What is political?

Last week in class, we talked extensively about the motivations of the Blues singers we had read about. Did they intend their songs to be political statements, or were they just singing about the way they saw their lives? Does one of those preclude the others? And does the original intent matter if those processing and consuming whatever is produced take it to be political? If those songs motivated women to leave their abusive partners, to stand up for themselves, then maybe they were political. That class was one week ago, but I still don’t feel like I have any definite answers. It has, however, really made me think about our own version political activism today.

The big news item last week was Kony 2012/Invisible Children. On Facebook and Tumblr, my two primary social media sites, people were reposting and liking the videos and people’s comments. It really made me think. Is this what my peers and I consider to be political? Does simply passing information around the internet actually have any measurable impact? Perhaps, if doing so inspires someone to actually take more action, like the songs of Ma Rainey or Bessie Smith might have done, there is some good to it. But really, all I can think about is this meme that I saw floating around Facebook. 

“The African Queen”: From Classic Blues to the Hip-Hop Feminist

Everyone knows that an excellent song has to have a first-rate title to draw listeners in and a killer “hook” to keep them wanting more. Apparently, blogs are no different. As I sat pondering what to name this particular post, In Defense of the African Queen came out as a forerunner. But when I thought about it, black women of the classic blues era and beyond do not need defending – through their music they have shown the world that they can do just fine on their own. Blues legacies such as Gertrude “Ma” Rainy, Bessie Smith, and Billie Holiday paved the way for generations of women to take control of their lives through music and to discover their own version of female empowerment.

Bessie Smith

Who is the blues woman? She is a woman who challenges the status quo, who refused to bow down to gender conformity, and who oozes a natural air of confidence. Bessie Smith and others “forged and memorialized images of tough, resilient, and independent women” who weren’t afraid to defend their rights to being “autonomous human beings.” [1] In post-slavery America, when gender stratification was at its peak, blues women dared to touch on subjects that were rejected by society. Bessie proved to her listeners that she was both sexually aware and in control of her body when she confronted gender-based authority and domestic violence in the home.  In the song Hateful Blues she even entertains the thought of violent revenge against a man who has left her. By counteracting traditional thoughts of what it means to be feminine, she gave countless other women the power that they needed to fight back against the norm.

Through her music, Bessie helped to articulate the struggles of her black female subjects and usher in the beginning of an era of music as political protest. I find it ironic that she came to be known as the “Empress of Blues” – and even in her infamy no one would consider calling her the “Emperor of Blues,” another highly gendered term. Today in the hip-hop culture, black women are often portrayed as “African queens” that demand respect and yet can never gain the symbolic power of the male “kings”. [2] And yet, the blues women sang with confidence about what it was to be a female in a masculine dominated world.

Nicki Minaj

That same confidence, cultivated decades earlier, continues to help hip-hop artists like Nicki Minaj become models of empowerment for women. As she states in her song recent rap hit Monster, “you could be the king but watch the queen conquer.” Minaj, a Trinidadian-born American musician and rapper, has become a controversial symbol for female empowerment in the twenty-first century. Her sexualized image, often-violent lyrics, and abrasive tone have turned some feminists off. The problem is, I consider myself a feminist, but I also consider myself a fan of rap. This begs the question – are the two reconcilable? Writer April Gregory explains on the blog Racialicious that Nicki “takes patriarchal notions of femininity and womanhood, reclaims them, and makes them work for her.” [3] She dresses the way that she dresses because she chooses to. She writes the lyrics of her songs for herself, not for anyone else. People are uncomfortable with her sexuality because of the feminine norms of sexual starvation that are still prevalent in our lives today.

Like the blues women did centuries before her, Nicki challenges gender norms by proving that she can have an impact in a male-dominated field while still embracing her own version of femininity. Not many people think of females when they think of rap or the blues. Just like Bessie Smith, Nicki Minaj presents a form of music that is all her own. Using voice as a medium for social change, she empowers herself and other women to embrace the ideas of self-awareness, sexuality, and nonconformity. The feminism that began with Bessie has taken root in the current music world. What do you think, is hip-hop feminism alive in 2012?

[1] Angela Y. Davis, Blues Legacies and Black Feminism (Vintage Books, 1998), 41.

[2] Angela Y. Davis, Blues Legacies and Black Feminism (Vintage Books, 1998), 122.

[3] April Gregory, “Nicki Minaj: The Flyest Feminist”, http://www.racialicious.com/2012/02/23/nicki-minaj-the-flyest-feminist/

Messages Through Music

Last week, a major topic of discussion was whether there are any current musicians who serve as current-day examples of the first blues women, such as Gertrude “Ma” Rainey or Bessie Smith. Clouded by skepticism, my initial response to this issue was that current musicians are over-produced, and their music is not as honest, not as authentic. People sing about social issues, but it doesn’t usually feel like they’re breaking new ground. Is there new ground to be broken though? Songs are generally about one of a few themes: love, breakups, going out, partying, or general hardship.

I realized that my initial skepticism wasn’t necessarily fair—just because people aren’t singing about particular topics for the first time, it doesn’t mean they aren’t relevant to today’s public audience. John Legend and The Roots are a great example–they sing and rap about hard times, especially for black males, and they sing about things they know and have experienced. They recently won an Image Award from NAACP for their collaboration and performance as a group.

Perhaps music is more manipulated and more time is spent editing and producing it, but a message is still a message, and sometimes music is the best method of being heard by a broad public audience. Maybe the issue is the amount of music produced—instead of having a few recording artists to choose from, there are infinite possibilities when a person is looking to find new music. With the Internet especially, so many artists have been able to reach an audience, and now it’s up to the audience. Who will you choose to listen to, and will it be for their message or their musical styling? Is it acceptable to support artists who berate women, as long as the beat is good?

The messages in music may not be breaking new ground, but artists can be innovative by reaching new audiences and increasing awareness about the issues they’re passionate about. While Bessie Smith and Gertrude “Ma” Rainey initially sang primarily to lower/middle class black women, and made them realize that they were not alone in their situations, current artists can also reach new people, and guide them through difficult situations in new, productive ways.

Living with the Enemy: Bringing Domestic Abuse into Public View

Donna Ferrato's documentary photography has recorded instances of domestic abuse previously hidden within the home. Source: abuseaware.com

True or false: Domestic violence is not a problem in my hometown.

While some might believe this to be a true statement, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention estimate that each year, 5.3 million women ages 18 and older are victimized by an intimate partner. One in four women faces physical, emotional, or sexual abuse during her lifetime. [1] Domestic abuse is a pervasive problem in this country. Hidden from public view for generations within the privacy of the home, documentation efforts within the last 40 years have cast a spotlight on these crimes.

In 1982, documentary photographer Donna Ferrato caught a glimpse of an abusive relationship on film.

I began to realize how he manipulated her into doing crazy things for his entertainment….Her husband patted her bare skin and told her she could feel confident walking around naked while her daughter’s friends were partying for Halloween….She was the only naked woman at the party in a house of teenagers.[2]

For the next nine years, Ferrato spent over 6,000 hours riding along with police officers as they responded to calls about domestic abuse. After securing permission to photograph, she would document intimate moments of family turmoil. In 1991, her images were compiled into a book, Living with the Enemy.

Shortly thereafter, a New York City women’s shelter approached Ferrato about mounting a benefit exhibition featuring 47 images from the book. With the success of the show, Ferrato was besieged with requests from around the country and the Living with the Enemy exhibition began to travel. From November 1991 to October 2006, art galleries, U.S. embassies, YWCA’s, and college campuses around the world hosted the exhibition. [3]

This documentary photograph by Donna Ferrato records sheds light on domestic violence in the home. Source: http://www.higherpictures.com

Ferrato’s works capture emotionally charged moments in bold, black and white images. Inspired by this project, Ferrato formed Domestic Abuse Awareness, Inc. as an advocacy non-profit. Describing the tension between her work as an advocate and a documentary photographer, Ferrato explained, “If I chose to put down my camera and stop one man from hitting one woman I’ll be helping just one woman. However, if I get the picture I can help countless more. By taking the picture I am defending the truth.”[4]

Public consciousness about domestic abuse has only surfaced within the last hundred years. In the early 1900s, blues music emerged as one of the first public spaces in which female artists began to discuss violence towards women. According to Angela Davis in Blues Legacies and Black Feminism, “The historically omnipresent secrecy and silence regarding male violence is linked to its social construction as a private problem sequestered behind impermeable domestic walls, rather than a social problem deserving political attention.” Blues artists like Bessie Smith and “Ma” Rainey brought such domestic troubles into public light, often through complicated and often satirical lyrics such as the following lines from “Sweet Rough Man:” “He keeps my lips split, my eyes as black as jet/But the way he love me makes me soon forget.” [5]

Despite these blues references to violence within personal relationships and the home, domestic abuse did not surface as a national issue until the 1970s. As second-wave feminists advocated that the personal was the political, women publicly began to share stories of their physical, emotional, and sexual victimization. [6] Through events such as the Take Back the Night protest walk that started in 1975, violence within the home has gained critical, public attention. [7]

Ferrato’s work has provided the intimate, graphic depiction of domestic abuse that early protests lacked. Living with the Enemy is now accessible as a book, traveling exhibition, and section on the Domestic Abuse Awareness, Inc. website. Through Ferrato’s photographic work paired with her first hand account of years documenting domestic abuse, advocates for domestic abuse victims can point to graphic representation of the societal problem hidden within the home. A picture is worth a thousand words, but Ferrato’s work is worth protecting 5.3 million lives.

[1] National Center for Injury Prevention and Control. Costs of Intimate Partner Violence Against Women in the United States. Atlanta, GA: Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, 2003.

[2] Bachevanova, Svetlana. “INTERVIEW : Donna Ferrato.” FotoEvidence, January 24, 2011. http://www.fotoevidence.com/interview-donna-ferrato.

[3] Ferrato, Donna. “Abuse Aware.” Domestic Abuse Awareness, Inc., n.d. http://www.abuseaware.com/daa_inc.php.

[4] Bachevanova, “INTERVIEW : Donna Ferrato.”

[5] Davis, Angela Y. Blues Legacies and Black Feminism: Gertrude “Ma” Rainey, Bessie Smith, and Billie Holiday. New York: Vintage, 1999, 28-32.

[6] Ibid., 25.

[7] “Take Back The Night – History.” Take Back the Night, n.d. http://www.takebackthenight.org/history.html.

Acid Queen, Rock Royalty

In the winter of 2009-2010, a single photograph dominated the New York City subway system.  For me and all the other antisocial strap-hangers desperate to avoid eye contact with a real person, this picture provided a reliable distraction.  It was a photo of Tina Turner in all her glory—mouth open, makeup brassy and fabulous, hair disheveled, skin glistening with sweat, one slinky strap of a halter top hinting at a risqué ensemble undoubtedly clinging tight to that famous body.  This picture oozed Tina’s specific brand of unruly sexiness and perfectly portrayed the powerhouse that women everywhere adore for her brazen confidence and personal triumphs.

The Brooklyn Museum used that image of Tina to advertise their exhibit “Who Shot Rock & Roll: A Photographic History, 1955 to the Present.” Out of the 175 photographs that comprised the show, Tina’s was one of two—the other a black and white image of quintessential rock star Mick Jagger—used to promote this exhibit.  (Tina snagged the exhibition catalogue’s sole cover spot.)  “Who Shot Rock & Roll” is the first museum exhibition that focuses on the important role that image has played in rock and roll music.

Tina in 2008. Those legs just won't quit. Photo Public Domain

In the largely white boy’s club of rock music, Tina Turner certainly is, on the surface, a glaring anomaly.  But few would debate that Tina continues a legacy, initiated by the blues women of the 1920s and continued by the singer-songwriters of the 1970s, of liberated singers in control of their sexuality and unafraid to question standards about love.  Through her personal life and her music, Tina epitomizes the issues explored in both of these musical genres.

As evidenced in Blues Legacies and Black Feminism, women’s blues became a revolutionary outlet for black women’s issues in the 1920s.[1] There were truly no taboos in women’s blues.  Subjects ranged far and wide but almost always circulated back to the empowering and newly public discussion of sex.  Physical abuse, often perpetuated by these same sexual desires, was another frequent topic of women’s blues songs. [2] Ma Rainey and Bessie Smith gave a voice to the mixed emotions resulting from this previously unspoken problem.  The abused women in these songs were conflicted but unapologetic, championing their right to make their own decisions over public opinions of those decisions. [3] Tina Turner has famously dealt with this same issue.  Her explosive relationship with ex-husband Ike is one of the most notorious modern examples of domestic abuse.  Unlike most subjects of the blues songs, though, Tina was able to break free.  Her description of the abuse in her autobiography I, Tina, and the subsequent film What’s Love Got To Do With It? helped shed light on the psychological struggles of abuse, much like the blues songs of the 1920s. [4]

The singer-songwriters of the 1970s built upon blues topics of sexual assertion and conflicting emotions by continuing to explore the increasingly separate arenas of love, sex and the gray area in between the two known as the “relationship.” [5] Musicians like Carly Simon and Carole King displayed a mature sexual consciousness while experimenting with new types of couplings.  Love was at times strongly or barely desired.  It was no longer a necessary part of the equation.  Continuing this progressively more liberal views of relationships, Tina Turner famously asserted that love was an old-fashioned notion and proclaimed, more than asked, that it (love) didn’t really have all that much to do with “it” (sex).  The staying power of Tina’s trademark hit suggests that today’s women continue to agree.

In her life and career, Tina Turner has exemplified both the battered women of blues music and the independent new woman aware of her sexual power.  Add in her crossover appeal, rock’s strong blues roots and its continued inclusiveness and you have a rock and roll legend.  Moreover, Tina has the power of image that this exhibit deems so important to the history of rock music.  A sexy photograph of Tina Turner on the subway and in an exhibit is not just another picture.  Because of her famously turbulent yet triumphant story, it becomes something more.  It solidifies the continued presence and importance of sex in music but conjures up music’s historically gritty underside.  It represents a genre and a lifestyle that encompasses not only the sex, but the hardship, triumph and freedom of the American musical timeline.  She has, and she is, the image of rock music.

 

[1] Angela Davis, Blues Legacies and Black Feminism (New York: Vintage Books, 1998), 5.

[2] Ibid., 28.

[3] Ibid., 31.

[4] Jon Pareles, “Ike Turner, Musician and Songwriter in Duo With Tina Turner, Dies at 76,” New York Times, December 17, 2007, accessed March 21, 2011. http://www.nytimes.com/2007/12/13/arts/music/13turner.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1&fta=y

[5] Judy Kutulas, “‘That’s the Way I’ve Always Heard It Should Be’: Baby Boomers, 1970s Singer-Songwriters, and Romantic Relationships,” Journal of American History 97 (2010): 691.

The Female Blues: Making Private Public

Whenever anyone mentions Aretha Franklin as a female music mogul, one word comes to mind: Respect. Unfortunately, respect for women (or oneself) isn’t necessarily a pre-requisite in the music industry. In the 1920s and 1930s, blues music began gaining popularity, and was known for his provocative and pervasive sexual imagery. Not only was this imagery new to the American public, but women were also singing the music. In their refusal to romanticize relationships, and thus expose stereotypes and explore the contradictions of relationships, these female blues singers helped provide a new “place” for women.[1] Now, by making their personal relationship experiences public, women like Bessie Smith and Gertrude “Ma” Rainey were telling other black, working class women, that they weren’t alone and other women shared the same experiences they did. Consider the lyrics of “Don’t Fish In My Sea”, sung by both women. Here, Bessie Smith complains that her man came home drunk in the morning after staying out all night, and although he used to stay out late, now he often doesn’t come home at all. She goes on to sing:

If you don’t like my ocean, don’t fish in my sea
Don’t like my ocean, don’t fish in my sea
Stay out of my valley and let my mountain be [2]

Instead of propagating the widely accepted ideas of black women as “mammy” or overly-sexualized figures, women like “Ma” Rainey and Bessie Smith implied that hardship was normal, and by singing that message, they empowered women to assert individuality and power in their own lives and relationships.

With their refusal to be stifled, the female blues singers of the early twentieth century opened the door to female expression through popular music. Not only could women speak to other women through song, but politics could be conveyed effectively as well. As Judy Kutulas points out in her article “That’s the Way I’ve Always Heard It Should Be,” popular music has the unique power of immediacy.[3] Music is ever-present, constantly produced, and has become a background noise for life. As always, however, there are conflicting messages.  In many songs and music videos, women continue to be depicted as “temptress” figures, and are not taken seriously. Consider many of the current hip-hop and rap music videos—they include rich men flashing their “bling” while surrounded by dozens of beautiful, scantily clad women.

Thankfully, some women have decided to continue in the tradition of Gertrude “Ma” Rainey and Bessie Smith. Take Alicia Keys for example. In her song “Fallin’,” she sings about falling in and out of love, while feeling good, used, and confused all at the same time. What’s more, she uses the song’s music video to portray powerful imagery while remaining decidedly un-sexualized and almost masculine at certain points. As Keys walks through her day, she shows imprisoned black women working in a field wearing their bright orange prison jumpsuits. Next, Keys visits her boyfriend, the subject of the song, in prison. The message of the video seems to be that everyone is imprisoned by something—love, men, society, or race, among other things.

With her use of a current urban landscape and legitimate issues, I believe Alicia Keys represents a continuation of the movement started by those female blues singers almost a century ago. Making private issues public can empower people, and in our current technological climate, artists now have the power to make their messages heard instantly.

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[1] Angela Y. Davis, Blues Legacies and Black Feminism (Vintage Books: New York, 1998): 41.

[2] Davis, 214

[3] Judy Kutulas, “’That’s the Way I’ve Always Heard It Should Be’: Baby Boomers, 1970s Singer-Songwriters, and Romantic Relationships,” The Journal of American History 97, No. 3 (December 2010): 684.

Strong, silent and suffering types?

Our discussion of the empowering effect of the blues focused mostly on the working class. We even mentioned how we tend to lionize the working class, from where the blues originated, when talking about struggles against injustices. Female blues singers such as Ma Rainey and Bessie Smith were heroic in the way they spoke out against domestic abuse. On the other hand, the African-American middle class acted downright cowardly in shunning the artists. It’s pretty easy to see, right?

I couldn’t help but think of this dichotomy as an issue of private versus public expression rather than one of right and wrong. Of course, women in both classes were subjected to domestic abuse. While working-class blues fans could publically identify with the hardships the faced, the suffering of the middle-class women was probably a deeply private affair. Being respectable could have trapped middle-class black women in an isolated word where the fear scorn from their peers outweighed their ability to speak out. Letting it be known that there were problems at home could cast doubt on how middle class black people handled themselves in the eyes of their peers and of whites.  A distinct public appearance could be starkly different to the realities of home life.

Raucous nightclubs of ill-repute were not the place for upstanding middle class ladies to vocally express their pain. In that sense, the split between working class and middle class was one of private and public space as well. When Sara Smolinsky woefully exclaims that “Only millionaires can be alone in America,” in the Bread Givers, she was referring to the lack of private space for the poor.[1] On the other hand, that private space must have felt like a prison at times for middle-class women.  How could they ever have the courage to speak out like the working-class women when so much was riding on their public appearance?

Maybe it is my suburban upbringing that makes me want to believe that the hardships of the middle class can stand alongside similar issues of the working class. The silence of the middle-class women who must have suffered is both frustrating and also heartbreaking, but I would not want to go to the lengths of calling it any better or any worse than the mechanisms used by working-class women.

[1] Anzia Yezierska, Bread Givers (New York: Persea Books, 1975), 13.

“My Baby Left Me All Alone”: Blues Men and Relationships

After reading about how relationships were a popular subject for female blues singers, I wondered how their male counterparts approached the subject.  How did they feel about infidelity, love, and the opposite sex? Expecting to have to search hard for examples, I was surprised to find many male singers of the era broaching these topics.

Robert Johnson’s “Come On in My Kitchen” provides an interesting perspective in relation to many of the female songs we read about.  It begins with Johnson bemoaning the loss of “the woman I love,” a glimpse into the aftermath of a breakup. However, rather than dwelling on his own bad fortune, Johnson goes on to acknowledge his own wrongdoing. “Oh, she’s gone, I know she won’t come back/I’ve taken the last nickel out of her nation sack,” he sings, admitting openly that he stole money from the woman he supposedly cared about. Furthermore, he expresses sympathy for the sexual double standard applied to women: “When a woman gets in trouble, everybody throws her down/Lookin’ for her good friend, none can be found.” Despite the emotional hardness associated with masculinity, “Come On in My Kitchen” is a surprisingly sensitive, regretful song mourning the loss of a lover.

From Blues to Bluegrass

Our discussion about the origins of the blues got me thinking about the origins of bluegrass, a genre I love but know little to nothing about.

Various websites cite different beginnings, but bluegrass seems to follow the lower-class to commercialization path of the blues.  Bluegrass is generally believed to have its roots in Scottish, Irish, and English ballads and work songs combined with African American gospel and blues, especially since the form of the banjo was actually brought over by slaves from Africa. [1]  Some claim that pioneer women in Appalachia adopted a somber, “high lonesome sound” for ballad singing that strongly influenced the later singing styles of bluegrass singers. [2]

Fiddlers, banjo players, and singers provided the main form of entertainment for lower-class mining and farming mountain towns in North Carolina, Virginia, and Kentucky (all areas distinctly outside of map of the blues region we saw in class).  This music was used for social dancing and known as clogging, buckdancing, and/or flatfooting.  This similarity to blues leaves me wondering: did the white middle class react as negatively against bluegrass as they did against the blues?  How much did race figure into those criticisms?

An English man named Cecil Sharp {“the founding father of the English folk revival”) journeyed around the Appalachian region in the 1910s collecting folk songs and ballads.  This video is a contemporary cover of one of those songs, “Swannanoa Tunnel”:

Bill Monroe and the Blue Grass Boys, formed in 1939, had the first successful commercial album, and so the genre was named for this band and Monroe is considered the “Father of Bluegrass.” [3] [4]  This 1955 performance of “Roanoke” was the oldest I could find:

Voices

For this post I went looking for the voices of women. In Angela Y. Davis
Blues Legacies and Black Feminism the voices of Ma Rainey, Bessie Smith and Billie Holiday gave rise to the roots of feminist thought for African American women in the 20th century. There were times when I felt I was taken over a cliff with her conclusions, because in her work she very infrequently (with the exception of Holiday) used the voices of the women ( not their lyrics or their singing) to draw conclusions about their actions or beliefs as it related to emerging feminist action or thought. So I went hunting for voices in the blogosphere. I decided on keeping it musical and went looking for voices from Hip Hop to see what connections could be made to the feminism espoused in Blues. What I found were voices that I think are helpful in informing our discussions in CRG, as they are current and from a sorely missing demographic in our class.

First off is a blog entry by Lynne d Johnson. Lynne d Johnson has served as the General Manager, for VIBE, SPIN, and VIBE Vixen and is a journalist, writer, new media specialist, and feminist. In this post she deals with the realities of misogyny in “gangsta rap” from a black feminist perspective. The issue of violence toward black women by black men was central in Davis’ work and while here we see a discussion of male artists speaking of violence against women, not women artists interpreting the violence, it is Johnson’s interpretations of where this misogyny rose from: white patriarchal culture, that is compelling. She calls men on the carpet for glorifying violence against women, but seems more concerned with informing a wider audience about the roots of this glorification.

Contrary to a racist white imagination which assumes that most young black males, especially those who are poor, live in a self- created cultural vacuum, uninfluenced by mainstream, cultural values, it is the application of those values, largely learned through passive uncritical consumption of mass media, that is revealed in “gangsta rap.”

This post is lengthy and delves into a variety of issues that move us toward understanding the complexity of being a “black feminist.” It is not possible to simply write, or speak or even think like a feminist for Johnson. The dominance of a white patriarchy informs all of her arguments and provides a window into a black feminist perspective.

Another voice representing a feminist perspective in relationship to contemporary musical form was found in the blog Gender Across Boarders. The author of this post Kimba King described her connection with this music:

As a griot, I inherit the West Afrikan tradition of using creative storytelling to document what is happening in the world around me. There will always be real stories that talk about the everyday lived experiences of people that cannot be shown on the afternoon special and won’t have a happy ending.

Kemba shares a love hate with the musical form that can be full of “promoting homophobia, classism and misogyny…” but sees her role as a “Hip Hop Feminist” to bring “various women’s voices to eke out a sizeable space to challenge the phobias and isms that silence and mark invisible the impact on and influence that women have had on hip hop.”

My interest here is finding a person who sees herself as an “active activist.” I wanted to hear the voices of people who sought actively to see feminist goals being worked for, and how they were balanced in the context of a contemporary form of music that might make a connection in someway to the blues.

The Blog Like a Whisper had one of the best-developed posts by Potente Susurro . She describes herself as “a woman of color with a PhD and an appointment in an interdisciplinary field. I used to write about my experiences as an academic alongside important and fluffy socio-political issues in our world.”

In this posts BHM: Queering Rap she highlights important female figures in hip hop but raises the specter of missing voices:

What has been largely absent from both male and female hip-hop artists work is a question of heteronormativity and hyper-dominant-heterosex. Thus power shifts from largely misogynist male gangsta fantasy to dominating/dominatrix heterosexual female ones

In this exploration I am reminded of the great Blues giants who call out their men, draw lines in the sand, and threaten them with violence, and praise good sex and good times. They assert their power through the very stereotypes they are maligned by from dominant white, and even middle class black culture. Susurro includes several examples of artists who depart from this hyper-dominent-hetrosexual model.

In all of these posts there is the melding of Race Class and Gender. Each speaker acknowledges the darker side to the music that they are discussing, but are hard pressed to completely condemn it because they seem to share something with it or realize that it is a product of the complex relationships of a dominant culture over a subservient one.

Like Rainey, Smith and Holiday, they are a product of the world they live in and must define themselves not only as who they are, but who they are in relationship to the larger culture. They share the same struggles, the same voices.