A Tribe Called Red is a (Girl Power Academy) First Nation, Earth Day DJ recommendation:

A Tribe Called Red is an all-First-Nation-DJ-crew from Ottawa Canada. Ian Campeau (Nipissing Anishinaabe), Tim ‘2oolman_ Hill (Mohawk) and Ehren Bear Witness Thomas (Cayuga)

A Tribe Called Red’s Electric powwow, now known as powwow step, has since gone global. 

Their big moment came in 2014. After months on tour in Europe, where they performed from Paris to Berlin, they took home a Juno, Canada’s music award, for breakthrough artist of the year, and were nominated for best electronic album. It was the first time an aboriginal artist had won outside the aboriginal category.

For fans, Tribe’s success is a source of pride in a national context where First Nation people still face systemic racism, unchecked police brutality and higher rates of suicide and addiction than any other group in North America.

For critics, they represent an emerging aesthetic that explores the tensions between city life and “rez life”, between pop and traditional native culture – a dual identity shaped by a decades-long migration from reservations and Canadian reserves to urban centers in a pattern than mirrors that of the Great Migration. Ethnomusicologists see Tribe’s approach to sampling native music as a form of repatriation, a challenge to western concepts of copyright.

The band has also struck a chord with a certain cultural elite – and this is where things get complicated. 

They’ve been accused on social media of reverse racism, of being too politically correct, of “taking away people’s fun” – which is why Witness finds the exchange on Instagram both upsetting and delighting.

“We never expected non-indigenous people to show up at our parties and listen to our music,” Witness says. “I see the indigenous audience getting frustrated by the space that the non-indigenous crowd can take up. The fact they’re out there trying to claim that space is a kind of action. In the past, indigenous people were silent. We didn’t complain. We tried to fit in.There wasn’t a space to complain about. So that in itself is a new kind of privilege for indigenous youth to have: to be able to complain.”

Underpinning such complaints are questions around assimilation and ownership, and who Tribe’s music belongs to.

By sampling powwow music and dance, Tribe is sampling a piece of indigenous history that was outlawed and suppressed, through indirect policies and outright violence, in both the US and Canada.

These conflicts speak to a longer history of struggle, resistance, and music that extends back through the Oka Crisis, the American Indian Movement and the massacre at Wounded Knee.

On a snowy weekend in January, Witness, Campeau, and Tim Hill, the band’s newest member, sat inside a multi-million dollar recording studio at the Phi Center in Montreal, surrounded by Macs and mixers, foam-padded walls, and a flag of the Iroquois Confederacy.

After five consecutive weekends in the studio, the sound and feel of the album was beginning to take shape. A mashup of rawhide drums and electronically crafted beats, it combined vocals by the Black Bear Singers (a young powwow group from an isolated reserve in northern Quebec) with rappers, electronic musicians and folk artists. The list is impressive: among those names were Saul Williams, Maxida Marak, Koolaid and the former chairman of the American Indian Movement, John Trudell, the activist behind the occupation of Alcatraz,one of the most successful American Indian protests of the 20th century.”

~BIO written by Damaris Colhoun

Read the full Biography-Article Here: https://www.theguardian.com/music/2015/jul/28/electric-powwow-tribe-called-red

The A Tribe Called Red “ALie Nation” ft. John Trudell, Tanya Tagaq, Lido Pimienta and Northern Voice (Music/Spoken Word video) is being posted here for NO COMMERCIAL PURPOSES.

A Tribe Called Red “ALie Nation” ft. John Trudell, Tanya Tagaq, Lido Pimienta and Northern Voice LYRCS:

The Halluci Nation

The human beings

The people see the spiritual in the natural

Through sense and feeling

Everything is related

All the things of earth and in the sky have spirit

Everything is sacred

Confronted by the alienation

The subjects and the citizens see the material religions

Through trauma and numb

Nothing is related

All the things of the earth and in the sky have energy to be exploited

Even themselves, mining their spirits into souls, sold

Into nothing is sacred not even their self

The ALie Nation, the alienation

The A Tribe Called Red “The Virus” ft. Saul Williams (Music Video) is being posted here FOR NO COMMERCIAL PURPOSES.

A Tribe Called Red “The Virus” LYRICS:
The people
The virus took on many shapes
The bear, the elk, the antelope, the elephant, the deer
The mineral, the iron, the copper, the coltan, and the rubber
The coffee, the cotton, the sugar
The people
The germ traveled faster than the bullet
They harvest the mountainside, protect the crops, herd the cattle
The people
The women and children were separated from the men
They divided us according to the regional affiliations of their minds
The violence of arrogance crawls into the air, nestles into the geospatial cortex
We are not a conquered people
Drum beats by regionI was wakened by my elder brother
The compound was on fire
Awakened by my elder brother
The compound was on fire
The compound was on fire
The compound was on fireThe missionaries never hid their perspective
Prospectors of land, they would rather see us disappear
Recycle their prayers
The people
This is my body which is given to you
The people
This is my blood
We are not a conquered peopleI was wakened by my elder brother
The compound was on fire
Awakened by my elder brother
The compound was on fire
The compound was on fire
The compound was on fire
The compound was on fire

We’d like to give a special thanks to MuchFACT, DAIS, Pirates Blend Records and MadRuk Entertainment for helping bring this project come to life! Produced for the Halluci Nation by DAIS & Mad Ruk Directed for the Halluci Nation by Tunkasila Writers: Bear Witness, Sol Guy & Ezra Miller for the Halluci Nation “Produced with the financial assistance of MuchFACT, a division of Bell Media Inc.” 


ATCR: Bear, DJ NDN 2oolman Halluci Nation Guardian: Mathew Creasian Guardian: Devery Jacobs Guardian: Narcy Guardian: Dre Ngozi Elder: Bears Mom Monique Mohica aka Mama Bear Refugees Saul Williams: Saul Williams Youth: Brooklyn (Big Rez’s daughter) Woman: Jiji Woman: Rupi Kaur Man: Budda ALie Nation: Hasan Hazime ALie Nation: Viktor Micic CREW Production Company: DAIS & Mad Ruk Entertainment Director: Sol Guy Director: Ezra Miller Producer: Mark Andrew Sirju Production: Manager Elliot Clancy-Osberg 1st Assistant: Director: Mario Scenna 2nd Assistant: Director: Jacob McIntyre Choreographer: Zack Winokur Director of Photography: Rafe Scobey-Thal 1st AC: Keenan Lynch 2nd AC/DMT: Jon Elliot Gaffer: Bryan Angarita Best Boy Electric: Chow Khanseng Mein 3rd Electric: Zach Duchin Key Grip: Spencer Johnston Best Boy Grip: Jordan Heighington Swing: Bradley Chowace Production Designer: Stephen Depko Props Master: Michael Tessier Hair & Make-Up: Gillian Berry Assistant HMU: Lisa Diane Rueckert Costume Designer: Caitlin Wright Assistant Costumes: Shirin Nadjafi Production Assistant: Nick Telesca Production Assistant: Matt Johnson Production Assistant: Janelle Bartley Production Assistant: Jaclyn McBride Craft Services: Rafaela D Scully Catering: iFeed Catering, Patrick Simaan Stills Photographer: Ruthie Titus

The A Tribe Called Red “Electric Pow Wow Drum” (music audio) is being posted here for NO COMMERCIAL PURPOSES.

Get A Tribe Called Red‘s new album “We Are The Halluci Nation” now: http://smarturl.it/ATCRHalluciNation

 ————–A Tribe Called Red————-

Website: http://atribecalledred.com/

Spotify: http://spoti.fi/28W5Znz

Twitter: http://twitter.com/atribecalledred

Instagram: http://instagram.com/atribecalledred

Facebook: http://facebook.com/atribecalledred

Merch: http://atribecalledred.com/shop-2/

Toni Jensen’s first story collection, From the Hilltop, was published through the Native Storiers Series at the University of Nebraska Press. Her stories have been published in journals such as Ecotone, Denver Quarterly, and Fiction International and have been anthologized in New Stories from the South, Best of the Southwest, and Best of the West: Stories from the Wide Side of the Missouri. She’s working on a collection-in-progress, called Cowboyistan, about fracking and the sex trafficking of Indigenous women. She teaches in the Programs in Creative Writing and Translation at the University of Arkansas. She is Métis.

Women in the Fracklands: On Water, Land, Bodies, and Standing Rock

“Who is responsible for and to this woman, her safety, her body, her memory?”

By Toni Jensen


On Magpie Road, the colors are in riot. Sharp blue sky over green and yellow tall grass that rises and falls like water in the North Dakota wind. Magpie Road holds no magpies, only robins and crows. A group of magpies is called a tiding, a gulp, a murder, a charm. When the men in the pickup make their first pass, there on the road, you are photographing the grass against sky, an ordinary bird blurring over a lone rock formation.

You do not photograph the men, but if you had, you might have titled it “Father and Son Go Hunting.” They wear camouflage, and their mouths move in animation or argument. They have their windows down, as you have left those in your own car down the road. It is warm for fall. It is grouse season and maybe partridge but not yet waterfowl. Despite how partridge are in the lexicon vis-à-vis pear trees and holiday singing, the birds actually make their homes on the ground. You know which birds are in season because you are from a rural place like this one, a place where guns and men and shooting seasons are part of the knowledge considered common.

Magpie Road lies in the middle of the 1,028,051 acres that make up the Little Missouri National Grasslands in western North Dakota. Magpie Road lies about 200 miles north and west of the Standing Rock Reservation, where thousands of Indigenous people and their allies have come together to protect the water, where sheriff’s men and pipeline men and National Guardsmen have been donning their riot gear, where those men still wait, where they still hold tight to their riot gear.

If a man wears his riot gear during prayer, will the sacred forsake him? If a man wears his riot gear to the holiday meal, how will he eat? If a man enters the bedroom in his riot gear, how will he make love to his wife? If a man wears his riot gear to tuck in his children, what will they dream?

Magpie Road is part of the Bakken, a shale formation lying deep under the birds, the men in the truck, you, this road. The shale has been forming over centuries through pressure, through layers of sediment becoming silt. The silt becomes clay, which becomes shale. All of this is because of water. The Bakken is known as a Marine shale—meaning, once, here, instead of endless grass, there lay endless water.

There, just off Magpie Road, robins sit on branches or peck the ground. A group of robins is called a riot. This seems wrong at every level except the taxonomic. Robins are ordinary, everyday, general-public sorts of birds. They seem the least likely of all birds to riot.

When the men in the truck make their second pass, there on the road, the partridge sit their nests, and the robins are not in formation. They are singular. No one riots but the colors. The truck revs and slows and revs and slows beside you. You have taken your last photograph of the grass, have moved yourself back to your car. The truck pulls itself close to your car, revving parallel.

You are keeping your face still, starting the car. You have mislabeled your imaginary photograph. These men, they are not father and son. At close range, you can see there is not enough distance in age. One does sport camouflage, but the other, a button-down shirt, complete with pipeline logo over the breast pocket. They are not bird hunters. The one in the button-down motions to you out the window with his handgun, and he smiles and says things that are incongruous with his smiling face.


The night before, in a nearby fracklands town, you stand, with your camera, in your hotel room doorway. You left Standing Rock for the Bakken, and the wood smoke from the water protector camps still clings to your hair. You perform your fracklands travel protocol, photographing the room—the bedspread and desk, the bathroom. In your year and a half of research for your novel, of driving and talking to women in the fracklands, you have performed this ritual, this protocol, dozens of times. You upload the photos onto a website that helps find women who are trafficked, who have gone missing.

The influx of men, of workers’ bodies, into frackland towns brings an overflow of crime. In the Bakken at the height of the oil and gas boom, violent crime, for example, increased by 125 percent. North Dakota Attorney General Wayne Stenehjem called this increase in violent crime “disturbing,” and cited aggravated assaults, rapes, and human trafficking as “chief concerns.”

In each place, each frackland, off each road, you wait until checkout to upload the photos of the rooms. In the year and a half of driving and talking and driving and talking, if you’ve learned nothing else, you’ve learned to wait. Because it is very, very difficult to sleep in a hotel room once you learn a woman’s gone missing from it.


In the Marcellus Shale in Pennsylvania, a floorhand shuts the door to his hotel room, puts his body between the door and a woman holding fresh towels. A floorhand is responsible for the overall maintenance of a rig. The woman says to you that he says to her, “I just want some company.” He says it over and over, into her ear, her hair, while he holds her down. She says it to you, your ear, your hair. She hates that word now, she says, company. A floorhand is responsible for the overall maintenance of a rig. A floorhand is responsible. But who is responsible for and to this woman, her safety, her body, her memory? Who is responsible to and for the language, the words that will not take their leave?

In a hotel in Texas, in the Wolfcamp Shale, you wake to the music of the trucks arriving and departing. This hotel is shiny tile and chrome bathrooms. It is a parking lot overfilled with trucks, with men from the fields who have an arrangement with management. An arrangement can mean flowers in a vase. An arrangement can mean these men pay for nothing, not even a room. In the morning, the parking lot is all trashcan. Beer bottles and used condoms and needles, the nighttime overflow.

In a hotel in Texas, in the Permian Basin, you report to the front desk re: the roughneck in the room above. You dial zero while he hits his wife/girlfriend/girl he has just bought. You dial zero while he throws her and picks her up and starts again. Or at least, one floor down, this is the soundtrack. Upon his departure, the man uses his fist on every door down your hall. The sound is loud but also is like knocking, like hello, like Anybody home? You wonder if he went first to the floor above but think not. Sound, like so many things, operates mostly through a downward trajectory.

At a hotel where South Dakota and Wyoming meet, you are sure you have driven out of the Bakken, past its edge, far enough. That highway that night belongs to the deer, and all forty or fifty of them stay roadside as you pass. You arrive at the hotel on caffeine and luck. The parking lot reveals the calculus of your mistake—truck after truck after truck, and a hotel clerk outside transacting with a young roughneck. Their posture suggests a shared cigarette or kiss or grope—something safetied through vice or romance or lust. You’d take it. But here the posture is all commerce, is about the positioning of the body close so money can change hands. You are in a place that’s all commerce, where bodies are commerce only.

When two more roughnecks stagger into your sight line, the hotel clerk and her partner are heading inside. She meets your eyes like a dare. The staggering man is drunk, the other holding up the first while he zips his fly. This terminology, fly, comes from England, where it first referred to the flap on a tent—as in, Tie down your tent fly against the high winds. As in, Don’t step on the partridge nest as you tie down your fly. As in, Stake down your tent fly against the winter snow, against the rubber bullets, against the sight of the riot gear.

The men sway across the lot, drunk-loud, and one says to the other, “Hey, look at that,” and you are the only that there. When the other replies, “No. I like the one in my room just fine,” you are sorry and grateful for the one in an unequal measure.

You cannot risk more roadside deer, and so despite all your wishes, you stay the night. A group of deer is called a herd; a group of roe deer, a bevy. There is a bevy of roe deer in the Red Forest near Chernobyl. The Bakken is not Chernobyl because this is America. The Bakken is not Chernobyl because the Bakken is not the site of an accident. The Bakken is not Chernobyl because the Bakken is no accident.


On Magpie Road, the ditch is shallow but full of tall grass. With one hand, the button-down man steers his truck closer to your car, and with the other, he waves the handgun. He continues talking, talking, talking. The waving gesture is casual, like the fist knocking down the hotel hallway—hello, anyone home, hello?

Once on a gravel road, your father taught you to drive your way out of a worse ditch. When the truck reverses, then swerves forward, as if to block you in, you take the ditch to the right, and when the truck slams to a stop and begins to reverse at a slant, taking the whole road, you cross the road to the far ditch, which is shallow, is like a small road made of grass, a road made for you, and you drive like that, on the green and yellow grass until the truck has made its turn, is behind you. By then you can see the highway, and the truck is beside you on the dirt road, and the truck turns right, sharp across your path. So you brake then veer left. You veer out, onto the highway, fast, in the opposite direction.

Left is the direction to Williston. So you drive to Williston, and no one follows.

At a big box store in Williston, a lot sign advertises overnight parking for RV’s. You have heard about this, how girls are traded here. You had been heading here to see it, and now you’re seeing it. Mostly, you’re not seeing. You are in Williston for thirty-eight minutes, and you don’t leave your car.

You spend those thirty-eight minutes driving around the question of violence, of proximity and approximation. How many close calls constitute a violence? How much brush can a body take before it becomes a violence, before it makes violence, or before it is remade—before it becomes something other than the body it was once, before it becomes a past-tense body?



Why were you there on the road?

Because Indigenous women are almost three times more likely than other women to be harassed, to be raped, to be sexually assaulted, to be called a that there.

Because when the governor of North Dakota made an order to block entrance into the camps at Standing Rock and then rescinded it, he said the order was intended toward “public safety.” Because in his letter to the Standing Rock Tribal Chairman, the Commander of the Army Corps of Engineers said he was “genuinely concerned for the safety and well-being of both the members of your Tribe and the general public located at these encampments.”

Because these statistics about trafficking, about assault, are knowledge considered common, but only if your body is not considered a general-public body.

Because you’re a Métis woman.

Because you and they and we misunderstand the danger at Standing Rock, the danger of this pipeline going in there or elsewhere or everywhere. Because you and they and we misunderstand the nature of danger altogether.

Because each person in Flint, Michigan, for the foreseeable future, is rationed four cases of bottled water per week. Because you can see this future upriver or down. Because everywhere is upriver or down.

Because your first memory of water is of your father working to drown your mother. Because you are four or five, and you need to use the bathroom, but instead, find yourself backing out the bathroom doorway and down the hall where you sit on the rust-colored shag. Because you wait for your father to quit trying to drown your mother. It seems crucial in the moment not to wet your pants. It seems crucial to hold the pieces of yourself together. If you make a mess on the carpet, if your father doesn’t kill your mother, then she will have to clean the carpet. It seems crucial not to cause any trouble. So you sit. You wait. You hold yourself together.

Because all roads used to lead back to that house, and it is a measure of time and hard work that they no longer do. Because all roads lead to the body and through it. Because too many of us have these stories and these roads. Because you carry theirs and they carry yours, and in this way, there is a measure of balance. Because you are still very good at holding yourself together. Because these times make necessary the causing of trouble, the naming of it.

Because to the north and west of Magpie Road, in the Cypress Hills of southern Saskatchewan, in 1873, when traders and wolf hunters killed more than twenty Assiniboine, mostly women and children in their homes, the Métis hid in those hills and lived. Because they lived, they carried the news. Because they lived, you carry the news. Because the massacre took place along the banks of a creek that is a tributary that feeds into the greater Missouri River.

Because these times and those times and all times are connected through land and bodies and water.

What were you wearing, there on the road?

Not riot gear.

Why didn’t you call the police?

See the water cannon on the bridge at Standing Rock. Listen to the sheriff’s department men call it a “water hose” like this makes the act better. See also: Birmingham, Alabama. See the dog cages constructed outside the Morton County Sheriff’s Department to hold “overflow.” See the overflow—the water protectors, Dakota and Lakota women and men in cages. See it all overflow. See the journalists arrested for trespass and worse. See the confiscated notebooks, the cameras they will never get back. See the woman struck by a tear gas canister. See how she will no longer be able to see through her right eye. See the children whose grandmothers and grandfathers are hospitalized with hypothermia. See the elder who has a heart attack. See how science newly quantifies what some of us have long known—how historical and cultural trauma is lived in our bodies, is passed down, generation to generation, how it lives in the body. See the fires that elders light to keep warm. See the water extinguish those fires. See the children seeing it.

Why were you by yourself?

On a road like this, you are never alone. There is grass, there is sky, there is wind. See also: the answer on historical and cultural trauma. See also: Cypress Hills. See also: the everyday robins who are in formation now. See also: their ordinary, general-public bodies in riot.

What did you do, after?

You drove north and west and sat in rooms with friends, old and new. You hiked and ate good meals and talked about art. You wrote things down. You began the work of stitching yourself back together. You did this on repeat until the parts hung together in some approximation of self. In Livingston, Montana, you made use of the car wash. You left the tall grass there.

Further questions should be directed toward: Proceed to the Route. Upon arrival, pick up loose, roadside threads. Use them to stitch shut the asking mouths.


At Standing Rock, the days pass in rhythm. You sort box upon box of donation blankets and clothes. You walk a group of children from one camp to another so they can attend school.

The night before the first walk, it has rained hard and the dirt of the road has shifted to mud. The dirt or mud road runs alongside a field, which sits alongside the Cannonball River, which sits alongside and empties itself into the Missouri.

Over the field, a hawk rides a thermal, practicing efficiency. There on the road, in the mud, three Herefords block progress. The cow snorts to her calves, which are large enough to be ambulatory, young enough for the cow still to proffer protection. She places her body between you, the threat, and her calves. She stamps her hooves into the mud, and they stick in a way you imagine unsatisfactory.

In that letter to the Standing Rock Tribal Chairman, the Army Corps Commander wrote that the people must disperse from camp, “due to the concern for public safety” and because “this land is leased to private persons for grazing and/or haying purposes.”

A cow holds public hooves whether stuck in mud or otherwise. A cow is not a concern to public safety. But what of these children? Are they considered public or private? If they don’t graze or hay, if they cannot be leased, what is their value, here on this road, in this, our America?

That day, there on the road, once the mother cow allows safe passage, you walk on. After school but before the return walk, the children and you gather with hundreds to listen to the tribal chairman speak of peace, to sit with elders to pray, to talk of peace.

On this day, it is still fall. Winter will arrive with the Army Corps’ words—no drilling under Lake Oahe, no pipeline under Lake Oahe. The oil company will counter, calling the pipeline “vital,” saying they “fully expect to complete construction of the pipeline without any additional rerouting in and around Lake Oahe.” The weather will counter with a blizzard. After the words and before the blizzard, there will be a celebration. A gathering of larks is called an exaltation. Even if it wasn’t so, you like to think of them there, like to think of their song, there with the people in the snow, there, alongside the river.

Back in the fall, you walk the children home from school, there on the road. You cross the highway, the bridge, upon your return. This bridge lies due south of the Backwater Bridge of the water cannons or hoses. But this bridge, this day, holds a better view. The canoes have arrived from the Northwest tribes, the Salish tribes. They gather below the bridge on the water and cars slow alongside you to honk and wave. Through their windows, people offer real smiles.

That night, under the stars, fire-lit, the women from the Salish tribes dance and sing. Though you’ve been to a hundred powwows, easily, you’ve never seen this dance, never heard this song. You stand with your own arms resting on the shoulders of the school children, and the dancers, these women, move their arms in motions that do more than mimic water, that conjure it. Their voices are calm and strong, and they move through the gathering like quiet, like water, like something that will hold, something you can keep, even if only for this moment.

Toni Jensen’s Women in the Fracklands source here: https://catapult.co/stories/women-in-the-fracklands-on-water-land-bodies-and-standing-rock

Find More by Toni Jensen Here: https://www.tonijensen.com


Seinabo Sey is a (Girl Power Academy) featured Singer recommendation:

Seinbo Sey (singer/lyricist)

Some days, I think maybe we should try and be a little more conventional, but every time I try, I fail, so I’m learning to not even entertain that thought anymore.”  ~Seinabo Sey

Seinabo Sey was born in Södermalm, Stockholm on 7 October 1990, she is of both Swedish and Gambian (West African) ancestry. She moved to Halmstad, Sweden at the age of eight, and attended Östergårdsskolans music program for musically gifted teenagers.

I guess one thing that makes my music stand out is that it is quite hard to determine what genre it is.” ~Seinabo Sey


The Seinabo Sey “I Owe You Nothing” (music video) is being posted here for NO COMMERCIAL PURPOSE.

Seinabo Sey “I Owe You Nothing” LYRICS

I be myself I aint frontin na na nah

I owe you nothing I be myself I aint frontin na na nah

I don’t have to smile for you I don’t have to move for you

I don’t have to dance monkey dance monkey dance for you

See I wont help you understand

I don’t need no helping hand

These aren’t tears this is the ocean

These aren’t fears this is devotion

I owe you nothing I be myself I aint frontin na na nah

I owe you nothing I be myself I aint frontin na na nah

I don’t have to walk for you I don’t have to talk to you

See I’m not on display, never was, never will ever be for you

I wont help you understand I don’t need no helping hand

These aren’t tears this is the ocean

These aren’t fears this is devotion

Why you always have to try me?

Thinking I’m gon follow blindly saying, ‘oh let me down easy, baby let me drown easy’

Music video by Seinabo Sey performing I Owe You Nothing. © 2018 Saraba AB


Listen to ‘I Owe You Nothing’ here: https://seinabosey.lnk.to/IOweYouNothing Seinabo Sey’s debut album Pretend, listen here: https://seinabosey.lnk.to/AlbumPretend

Subscribe to Seinabo Sey’s channel: https://seinabosey.lnk.to/VEVOSubscribe Follow Seinabo Sey on socials: https://seinabosey.lnk.to/followme

Video Credits:

Prod company: New Land, Director: Sheila Johansson, Producer: Adam Holmström, DOP: Tim Lorentzen, Focus puller/Cam asst: Jonas Björne, Stylist: Selam Ghirmay Fessahaye, Make-up: Sainabou Secka, Hair: Sainabou Katri Chune, Editor: Alexander Peri, Colorist: Nicke Jakobsson, Sound design: Martin Mighetto, Online: Mikael, Post production Chimney/Talet group Local production: Production manager: Ousman Drammeh, Production manager: Bubacarr Batchilly, Prod. Koordinator: Oumie Sissoho Driver: Modou Jatta Driver: Ousaman Jarju, Management: Nina Nestlander & Jonas Wikström, Sweden Music Management, Thanks to: Daniel Thissel Sofia Misgena Michaela Grip Ljud och Bildmedia XO Mangement

Seinabo Sey in “Remember” (music-video still) 2018

The song [Remember] is very personal as Seinabo recently revealed to Dazed,

I think I actually wrote it to myself. I know I did. One part of me just wants to be remembered, wants people to like my music, and like me. Another part of me is like, ‘You know damn well that you’ve been liked and that doesn’t make you happier, but if you just want to be remembered we can fix that.’ I’m talking to my ego in a sense. I teamed up with Jacob [Banks], and we turned it into more of a love song, but it’s about wanting to be remembered for all of the good things, and hoping that you can walk out of a relationship – whether it be with myself in time, or with a person – feeling a sense of freedom.”

Janelle Monáe is a (Girl Power Academy) Pussy Power recommendation:

Janelle Monae wearing Pynk vagina pants by designer Duran Lantink

“PYNK is a brash celebration of creation. self love. sexuality. and pu**y power!” reads the video’s description. “PYNK is the color that unites us all, for pink is the color found in the deepest and darkest nooks and crannies of humans everywhere. PYNK is where the future is born.”

The Janelle Monáe “PYNK” (Music Video) is being posted here for NO COMMERCIAL PURPOSES.  

Janelle Monáe “PYNK” LYRICS:

[Verse 1: Janelle Monáe]
Pink like the inside of your, baby
Pink behind all of the doors, crazy
Pink like the tongue that goes down, maybe
Pink like the paradise found
Pink when you’re blushing inside, baby
Pink is the truth you can’t hide, maybe
Pink like the folds of your brain, crazy
Pink as we all go insane
[Pre-Chorus: Janelle Monáe]
So, here we are in the car
Leaving traces of us down the boulevard
I wanna fall through the stars
Getting lost in the dark is my favourite part
Let’s count the ways we could make this last forever
Sunny, money, keep it funky
Touch your top and let it down
[Chorus: Janelle Monáe]
Ah, yeah
Some like that
Ah, ah
Some like that
Ah, yeah
Some like that
‘Cause boy it’s cool if you got blue
We got the pink
[Verse 2: Janelle Monáe]
Pink like the lips around your, maybe
Pink like the skin that’s under, baby
Pink where it’s deepest inside, crazy
Pink beyond forest and thighs
Pink like the secrets you hide, maybe
Pink like the lid of your eye, baby
Pink is where all of it starts, crazy
Pink like the halls of your heart
[Pre-Chorus: Janelle Monáe & Grimes]
So, here we are in the car
Leaving traces of us down the boulevard
I wanna fall through the stars
Getting lost in the dark is my favourite part
Let’s count the ways we could make this last forever
Sunny, money, keep it funky
Touch your top and let it down
[Chorus: Janelle Monáe & Grimes]
Ah, yeah
Some like that
Ah, ah
Some like that
Ooh, yeah
Some like that
‘Cause boy it’s cool if you got blue
We got the pink, huh
Honey, yeah
Some like that
Some like that
Some like that
‘Cause boy it’s cool if you got blue
We got the pink
[Verse 3: Janelle Monáe]
Pink like the inside of your, baby (we’re all just pink)
Pink like the walls and the doors, maybe (deep inside, we’re all just pink)
Pink like your fingers in my, maybe
Pink is the truth you can’t hide
Pink like your tongue going round, baby
Pink like the sun going down, maybe
Pink like the holes in your heart, baby
Pink is my favourite part

 “Dirty Computer” – an emotion picture* by Janelle Monáe arrives on 4.27.18 *EMOTION PICTURE (definition): a narrative film and accompanying musical album

Director: Emma Westenberg

Connect with Janelle: http://jmonae.com




Lizzo is a (Girl Power Academy) ‘no-genre hip-hop’ recommendation:

Lizzo (hip-hop artist)

Everyone looks to an artist for something more than just the music, and that message of being comfortable in my own skin is number one for me.”

I like that I’m not typical. I like that I’m called ‘no-genre hip-hop.'”

Every time I rap about being a big girl in a small world, it’s doing a couple things: it’s empowering my self-awareness, my body image, and it’s also making the statement that we are all bigger than this; we’re a part of something bigger than this, and we should live in each moment knowing that.” 

I was raised on gospel. I remember hip-hop and rock music were secular, so basically, for my first ten years living in Detroit, I was on gospel. But when I moved to Houston, that’s when I got to open up my musical horizons.”  (~quotes by Lizzo)


The Lizzo “Fitness” (official Music video) is being posted here for NO COMMERCIAL PURPOSES.

Lizzo “Fitness” LYRICS:

Independent, athletic
I been sweating, doing calisthenics
Booty vicious, mind yo business
I been working, working on my fitness
I’ve been lifting heavy metal
See this ass? Ain’t no rental
Take it down low like just stretching
Pick it back up like I’m flexing
Woo, tryna get it, working on my fitness
Think about how I’m gonna feel when I step up on the catwalk
Think about how I’m gonna feel when I got that ass that don’t stop
That ass that don’t stop, that ass don’t stop
And think about how I’m gonna feel when I take it all off
Independent, athletic
I been sweating, doing calisthenics
Booty vicious, mind yo business
I been working, working on my fitness
I been working, working on my fitness
Ooh, work my body like
Ooh, I know you want it like
Ooh, but I don’t do this for you
Think about how I’m gonna feel when I step up on the catwalk
Think about how I’m gonna feel when I got that ass that don’t stop
That ass that don’t stop, that ass don’t stop
And think about how I’m gonna feel when I take it all off
but I don’t do this for you
Independent, athletic
I been sweating, doing calisthenics
Booty vicious, mind yo business (better mind yo business)
I been working, working on my fitness (I’m working on my fitness)
Independent, athletic
I been sweating, doing calisthenics
Booty vicious, mind yo business
I been working, working on my fitness
Songwriters: Aino Jawo / Bruce Sudano / Caroline Hjelt / Donna Summer / Edward Hokenson / Eric Frederic / Joe London / Joseph Esposito / Melissa Jefferson / Teddy Geiger / Tom Peyton
Fitness lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.

Support the artist! Lizzo – “Fitness” Out Now

Download/Stream: https://Atlantic.lnk.to/FitnessAY

Follow Lizzo: https://www.facebook.com/LizzoMusic/


https://www.instagram.com/lizzobeeating/ https://soundcloud.com/lizzomusic


Find Out more about Lizzo by clicking Here: https://girlpoweracademy.wordpress.com/2017/02/03/lizzo-is-a-girl-power-academy-inspiration-and-music-recommendation/

Baseball Season is Here! a (Girl Power Academy) Women in Sports feature:


At International Women’s Baseball Center (IWBC), education is the cornerstone of our mission to protect, preserve, and promote all aspects of women’s baseball, both on and off the field. We strive to inspire the next generation of players by helping them realize their dreams not only of participating in the sport, but also of passing on all they will learn and achieve for generations to come.



The USA Baseball Women’s National Team (WNT) was established in 2004, when an 18-player team was chosen following open tryouts across the nation. The team went on to capture the gold medal in the first-ever IBAF Women’s Baseball World Cup in Edmonton, Canada. Team USA repeated as IBAF World Cup gold medalists in 2006 in Taiwan, before taking home the bronze medal at the 2008 World Cup in Japan and again in 2010 in Venezuela. In 2012, the WNT won a silver medal at the World Cup in Edmonton, Canada.

Most recently, in 2014, the Women’s National Team took home the silver medal from the WBSC Women’s Baseball World Cup, which was played in Miyazaki, Japan.

When not competing in the World Cup, the Women’s National Team hosts a Women’s Development Program, leads youth clinics and works to grow the game of baseball among women in the U.S.

USA Baseball will kick off its 2015 on-field programming with the inaugural Women’s National Open, to be held Jan. 16-18 in The Woodlands, Texas. Players will compete in a series of skill sessions and games in an effort to be selected as one of the 34 players chosen to attend the Women’s National Team Trials, to be held May 22-24. The 18 athletes selected from trials to round out the final roster will then go compete in the Pan American Games in Toronto, July 20-26.


Justine Siegal first female coach in Major League Baseball (Oakland A’s)

MLB News: Justine Siegal in Majors

Before Jackie Robinson broke baseball’s color barrier in 1947, there had not been a Black player in Major League Baseball since the 1890s. Black baseball players migrated to the Negro Leagues, and they were joined by a few Black women who were also shunned by White-only leagues.

In the 1992 film, “A League of their Own,” starring Tom Hanks, Geena Davis, Madonna, and Rosie O’Donnell, there were not any Black characters in the movie. That was because the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League, like Major League Baseball, did not allow Black players.

There were no all-female baseball leagues for Black women, so Toni Stone, Mamie “Peanut” Johnson, and Connie Morgan, wanted to find a league where they could play ball. And that league was with their own people.

The signing of Hank Aaron to the Boston Braves in 1951, left a hole in the infield of Indianapolis Clowns if the the Negro League. Stone seemed be the player for the job. The team signed her, making stone the first Black woman to play in the Negro Leagues.

Stone grew up in St. Paul, Minn., where she played with a local boys baseball team, and she later moved to San Francisco, where she played semi pro barnstorming baseball for an American Legion team. In her first at-bat with the San Francisco Sea Lions, she drove in two runs.

Stone was not welcomed with open arms by the men in the Negro Leagues, who felt that a woman should not be allowed to play with them. She took it as an honor, when she showed off scars on her wrist when male players tried to spike her while sliding into second base.

“They didn’t mean any harm and in their way they liked me,” Stone is quoted as saying. “Just that I wasn’t supposed to be there. They’d tell me to go home and fix my husband some biscuits or any damn thing. Just get the hell away from here.”

Stone was not allowed in the locker room, and usually dressed in the umpire’s locker room. She was asked to wear a skirt while playing, but she refused to do it.

Even with the struggles that Stone faced, she still held her own, batting .243 during the 1954 season, and one of the hits was off of the legendary Satchel Paige.

“He was so good,” Stone remembered. “That he’d ask batters where they wanted it, just so they’d have a chance. He’d ask, ‘You want it high? You want it low? You want it right in the middle? Just say.’ People still couldn’t get a hit against him. So, I get up there and he says, ‘Hey, T, how do you like it?’ And I said, ‘It doesn’t matter just don’t hurt me.’ When he wound up, he had these big old feet, all you could see was his shoe. I stood there shaking, but I got a hit. Right out over second base. Happiest moment in my life.”

In 1985, Stone was inducted into the Women’s Sports Foundation’s International Women’s Sports Hall of Fame, and she is showcased in two exhibits at the Baseball Hall of Fame.

Toni Stone (Marcenia Lyle) Boston Braves Major League Baseball Infielder circ. 1951 (photo from the Negro League called the Clowns)
Read the rest of the article about : BLACK WOMEN in PROFESSIONAL BASEBALL~

Our Weekly news: black-women-have-long-history-professional-baseball/

The Little League World Series was started in 1947. Since that time approximately 9,000 individuals have participated in the tournament. In 2014, Mo’ne Davis from Philadelphia set a number of impressive records for the tournament. She was the first girl to pitch a shutout and earn a win during the tournament. Davis was one of only six girls to get a hit during the tournament. She was also the first African-American girl to play in the tournament as well as the first Little League baseball player to be featured on the cover of Sports Illustrated.

Most children who pitch baseball at the age of 13 average 63 miles an hour. Davis was able to consistently pitch a baseball at 70 miles an hour. During the Little League World Series tournament, her pitches averaged 71 miles an hour. Davis was also able to complement her speed with control. The curve ball she threw caused intense frustration with hitters from the opposing team. This level of pitching is what is expected in Major League Baseball (MLB). Davis was able to achieve this level of pitching despite her arm being approximately 15 percent shorter than any MLB pitcher.

Mo’ne Davis currently spends her time playing on her high school basketball and softball team. She also plays in a baseball program called Reviving Baseball-in-Inner Cities (RBI). In the Philadelphia area, she continues to be an inspiration to all young female athletes. Davis tells people she plans to continue playing baseball. She wants to then play basketball when she gets to college.

PHILADELPHIA, PA – AUGUST 27: Taney Dragons Pitcher Mo’ne Davis tips her hat as she is introduced and recognized before the game between the Washington Nationals and the Philadelphia Phillies at Citizens Bank Park on August 27, 2014 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. (Photo by Brian Garfinkel/Getty Images)
Read the FULL article about : MO’NE DAVIS here~

How They Play: Mo’ne Davis; The First Little League Player to be on The Cover of Sports Illustrated

Natalie Diaz is a (Girl Power Academy) featured Poet recommendation:

Natalie Diaz (Poet)

Pima and Mojave, and an enrolled member of the Gila River Indian community, Natalie Diaz was born and raised in the Fort Mojave Indian Village in Needles, California. She earned her BA from Old Dominion University, where she received a full athletic scholarship and majored in English and Women’s Studies. She went on to play basketball professionally in Europe and Asia before returning to Old Dominion to earn an MFA in Creative Writing.

Diaz’ view both embraces and subverts mythology, simultaneously conveying Mojave, Spanish, and American folklore.

Diaz’s work was chosen by Natasha Trethewey to appear in Best New Poets 2007 and has been published in such journals as Prairie Schooner and Iowa Review. Her many awards include the Nimrod/Hardman Pablo Neruda Prize for Poetry, the Louis Untermeyer Scholarship in Poetry from Bread Loaf, the Narrative Poetry Prize, and a Lannan Literary Fellowship. Diaz currently directs a language revitalization program, where she works with the last four fluent speakers Mojave speakers. The project was highlighted, along with her book, on the “PBS News Hour.”


(written by Natalie Diaz)

The Colorado River
is the most endangered river in the United Statesalso, it is a part of my body.

I carry a river. It is who I am: Aha Makav.

This is not metaphor.

When a Mojave says, Inyech Aha Makavch ithuum, we are saying our name. We are telling a story of our existence. The river runs through the middle of my body.

So far, I have said the word river in every stanza. I don’t want to waste water. I must preserve the river in my body.

In future stanzas, I will try to be more conservative.


The Spanish called us, Mojave. Colorado, the name they gave our river because it was silt-red-thick.

Natives have been called red forever. I have never met a red native, not even on my reservation, not even at the National Museum of the American Indian, not even at the largest powwow in Parker, Arizona.

I live in the desert along a dammed blue river. The only red people I’ve seen are white tourists sunburned after being out on the water too long.


Aha Makav is the true name of our people, given to us by our Creator who loosed the river from the earth and built it, into our living bodies.

Translated into English, Aha Makav means the river runs through the middle of our body, the same way it runs through the middle of our land.

This is a poor translation, like all translations.

In American minds, the logic of this image will lend itself to surrealism or magical realism—

Americans prefer a magical red Indian, or a shaman, or a fake Indian in a red dress, over a real native. Even a real native carrying the dangerous and heavy blues of a river in her body. 

What threatens white people is often dismissed as myth.

I have never been true in America. America is my myth.


Derrida says, Every text remains in mourning until it is translated.

When Mojaves say the word for tears, we return to our word for river, as if our river were flowing from our eyes. Agreat weeping, is how you might translate it. Or, a river of grief.

But who is this translation for? And will they come to my language’s four-night funeral to grieve what has beenlost in my efforts at translation? When they have drunk dry my river will they join the mourning procession across our bleached desert?

The word for drought is different across many languages and lands.

The ache of thirst, though, translates to all bodies along the same paths—the tongue and the throat. No matter what language you speak, no matter the color of your skin.


We carry the river, its body of water, in our body.

I do not mean to imply a visual relationship. Such as: a native woman on her knees holding a box of Land O’Lakes butter whose label has a picture of a native woman on her knees holding a box of Land O’Lakes butter whose label has a picture of a native woman on her knees . . .

We carry the river, its body of water, in our body. I do not mean to invoke the Droste effect.

I mean river as a verb. A happening. It is moving within me right now.


This is not juxtaposition. Body and water are not two unlike things—they are more than close together or side by side. They are samebody, being, energy, prayer, current, motion, medicine.

This knowing comes from acknowledging the human body has more than six senses. The body is beyond six senses. Is sensual. Is always an ecstatic state of energy, is always on the verge of praying, or entering any river of movement.

Energy is a moving like a river moving my moving body.


In Mojave thinking, body and land are the same. The words are separated only by letters: iimat for body, amat for land. In conversation, we often use a shortened form for each: mat-. Unless you know the context of a conversation, you might not know if we are speaking about our body or our land. You might not know which has been injured, which is remembering, which is alive, which was dreamed, which needs care, which has vanished.

If I say, My river is disappearing, do I also mean, My people are disappearing?


How can I translate—not in words but in belief—that a river is a body, as alive as you or I, that there can be no life without it?


John Berger wrote true translation is not a binary affair between two languages but a triangular affair. The third point of the triangle being what lay behind the words of the original text before it was written. True translation demands a return to the pre-verbal.

Between the English translation I offered, and the urging I felt to first type Aha Makav in the lines above, is not the point where this story ends or begins.

We must go to the place before those two pointswe must go to the third place that is the river.

We must go to the point of the lance our creator stabbed into the earth, and the first river bursting from that clay body into mine. We must submerge beneath those once warm red waters now channeled-blue and cool, the current’s endless yards of emerald silk wrapping the body and moving it, swift enough to take life or give it.

We must go until we smell the black-root-wet anchoring the river’s mud banks.


What is this third point, this place beyond the surface, if not the deep-cut and crooked bone-bed where the Colorado River runs—like a one thousand four hundred and fifty mile thirst—into and through a body?

Berger called it the pre-verbal. Pre-verbal as in the body when the body was more than body. Before it could name itself body and be limited to the space body indicated.

Pre-verbal is the place where the body was yet a green-blue energy greening, greened, and bluing the stone, the floodwaters, the razorback fish, the beetle, and the cottonwoods’ and willows’ shaded shadows.

Pre-verbal was when the body was more than a body and possible.

One of its possibilities was to hold a river within it.


A river is a body of water. It has a foot, an elbow, a mouth. It runs. It lies in a bed. It can make you good. It remembers everything.


America is a land of bad math and science: the Right believes Rapture will save them from the violence they are delivering upon the earth and water; the Left believes technology, the same technology wrecking the earth and water, will save them from the wreckage or help them build a new world on Mars.


If I was created to hold the Colorado River, to carry its rushing inside me, how can I say who I am if the river is gone?

What does Aha Makav mean if the river is emptied to the skeleton of its fish and the miniature sand dunes of its dry silten beds?

If the river is a ghost, am I?

Unsoothable thirst is one type of haunting.


A phrase popular or more known to non-natives during the Standing Rock encampment was, Water is the first medicine. It is true.

Where I come from we cleanse ourselves in the river. Not like a bath with soap. I mean: the water makes us strongand able to move forward into what is set before us to do with good energy.

We cannot live good, we cannot live at all, without water.

If we poison and use up our water, how will we cleanse ourselves of these sins?


To thirst and to drink is how one knows they are alive, and grateful.

To thirst and then not drink is . . .


If your builder could place a small red bird in your chest to beat as your heart, is it so hard for you to picture the blue river hurtling inside the slow muscled curves of my long body? Is it too difficult to believe it is as sacred as a breath or a star or a sidewinder or your own mother or your lover?

If I could convince you, would our brown bodies and our blue rivers be more loved and less ruined?

The Whanganui River in New Zealand now has the same legal rights of a human being. In India, the Ganges and Yamuna rivers now have the same legal status of a human being. Slovenia’s constitution now declares access to clean drinking water to be a national human right. While in the US, we are tear-gassing and rubber-bulleting and kenneling natives who are trying to protect their water from pollution and contamination at Standing Rock in North Dakota. We have yet to discover what the effects of lead-contaminated water will be on the children of Flint, Michigan, who have been drinking it for years.


We think of our bodies as being all that we are: I am my body. This thinking helps us disrespect water, air, land, one another. But water is not external from our body, our self.

My Elder says: Cut off your ear, and you will live. Cut off your hand, you will live. Cut off your leg, you can still live. Cut off our water: we will not live more than a week.

The water we drink, like the air we breathe, is not a part of our body but is our body. What we do to one—to the body, to the water—we do to the other.


Toni Morrison writes, All water has a perfect memory and is forever trying to get back to where it was. Back to the body of earth, of flesh, back to the mouth, the throat, back to the womb, back to the heart, to its blood, back to our grief, back back back to when we were more than we have lately become.

Will we soon remember from where we’ve come? The water.

And once remembered, will we return to that first water, and in doing so return to ourselves, to each other, better and cleaner?

Do you think the water will forget what we have done, what we continue to do?

—Natalie Diaz (Natalie Diaz is a Mojave and Pima language activist. She grew up at Fort Mojave along the Colorado River.)

Read more poetry by and view photographs of “Women of Standing Rock” in the Orion Magazine here: https://orionmagazine.org/article/women-standing-rock/


Tiffany is a (Girl Power Academy) Positive Energy Magazine “Meditation Guide” recommendation:

This meditation is about removing our personal walls and defense mechanisms that block us from love and or getting our needs met.  It recognizes how we plug into our conditioned “baseboards” and react from places of fear.  Tiffany‘s gentle but firm guidance provides a feeling of safety while encouraging the listener to explore expressions of vulnerability and desires.   Girl Power Academy is honored to share another one of Tiffany’s generous healing sessions.


The “Let Down Your Guard” (10 minute Positive Meditation guided by Tiffany) Positive Meditation Positive Energy Magazine (audio) is being posted here for NO COMMERCIAL PURPOSES.