I came for the firebrand poetry, was dazzled by the music criticism, and left fairly appalled by the man's increasing stridency and bitterness. It's hard to escape the fact that for all the passion and brilliance Jones brought to the table, Baraka was super into lecturing African Americans exactly how they needed to live, think, and make their art. And condemning them with the harshest possible racial slurs if they fail to meet his expectations. His vitriol for Spike Lee simply beggars belief... unless you think about how quickly Spike was hailed as a major artist and cultural figure, y'know, the status Baraka failed all his life to achieve. Still love the poetry, though. I put on some Mingus and read it out loud and proud to an imaginary coffee house crowd. Even the "kill Whitey" parts. For whatever reason, I don't take it personally.