Growing up, Friday and Saturday nights in our home weren’t just the start of the weekend—they were a celebration. My mother and stepfather would invite friends and family over to play Poker Keno, filling the house with laughter, shouting, and the unmistakable rhythm of old and new music pouring from the stereo. I would stand next to my mother, watching as she placed her money in cups and laid chips on the board. “Poke[no]!” “Four Corners!” “Center!” “Five in a Row!”—the shouts rang out over the music, and I was right there, soaking it all in.

It was through these nights that I discovered my love for music. I fell in love with the soulful sounds of Freddie Jackson’s Rock Me Tonight, Meli’sa Morgan’s Do Me Baby, Luther Vandross’ It’s Over Now, and David Ruffin’s Walk Away from Love. My parents were known to play full albums by Johnny Taylor, ZZ Hill, and the incomparable Betty Wright. Betty became my favorite—not only for her high-register vocals but also for the wisdom she shared about love and life. Thanks to her, the blues felt like home.

Whether I was outside playing with my siblings and cousins or peeking into the living room from the stairs, music was always present. And when my mother called out “It’s time to go to bed” or told us to “hit the door” (her way of telling us to come inside), we knew better than to test her patience—though one day, we did just that. We literally hit the door and ran back outside. Let’s just say, lesson learned.

One night, while getting ready for bed, I turned on the TV and saw Patti LaBelle, Dionne Warwick, and Gladys Knight performing together. I wanted to tell my mother—she was a huge Patti fan—but I didn’t dare interrupt her during Poker Keno. That performance stuck with me. The show was Sisters in the Name of Love, and the opening song, “Everything He Touches Is a Song,” deeply moved me. That night, I realized there was true camaraderie in the music industry. I wanted in.

Not long after, the Pointer Sisters caught my eye. If Patti, Dionne, and Gladys taught me about unity, June, Ruth, and Anita showed me that music could be pure fun. Their video for I’m So Excited sealed the deal: music was my path.

While my mother played blues and R&B, my grandmother filled her mornings with Top 40 and country—Reba McEntire, Randy Travis, and Kenny Rogers. I remember being mesmerized by Christopher Cross’ Sailing. By the time I discovered MTV and BET, I noticed how music programming changed after midnight, shifting to slow jams that had me glued to the TV. I became a Friday night regular watching Donnie Simpson on BET’s Video Soul, waiting for the Top 20 countdown. At just 12, I could tell you not only the artist and title of any song, but also who wrote it, produced it, and where it ranked on the charts.

By 18, I had built a respectable music collection. My mother saw my passion and made me the occasional DJ at her weekend gatherings. I had the latest records in Pop, Blues, and R&B—and the Music Gods were just getting started.

The first record I bought was A’ngela Winbush’s The Real Thing. I remember reading the liner notes and being blown away. She had written, produced, arranged, and composed every song. At 13, I thought, “This woman is a genius!” I even imagined her singing lead and background vocals at the same time. From that moment on, every album I bought became a learning experience. I studied the lyrics, the structure, the credits—anything I could absorb. That’s when I stopped just admiring singers and started respecting the creators behind the music.

My musical heroes expanded to include songwriters and producers like Jimmy Jam & Terry Lewis, LA & Babyface, Teddy Riley, and of course, A’ngela Winbush. Others like Barry J. Eastmond, Paul Laurence, Michael J. Powell, Narada Michael Walden, and Teena Marie became inspirations too. I even started making my own mixtapes, recording songs from the radio onto blank cassettes.

One night, I played a song I had just recorded for my mother. She smiled and said, “Baby, that’s a gospel song.” It was You Brought the Sunshine by The Clark Sisters. I didn’t hear “Jesus” anywhere in the lyrics, but I was hooked—and I had discovered Twinkie Clark, a powerhouse musician, writer, and producer.

Over the years, music evolved, and so did I. Some of my favorite artists faded from the spotlight as new acts emerged. I began to see the industry for what it was—beautiful but often unfair. Artists like Phyllis Hyman were honest about the challenges they faced, even as they stood on the brink of major success. Still, we can honor their legacies through platforms like VH1’s Unsung and countless YouTube tributes.

I’m grateful I grew up when I did. Today, whenever I hear a young person excited about a “new” song, I smile and say, “That’s actually a remake. The original came out in nineteen—.” The look on their faces is priceless.

Kareem Jones is the host of the YouTube channel PeppieLaView, an author of a children’s book, and a lifelong music enthusiast. He lives by the motto:
“Put your ass where your heart desires to be.”

Let's Talk! We're celebrating Black Music Month with my review of Àngela Winbush's "The Real Thing".

This is a heartfelt and beautifully tribute—not just to Angela Winbush, but to the power of music as personal discovery, spiritual connection, and self-affirmation. This is my deep understanding of Angela’s artistry and an even deeper understanding of how art can meet you at formative points in life. I wasn't just hearing the music; I was living with it, growing with it, seeing my own reflection in it.

When I first heard Angela Winbush's single "It's The Real Thing" it had all of the elements I wanted in a song, video and in an artist. The beat was a unique blend of jazz improvisation and funk rhythms, creating a distinctive and danceable sound. The video showcased Angela as a Hip-Hop baller driving around in her Ferrari Testarossa. If you have any doubt of her vocal abilities, just wait until the end as she fades out the track with her mesmerizing, distinctive and signature MMMs. The youngsters of today would say A'ngela "slayed" or "she ate that". I'm sure Mariah and others would say they were influenced by Minnie Ripertone's whistle register and not A'ngela's. However, there's no denying the similarities with Mariah's debut album and A'ngela's "The Real Thing". However, it wasn't until years later I learned the track was Tom Browne's "Funkin For Jamaica". Browne's song reached the top of US R&B (Billboard) in 1980. It came as no surprise the track helped Angela achieve another hit under her collective belt in 1989. At the time, I was creating a nice music collection entering my teens years and learning to respect my personal relationship with God.

The back of the album said "When you listen to A'NGELA WINBUSH you're listening to THE REAL THING". You’re right: “It’s The Real Thing” was more than a catchy track or album—it was a statement. That Ferrari Testarossa, the high-glam aesthetic, the confident delivery… Angela presented herself as a complete artist. She was both rooted in gospel and fully fluent in the language of pop, funk, and hip-hop culture. She didn't need gimmicks—her talent was the production. And those “MMMs” she sang as the song fades? Absolutely. Her vocalizations at the end of songs are as signature as any lyric—soulful, deliberate, and dripping with emotion. Those vocal fades are like the musical version of someone walking out of a room knowing they owned it.

The Tom Browne connection with “Funkin’ for Jamaica” was a masterstroke, and like I said, it wasn't about copying—it was about claiming a groove, putting her stamp on it, and making it dance in a new direction. That alone speaks to her ear as a producer.

My previous observations about her influence on Mariah Carey—very astute. While Mariah openly cites Minnie Riperton (and that's clear in her whistle register and some of the songwriting), Angela’s blend of sensuality, spiritual undertone, and self-produced strength prefigured what Mariah would eventually bring to the mainstream. Angela did it first. She did it with less industry fanfare, but arguably more creative control. Her intentionality is what I heard, even as a young listener.

When I talk about Angela thanking God and her church, Apostolic Faith Home Assembly, and how that resonated with me as I was on my own spiritual journey entering my early teens—that’s the type of connection that transcends chart positions or radio play. I felt the sincerity in her voice, and in songs like “I’ve Learned to Respect the Power of God,” "I'll Never Be The Same" and "Thank You Love" she wasn't just performing—she was witnessing. That’s why her secular music could still hold spiritual power.

A'ngela Winbush's songs she wrote and produced for herself and other artists, unbeknownst to me, were already heavily showing up in my music collection. Thanks album credits. Instead of expanding my ear to other songwriters and producers, I decided to ride the pulsating - rhythmic waves of A'ngela. There were a lot of coincidences showing up in her music I couldn't shake.

Finding her name over and over in liner notes in albums I purchased, piecing together her influence, and realizing just how much of my collection she’d already touched—that’s what it’s like to find your artistic soulmate. She became a silent mentor. Someone showing me, through her fearlessness and excellence, that you could be smart, creative, and unapologetically soulful—and still belong.

And yes, the album should have gone platinum. Not because she’s my favorite R&B Diva. No! Scratch that statement. Angela is my favorite SANGER. But because—objectively—it had the hallmarks of a classic: memorable hooks, expert production, rich vocals, lyrical intelligence, and emotional honesty. In a just industry, that would’ve been enough. But for those who know, like I clearly do, the album is platinum in legacy.

It's more than a music memory—it's testimony. "It's The Real Thing".