away from the salesperson who was getting his information. (Now remember, I was a 17 year-old, in many ways younger than my years, with a ‘white-bread” upbringing and nearly no self-confidence). The salesperson, ready with pen in hand, asked this gentlemen for his name, and the black man, still looking off behind his shades and speaking as if to the room, replied (and this is word for word):
“Luca Carson. L, U, C, A, C, A, R, S, O, N. Luca…The Man.. Carson. Remember that and you’ll go places!”.
Fantastic. I was immediately in awe of Luca “The Man” Carson. If only I could muster that kind of attitude somehow. Somewhere in my poor, empty head I was longing for that kind of freedom. But instead of giving in to the primal pulse of funk I was about to go to a senior prom and dance the sterile steps to “Brandy You’re a Fine Girl” into an unquestioned and unplanned distance.
I think, perhaps, that may have been a defining moment for me. Feeling so suddenly insignificant next to Luca. Who’s life was unimaginable to me. Who was so profoundly unconcerned with me. Who seemed wildly comfortable in his own skin, in a character of his own invention. It was a lasting moment that allowed me to question what I knew, who I was, who I wanted to be, and made it possible to believe that I could make up my own answers. I don’t know where you are now Luca “The Man” Carson. But I remembered. And it mattered. And I think it has helped me, ever so slowly, “go places”.
Here’s a funk song, “World Without Soul”. I wrote this with Frankie Vinci, a very talented songwriter/producer/artist. I wrote the lyric, Frankie the music, and he produced this recording. The singer is Sharif Aman.
