Showing posts with label williams. Show all posts
Showing posts with label williams. Show all posts
Every year through a different book,the LMU Common Book Program unites the freshman class in a “common experience through the uncommon discoveries in reading.” The program extends further into the LMU community, with the book being added to various syllabi, including the one for my Arts and Culture Journalism class. We read the 2020 selection, “Go Ahead in the Rain: Notes to a Tribe Called Quest” by Hanif Adurraqib and also attended the author’s discussion of the book just days after the election. The Common Book program website summarizes the book perfectly: “Abdurraqib's book follows the path of the American hip-hop group A Tribe Called Quest from the mid-1980s and the early days of hip-hop collectives, through a tumultuous 1990s that was punctuated by significant shifts in the music industry, and to the group's final album in in 2016. Abdurraqib ruminates within the cultural moment of the late 20th century through the lens of black experience.” After attending the talk, I wrote the following review of the book, incorporating the elements of the author discussion.
The Memories in Music: Hanif Abdurraqib on “Go Ahead in the Rain”
By Yemaya Williams
By Yemaya Williams
“I’m going to talk to you like this isn’t about facts, but about memory.” Poet and author Hanif Abdurraqib directs this quote to Phife as he sets up one of the many well-said metaphors that fill the pages of his book “Go Ahead in the Rain: Notes To A Tribe Called Quest.” This quote then became one of my many underlines throughout the book, another sentence highlighted for its poeticness. But in this current moment, the quote speaks to what Black life and culture means to Black people in a country that constantly tries to erase their ties to their history.
“Go Ahead in the Rain: Notes To A Tribe Called Quest,” Abdurraqib’s third book, is deeply personal and poetic. It is exactly what the cover says it is: a love letter to a group, a sound and an era. It is an ode to Black music as it intertwines with Black life. So many genres of music and influential musicians are born out of the communal and systematic struggles that come with being Black in America. Abdurraqib says, “The labor that goes into the hard heat of living is the music.” The roots of jazz music that Abdurraqib excitedly finds embedded in the albums of A Tribe Called Quest, as well as the genre of hip hop that Phife and Q-Tip revolutionize, are genres born out of the necessity for relief amidst a constantly racialized existence.
When speaking about this book over Zoom, just days after the 2020 election, Abdurraqib said, “There is a history that lends to the conditions under which music is created.” Deconstructing the samples inside each Tribe song using his parents’ extensive record collection, Abdurraqib charts a lineage of sound that is undivided from a lineage of shared struggle. The music of A Tribe Called Quest and Abdurraqib’s love-letter of a book become historical artifacts, mapping out the shared memories of Black people across the country. The music’s blending of generations speaks to how we aren’t so far off from where we used to be. A lot of us have grandparents with memories of slavery, parents with memories of the Civil Rights movement and ourselves, with memories of the injustices that came after and that continue to happen.
Abdurraqib said America is reliant on forgetting its own history and that our amnesia is why we are doomed to repeat it. However, through looking at the use of the sample by the Tribe and, how even though it’s gotten harder, the tradition of the sample has continued. It is clear that Black people are not the ones doing the forgetting. During the Zoom talk, Abdurraqib said “music can be a document, even if it’s not speaking directly to the world itself,” and through music, Black history is clearly documented. From the mention of the origins of NWA’s “Fuck the Police” to talking about the CD Man and police brutality, Abdurraqib uses poetic and musical metaphors to show how political and systematic complexities can fit into an album or a mixtape, as well as a book. Further, Abdurraqib demonstrates how these cultural artifacts live on in truth, long after their creation.
“It is also about society’s unseen - the people who exist but may be able to navigate an entire landscape as invisible until some violence or some tragedy deems them less so.” Here, Abdurraqib talks about the Tribe album “The Low-End Theory,” but also the ways in which Black life is experienced in a white society. One of the few places Black faces show up in the world is in the music industry’s racialized genres. Another place is in stories of police brutality. Abdurraqib asks: “What is political in a country that would leave you bleeding on the concrete?” when pulling the reader into the sounds and narratives of “The Low-End Theory.”
Black people telling the stories of their lives is political because of the systematic conditions under which they live. Some individual stories cannot be told without framing it within another larger story. The story of A Tribe Called Quest is contextualized in multiple aspects of Black culture, politics, and youth. All these things that historically connect all Black cultural productions and experiences took many people until 2020 to finally acknowledge and begin to connect the dots. Before, most people entrenched in our white society had never engaged with the topic of systematic racism in depth; they had forgotten their own history. What Abdurraqib reminds us with his book is that Black people will never forget theirs, especially as they continue to live in it.
#SupportBlackArtists
By Yemaya Williams
Social media is not a tool for unlearning anti-blackness. There is no meaningful engagement, personal reflection or life application done between reading an infographic and sharing it to your story. But the app is still good for a handful of things like boosting mutual aid campaigns and the ability for Black people to build their own platforms.
Social media and its low-access barrier is an opportunity to expand your perspective. It provides direct ways to support and uplift Black artists and creators who would normally be excluded from their industry. Through Instagram, Black business and Black creators are getting more attention now than they ever have—and they deserve it. Just because you only see white bodies in art museums and only read white writers in school doesn’t mean your personal engagement needs to be so narrow in scope.
A simple follow, like or story share means a lot to people the algorithm doesn’t favor. It’s so easy to do and it expands your worldview in the process. As a Black artist trying to use social to find an artistic community during these times, I’ve gone out of my way to find as many Black creators as possible to follow. Some have bigger platforms and get commissioned by well-known companies while others are just people sharing the art they make in their bedrooms.
I’ve put together a list of these creators so that more people can purposefully widen their scope and so that Black artists can continue gaining the attention and support they deserve.
BLACK ARTISTS AND CREATORS TO FOLLOW ON INSTAGRAM: A SUPER LONG LIST
Smaller Followings:
@aislinn.art
@ajanicreates
@always.underwater
@angryaangel
@anyapaintsil
@ashdujour
@blackandjoyful
@b13ss1ng
@catherinem.a
@cowgirlcandicesart
@e4rthchild
@fatherjawsh
@joliebrownell
@kae_elms
@kailuvv
@kikesaaa
@kthru.12
@livingartdisplay
@lofij333
@marsinterlude
@miayaisnotmyname
@niaanntart
@niggawitagrape
@n.yallah
@nzuridraws
@pandagwad
@sacralrise
@sickandtiredblackartist
@smithleyville
@softcntered
@soulkianna
@soulkitti
@tanyanwilson
@tiara.francois
@trash.ketchumm
@valkammeron
Bigger Followings:
@alanahunta
@artbybrix3
@arthoecollective
@ayy.bee
@barryyusufu
@blackartistspace
@cliffordprinceking
@cosmocouch
@curtia
@danascruggs
@denzelgolatt
@duendita
@erezyn
@exquisite_eye
@ggggrimes
@giannilee
@idealblackfemale
@jayversay
@johnmadu_art
@kieraplease
@lilblackgoat
@loharrisart
@monicagreatgal
@mrcheyl
@mythsooka
@renellaice
@rociomarie_
@sageaflocka
@shakka.d.badmon
@shoplhp
@supportblackart
@tylersphotos
@venusroots
@viteloi
@730t
I Love My Cat(s)
By Yemaya Williams
Towards the beginning of quarantine, Agency commissioned the LMU community to tell us what a day in their lives looked like under the given circumstances. We collected journal entries, anxiety and creativity tips and the editorial board took still life photographs. Before we switched our full focus to the Black Lives Matter movement and support of the LMU black community, my contribution to “A Day in the Life” was an article I titled “I Love My Cat.” The opening paragraph was as follows:
I’m 20 years old and I’ve already met the love of my life, the apple of my eye, the one I would die for, the one I do it all for. There is nothing I think about or talk about more than my baby. His name is Mango. He’s a cat.
I turned fangirling over my cat into a recommendation that everyone get an emotional support animal during quarantine. You will soon read said fangirling and proposal, but I had to break the fourth wall to just back myself up, like this is really solid advice. I say this because I took this exact advice and rescued a second cat over quarantine and of course my life has been better since. We got Kiwi the day before my 21st birthday and there will never be a present that tops that, unless it's another cat.
As I write this, the one year anniversary of Mango’s adoption day is in 4 days. He is the love of my life. I do all the cooking, cleaning and work, and spend all my money to spoil him with toys and treats. He lounges around all day and rudely demands my attention at 3am. It may seem like a one sided love, but I promise you it's not. The constant bursts of serotonin I get just from seeing his cute face is more than I could possibly ask for. When I wake up to the sight of him curled up at the foot of my bed, there is no greater happiness.
I rescued Mango from No Kill Los Angeles, an animal shelter located in Santa Monica. He was a 4 month old kitten and I was a stressed out college student making yet another impulsive decision. In hindsight, a young kitten was a lot of responsibility to take on, but the emotional comfort an animal can provide genuinely changed my life for the better.
Mango is registered as an emotional support animal because that’s exactly what he is. In fact, all pets are emotional support animals regardless of how you label them. Buster, LMU’s therapy dog, automatically brings a big smile to everyone that sees him walking across campus. And I have to admit, there have been days where I’ve come home a wreck and cried into Mango as I hold him (I’m genuinely a crazy cat lady) and it works wonders on my mental state.
To get an official letter that says having a pet would benefit your mental health, it’s as easy as just asking your therapist if you have one. If you don’t, you can do what I did and do it via virtual therapy appointment on websites like esaregistration.org.
To all people who already have animals and enjoy their constant love and joy, I recommend taking the time to register them. To those without animals who want one, I wholeheartedly recommend finding your nearest shelter and rescuing an angel. This is your sign to just do it. Speaking from experience, no matter how impulsive a decision it is, it’s the best decision you will make.
Some may be hesitant because as college students, it seems like a lot of responsibility to take on. At times it is, but if you are hesitant, I recommend turning that dog obsession into a cat one. Compared to the bathroom and attention needs of a dog, cats are much more easier to manage. My favorite perk of having a cat instead of a dog is that I can leave Mango home with his litter box knowing I won’t come back to pee on the floor because it’s been too long between walks. Now that we’re in the house indefinitely, that’s not even something we have to worry about. You have more attention than ever to give a fluffy baby. No excuses.
Cats definitely have a different way of showing love. They don’t come to you when you call their name, they don’t jump up on you when you get home, and most car rides are unpleasant to them. However, love is still there in abundance. Almost every morning in my LA apartment, I would be awoken by Mango walking up on me and laying down on my chest. When he wants to play, he runs and weaves between my feet as I walk. This makes it really hard to not accidentally kick him or trip and fall but brings a smile to my face regardless. Sometimes when I go to pet him, he just stretches out and rolls around on the floor while purring. And he always makes sure to hang out in the room where all the people are. He doesn’t sniff us like a dog would but, he watches over us from his perch.
Like I said before, I’m obsessed and it’s quite easy to see. In fact, I wish this obsession on everyone. These times are hard and we can use all the emotional support we can get. Mango and now Kiwi have really made the duration of these stay at home orders more bearable and when the time comes when I can leave the house again, it's only going to be that much harder to leave their side.
Regardless of an animal's title, the good feelings are there, but to register an animal as an emotional support pet comes with more benefits than true love. All pet related purchases become tax deductible, apartment complexes can’t charge you pet rent and they can fly with you, just like service animals. This registration, along with a DSS application even allows you to have your pet with you in LMU’s dorms—when dorm life is a thing again.
If I’ve convinced you that you need to go and rescue that dog or cat you’ve been thinking about getting, if you are seeking the emotional comforts of a soft companion or if you want to support shelters by temporarily fostering, I’ve listed some no-kill animal shelters in Los Angeles below that still allow for a modified adoption process during this time. If your home isn’t LA, your true love can be one Google search and a couple phone calls away. I emailed The Rescue House in San Diego and 3 days later I was able to pick Kiwi up from her foster home.
No Kill Los Angeles (NKLA) - by appointment only, dogs and cats
Heaven on Earth Perry’s Place - virtual adoption process, cats only
The Rescue Train - online process, cats and dogs
Bark N’ Bitches - online application, dogs only
(I recommend coming here after COVID times even if you don’t want to adopt because all of the dogs have free reign to walk around the store)
Ken-Mar Rescue - online application, dogs only
LA Love and Leashes - give them a call, dogs and cats
Los Angeles Animal Services - by appointment only, dogs and cats
*Note that shelters and rescue houses have different adoption fees. These fees go towards the veterinary care and other costs, meaning you adopt an animal already microchipped, up to date on vaccines, and spayed or neutered. I paid $20 to rescue Mango from NKLA because it was a shelter but Kiwi was $165 because she was from a rescue house and was being fostered. Fees vary depending on where you go and where you live but it’s all worth it to support these organizations and it covers a lot of vet care.
Who is More Black?
By Yemáya Williams
“Who is more Black: Will Smith or Tupac?”
On the first day of my Black Cultural Arts class, my professor made each student verbally answer this question and wouldn’t let anyone give their reasoning. We were to say either name and then he would move on to the next person. The majority chose not to answer, the consensus being that there is no specific way to be Black and therefore neither is more Black than another. Will Smith and Tupac are individual Black men. To argue one side is to imply that there is a right and wrong way to be Black or insinuate that the ideals of colorism are accurate.
However, subsequent lectures showed us that wasn’t actually what the teacher was asking. When looking at Tupac and Will Smith, not as Black people but as the Black cultural productions that they were involved in, the real question was “Is the thug life rapper or the sitcom actor more Black?”
When it comes to Black cultural production (books, music, movies, TV shows, and any other media that are considered “Black”) the question of authenticity becomes a nuanced discussion involving politics and capitalism. You’re forced to consider who is behind the production, who is involved in the execution, who is consuming the material, who is the intended audience, and, most importantly, the ways the representations of Black people reflect the political climate at the time of its making.
The question becomes: is this authentically Black, made by Black people to express themselves and to relate to the Black American experience? Or is it a commodified version of perceived Blackness meant to profit white people and/or advance a political agenda? Tupac was a rapper from Harlem who talked about the harsh experiences of living in the ghetto, which is what the Black-created genre gangsta rap is all about. Meanwhile, Will Smith acted in a white-written and produced sitcom about a Black family living in a rich white neighborhood. Ironically, many Black viewers couldn’t relate to “The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air”, because systemic housing discrimination keeps them living in places more similar to Tupac’s neighborhood. There are many factors to consider when labeling something “Black.” Oftentimes, asking questions reveals that something purportedly “Black” is just another case of white people turning the perception of Black people into a commodity.
The commodification of Blackness has been happening since the commodification of Black bodies. Elvis was not the first white person to get away with stealing and claiming the Black aesthetic as their own. With the rise of the abolitionist movement came one of the first forms of entertainment to enter popular culture: minstrel shows. Minstrel shows, the first commodification of Blackness outside of slavery itself, were a white fantasy that served political purposes. It is from minstrel shows that representations of Black people originated: the Sambo, who is always singing with a big smile on his face, the Coon, always making a fool out of himself, and the Mammy and Uncle Tom, who is more than happy to serve their white masters.
At the time, these shows sent the message to the white audiences that Black people were happy to be enslaved. They tried to get people to pay no mind to the possibility of abolition by making them believe that slaves spent their days in the field singing and smiling, waiting to happily fulfill the next request of their master. The character tropes that were created by these stereotypes evolved into the inauthentic representations of Black people in popular culture. Watch any Madea movie or one of the many TV shows with a Black side character who only opens his mouth to crack jokes, and you’ll realize that these tropes never disappeared, only evolved with the times.
Ask yourself: Is Tyler Perry’s Madea authentically Black if it is based on the old Mammy stereotype, or is it simply a way to commodify a popular, inauthentic perception of blackness? Outside of Tyler Perry himself and the other actors in the film, how many Black people were involved behind the scenes as writers or producers? How many Black people profited off the film? Did the movies relay the lived experiences of Black people in America to the audience, or do they rely on the part of our brains that can recognize what stereotypes about Black people are supposed to make us laugh? How many people watching the movie know that the trope Madea is based on originated during slavery to push the white political agenda of the time?
After minstrel shows succeeded in making money and failed to permanently secure the institution of slavery, post-abolition movies like “Birth of a Nation” tried to send the message that free from the domination of slavery, Black people were savages. According to Blackface representations from this era, all Black men wanted to do was rape virgin white women. These popular images on-screen allowed for another justification for the murder of Black people. In 1955, fourteen-year-old Emmett Till, a Black child, was brutally murdered after a white woman lied about him whistling at her. Emmett Till’s death is a clear example of inauthentic, commodified Black representations ending in real-life consequences that reflect the violent societal racism of the times in which they were made.
Blackness isn’t just commodified by white people who expressly want to create the stereotypes that allow dominant hegemonic thought to continue. Black music is a great example of how Blackness is commodified through theft. Many people know who Elvis is, but most don’t know Big Mama Thornton. Elvis stole his songs and sound from Black blues musicians like Big Mama Thornton, the original singer of “Hound Dog,” and Otis Blackwell, a songwriter who wrote for Elvis. As a white man, he was able to reach a large audience across the country while Black artists were restricted to ‘Race music’ venues and radio stations. While it’s slowly becoming more widely-known that Elvis copied Big Mama Thornton, the racial history of blues and rock and roll is still commonly unknown.
Rock and roll music only exists because Black people created the blues. The blues was an authentic, uncommodified version of Black culture. It was a genre born out of the Southern experience, made by and for Black people. White people called it “devil music” because of some of its raunchy content and considered it, like all things Black, to be a part of low culture at the time. Popular blues artists would go around the South playing what they called “one-nighters” to bring a night of release and relief to the pressures of the deep South. It was never about money, it was about shared experiences and community. At the time, the genre was called “Race music.” White people started to catch on to the value of Black musicians and started going to one-nighters and listening to Black radio stations.
This was all happening during segregation, so the KKK and general white public couldn’t stand for it. This cross over into popular culture from low culture turned Race music into “rhythm and blues.” All of a sudden, Black artists were being asked by record labels to come in and record singles to be played on white radio. Of course, white producers and owners of record companies took advantage of Black musicians when it came to contracts and compensation, but these musicians mostly cared about being heard. One-nighters turned into fully-segregated concerts where the white sections were given the dance floor. The shows became about them.
Commodification leads to a transformation of authenticity.
The complete takeover of the blues was swift. First, Black musicians, both live and on radio, were swapped for white musicians who would cover their songs. This mimicking of Blackness could never recreate the authentic messages of the songs. Next came rock and roll. The rebrand of Race music to rhythm and blues still alienated some crowds of white people who wanted nothing to do with low culture. So the next rebrand came with new songs, by white musicians and musicians like Elvis, instead of covers. Popular equals profitable, and in order to remain dominant, white industry members kept the money to themselves and away from Black people.
This theft for the sake of financial exploitation is another way in which perceptions of Blackness are commodified. Black artists in all mediums are constantly being stolen from or taken advantage of. Without Black agency and authenticity, these practices are commodification.
So who is more Black: Will Smith or Tupac? There are various modalities of Black people within and impacted by political context. The blues spoke to the people of the deep South, but Black people in the North were going through different versions of that struggle. Who is to say what is the real Black experience when there are so many different Black experiences? And if you can’t define the experience, then who is to say what is authentic? These questions don’t come with definitive answers, but by looking at racist systems, it is possible to answer what isn't an authentic Black experience.
If you question who portrays a more authentic Black experience, Will Smith and Tupac are the perfect people to pit against each other. Tupac was one of many disenfranchised Black people whose lives were negatively impacted by systematic racism. He was forced to live in ghettos and involve himself in underground street politics. He made gangsta rap to express the conditions and daily experiences of being Black in the hood. Even as he entered popular culture, he stayed true to his people and his message, and even signed with a label created by other Black rappers. The context and means of production and profit were centered around Black people and lived Black experiences that stem from racist housing policies, job discrimination and lack of generational wealth. However, despite Tupac’s notoriety and place in pop culture, gangsta rap as a genre was still looked down on by high white society and deemed low culture.
Even though “The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air” had a majority Black cast in addition to Will Smith, it was never considered low culture. How true to the Black experience can something be if it is wholly accepted by white people? The systems keeping Tupac in the ghetto are the same ones that make a Black family living in a mansion in Bel Air a white fantasy–and all fictional white fantasies serve a political purpose.
“The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air,” like “Family Matters” and “Good Times,” was considered to be Black TV shows because they had majority Black casts and Black lead characters. But is a Black lead character enough? Black people, who are underrepresented in media, are often just happy to see themselves on screen. Madea’s character may have awful origins, but at least Black people can go to a movie theater and laugh at people who look like them. You can’t be what you can’t see and seeing B*ll C*sby play a successful doctor may have inspired a Black audience. But when you think about all these shows and movies considered to be “Black,” you have to ask yourself: is it a Black show if the premise is so far from reality that Black people can’t relate to it?
Will Smith was the Black main character of a “Black” sitcom, but his way of life doesn’t fit in the various modalities of lived Black experiences. It is written and produced by white people, made in a way that gets Black people happy about seeing themselves on TV while not alienating any white viewers. This way, white TV stations can use Blackness to profit off of both demographics. Not a single Black person who watched that show watched it from a mansion in Bel-Air.
Simply put, when looking at the Black cultural production of Tupac and Will Smith, Tupac is more Black than Will Smith.
This is not Will Smith’s fault. Black sitcoms featuring middle- to upper-middle-class Black families came about during the Civil Rights Movement, and they were meant to do a lot more than just make money off of the backs of Black bodies. They were meant to counterbalance what was on the news: Black people’s demand for equality and white politicians' opposition to welfare. Black TV shows told white people that Black people were asking for too much, that if they just worked hard and were “good,” that they too could be a Black family living in the suburbs, enjoying the “American Dream.” The Black characters on the show were palatable Black people, written by white people, to act as white as possible in order to paint assimilation and living the white way as the right way.
Shows like “Fresh Prince” sought to give white and Black people the illusion that the American Dream was attainable for Black people when everything they saw on the news was saying the opposite. They told the Black working-class families in their audience that they needed to work harder so that they too could buy a house in the suburbs, while they were in the streets fighting to be treated like humans. Black struggles were erased in the minds of white people falling for a white fantasy that exploited the politics of Black people’s desires while ignoring the reality of Black people’s lives.
Who gets to define what reality is for Black people? Who is consuming these different versions of reality? As the years go by, Black people have slowly been granted more and more access to cultural means of production. Instead of Black representations being 100% white fantasies, there are now movies like “Moonlight” and “The Hate You Give,” made by black people about authentic Black experiences. Barry Jenkins and Jordan Peele being influential Black directors is a big deal when Black people have been kept out of these positions of power for decades.
But access isn’t going to put an end to commodification. Black cultural productions extend beyond the screen. It is important to reinforce the ability to view popular culture as not just a source of entertainment but to also see the other elements that speak to the dominant ideologies of the cultural hegemony. This applies to every form of cultural production that has the potential to be copied, stolen or used. Ask yourself, how is Blackness being exploited for financial or political gain?
The last example I want to give is the graphic design challenge that is the Black Lives Matter Movement, which is what prompted me to want to give this history lesson. Instagram accounts and brands competed to create the cutest viral rendition of the slogan “Black Lives Matter” to be performatively shared on everyone’s Instagram Story. Companies that barely employ Black people—or if they do, they aren’t in any positions of power—, are frantically posting their solidarity so as to not get “canceled” by their following. They are saying they “stand with Black people'' while the Black people in their spaces aren’t supported in any way. If they didn’t, they had to deal with followers demanding that they say something. But why demand something from them that they don’t mean?
When a private white university (PWI) puts out a statement about its commitment to its Black community while the Black community constantly experiences racism at the hands of their peers and teachers and university policies, one has to be aware of how supporting Black people has been commodified to keep Black people giving their money and support to these white institutions without them actually doing anything concrete to support Black people. Brands that have stolen from Black creators suddenly reaching out to Black creators to collaborate because the political climate tells them it’s profitable is a slap in the face. Black creators and models and workers are getting attention now more than ever. It is good for them but it is also important to realize how their Blackness is being used by the people hiring or working with them for a good image and therefore good profit.
Blackness makes the world go round. From Black Twitter to Black fashion, to Black vernacular, to Black music, white people have always used their perceptions of Blackness to contort and distort what made it authentically Black into something that offers white people some sort of political or economic gain. Black bodies have been exploited since slavery, and this exploitation is continuing in present-day discussions about the mistreatment of Black bodies. There isn’t one way to be Black, but there are inauthentic versions of Blackness being perpetuated by our hegemonic culture.
This is the opinion of Activism Editor Yemaya Williams.
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