My Inadvertant Black History Month Special
I was very sad to learn that the Boondocks links I have been putting up here are not the actual cartoons, but rather take you today's strip, whatever that may be. Oh well.
I've just done a scroll up on this entry. I spent two hours writing it. It reads like a fucking Anthropology paper (albeit a terribly disjointed one), and I loved every second of it. I need to get out more.
I'm currently taking a class on the Jazz Age (it's most lit and art that's being covered), History of the Blues, and History of Rock: the sixties. In tandem, these classes have given me a really contextualized look at how black people have influenced our country. I've been learning about a lot of really interesting people, but what captivates me most is the effect that the various movements have had on society.
Think about it. Up until WWI, there was a world that was, for the purposes of this conversation, completely controlled by white upper class culture...and suddenly I'm sounding like Marx...and I'm about to quote another writer...who was probably also a Communist...whatever. Then, Jean Toomer, points out in his book "Cane," WWI (which everyone knows was just a wet shit in the face of human relations; trench warfare? mustard gas? Like the goddamn Romans...) and Prohibition (the highwater mark of Puritanism in this country) had unofficially come together to produce quite possibly the lamest period in white history and culture since end of the first millenium C.E.
Meanwhile, during this time of hatred and prudishness, black people were finding more and more opportunities in this country. Don't misunderstand me, it was no picnic; basically the only jobs that most black people could hope for were in athletics, music, hard labor, or the not as popular amateur rope stretching circuit (is it going too far to make a lynching joke if I'm talking about how shitty white people are?). In any case though, there was a big rush of black artists and musicians and writers that were getting attention.
Now I could continue to nerd on about the controversey of the embracing of "tribal" or "folk" roots and whether or not they're demeaning, and I could pick apart white America's fascination with the other and whether or not the interest puts us all on the same level or if it's simply another example of the minstrel tradition, but that's not the point that I set out to write about almost an hour ago now (I miss my book). The point is, that even though many people, both black and white, looked down on the Harlem Renaissance, Folk Culture, Baptist Sermons, innuendo, Jazz, electric music, Socialism, and crazy cafe society partying down as, at best, barbaric, and, at worst, demeaning, the effects irrefutably changed the pulse of this country. Up until that point, white culture prized itself on luxury and glamour. In all of my classes, we keep talking about white people getting into the Jazz culture because they thought it was "authentic." They saw backgrounds of being close to nature, enduring great pain, and being in tune with one's body and felt that it was more expressive of the human experience than what they were doing at the time.
Now think about it. How would you describe "cool?" Everyone has a different opinion of what clothes, or music, or whatever are cool, but I think everyone in this country can agree on the reletively abstact concept of how someone COMES TO BE cool. There's the white American Manifest Destiny self-confidence and independence, but people that are truly cool always, without fail, DON'T CARE WHETHER OR NOT THEY ARE COOL.
That was a horrible sentence....
I think this ties back into the whole Jazz Age thing. People stopped caring whether or not they were eating caviar on crystal and started valuing beauty that everyone could enjoy: love, sex, pain. It's a characteristic of a utopian Melting Pot, universal understanding.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that white art that came before the Jazz Age is lacking passion, only that it was more formal, which makes sense considering that "high" art was only really accessable to very wealthy people. But just because something is completely concrete or "controlled," (I'm using "controlled" loosely; when good blues artists slide between notes, they know exactly what they're doing) doesn't mean that it's lacking passion. One can hear every suicidal tear ever shed by Tchaikovsky in any of his symphonies. And, take this as a grain of salt--I'm a minimalist writer--I'm always incrediably impressed with subtle expressions of great emotion, Don Cheadle's tie scene in "Hotel Rwanda" comes to mind, interestingly enough.
For parts of my book, I sometimes did this exercise where I imagined the characters just absolutely screaming, screaming their inner monologues, but not using any exclamation points. I think that's where the two come together. I call it Deconstructive Minimalism. Let the meaning and the sound of each word fully and precisely ring. In turn, the character becomes more fleshed out, leading to better audience empathy. In theory, you can write a character sitting quietly, doing and saying nothing, but have the audience implicitly know that the beast within is roaring.
Interesting, for all my talking up the great passion and energy and balls of black art and music, I'm finding that it comes out best with the subtlties as well. In my music classes, we've listened to some blues and soul singers and even if it's obvious that they have these outrageously huge voices, sometimes all they need to do is groan down a little flat for a second to ellicit a heart wreching reaction. Reverend Gary Davis? Hello? The point I'm making though, is that the movement made it acceptable to scream, and jump, and be abstract. Black culture made America sees more shades of gray.
So, since I'm only erudite with regards to Contextualized Pop Culture...could that have been a nerdier concluding statement in a FUCKING JOURNAL?? I'm going to leave the Black History Month recognition of important figures and genuine achievements to people that read. I am just going to acknowledge the sweetness of Black History helping to make this country a much cooler place.
I've just done a scroll up on this entry. I spent two hours writing it. It reads like a fucking Anthropology paper (albeit a terribly disjointed one), and I loved every second of it. I need to get out more.
I'm currently taking a class on the Jazz Age (it's most lit and art that's being covered), History of the Blues, and History of Rock: the sixties. In tandem, these classes have given me a really contextualized look at how black people have influenced our country. I've been learning about a lot of really interesting people, but what captivates me most is the effect that the various movements have had on society.
Think about it. Up until WWI, there was a world that was, for the purposes of this conversation, completely controlled by white upper class culture...and suddenly I'm sounding like Marx...and I'm about to quote another writer...who was probably also a Communist...whatever. Then, Jean Toomer, points out in his book "Cane," WWI (which everyone knows was just a wet shit in the face of human relations; trench warfare? mustard gas? Like the goddamn Romans...) and Prohibition (the highwater mark of Puritanism in this country) had unofficially come together to produce quite possibly the lamest period in white history and culture since end of the first millenium C.E.
Meanwhile, during this time of hatred and prudishness, black people were finding more and more opportunities in this country. Don't misunderstand me, it was no picnic; basically the only jobs that most black people could hope for were in athletics, music, hard labor, or the not as popular amateur rope stretching circuit (is it going too far to make a lynching joke if I'm talking about how shitty white people are?). In any case though, there was a big rush of black artists and musicians and writers that were getting attention.
Now I could continue to nerd on about the controversey of the embracing of "tribal" or "folk" roots and whether or not they're demeaning, and I could pick apart white America's fascination with the other and whether or not the interest puts us all on the same level or if it's simply another example of the minstrel tradition, but that's not the point that I set out to write about almost an hour ago now (I miss my book). The point is, that even though many people, both black and white, looked down on the Harlem Renaissance, Folk Culture, Baptist Sermons, innuendo, Jazz, electric music, Socialism, and crazy cafe society partying down as, at best, barbaric, and, at worst, demeaning, the effects irrefutably changed the pulse of this country. Up until that point, white culture prized itself on luxury and glamour. In all of my classes, we keep talking about white people getting into the Jazz culture because they thought it was "authentic." They saw backgrounds of being close to nature, enduring great pain, and being in tune with one's body and felt that it was more expressive of the human experience than what they were doing at the time.
Now think about it. How would you describe "cool?" Everyone has a different opinion of what clothes, or music, or whatever are cool, but I think everyone in this country can agree on the reletively abstact concept of how someone COMES TO BE cool. There's the white American Manifest Destiny self-confidence and independence, but people that are truly cool always, without fail, DON'T CARE WHETHER OR NOT THEY ARE COOL.
That was a horrible sentence....
I think this ties back into the whole Jazz Age thing. People stopped caring whether or not they were eating caviar on crystal and started valuing beauty that everyone could enjoy: love, sex, pain. It's a characteristic of a utopian Melting Pot, universal understanding.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that white art that came before the Jazz Age is lacking passion, only that it was more formal, which makes sense considering that "high" art was only really accessable to very wealthy people. But just because something is completely concrete or "controlled," (I'm using "controlled" loosely; when good blues artists slide between notes, they know exactly what they're doing) doesn't mean that it's lacking passion. One can hear every suicidal tear ever shed by Tchaikovsky in any of his symphonies. And, take this as a grain of salt--I'm a minimalist writer--I'm always incrediably impressed with subtle expressions of great emotion, Don Cheadle's tie scene in "Hotel Rwanda" comes to mind, interestingly enough.
For parts of my book, I sometimes did this exercise where I imagined the characters just absolutely screaming, screaming their inner monologues, but not using any exclamation points. I think that's where the two come together. I call it Deconstructive Minimalism. Let the meaning and the sound of each word fully and precisely ring. In turn, the character becomes more fleshed out, leading to better audience empathy. In theory, you can write a character sitting quietly, doing and saying nothing, but have the audience implicitly know that the beast within is roaring.
Interesting, for all my talking up the great passion and energy and balls of black art and music, I'm finding that it comes out best with the subtlties as well. In my music classes, we've listened to some blues and soul singers and even if it's obvious that they have these outrageously huge voices, sometimes all they need to do is groan down a little flat for a second to ellicit a heart wreching reaction. Reverend Gary Davis? Hello? The point I'm making though, is that the movement made it acceptable to scream, and jump, and be abstract. Black culture made America sees more shades of gray.
So, since I'm only erudite with regards to Contextualized Pop Culture...could that have been a nerdier concluding statement in a FUCKING JOURNAL?? I'm going to leave the Black History Month recognition of important figures and genuine achievements to people that read. I am just going to acknowledge the sweetness of Black History helping to make this country a much cooler place.