September 28, 2015 - 17:59
From The Veil to The Earbud:
Limits of Black Representation in Music
Double-Consciousness & The Veil
In framing The Souls of Black Folk, W. E. B. Du Bois introduces the notion of double-consciousness, what he describes to be “this sense of always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity” (Du Bois 8). This phenomenon, Du Bois argues, is majorly responsible for perpetuating internalized racism and the division of races he calls the “color-line,” the greatest issue we face today.
In reading these selections, I was particularly interested in the idea of “the veil”—what appeared to be the symbolic manifestation of double-consciousness. Du Bois writes of a veil worn by black people in the United States that renders them ignorant to their situation—rather than being aware of their own oppression and marginalization, black people still living under the veil have been forcefully conditioned to believe that their positioning at the bottom rung of society is both natural and just. In his chapter entitled “Of the Coming of John,” Du Bois describes the enlightening moment that occurs when the veil is finally noticed—and in being noticed, is lifted.
He grew slowly to feel almost for the first time the Veil that lay between him and the white world; he first noticed now the oppression that had not seemed oppression before, differences that erstwhile seemed natural, restraints and slights that in his boyhood days had gone unnoticed or been greeted with a laugh. He felt angry now (169).
The veil as a symbol is interesting to unpack; veils are physical barriers between the wearer and the outside world, and vice versa. However, they are translucent—light and images can pass through them to some extent, creating the illusion that the wearer can see (when, in reality, vision is distorted). Thus, the physical nature of veils fits smoothly into Du Bois’s concept of double-consciousness—the black wearer can see himself only through the distorted lens of mainstream, white society, and is entirely unaware that this phenomenon is occurring. When he recognizes it, the veil is inherently lifted (at least to a degree).
Significance of Black Culture
After establishing the current state of the black population as he sees it, Du Bois moves on to enumerate the many disconnections between black culture and mainstream, white culture in the United States. He writes:
There is no true American music but the wild sweet melodies of the Negro slave [. . .] Will America be poorer if she replace her brutal dyspeptic blundering with light-hearted but determined Negro humility? or her course and cruel wit with loving jovial good-humor? or her vulgar music with the soul of the Sorrow Song? (14).
Though Du Bois asks these questions, he implies his own answer: no, in fact, America would truly gain something beautiful if all people were to embrace the many things black culture and tradition had to offer. His argument is reminiscent of Alexis de Tocqueville’s on the universal benefits of equality when he goes on to write: “The white man, as well as the Negro, is bound and barred by the color-line” (133). Du Bois imagines a world free of segregation of all kinds—this, he claims, will enrich the lives of all.
Central to his argument is the significance of music written and sung by slaves (the only “true American music,” he insists). Du Bois writes of a “conspiracy of silence,” by which the white, privileged population is able to “ignore the darker half of the land” (132). He participates in his own act of resistance against this silencing conspiracy by making the Sorrow Songs about which he writes finally visible—he incorporates at least a bar of music into the beginning of each chapter. Throughout the piece, Du Bois also comments on the inherently empowering quality of music for black people. In writing about John in “Of the Coming of John,” he describes the moments surrounding Jones’s empowerment to commit murder—his final act of emancipation from the white man. First, when Jones’s drive to live and be free is awakened: “He would not like to be listless and idle, he thought, for he felt with the music the movement of power within him” (171). Later, when he kills the white man who is the very source of his oppression, Jones walks away “softly humming the ‘Song of the Bride’” (179). He has finally freed himself, armed with the power granted to him through music. As Du Bois confidently asserts, in conclusion:
The Negro folk-song—the rhythmic cry of the slave—stands today not simply as the sole American music, but as the most beautiful expression of human experience born this side the seas [. . .] it still remains as the singular spiritual heritage of the nation and the greatest gift of the Negro people (180-81).
Claudia Rankine on Black Representation
In Citizen, Claudia Rankine looks at black representation—particularly in the music industry—in a modern framework, all the while refusing to forget the histories attached to black voices and bodies that participate in this form of culture. She describes Hennessy Youngman’s argument that “black people’s anger is marketable,” explaining that the black artists most visible to us today play into this ultimately inauthentic “performance of blackness” (Rankine 23). Rankine goes on to insist that this communication of personal struggle connected to a history of oppression is limited:
Youngman’s suggestions are meant to expose expectations for blackness as well as to underscore the difficulty inherent in any attempt by black artists to metabolize real rage. The commodified anger his video advocates rests lightly on the surface for spectacle’s sake (23).
Through Rankine, we are able to further explore and complicate ideas set forth by Du Bois regarding inclusion of black voices in mainstream culture. Rankine would claim that the inclusion of black artists in the mainstream is a mere illusion: and perhaps not only to those non-black individuals who claim to be exposed to “the black experience” by listening to hip hop, but also to black artists themselves, whose attempts at self-representation are halted from the outset; there is no real outlet for their anger, and thus what they must produce to thrive in the industry is a contrived, marketable anger.
Clearly, Du Bois’s call for inclusion of black culture in mainstream society must be interrogated—what should this inclusion look like, and is it really as simple as replacing “her vulgar music with the soul of the Sorrow Song?” Du Bois calls attention to the complicated nature of the future he hopes for when he writes of the current state of music in his time:
Side by side, too, with the growth has gone the debasements and imitations—the Negro “minstrel” songs, many of the “gospel” hymns, and some of the contemporary “coon” songs,--a mass of music in which the novice may easily lose himself and never find the real Negro melodies (Du Bois 184).
The music Du Bois describes here is inauthentic—it is a form of cultural appropriation on the part of white people, and thus the soul of the black spiritual music behind it has been lost.
Questions/Discussion
* Slave Spiritual/Sorrow Song, “The Gospel Train,” [2:50]
https://www.learner.org/series/amerpass/slideshow/archive_search.php
* “New Slaves,” Kanye West (performance at Made In America 2014) [5:38]
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cHFTH3HMX-E
- Where do we see connections between Du Bois’s concept of double-consciousness and modern black representation in music?
- How does the audience of a piece play into this (for example, who do we see as the audience of these Sorrow Songs? Who do we think is the audience of New Slaves—particularly this performance at Made In America? How does this affect the perceived authenticity of their respective messages?)
- Where does appropriation come into play? (for example, Iggy Azalea and Macklemore have incorporated aspects of black culture and music into their presentation and performance—why does this not achieve what Du Bois is talking about?)
- How might it be possible for black representation in music to fight racism in larger society?
- In her video about cultural appropriation, Amandla Stenberg (of The Hunger Games fame), demands we face the question: “What would America be like if we loved black people as much as black culture?”
Works Cited
Amandla Stenberg: Don’t Cash Crop On My Cornrows. Perf. Amandla Stenberg. Hair Hype Magazine, 2015. YouTube, 15 Apr. 2015. Web. 28 Sept. 2015.
Butler, Phil, Brady Walker, Thomas Trimmer, William Grant, and Mary Lee. The Gospel Train. 1939. American Passages: A Literary Survey. Web. 28 Sept. 2015.
Du Bois, W. E. B. The Souls of Black Folk. New York: Library of America Paperback Classics, 1990. Print.
Kanye West – New Slaves – LIVE at Made in America 2014. Perf. Kanye West. DeGenerationIce, 2014. YouTube, 31 Aug. 2014. Web. 28 Sept. 2015.
Rankine, Claudia. Citizen: An American Lyric. Minneapolis: Graywolf, 2014. Print.