Preceding Beyonce were illustrious icons: Josephine Baker, Marian Anderson, Lena Horn, Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald, Diana Ross; a myriad of others sang their way into the souls of countless; cementing their gifts into the chambers of the entitled.
Beyonce ‘s Renaissance (rebirth) is a healthy retrospective of her assent into a rarefied realm, sorority of those touched by the gods with the acuity to addict listeners, spectators to their astounding attributes. Expected and requited are her vocal facilities but her inclusion of her idolators, worshipers resonated with unselfishness, audience participation was key to this film, as was the viewing of the stage’s embryonic ballooning into a full-fledged monument of technological wizardry. She, with blatant honesty, shared the vicissitudes she conquered on her scramble up the ladder to the legendary: damaged vocal cords, injuries of magnitude and interminable hours of rehabilitation. It was not easy, but it resulted in strength.
Loyal to her family and her “Uncle Johnny”, a black, gay man with a flair for the innovative, imaginative kingdom of fashion; AIDS took his life but not his aura.
Unfamiliar with the particulars that infused her assent, she unabashedly peels layers of self-reflection, excavating, ennobling to the core her identity. At forty-two, at the peak of her comfort level, glowing with motherhood, satisfaction with her art, knowing that the future, not only unknown, but laden with possibilities, is hers to seize.