Wednesday, July 14, 2004
Universal Magnetic
Chilling at Rude Movements last night rockin’ out to guest selector GE-OLOGY when a conservatively dressed young brother – all black, button-down shirt tucked in to slacks - was pointed out to me.
“Remember Mos Def’s first single? That cat produced it.”
That’s right, it was none other than Shawn J. Period, the man behind the boards back in ’97 as Mos blew us all away with “A, B-boys and girls/CDs and tapes help generate papes…” Shawn was all poised to be the next hot-shit producer when he got religion, decided sampling was sinful and bowed out of the rap game. He’s now musical director at his church.
Mos gave an interview to O-Dub back in ’98 in which he made some comments that are stirring up all kinds of ideas over at Pop Life and elsewhere. The discussion has moved all over from Upski’s “special white boy” to minstrelsy, which is where I’ll jump in.
When we think blackface we tend to think racist schlock, Al Jolson’s “Mamie,” or self-hating Step and Fetchery. It’s bigger than that though, and not nearly as cut and dry. The Minstrel circuit was around a lot longer than Vaudeville, was made up of just as many black folks as white, and if you believe Nick Tosches’ poetic and achingly erudite “Where Dead Voices Gather,” was a hell of a lot more important, serving as an sort of primordial vortex from which spun all of America’s 20th century musical movements, jazz, blues, country, and of course, rock and roll.
And it never ended, even when the cork came off. Skip James was a cosmopolitan, worldly, classy motherfucker, but he played that country bumpkin act for all it was worth. Same goes for Jimmie Rodgers, the “singing brakeman,” who played on all kinds of hot jazz sides before he became country’s first superstar.
Think Hip Hop is any different? Acting like a pimp or a gangsta, even in the rare instance when it’s based on some reality, is still acting, and the role’s setting and trappings may have changed, but it’s still Mandingo to me. That’s not a condemnation either, not at all. It’s the way it is, the meter to our culture’s rhyme, the framework we improvise upon and reinterpret, and when it inevitably changes, when the next movement revolutionizes our eardrums, it’ll still be the same. Always has been, always will be.
Chilling at Rude Movements last night rockin’ out to guest selector GE-OLOGY when a conservatively dressed young brother – all black, button-down shirt tucked in to slacks - was pointed out to me.
“Remember Mos Def’s first single? That cat produced it.”
That’s right, it was none other than Shawn J. Period, the man behind the boards back in ’97 as Mos blew us all away with “A, B-boys and girls/CDs and tapes help generate papes…” Shawn was all poised to be the next hot-shit producer when he got religion, decided sampling was sinful and bowed out of the rap game. He’s now musical director at his church.
Mos gave an interview to O-Dub back in ’98 in which he made some comments that are stirring up all kinds of ideas over at Pop Life and elsewhere. The discussion has moved all over from Upski’s “special white boy” to minstrelsy, which is where I’ll jump in.
When we think blackface we tend to think racist schlock, Al Jolson’s “Mamie,” or self-hating Step and Fetchery. It’s bigger than that though, and not nearly as cut and dry. The Minstrel circuit was around a lot longer than Vaudeville, was made up of just as many black folks as white, and if you believe Nick Tosches’ poetic and achingly erudite “Where Dead Voices Gather,” was a hell of a lot more important, serving as an sort of primordial vortex from which spun all of America’s 20th century musical movements, jazz, blues, country, and of course, rock and roll.
And it never ended, even when the cork came off. Skip James was a cosmopolitan, worldly, classy motherfucker, but he played that country bumpkin act for all it was worth. Same goes for Jimmie Rodgers, the “singing brakeman,” who played on all kinds of hot jazz sides before he became country’s first superstar.
Think Hip Hop is any different? Acting like a pimp or a gangsta, even in the rare instance when it’s based on some reality, is still acting, and the role’s setting and trappings may have changed, but it’s still Mandingo to me. That’s not a condemnation either, not at all. It’s the way it is, the meter to our culture’s rhyme, the framework we improvise upon and reinterpret, and when it inevitably changes, when the next movement revolutionizes our eardrums, it’ll still be the same. Always has been, always will be.
