I. Why This Moment Matters
I’ve been practicing an acceptance speech for as long as I can remember.
As a little girl, I would stand in front of the mirror, thanking an imaginary audience for an imaginary award. And when I really wanted to feel official, I’d grab the handle of a jump rope and speak into it like it was a microphone. It might sound funny now, but even then, I understood something important: it feels good to be acknowledged for the work you do.
Recognition matters.
As we stepped into 2026, I knew award season was coming. One of the first major shows out of the gate was the Golden Globe Awards, which aired on CBS. I did watch—sort of. I was actually bouncing between two televisions: one eye on the NFL Wild Card game for The Pull Up Podcast Show, and the other checking in to see which films, television series, and performances were being recognized. The Golden Globes cover a wide range—film, television, limited series, even music—and I respect the scope of what they attempt to do.
But I’ll be honest: I didn’t feel compelled to live there.
So when I learned that the NAACP Image Awards announced their nominees literally the very next day, I let out a sigh of relief. This was the award show I wanted to talk about.
No disrespect to Golden Globe voters or the institution itself, but too often films and television projects featuring African American creators—especially independent work—don’t receive the same level of acknowledgment. Art is subjective, of course, and everyone brings their own lens to what they consider worthy. I’m always working on being more flexible and open to diverse storytelling styles. Still, I also know what resonates with me.
And what resonates with me—what brings me joy and clarity—are stories I recognize, performances I’ve engaged with, and creators whose work I’ve followed and discussed for years.
That’s why the announcement of the 57th NAACP Image Awards nominations felt right on time. With this year’s theme, “We See You!”, the Image Awards once again affirmed something I’ve always believed: recognition isn’t just about trophies; it’s about visibility. It’s about honoring work that reflects our culture, our experiences, and our humanity.
Coach Tony and I have reviewed many of the films, performances, and projects recognized by the Image Awards over the years. So stepping into Interludes Extra Presents Talk on Tuesdays—with me at the helm, and Coach Tony joining when he can—I know I can carry this conversation with confidence. I’ve been watching award shows my whole life. I understand the dreams, the glamour, the pomp and circumstance.
But I also understand meaning.
And this year, the NAACP Image Awards feel like more than a ceremony. They feel like a celebration aligned with my joy, my knowledge, and my love for the culture.
II. Jill Scott: The Music That Grew Up With Me
When I think about the music that truly resonated with me as a young adult, my mind goes straight to the neo-soul movement of the mid-to-late ’90s. I was bouncing between a couple of jobs, trying to find my footing, searching for love, and looking for something that felt honest and comforting. Around 1994 and 1995, that sound arrived—and it stayed.
I remember walking into record stores (yes, actual record stores) and buying CDs from artists like D’Angelo, Erykah Badu, Maxwell, and others who were offering soul music that felt intimate and grown. That music didn’t rush you. It sat with you.
It listened back.
And then there was Jill Scott.
Recently, I watched Jill Scott on the R&B Money Podcast, hosted by Tank and J. Valentine, and it reminded me all over again why her music means so much to me. Hearing her revisit her origin story—how she came into the industry, how she saw herself first as a poet—felt like reconnecting with an old friend.
Her debut album, Who Is Jill Scott? Words and Sounds Vol. 1, answered its own question the moment it dropped. After that, none of us were wondering who Jill Scott was. We knew. She was—and still is—a poet. A storyteller. A woman who sings from the center of herself.
What struck me during that R&B Money conversation was learning—or being reminded—that Jill was also a trained actor working in theater, presented with a very real choice early on: pursue Broadway or record her first album. I thank God she chose the latter. For any Gen-Xer who claims to love soul music, that album is mandatory listening. I’m convinced there’s a rule somewhere that says if it’s not in your collection, your Black card gets revoked.
Jill Scott has been acknowledged and honored multiple times by the NAACP Image Awards, and that recognition makes perfect sense. I’ve seen her perform live more than once, and she never sings a song the same way twice. When Jill steps on stage, she gives you the full experience. There was even one show where she had a little attitude—new album, new material, and the audience wasn’t quite caught up yet. But looking back now, I get it. Growth sometimes asks the audience to stretch.
Over the years, I’ve collected all of her music, and each album reveals something new. She’s phenomenal in person because she doesn’t just perform—she communicates. She invites you into the feeling.
Before many people knew Jill Scott as a singer, she was already leaving her mark behind the scenes. She penned “You Got Me” for The Roots, with vocals by Erykah Badu, and the song sounded like her even before we fully knew who “her” was. She had been writing quietly for years before stepping into the spotlight, and once she did, everything clicked.
Jill and I are close in age, and sometimes it feels like I’m talking about my sister when I talk about her. I’m genuinely proud of her. That pride is why I’m so excited to hear what her new album—releasing in February—will sound like. And yes, I’m biased. She could sing “Do, Re, Mi,” and I’d swear it was the best version ever recorded. That’s just Jill.
Her music feels different now than it did in my twenties. Back then, songs like “A Long Walk” represented hope—big hope—for love and connection. Today, that same song feels nostalgic, tender, and grounding. I still care, of course, but I’ve grown comfortable with a quieter, fuller life. And that’s the beauty of Jill Scott’s work: it grows with you.
I hope the new generation of R&B artists is paying attention. There’s something to be learned from Jilly from Philly—about patience, penmanship, honesty, and singing straight from the heart.
III. Toni Braxton: From Music Icon to Storyteller on Screen
My introduction to Toni Braxton didn’t come from one of her albums—it came from the movies.
When the film Boomerang hit theaters, I was a senior in college. That cast was everything: Eddie Murphy, Robin Givens, Halle Berry, Martin Lawrence, David Alan Grier. The film was stylish, funny, unapologetically Black, and the soundtrack was just as intentional as the story on screen. Back then, soundtracks weren’t an afterthought—they were an extension of the film’s identity.
One song in particular stood out. Paired with Halle Berry’s character was “Love Shoulda Brought You Home,” sung by a young, relatively unknown Toni Braxton. Her voice stopped me in my tracks. When her self-titled debut album dropped the following year, I was all in. Songs like “How Many Ways” and “Seven Whole Days” lived on repeat in my world. (And years later, finding out her sisters sang background vocals in that video just made it sweeter.)
What drew me to Toni wasn’t just her voice—it was her femininity. Her sensitivity. The way she moved. She was classy and sexy without being forced or performative. There was a quiet confidence in her presence, and that mattered to me.
As the years passed, I collected Toni Braxton’s music the same way I collected Jill Scott’s—album by album, era by era. Then she stepped into reality television with Braxton Family Values. I wasn’t a reality TV person at all, but this one caught me—and it caught my mother too. We watched it together. My mom loved Miss Evelyn, Toni’s mother, and having that shared experience gave me a deeper respect for Toni as a daughter, a sister, and a woman navigating visibility in real time.
Fast forward a couple of decades, and Toni Braxton is still working—but she’s not staying one-dimensional. That’s something I’ve learned about longevity in entertainment: if you want to last, you can’t stay in just one lane. You can, but diversification opens doors.
Through Braxton Family Values, we learned that Toni was traveling to Canada and other locations to shoot films for Lifetime. Eventually, it became clear that she wasn’t just acting—she was executive producing. In late 2025, she starred in and executive produced a Lifetime film inspired by her hit “He Wasn’t Man Enough for Me,” with Essence Atkins starring alongside her.
Now, just a few months later, she’s back with another Lifetime film, Breathe Again, inspired by her 1996 hit and co-starring Essence Atkins and Cree Summer. And yes, I’ve seen the critiques. Toni’s acting skills have been questioned. But here’s where I land: when you use your name, your brand, and your resources to create jobs for other actors—to greenlight projects, to keep people working—I say more power to you.
You don’t become great in isolation. You become great by being in the room. By working alongside strong actors. By doing the reps.
Jill Scott came into the industry with formal acting training, and it shows in her performances. Toni’s path has been different, but her impact is no less meaningful. She’s using her catalog—three- and four-minute songs—to inspire full-length stories. Building an entire film around a song and its emotional truth? That’s powerful.
She’s not alone either. Mary J. Blige did the same thing last year, executive producing two Lifetime films inspired by her music. What I see happening is a shift: Lifetime partnering with artists who’ve had cultural impact, trusting them to tell stories that resonate with a built-in audience. And when artists come in as executive producers, that means they’re investing—not just creatively, but financially. That creates work. That matters, especially after actors spent months on strike in 2023 fighting to protect their livelihoods.
There’s a newer version of Braxton Family Values now, but it doesn’t feel the same without my mom around. I used to love hearing her thoughts, her reactions, her takes. Still, I’m grateful for the window that show gave us—and grateful that Toni Braxton continues to channel her energy into singing, touring, producing, and acting.
With the New Edition tour kicking off and Breathe Again premiering on Lifetime in late January, Toni Braxton’s story is still unfolding. And I’ll be watching—not just as a fan, but as someone who understands the power of evolution.
IV. The NAACP Image Awards: Timing, Recognition, and Why This Moment Hit Right on Time
As I reflected on Toni Braxton’s continued evolution—watching her story unfold not just as a fan, but as someone who understands the power of reinvention—it felt natural to widen the lens to a bigger conversation about recognition.
This year marks the 57th annual NAACP Image Awards, an institution that has spent nearly six decades honoring excellence across television, film, music, podcasts, literary works, and the arts. The sheer scope of what the Image Awards recognize continues to impress me. This isn’t a one-night-only celebration; it’s an ecosystem.
When I read the press release announcing the 2026 nominees—released on January 12—I was struck by how intentional the planning is. There are weeks of activity surrounding the awards: voting periods, creative honors, press opportunities, and conversations that begin well before the live telecast. In fact, you can even apply to cover the awards as press, something I found myself seriously considering. That alone says a lot about how expansive and inclusive this moment is meant to be.
Award season always brings comparisons. The Golden Globes, the Oscars, the Grammys—sometimes they get it right, and sometimes they don’t. Voting bodies are complex, tastes vary, and the definition of “art” is always subjective. I’ve heard the criticism that the Image Awards can feel like a popularity contest, but here’s my lived experience: when I look at the films, shows, performances, and artists that I genuinely connect with, many of them are recognized by the NAACP. That matters.
Recognition carries weight when it comes from people who understand the culture.
One example that stood out to me was Highest 2 Lowest, a film Coach Tony and I reviewed last year. Some critics were surprisingly harsh, questioning why Denzel Washington would collaborate with Spike Lee yet again. That critique missed the point entirely. These two have a long, storied history together, and at this stage in his career, Denzel is incredibly selective about the projects he takes on. This film was a deliberate choice.
What also intrigued me was the generational bridge the film created. My Gen X generation knows and reveres Denzel Washington. But for younger audiences, his presence alongside A$AP Rocky—an artist many people may know more from pop culture headlines than film—opened the door to cross-generational discovery. That kind of exchange is powerful, and it’s exactly the kind of cultural moment the NAACP Image Awards chose to recognize with multiple nominations.
That brings me to this year’s theme: “We See You!”
This isn’t just a slogan—it’s a declaration. Too often, actors and creatives of color do the work quietly, consistently, and excellently, only to go unrecognized across major award platforms. Some never receive acknowledgment from the Emmys, the Oscars, the Grammys, or even the Image Awards. That’s why moments of recognition feel monumental. It’s also why the idea of achieving “EGOT” status—winning an Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, and Tony—carries so much weight. It’s rare. It’s validating. And it often helps artists remain visible and employable in an industry that moves quickly and forgets easily.
So when the NAACP says, “We See You,” I hear affirmation. I hear respect for the work. I hear an understanding that culture doesn’t move forward without storytellers, performers, writers, and creators who take risks and reflect truth.
I’m excited to see how the Image Awards unfold this year—how the categories are honored, how the winners are celebrated, and how the theme will be woven throughout the season. Because being seen, especially by your own community, is not a small thing. It’s everything.
V. MLK, Music, and Memory: When Art Becomes Action
There’s something deeply intentional about the timing of the NAACP Image Awards announcements falling during the week of Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday. It’s not accidental. It’s alignment.
Civil rights organizations like the NAACP have always understood that honoring Dr. King isn’t just about remembrance—it’s about action. It’s about continuing the work. That’s why I wasn’t surprised to see how expansive the Image Awards have become, or how intentional the organization is about representation across platforms. From awards recognition to daily storytelling—like their original daytime drama Beyond the Gates—the NAACP is actively creating employment for actors, writers, directors, and crews while keeping cultural visibility front and center.
That commitment feels personal to me.
I remember encouraging my mother to watch Selma, directed by Ava DuVernay. I told her how powerful it was, how important it felt. Her response stopped me: “I lived through that. I don’t need to see it.” At first, I was disappointed. Then I understood.
My mother was part of the Great Migration—leaving the South in 1956, in the heart of Jim Crow, to build a life in Chicago. Members of my family saw Dr. King speak in person. For them, civil rights history isn’t archival—it’s lived memory. That perspective grounded me in a deeper understanding of what remembrance really means.
Music has always been one of the strongest bridges between memory and movement. One artist who embodies that bridge is Stevie Wonder. As a child prodigy turned global artist, Stevie witnessed the rise of Dr. King’s leadership in real time. As he grew older, his music became more intentional, more reflective of the world around him.
When Dr. King was assassinated in 1968, the times demanded more from artists—and Stevie answered. His 1980 album Hotter Than July featured the song “Happy Birthday.” On the surface, it felt joyful—so joyful that many of us grew up singing it instead of the traditional birthday song. But dig into the verses and bridges, and you hear something deeper: a call to action. Stevie was advocating for Dr. King’s birthday to be recognized as a national holiday.
That advocacy worked. Congress passed the legislation in 1983, and by 1986, Dr. King’s birthday became a federal holiday. That is the true power of artistry—using your voice, your platform, and your influence to move policy and shape national memory.
I believe that same spirit lives on today. Not only in major artists, but in independent creators—filmmakers, musicians, writers—who may never make headlines but are still using their work to uplift, protect, and amplify voices that have been ignored or silenced. In a time when many of our hard-fought rights feel fragile, art remains a powerful form of resistance and remembrance.
That’s why I see a clear through line connecting music, awards recognition, and legacy. And it’s why the NAACP Image Awards’ theme this year—“We See You!”—feels so urgent and so right.
VI. Bringing It All Together: Why This Conversation Matters Now
At its core, this episode of Interludes Extra Presents Talk on Tuesdays isn’t just about awards or nominations. It’s about visibility. It’s about legacy. And it’s about what it truly means to be seen in today’s entertainment industry.
Coach Tony Thompson and I will be talking about the Image Awards, the artists being recognized, and the cultural moments that continue to shape us. But we’ll also be talking about something deeper: why these conversations feel necessary right now. We live in a country that celebrates freedom of speech, yet people are still losing their lives for speaking up. This isn’t the civil rights era of the 1950s and ’60s—this is 2026. And the fight for representation, equity, and dignity continues.
That’s why I was able to step away from the Golden Globes with ease this year. When the NAACP Image Awards nominations were announced, I knew exactly where my focus belonged. This is the conversation I want to be having. This is the celebration that aligns with my joy, my intelligence, and my lived experience.
VII. Join the Conversation—and Keep It Going
You can catch us tonight—and every Tuesday—on Interludes Extra Presents Talk on Tuesdays. This space has always been about conversation, not commentary. We don’t just talk at the culture; we talk with it.
So we want to hear from you.
Is there an artist—past or present—who you feel is using their platform in a way that truly uplifts others? Someone who understands that influence isn’t just about visibility, but about responsibility? Because to me, influence and employment go hand in hand. When artists create opportunities—through music, film, television, or storytelling—they’re not just shaping culture; they’re sustaining livelihoods.
The 2023 writers’ and actors’ strikes affected a lot of people I know. Some creatives never made it back into the business after that pause. Others had to pivot entirely. The strike was necessary—digital rights, fair pay, and protections matter—but it came at a real cost. That’s why I pay close attention to artists who survive, evolve, and then turn around and create opportunities for others.
Artists like Jill Scott.
Artists like Toni Braxton.
Artists like Stevie Wonder.
And there are younger artists too—millennials and Gen Z creatives—who are quietly making an impact in their communities, funding projects, teaching, mentoring, and building spaces where others can thrive. If someone comes to mind for you, let us know. We want to highlight them. We want to learn from them.
And if you are someone with a platform—a business, a passion project, a skill, or even a hobby—and you’ve been thinking, “I’d love to teach this,” or “I’ve been wanting to start a podcast,” this is your sign.
VIII. Final Invitation
I’m grateful—truly grateful—for everyone who tunes in to Talk on Tuesdays, who reads the newsletters, who watches, listens, comments, and shares. Coach Tony and I don’t take that support lightly. And I’m especially thankful for the artists—musicians, writers, filmmakers, DJs—whose work shaped us, challenged us, and reminded us of what’s possible.
This is about more than entertainment.
It’s about legacy.
It’s about being seen.
And it’s about what we choose to do with our voice once we have one.
Thank you for being here.