Books like Maybe We'll Make It — picked by fans

Daphne A. Brooks’ book is a revolutionary work, centering more than a century of innovations by Black women in popular music who have been marginalized, overlooked, or erased.

Situating Zora Neale Hurston as a sound archivist and performer and Lorraine Hansberry as a cultural critic alongside blues pioneers such as Bessie Smith and Mamie Smith and contemporary artists like Janelle Monáe and Valerie June, Brooks doesn’t merely fill in blind spots.

She exposes how those blind spots reflect the partial, subjective view of white male critics and historians.

Showing us a different way of seeing and listening to culture, Brooks has informed and inspired my thinking, and some of the best work I’ve done as a journalist, including this piece about Elizabeth Cotten, whose music fueled the 1960s folk revival.

With amazing illustrations by Rachelle Baker, the journalist Clover Hope spotlights dozens of women who have played an integral role in hip-hop’s story, from legends such as Roxanne Shanté and Lil’ Kim to less often celebrated trailblazers like Bytches with Problems.

Documenting women's often unrecognized influence, Hope leaves you with a sense of how deeply they have nevertheless left their mark, and keeps their legacy alive for future generations of music-makers.

This book is a powerful and often heartbreakingly honest memoir from an artist who was frequently misunderstood throughout her career.

Before her untimely passing, Sinéad offered her own perspective on her life, her activism, and the numerous challenges she faced within the music industry and in her personal life.

One of the most compelling parts of the book for me was understanding how Sinéad saw herself and the fallout from the infamous Saturday Night Live incident, where she tore up a photo of the Pope. This act significantly impacted her career. Her account of Prince, who penned one of her biggest hits, is also quite memorable, though not particularly flattering to him.

Ultimately, it's a sad story of a fiercely independent and deeply emotional individual who often seemed unfairly castigated, and I truly appreciated her raw energy and unfiltered perspective in the book. Her loss is a significant one.

Living Colour enjoyed an all too brief moment of superstardom at the same time as Sinéad O’Connor.

Grappling with issues such as racism, classism, and police brutality, it fused different musical styles. Yet white critics often saw the all-Black band as a rock anomaly- which was ironic considering that Little Richard and the saxophonist Maceo Parker (who played with James Brown) were among Living Colour's key collaborators! 

Through interviews with the band and key players in the production and reception of its bold, experimental 1990 album, Time’s Up, Mack shows why Living Colour was (and is) musically and politically powerful, and why it remains influential.

For me what makes this book really shine is her presence in the story as a Black girl growing up loving rock, then later as a scholar reclaiming it.

Saving American Beach is a biography of MaVynee Betsch, an American activist and environmentalist.

Betsch is best known for her campaign to conserve American Beach, a historically Black community in Jacksonville, FL. Euka Holmes is an award-winning illustrator. She uses acrylic paint and paper collage to create absolutely gorgeous landscapes and portraits from the life of Betsch and her American Beach.

In my favorite spreads, you can honestly feel a peaceful, seaside breeze that will give you goosebumps.

One of my favorite memoirs, Rage to Survive is a no-holds-barred dive into the life and times of a powerful singer who traversed the genres of rock and roll, blues, and R&B during her decades-long career. James tells compelling stories about her tough upbringing on the west coast and her teenage immersion into sex, drugs, and early rock and roll (check out her 1955 hit “The Wallflower”); shares her experiences touring in the segregated south during the 1950s; offers gossip about well-known musical figures; and reflects on her development as an artist navigating the recording industry in the fifties, sixties, seventies, and eighties. Throughout she offers insights about love, loss, motherhood, hard knocks, bad choices, addiction, and personal and professional triumphs. James speaks with passion, humor, and honesty. 

What can I say, I love blondes. I also adore Kristin Chenoweth, though I realize I’m not the only one. She’s so damned adorable and heroically gifted, and her life is as interesting as her talent.

I love her honesty and you can feel her life on the page. Kristin is a force of nature and a damn good storyteller herself. 

When my son was a rocking toddler, he needed everything just so—a twisted guitar strap could ruin his gig. We both drew inspiration from Elizabeth Cotten, who managed to play guitar despite being left-handed and teaching herself upside down and backwards. By the age of 11, Cotten had written “Freight Train,” one of the most famous folk songs of the last century. Take that, perfectionism.

The moment I realized I was getting older was the moment I put two little pieces of toilet paper in my ears in the middle of a Mogwai show in Asheville, NC.

It was the loudest show I’d ever attended. And it was phenomenal.

Mogwai has been making cinematic music for a long time, and I came into awareness of the band with 2008’s “The Hawk is Howling.” They are epic, funny, mysterious, meditative, and relentless.

It’s no surprise that  Stuart Braithwaite’s book is perfect for the Mogwai fanbase in that it gives some insight into the band’s philosophy while maintaining a sense of mystery. I also like that Braithwaite doesn’t seem to take himself too seriously.

This is a book about the power of one musician to reimagine the shapes of identity and power in the face of centuries-long violence and pervasive discrimination against Black individuals and communities, and the ability of song and text to create new histories and futures.

I don’t think my words could possibly be better than Stephanie Phillips’s, so I’ll quote from her book here: “To watch Solange is to see a version of unapologetic Blackness many Black people aspire to—one that doesn’t subscribe to previous notions of what it means to be Black, one aware of self-preservation, one that doesn’t give a f*** about what Becky in the back thinks Black people should do.”

Whether you’re a fan of Solange’s music or not, you’ll find Phillips’s writing completely inspiring.