I AM NOT A VIRUS: A Look Back at 2021
A few days ago, I received a beautiful frame commemorating the release of my first record, I AM NOT A VIRUS (IANAV). I'm not quite sure why, but when I saw it, it prompted a flood of emotions and memories--everything from the hopelessness and anger that I felt when I decided to record this particular album in March 2020 to the feeling of gratitude for the musicians who came alongside me to record this project.
Oh wait, I know why.
It's December -- it's typically that time of year when we look back on everything we've done over the course of a year with all of the feelings--regret for the things we didn't do, joy at the wonderful places we have been, and pride at what we have accomplished.
But what happens when that year has found us on the tail end of year 2 in a pandemic? What then?
I remember this time in 2020. I was wishing for an end to this pandemic. An end to the suffering of my community. Yet through all of the chaos and mire that had become our daily lives--all of the isolation--it was clear to me that people need this. People need music.
I wondered about the frivolity of what I was doing. "People are dying," I said as I gaslit myself, "Why am I releasing an album? Why not do something real?"
In the end, I released IANAV for a few reasons:
1) Asian stories are important, and they deserve to be told through our own eyes, un-redacted. Throughout history, Asian stories have been silenced and erased. Suffering has been turned into euphemisms--euphemisms like "internment camps", for example, that erased the suffering of Americans who were wrongfully incarcerated for no other reason than being Japanese. When we're not imprisoned, our stories are erased...our real, lived experiences are suppressed. COVID or not--I share music to tell my/our stories.
2) Representation matters, and a lack of representation is violence and erasure of communities of color. I never saw anyone who looked like me growing up doing what I do now. Granted--there are a few examples--but Asian jazz saxophonists are not entirely plentiful in the US (Shoutout to Francis Wong, Danny Jung, Rudresh Mahanthappa, Jeff Kashiwa, Jon Irabagon, and others who have paved the way for my existence). This record was a gift to 5 year old Jordan who first heard "Stella by Starlight" from Charlie Parker With Strings and fell in love with the saxophone. Representation matters--and every kid deserves to be able to see themselves as the main character of the story. It matters equally for the kids who are not Asian or BIPOC to be able see us in the driver's seat.
3) To redefine what it means to be Asian American. To be Asian in American means that according to the mainstream perception of our people, you have to be a certain way. I remember growing up as a jazz musician, I was the "wrong kind" of Asian.
"Why are you going to college for music? What a waste--you should be a doctor or lawyer or something."
"Shouldn't you play violin?"
"Oh, you're the janitor, right?"
"Didn't I see you working last night at the Chinese restaurant? You're one of the good ones."
To be Asian in America to me is to be limitless. We don't owe anything to anyone.
4) So we would never forget this unique time in human history. I never wanted to forget what I felt as an Asian American in 2020--and before. This record is my time capsule and when I look at it--I see everything that white supremacy had led me to believe about myself, and I say:
ENOUGH.
I hope you enjoyed my trip down memory lane. Thanks again to PARMA Recordings for helping me to share my story and for the lovely memento. And to my BIPOC fam, and particularly all of the Asian Americans out there:
