Memphis and the Pre-Packaged World
Today I went with family (Grandmother, Grandfather, Uncle, Aunt, 17 yr old male cousin, 13 yr old female cousin) to downtown Memphis. They live here, yet seem to hate it partially and complain about their inability to get accustomed to the "south"; as if there still was a southern lifestyle. It seems to me there is still the idea of "southern", yet its still just a bunch of highways, strip malls with chain stores and restaurants, suburbs, and SUVs. What exactly is "southern" about the south? No longer are their giant cotton plantations. No longer are the majority of southerners poor white farmers. Its as if both the north and the south want to believe there still is a southern culture, especially one in direct conflict with the north. Well, maybe it exists, but my drive to Memphis from the Germantown suburb was like any drive in Anywhere, USA.
After spending an hour or two in the Civil Rights Museum (which was actually pretty cool. Half the museum is actually in the preserved Motel where Martin Luther King Jr. got shot, and another half is in the building from where the sniper supposedly shot from), we headed towards an old Diner. ("Memphis' oldest diner", it boasted on the door and in the menu. And, even with such a tourist attracting statement, it did seem to be quite a traditional southern diner with Memphis people.) Well, I thought it seemed southern. But was it just the accents that made it souther? I mean clearly their Memphis speak was the epitome of souther. But it can't be only accent that makes southern "southern". What else seemed souther about this place? Well, I suppose the waitress was friendly. But aren't they paid to be friendly? As we left she thanked us for coming and wished us a nice day in Memphis. Southern or just her job?
After our wonderfully unhealthy meal, we headed the other way on Main street to walk down Beale street, the mythical blues street where, in the early 20th century all the blacks lived and, we are meant to believe, had a wonderful, blues-filled life. "This is where the blues was born", my Uncle proudly announced to me. The blues, and then Elvis and Johnny Cash and soul in the 70's.
Beale street turned out to be diarrhea of every want, hope, and belief of touristy Americans. Every bar and restaurant blared rock and blues and said things like "The best food in blues city!". Large metal girders held up the facades of buildings which had been torn down. Restaurants, loud music, neon signs, and nifty bluesy slogans lined the street of Blues City. Blues City it was; the blues city of American dreams, not of reality. It was pre-packeged, folded, perforated, and shelved Blues City. Everything was there and nice and medium priced and perfect for the American who loved the idea of the blues.
Memphis, you don't have the blues anymore. I felt no back beat in those nicely prepared streets of yours. There were no blacks playing harmonica on their stoops. No, no blacks, just white folks trying to find real America. We all love the idea of American music and southern culture, but seriously, where is it? We reinvent these ideas, reinvented in a safe way to be acceptable to America, but their is no reality without the pain. There is no blues without emotion, and their is no southern culture without the slavery and economic differences of the north and south. Its true, America is the land of dreams.
After spending an hour or two in the Civil Rights Museum (which was actually pretty cool. Half the museum is actually in the preserved Motel where Martin Luther King Jr. got shot, and another half is in the building from where the sniper supposedly shot from), we headed towards an old Diner. ("Memphis' oldest diner", it boasted on the door and in the menu. And, even with such a tourist attracting statement, it did seem to be quite a traditional southern diner with Memphis people.) Well, I thought it seemed southern. But was it just the accents that made it souther? I mean clearly their Memphis speak was the epitome of souther. But it can't be only accent that makes southern "southern". What else seemed souther about this place? Well, I suppose the waitress was friendly. But aren't they paid to be friendly? As we left she thanked us for coming and wished us a nice day in Memphis. Southern or just her job?
After our wonderfully unhealthy meal, we headed the other way on Main street to walk down Beale street, the mythical blues street where, in the early 20th century all the blacks lived and, we are meant to believe, had a wonderful, blues-filled life. "This is where the blues was born", my Uncle proudly announced to me. The blues, and then Elvis and Johnny Cash and soul in the 70's.
Beale street turned out to be diarrhea of every want, hope, and belief of touristy Americans. Every bar and restaurant blared rock and blues and said things like "The best food in blues city!". Large metal girders held up the facades of buildings which had been torn down. Restaurants, loud music, neon signs, and nifty bluesy slogans lined the street of Blues City. Blues City it was; the blues city of American dreams, not of reality. It was pre-packeged, folded, perforated, and shelved Blues City. Everything was there and nice and medium priced and perfect for the American who loved the idea of the blues.
Memphis, you don't have the blues anymore. I felt no back beat in those nicely prepared streets of yours. There were no blacks playing harmonica on their stoops. No, no blacks, just white folks trying to find real America. We all love the idea of American music and southern culture, but seriously, where is it? We reinvent these ideas, reinvented in a safe way to be acceptable to America, but their is no reality without the pain. There is no blues without emotion, and their is no southern culture without the slavery and economic differences of the north and south. Its true, America is the land of dreams.