“Black excellence” is one of those phrases that might be difficult to explain, but you know it when you see it. It almost instantly pops into my mind — often in hashtag form — when I see images of classic Black icons or beautiful Black bodies dressed to the nines and stunningly captured in photographs; everybody Black at award shows; the Obamas; or anything Beyoncé and Jay-Z do.
Black excellence is a feeling. Any time we see someone Black at the pinnacle of their field, achieving greatness, it’s a form of applause. There’s great pride in calling it out, as if to say, “That’s what we do!”
I’ve had the honor of composing the scores for projects that highlight the stories of individuals who embody that feeling of Black excellence: from Aretha Franklin in “Respect” to Billie Holiday in “The United States vs. Billie Holiday” and most recently, the young Venus and Serena Williams in “King Richard,” a story about two parents, Richard Williams and Oracene Price, who fought with everything they had to cultivate the feeling in their household. We get a small glimpse into how difficult it is to achieve and maintain that level of excellence, the potential side effects of that constant striving, and the support and love needed for that excellence to be nurtured and to thrive.
My father was similar to Richard Williams: Before I was born, he decided he wanted me to play piano, and he and my mother formulated a plan. They started by playing albums of piano music on my mom’s stomach when I was still in the womb, and as soon as I was old enough to reach a key- board, they scoured Los Angeles to find the best music teachers, institutions and environments for me to become the best musician I could possibly be.
When I’ve shared this bit of my backstory — especially to someone Black — I’ve been blown away by how often I hear back, “My parent(s) did that too.” How is it that so many Black individuals come from families where their parents urged them toward excellence with such fervor and passion? How is it that so many young Black boys and girls have fought hard to be “twice as good just to get by”? Growing up, if ever I were to accept an average performance from myself, whether in school or music, I might as well have just packed up my stuff and committed to living on the streets right then and there.
Much of this seems to be tied to the negative stereotypes and narratives that have been cast on us, and have been deeply baked into our culture since its inception. From the myths about black slaves to the idea of “sounding black,” media and our society has done so much to make us feel that if we are not one of the few “magical negroes,” we must be just another “dumb n—a,” as Richard puts it in “King Richard.” I began to internalize this idea from a very early age, and it’s always felt like one small misstep, and society will immediately cast me aside. Often, even the idea of failure has felt tantamount to death.
Thankfully, with narratives created by the likes of Ava DuVernay, Charles D. King and Ryan Coogler, we can embrace the moments of excellence that are not reserved for those few who have achieved a certain level of status and material wealth. Black excellence exists in the small moments of every day, in striving to be the best version of ourselves based on where we are at that very moment. Black excellence is a way to encapsulate the energy of Black History Month, 365 days of the year.
Kris Bowers is a Daytime Emmy-winning composer and musician who has scored film and TV projects including “Bridgerton,” “King Richard” and “When They See Us.” Last year, he earned an Oscar nomination for best documentary short for his autobiographical film, “A Concerto Is a Conversation.”
Throughout the month of February, Variety will publish essays from prominent Black artists, artisans and entertainment figures celebrating the impact of Black entertainment and entertainers on the world at large.