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I watched “What Happened, Miss Simone?” on Netflix. My brain misfired as I thought she had sung, “Killing me softly,” also known by my late husband and me as “our song.” Of course, that was Roberta Flack. Before I realized my error, I succumbed to the spell of Nina Simone’s artistry, passion, and struggle to be true to herself.
My heart aches for those who see the unvarnished truth, pursue injustice, fight the establishment, and for their troubles, find themselves banished or rewired, trotted out on the odd occasion, and relegated to a footnote in history…if that.
I have neither the information or the background to clinically comment on Nina Simone’s medical issues so what follows is simplistic. Brilliant classical musical virtuoso, in a race-divided country, is deprived of her dream because of her skin color and is forced by circumstance to play and sing for survival. She rises to the top of her profession by the late 1960’s and uses her platform to sing out for civil rights and against the killing of blacks throughout the south.
Nina Simone’s rage and alliances kill her career, and as a result, her abusive marriage. She leaves the United States and establishes residence in Liberia. Alone, her bipolar disorder and manic depression isolate and defeat her. Worried friends track her down, intercede, and save her life with support, treatment and touring schedule.
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The human psyche is so fragile. With all that talent, Nina Simone sees herself as unworthy, willing to take the physical and mental abuse from her manager-husband. I suspect, when she did not get into the prestigious Curtis Institute of Music, she may not have known why and decided she had been judged “not good enough.”
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If it was bad, it tore at my self-confidence. Nina Simone was no different with one exception—she did not have a meaningful support system that validated her anyway.
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How many times has a chance comment, good or bad, directed to or around me, caused a change in my self-perception. If it was good, the change tended to be momentary. If it was bad, it tore at my self-confidence. Nina Simone was no different with one exception—she did not have a meaningful support system that validated her anyway. She wrote in her journal that it was not about the audiences who loved her but her emotional isolation off stage.
The civil rights movement gave her life purpose. She wrote and performed songs in support of the revolution. Nina Simone was revered. When the era passed, she was passed over. Her stand for her people angered the establishment and career careened into the gutter. She did not hesitate to stand up to injustice and she was vilified for it. Hello, people. Did you hear? Did you get it? One more time, the lesson is played out. If you stand up, you will be counted, and you had better be prepared to pay the price.
There is no telling as to what might have happened if she had be diagnosed and treated earlier. As it was, her mental illness made it difficult for her to care for and manage her life. The tailspin was inevitable. Her helplessness in understanding and controlling the fallout must have caused unfathomable and terrifying self-doubt.
In the end, her musician friends rescued Nina Simone from her bag-lady existence. Through their efforts, she is diagnosed, medicated, and rejuvenated to the point of resuming a concert tour. They took care of her until her death. I am in tears at her redemption, her friends’ generosity, and her ability to thrive and rebuild after her crash.
We, her audience and fans, are richer for her music. Nina Simone’s struggle mirrors our own. Like her, we strive to be heard, to share our art, to speak out against injustice and racism, and in support of mental illness awareness and services.
Like her, we cannot be silent if we are to create a world where we, our children, and our children’s children thrive. Thank you, Nina Simone, your music, and your story inspire us all.
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Photo credit: Getty Images