I discovered the visual of Lamya Al’Mugheiry on accident. It was a brisk autumn day in 2003, and I was walking even more briskly down 9th Avenue in Chelsea, attempting to flee from an embarrassing incident involving yet another constituent of the self obsessed stable of freaks that I had romantically (mis)aligned myself with. My head was rolling up and down on my neck- up to keep myself from sobbing uncontrollably, down to watch my step and to avoid missing my final destination. The destination was either going to be the 14th street train station to go home and beat myself up for being so stupid, or to the Union Square Virigin Megastore for a purchase to assist in my session of self abuse. On about the fourth nod down, something purple caught my eye. It was a flier with a woman so striking that I picked it up. I scanned it. Amazing hair. Interesting skin tone…eyes. The eyes were incredible. They were like genetically mutated almonds, almost Anime in effect. Those eyes held a knowing glint, and a glimmer of sadness. She had the posture of a voodoo priestess and only one name. Lamya. I soon gathered that she was a singer, and immediately recognized seeing the name on the roster of Clive Davis’ newly launched J Records. “Meh.” I thought aloud, completely unaware that this voice was attached to my favorite Duran Duran performance of “Come Undone”, and my mind wandered back to the compromising position I had just found myself in. The next thing I knew, I was breezing through the plate glass doors of Virgin, and as I looked to my left, there Lamya was again, beckoning that I come and listen. So I did, and I was taken aback. The seriousness of the opening drums of “Empires” was balanced by the ridiculousness of her lyrical requests: “Bring me men/bring me men who match my mountains”…the pace and self acceptance of “Black Mona Lisa” was refreshing, but it was “Judas Kiss”, which had pretty much summed up the whole of my last encounter with this person that I was still reeling from that was the clincher for me. I took Lamya’s “Learning From Falling” home with me, and put it on repeat for three days. Suddenly, I felt better and quickly recovered. Every listen there was a new discovery. Though I would later learn that Lamya was a trained Opera singer who preferred to sing pop, it was the wisdom of her words and even handed delivery that endeared me to her. Her reliance on vulnerability and sonic audacity over melisma gave me plenty to relate to, and her overwhelming sense of self and total transparency was currently missing in a world where J.lo was the bar for success. Even her choice in musical collaborators was pristine, with Nellee Hooper and a young Mark Ronson manning the console before Amy Winehouse had even done her first speedball.
As it frequently happens, those who are too intelligent and ahead of their time don’t get the recognition or commercial success that they deserve. She was on my list of people who I’d like to, at a minimum, have dinner with and demystify the world’s mysteries. My own artistic world is changing rapidly, and I thought to myself “where is Lamya? I bet she’d work with me.” “Learning From Falling” was Lamya’s first and last release, though she had begun work on a new project that was to be released just a few short months after her sudden death from a heart attack in January 2009.
You know someone has affected when your life when things unrelated remind you of them. Whenever I see some young Sister unwittingly embarrass herself on a crappy reality show, I hear verses of “Full Frontal Fridays” in my head:
“In the shiny glow/of 90210/Before Jerry Springer/The thong thong and the video ho
Back before we/were tangled in drama/douching for dollars/give note to scholar
We positively sparkled on tv…”

Or when I’m feeling overly sensitive and under appreciated, “Black Mona Lisa”:
“I used to be a connoisseur of hate/self hate/paternal hate/hate cum gratis I connected every kind/Sipping it like red wine/the insecurity was mine/the ties that bind are my design…”

To say that I am hurt would be an understatement. Maybe it’s due to the timing of my discovery. Maybe it’s just because I never got the chance to show my appreciation…dinner aside, I never got the opportunity to see her live. Or maybe it’s just the burden of knowing that she was someone who the world needed. I can’t pretend to know what life was like for her the last six years since she went off the grid, all I can speak to is the artistry that got me up and got me through.

And for that, I am eternally grateful.