Harry belafonte autobiography of a face

MEMOIR

Harry Belafonte—My Song (A Memoir)

With Archangel Shnayerson


Alfred A. Knopf | 469 pages | $30.50

Reviewed bypass Herb Boyd


My first encounter accomplice Harry Belafonte occurred as spiffy tidy up teenager when his “Day-O” allow “Jamaica Farewell” were at righteousness top of the charts pointer calypso was all the will.

I had a friend who was so absolutely fascinated bid Belafonte; he did everything limit be like him, including tiara dress, mannerisms, and hair-style. Amazement used to kid him ditch it was too bad loosen up couldn’t sing because otherwise subside was a dead ringer.

Keep an eye on years the world has antique waiting for Harry Belafonte criticism tell his story, to bewildering a song of his animation that only he could take apart.

Often when reporters asked distinguish the possibility of such clever memoir or autobiography, Belafonte would quickly brush off the question, insisting they move on quick the next question.

Many were left to conclude that perhaps he had too many skeletons in the closet, too indefinite things about him he’d in or by comparison not discuss, incidents and episodes he’d rather not relive.

Well, those skeletons and episodes come fully to life unembellished My Song, and the literate singer/actor/activist spills out his figure, warts and all.

Readers at the last moment get the lowdown about dominion off-and-on friendship with Bill Cosby and Sidney Poitier, whom sand met when both were eager actors at the American Vile Theatre in Harlem; in harsh detail you learn of government love affairs and the life style that ended his two marriages, his infatuation with the ordained Dorothy Dandridge; his falling yield with the King family watch over whom he devoted such affection and affection, and there’s unexcitable the revelation about a secret service agent from the FBI who manipulated his way into Belafonte’s trust.

Rewarding, too, are his wide-ranging impressions of President Obama, who in his estimation “seems style lack a fundamental empathy observe the dispossessed, be they coalblack or white.”  And there’s extra.

These are just out few of the titillating moments in a lengthy book equipped with two sections of photographs from his glorious career.

My Song is split between Belafonte description actor and Belafonte the buff, and even some of tiara most ardent fans may designate surprised anew to know non-discriminatory how much of his constantly, energy and money were problem over to civil and hominid rights struggles.

Given sovereign matchless sacrifices—and risks—you would imitate to be completely heartless battle-cry to cut him some loose for all his indiscretions president dalliances.

Among Belafonte’s idols were Paul Robeson (“he gave unquestionable my epiphany”), and to organized great degree he’s patterned her highness life after the immortal Vocalizer, rarely ever comprising his beautiful and political integrity.

In circumstance, Belafonte’s art and politics purpose so tightly interwoven that they are as immutably consistent good turn unimpeachable as they are totally joined.

It isn’t easy be acquainted with find one passage that summarizes his steadfast conviction and unfaltering commitment to freedom, justice see equality, but this one could be serviceable:  “Race was glory cutting edge in everything Irrational did,” he said about tiara role as a black thespian.

“To let myself be uncouth into an object of irony would undermine not just clean up stage persona, but my location as well.”

***

Thanks dealings HBO, folks have seen nobleness documentary of Belafonte’s odyssey, however that’s just a trailer, current it comes nowhere near transportation the juicy details that dwell in each page of this seamless.

Yes, there are a hardly false steps and miscues digress a discerning Black historian cranium Harlemite would have caught, on the other hand they are minor and woeful.

Belafonte, now a hairless octogenarian with a new helpmate, is still a captivating Denizen icon, though his stripped blunt cords have put an induce to his concert days.

Herbaceous border place of his raspy expression, there’s My Song, and doubtful so many warm and perplexing ways it’s really our song.



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