Week 2: Discussion on Alex Weheliye's Phonographies: Grooves in Sonic Afro-Modernity
Quite fittingly, the opening of Weheliye’s Phonographies is
all about sonic beginnings:
“Beginning and introductions are
occasions for sonic events or apparitions—and song intros are no exception: the
soft, mid-tempo, yet insistent drum-machine rumblings and water tap sounds of
Mtume’s “Juicy Fruit” that prolong the wait for the grand entrance of the bass,
especially in the extended twelve-inch version; the lengthy cinematic string
section of Phantom/Ghost’s “Perfect
Lovers (Unperfect Love Mix)”; the looped invocations of “love ya babe” in
conjunction with the crisp, syncopated snare drums and sampled bird sounds that
introduce Aaliyah’s “One in a Million.” I could continue this list
indefinitely, but I trust that you get the picture, or that sound as it were,
of the allurements that lurk in the crevices of sonic beginnings, those
sonorous marks that launch new worlds, holding out pleasure to come while also
tendering futurity as such in their grooves” (1).
Much the same could be said for the beginning of this
class—its introduction to the complexities of modernity, diaspora, the politics
of authenticity, and the allurements of black Atlantic performance. Weheliye’s
focus here is on the technologies which mediate our access to culture; which
provide our point of entry and grant us the means of repetition: the
phonograph, the CD/mp3 player or, especially in our case, the YouTube video:
If this book's point of entry is a meditation on sonic beginnings, perhaps
the hook, as it were, is that “sound technologies are a vital element of the
musical text rather than supplementary to its unfolding” (2). Similar phrasing
could be used to describe Weheliye’s argument that black culture is vital to the
unfolding of Western modernity. Worth considering in class are the ways that Phonographies responds to and revises
Gilroy’s arguments about black culture’s intimate relationship to modernity. If
Weheliye’s focus on technology marks one signal difference between the two
approaches, what new lines of inquiry does this focus open up? What are its
limitations?
Weheliye’s book is not a history of sound technologies
themselves but rather focuses on their representation in various literary texts.
(The final chapter is a departs from this in both method and scope.) Sound
becomes a form twice-mediated. This raises various questions about the
relationship between literature (and literary aesthetics) and technology—or
literature as technology—that would be useful to engage in our discussion.
There is much to say for example, about the book's engagement with Ralph Ellison’s
writings—especially the phonograph if the Invisible Man
prologue. And this video recording of Louis Armstrong’s stage performance of “Black and Blue” is a profoundly
rich musical and visual text in it’s own right:
What are your thoughts? Sound off in the comments!
Within this week’s assigned texts, questions and conjectures of form were active parts in fleshing out in the intersections of music, noise, culture, power, and literature. Beginning with Jacques Attali’s “Noise: The Political Economy of Music,” Attali’s piece presents noise as ultimately radical, the hearers and makers of noise come to represent an active political space in which revolutions are born. This sentiment reminds me of ways in which Gospel music can take on a particular call and response element within live performances, the choir director or leader of the song calls back to the choir to repeat a verse or to into the audience, the audience calls out praise to the choir that works to create the full experience of the performance. In this particular example, noise works in tandem with the codified form of music to do the same transgressive and radical work that Dubois ascribes to spirituals within his chapter “Sorrow Songs”. The attention Attali pays to noise is additionally particularly interesting when thinking about the ways that Attali speaks about how music is controlled. He states, “All music, any organization of sounds is then a tool for the creation of or consolidation of a community, of a totality. It is what links power to its subjects . . . Therefore, any theory of power today must include a theory of the localization of noise and its endowment with form” (32). Using the immaterial as glue creates a space in which this mode of inter and intra communication allows Attali to ask questions about the ways in which music can or cannot be divorced from power and production in order to create a space for futurity.
ReplyDeleteThis is particularly interesting when thinking about the ways that music plays a role within Ellison’s prologue. In a state of elevated consciousness, the narrator almost fall into the cracks of Louis Armstrong’s “What Did I Do To Be So Black and Blue.” This fall feels like a fall through the song’s the race and production realities attached to the song’s production, as seen when the narrator muses,
Perhaps I like Armstrong because he’s made poetry out of being invisible. I think it must be because he’s unaware that he is invisible . . . Invisibility give one a slightly different sense of time, you’re never quite on the beat . . . you slip into breaks and look around. That’s what you hear vaguely in Louis’ music. (3)
This fall through time (in the sense of 4/4, 3/8) through the music references the slip and slide of jazz as well as an inherent and embedded blackness. This blackness is not informed by sameness, as everyone the narrator wants to leave or can’t answer his questions, but rather the acknowledgement of a timeless multiplicity that struggles with black identity in the face of both invisibility and totalitarianism.
I appreciated starting this week with reading the introduction of Phonographies followed by Attali and Ellison and then returning back to Weheliye. In the introduction (as echoed in this week’s blog post), it discusses the importances of beginnings and introductions as occasions for sonic events. The introductions posed by Ellison and Attali’s article (which appears to be an introduction to a book) appear essential in fully understanding the complexities of being members of the black Atlantic.
ReplyDeleteWhile I have read the Prologue of Invisible Man before, I had never thoroughly paid attention to the musical elements within the work and how central it was to the opening. Ringing in my ear from last week is the idea that you can tell when something is steeped in blackness. Weheliye states that the phonograph removed the performer from view (Weheliye p. 19), but in Ellison’s work, the protagonist knows the artist and knows the sound is speaking more than just its words. Including the statement that he would need 5 phonographs in order to better feel the music of Louis Armstrong (Ellison p. 2). Additionally, he is able to grasp on the invisibility of Armstrong’s blackness and recognize an additional level of understanding that it is there. Only those who are capable of understanding and recognizing this invisibility through their double consciousness are able to fully here the levels to the music. This brings the larger theory that central to black music (all music, if we argue that technically all music is black music) is an underlay of sorrow. Even when you attempt to erase people of color, they are still inherently there.
In this week, I would like to further discuss this idea of invisibility as being part of a Marxist understanding of exploitation of the working class. While Attali states that society is more than economistic categories as Marx would have us argue, we cannot deny (and Attali himself does not deny) that there is an economic piece that turns black music into making the music and the musician objects of consumption (Attali p. 32; p.34). I’m interested in juxtaposing the soul of blackness in music/sonic technologies that has the capacity of appearing superhuman and the exploitation of every piece of it.
-Candice C. Robinson
“Music, “ Attali claims, “like drugs, is intuition, a path to knowledge.” (39) With response to Ellison’s prologue, I can understand the backdrop of the nameless narrator’s soliloquy. In smoking the reefer, the narrator is transformed, thus the inebriation allows him to fully contemplate his visibility within society with regards to Louis Armstrong’s music.
ReplyDeleteVisibility within this framework is a purely auditory experience. Within this prologue we are once again introduced to the idea of “double consciousness.” In contrast to Du Bois’ inference that the Afro- diaspora stems from this fugue state of visual awareness, Weheliye proposes that this self-awareness instead, is communicated through sonic Afro-modernity.
In his introduction Weheliye claims that music creates the space for translation of “diasporic citizenship” where modern black music takes it’s influence. (15) This largely reminds me of last week’s reading in which Michael Veal refers to dub music as “ruptures in musical narrative” that echo the traumatic history of the diaspora in exile. (455-6)
Displacement and dissonance appear to be commons themes within representations of black music. In the first chapter of his book, Weheliye references the emergence of recorded black music where the question of black representation is questioned for its accuracy. Again this reminds me of Gilroy who, time and time again, questions the authenticity of successful black musical models. Weheliyes call to action that we “must probe the conditions for the im/possibility of modern black sounds.” (20) I'd really like to explore what would be the condition in which we could accurately test the technological components of “black sounds” that he refers to— especially if we think of blackness as an identifier rather than subject?
Two of the pieces that spoke to me this week were Ellison’s “Invisible man” and Attali’s “Noise the political economy of music.” My blog will be threefold; first, I will discuss the main themes that make up these pieces. Next, I will talk about concerns that I had after reading and thinking of the pieces. Lastly, I will focus on the interests that were sparked while reading these writings.
ReplyDeleteThese two authors within their work focus on two themes: Invisibility and Power. The theme of invisibility makes me think of Du Bois’s notion of double consciousness especially in the way that Ellison writes the Prologue. Double consciousness, I believe, is demonstrated by the way that white people don’t see blacks and the way that blacks don’t see themselves. The former is shown in which Ellison writes, “I am invisible, understand, simple because people refuse to see me” (pg. 1). And this quickly made me think of many of the contributions made by blacks like genres in music (rock n roll, hip-hop and jazz) scientific research (Henrietta Lacks’s cells) and much more that doesn’t reward them. It is only after news catches fire that these contributors are rewarded—for the most part. Without knowing the influences that blacks made their efforts will be lost. So it becomes our duty to know that blacks are not invisible but visible through their contributions. Ellison finds visibility through analyzing the songs after smoking some reefer. Engulfing himself in the song allowed him to understand the suffering that his people went through which gave rise too much of the black music that is widely listen to. I found it interesting because I was able to relate with Ellison’s words—“I know now that few really listen to this music” (p.6)—in that many people don’t listen to music they just hear it and thus don’t analyze it. As a result, history is lost.
The following theme that was demonstrated was power and Attali talks about this through stating, “Make people Forget, make them Believe, Silence them.” If music has the power to do this to people how can we as Rage against the Machine says, “take the power back?” I pose this question because it is something that really concerns me; music has so much power that it can get us back to our roots, convey messages that can plant a seed of revolution (Immortal Technique, Calle 13, Low Key), really unite us. But I fear that those in power hold these very songs from becoming “big” and known by the general public. An example of this is seen in Chile. After the military coup that took out Salvador Allende and implemented u.s backed military leader Augusto Pinochet killed Victor Jara a prominent singer who composed songs of unity, peace, and social justice. Even after Jara’s death, his music was banned and much of it destroyed. Another example that demonstrated the banning of music can be seen in this youtube video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z6BlWzasA3o (Minuets 37:30-40:00). This film is called voces inocente (innocent voices), which is about the civil war that is occurring in Guatemala and boys are taken away to join the army and fight the rebels after they reach the age of 12. The clip reminds me that music can make listeners understand. It is also interesting what the mother says to the man playing the guitar. Once analyzing this clip one can see how music can be taken away because it holds power.
Some of the interests that I had while reading these articles were to understand the difference between music, sound, and noise. Is there a difference? Or are these words allowed to be used interchangeably? Another question that I asked myself through these readings was how do we get people to find the meaning of music? And thus become critically conscious.
Thanks for your responses. Looking forward to a great discussion tomorrow!
ReplyDeleteMy post-class thoughts:
ReplyDeleteAfter class I’m thinking a lot about the different ways we interacted with the visual performance of Black and Blue. The readings suggested an interplay between the visual and the sonic, a “doubleness” and I’m wondering what is lost when that doubleness does not exist. How is the song or performance failing (perhaps) when reduced to a recorded version rather than live, specifically for a white audience. Is it possible that all of the potential political power of the song is lost when (white) viewers aren’t forced to visually interact with the record? Is there still some power in an audience unaware or ignorant of the “full picture,” and in what ways would that manifest?
-Steffan Triplett
Steffan,
DeleteI hear your concern about the risk of losing something in the recording; this is a major anxiety about distance created by technology. And yet, might I suggest that even in live performances, our understanding of the "full picture" is always mediated--by the framing of the performance, (not only its staging, but its setting and historical context) by our own assumptions, and by the choices of the performer themselves. In other words, the political power of a performance might be at the locus of all of these things, rather than in the message it tries (or fails) to communicate. I think this is what Weheliye is getting at in his focus on not only what is lost in the act of recording, but what new complexities spring up and what that can tell us about the contingent nature of how we interact with all performances, sonic and otherwise. Perhaps we can think of the "failures" of recorded performance as creating new political intimacies?
I had a really great time in class yesterday and really enjoyed everyone's perspective. I was particularly interested in the conversation about anticipation and lyrics/voice toward the end of class. To summarize, we were talking about the way Armstrong creates a sense of anticipation in the intro to "Black and Blue" (see post above), much like the sense of anticipation Weheliye suggests introductions tend to create. The anticipation builds until we hear Armstrong's voice, but it isn't just his voice, I believe, that we're waiting for--it's a voice that is speaking. Treviene pointed out the importance of lyrics and their meaning, which I think Weheliye gestures toward in his discussion of the anticipation created by the introduction to a song, and I tend to agree. If Armstrong would have led in with other vocalizations, the same sense of anticipation, I think, would remain. If anyone knows of a song that uses vocalizations other than words in its introduction, I'd love to see how that would feel, but my impulse is to say that we (I) feel anxiety/anticipation waiting for words, something that seems to signify in a different way than music does/can, since Weheliye describes music as more affective than signifying (or perhaps as (a) sign(s) signifying affect?).
ReplyDeleteBut the more I thought about it, the more I thought that the actual lyrics didn't matter as much as the fact that there were lyrics. We talked a little about the possible ways to read the problematic lyrics of "Black and Blue," as well as Armstrong's performance, which conveys at first a kind of mute but visible glee/happiness/goofiness, and then a performance that is both visible and audible, but is so dense with layers of sound it's hard to describe as "just" sorrowful. I wonder if we could read the problematic lyrics of the song the same way. In Armstrong's voice, I hear--perhaps because I want to hear, which points to the importance of the listener in making meaning of or affectively experiencing sound--layers of affect/meaning. I hear what I could interpret as sincerity when he says "I'm white inside," especially when coupled with the visual component in which the videographer and Armstrong himself seem to draw attention to these lyrics, but I also hear an irony, perhaps a sarcasm? It reminded me of what Weheliye wrote about Dubois's use of White texts, which he appropriates and layers with meaning through juxtoposition. Could Armstrong be doing something similar with his voice? Could this lyric be read as an ironic reference to white ideas of blackness, at least as one of its meanings?
I'm not sure, but I do want to say that I have come to the conclusion that the lyrics are not as important to the listening experience as the fact that the song has lyrics. Gabrielle pointed out that she was "just listening to his voice" and not registering meaning from the lyrics. I think that excluding the meaning of the lyrics from an account of the affective analysis of the song, then reading the lyrics' meaning(s) onto that experience, is one way to come up with a rich account of a song.
I'm trying to avoid using terms like "interpretation" and "reading" of sound because I'm not sure how affect/meaning are related for Weheliye, but I know it's not an either/or relationship, nor can the two be equated, so I hope I'm writing in a way that fairly describes what he said and what many of my peers mentioned, too. Please let me know if any of you have thoughts to add or critiques to make!
Hannah, this is a rich post. I like your point about the ways that we anticipate lyrics; that what we often await is precisely the entry of the human voice. I'd like to talk more about how the structure of some songs invites this anticipation--heralding the voice, as it were--and I'm equally interested in music that infinitely defers the entry of the voice (perhaps offering other musical/instrumental voicings in its place, or, highlighting vocalizations absent of identifiable words; scatting, moaning, etc. More on this later.)
DeleteTurning back to focus on lyrics, however, I also like your point that both visual performance (Armstrong's gesture that punctuates those troubling lyrics) and the tone of the voice introduce ironies that perhaps push up against, contradict, or shift the meanings of the lyrics. This is important to think about, especially in jazz performance, in which meanings seem to shift according to a performer's "interpretation" of a song. Looking forward to discussing further.
After our discussion, I'm still interested in how Weheliye's break down for Invisible Man and the work of Du Bois can translate to a variety of other contexts. The book does not immediately make me think of my own work, but it makes me think of theory as a whole. With the book and our discussion, it makes me think about whether or not theory is truly serving us for the better. One of the difficult things when it comes to blackness in general is attempting to put meaning on some things that are not able to fully be described. The reasons that theory is there can be it's own beast of problematic, are we (academics/theorists) attempted to find the meaning as an outsider trying to understand, as an attempt to assist/appease the white gaze in understanding, or to help in building solidarity by allowing more to know that they are not alone.
ReplyDeleteIt brings me back to my questions of solidarity and cultural capital, one of the reasons I've had difficulty in approaching this idea academically is to put a concept that cannot be contained into a box.
Lastly, I'm interested in further discussing how the things we talked about in class (the sonic/the performance of black artists) are things that have the ability to transform depending on economic class, generation, gender, but still at it's essence be the same in it's feelings of chills.
-Candice C.R.
DeleteCandice, I understand your concern. At the same time, I also would submit that there's danger in the opposite position--that black culture's "irreducible difference" makes it it irrelevant to theory. Can we think about that ways that black culture has in fact produced its own theories, it's own approaches to things that are "not able to fully be described"? In other words, black artists are engaged in self-conscious knowledge making, and this can be are starting point as critics. So much more to discuss.
DeleteWhat an interesting post. To add, the practice of the riddim in dancehall music is a interesting case in which the practice of continuity (multiple songs are produced to one riddim for the precise purpose of keeping the basement going) actually also highlights difference...in other words, it allows one to hear what specific choices are made in each variation. It also allows you to see just how far the riddim can go...more on this later.
ReplyDeleteI wonder what Attali would say about this! Catalog albums outselling new music for the first time: http://thump.vice.com/en_us/article/for-the-first-time-in-history-old-music-is-outselling-new-artist-releases
ReplyDeleteCould be an issue of technology/access, but seems to me it's interesting commercially/culturally.
Post-Class Comment:
ReplyDeleteOne of the things I’ve been thinking about since the end of last week’s class and as I rewatch the live version of “Black and Blue” is the role the audience plays in our interaction with this particular version of the song. In class we discussed the visual component of this, how the audience is rendered invisible in contrast to Armstrong’s visibility on stage (somewhat of a reversal of the discussion Weheliye offers regarding Armstrong’s presence/absence in “Invisible Man”). However, in light of our discussion of considering the sonic elements outside of lyrics, such as scatting and instrumentation, I’ve been thinking about the sonic participation of the audience here, the applause and vocal cheers they provide Armstrong and the band. I can’t help but wonder how these elements affect anyone’s reaction to the song. For me, it almost removes me from the song in a way similar to Gabrielle’s mention of Armstrong’s voice somewhat distracting her from the lyrics. Combined with the visual component of Armstrong’s performance, I almost forget that I’m listening to a protest song. When I remember what I’m listening to, I become distrusting of the audience, question the motive of their applause, which seems a little silly given I’d be angry if they didn’t show their appreciation and clap. But what I mean when I say this is that I wonder if they’re clapping because they’re moved by the song (lyric, instrumentation, vocals, or any combination of the three) or if they’re amused by Armstrong, the pandering to white audiences he was accused of.
This isn’t something limited to this performance of “Black and Blue.” Anytime I experience a live recording, the role of the audience plays a part in how I experience the song, whether it’s frustration at the audience drowning out lyrics or, in the case of Marvin Gaye’s “Distant Lover,” anticipation caused by the audience not only being raucous but affecting the technology around them. Should we consider the sonic participation of the audience as part of the “song” when discussing live recordings? If so, does this change at all how we view lyrics, vocals, and instrumentation?
Live version of Marvin Gaye's "Distant Lover": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8nMVf4AG1ps
In our discussion last week and in my own musings afterwards I was once again struck by the ways in which watching the visual performance of Louis Armstrong's performance of "What Did I Do To Be So Black and Blue" illuminated moments within the music and vice versa. While in the prologue to The Invisible Man, Ellison’s narrator talks about falling through the tune to a place in which the song is able to engage with complexities of blackness, I was deeply intrigued by the ways that this occurred through the Youtube video. As we went through our own explication of the text, I found myself recommitted to trying to figure out how the compounded moving images and sound worked to create the material construction of Louis Armstrong as a performer. Thinking also about comments in regards to minstrelsy within Louis Armstrong’s performances, I also wonder how visuality effect performing black bodies, particularly performers who rely on sound more than sight. In the case of Louis Armstrong-sound is at the crux of his art…however, parallel to his iconic voice is the image of his smile. My viewing of the 1929 performance gave dimension to my listening and understanding of the song. Seeing the way the camera choose to center around Armstrong and the other Black trombone player, keeping both the White clarinetist and the Asian drummer off center seemed like an interesting filming choice. I was interested in the ways in which Armstrong stood on a rised stage surrounded by light, while his presumably all white audience sits in complete darkness on the stage floor. Many of these things are characteristic of these spaces (the camera movement/ the spatial positioning of the stage) but I believe these allow for interesting and important questions when thinking about the ways in which performativity might effect the way a song is received. What would falling through the cracks of a visual performance of Armstrong mean? What can be illuminated?
ReplyDeleteIn our discussion last week and in my own musings afterwards I was once again struck by the ways in which watching the visual performance of Louis Armstrong's performance of "What Did I Do To Be So Black and Blue" illuminated moments within the music and vice versa. While in the prologue to The Invisible Man, Ellison’s narrator talks about falling through the tune to a place in which the song is able to engage with complexities of blackness, I was deeply intrigued by the ways that this occurred through the Youtube video. As we went through our own explication of the text, I found myself recommitted to trying to figure out how the compounded moving images and sound worked to create the material construction of Louis Armstrong as a performer. Thinking also about comments in regards to minstrelsy within Louis Armstrong’s performances, I also wonder how visuality effect performing black bodies, particularly performers who rely on sound more than sight. In the case of Louis Armstrong-sound is at the crux of his art…however, parallel to his iconic voice is the image of his smile. My viewing of the 1929 performance gave dimension to my listening and understanding of the song. Seeing the way the camera choose to center around Armstrong and the other Black trombone player, keeping both the White clarinetist and the Asian drummer off center seemed like an interesting filming choice. I was interested in the ways in which Armstrong stood on a rised stage surrounded by light, while his presumably all white audience sits in complete darkness on the stage floor. Many of these things are characteristic of these spaces (the camera movement/ the spatial positioning of the stage) but I believe these allow for interesting and important questions when thinking about the ways in which performativity might effect the way a song is received. What would falling through the cracks of a visual performance of Armstrong mean? What can be illuminated?
ReplyDeleteIs it possible to “feel” a voice before you “hear” it?
ReplyDeleteThis term, I’ve structured my Seminar in Composition course around “thinking feeling,” or: what is the relationship between emotion and critical thought? I taught the two versions of “Black and Blue” we listened to/watched to my class on Friday. My students read a chapter by a film theorist that attempted to divorce cinematic bodies (those that cry on screen) with “real” bodies (those that cry at the sight of others crying) in order to privilege formal analysis within affect studies. After we discussed the chapter’s difficulties and potential joys, I had them listen and take notes to, first, Armstrong’s studio recording, and then the live performance.
Whereas they were cautious about making room for themselves within the theorist’s argument—in part, I imagine, because the vocabulary and scholarly archive she utilized are still out of their reach—having a 1:1 relationship with the sonic (to be responsible, in other words, only for what they wanted to tend to rather than the preferences of another thinker) provided them with a certain freedom with which to think and play. They linked the live performance’s “slowness” with its “sadness” and the differing prominence of the instruments with the affective range of the lyrics and Armstrong’s voice, both of which were more legible in the live performance (and thus so was the song’s own “feeling”). The students with musical training discussed the affect of specific instruments. Some felt the studio recording’s opening instrumentals were (affectively) misleading while another heard “discord” even before the lyrics began. I made sure we noted the grain of Armstrong’s voice; they wanted to know some of the surrounding cultural context.
In a lot of ways, the process I staged was antithetical to the (singular) relationship they’d previously articulated to me between art and emotion, which depended on context and relatability for meaning. Rather than telling them they would hear a Louis Armstrong song, or that the song would be called “Black and Blue,” or which genre it belonged to, or even that they’d first hear the studio version and then a live recording, I said, “I’m going to try something and it might be weird and not work but it’s an experiment.” Then the song began to play—for about a minute and a half—without lyrics. Then Armstrong’s voice entered in, partially illegible. Then, finally, some lyrics they were able to scribble down (relief!). Though we discussed the studio version before listening to the live performance, I restrained from providing any context or additional lyrics, allowing the live version to provide that instead. By the time we finally arrived to the context—the who, what, when(s)—they found that it confirmed things they’d already felt and “known,” rather than, as they were used to, providing a map or even permission to feel or think any particular thing.
I didn’t think of teaching Armstrong until Thursday night; I didn’t decide on it until halfway through Friday’s class. My logic was: if they need it as a way to work through the day’s issues, I’ll use it; if not, I won’t. But the truth is also that I wanted to spend more time with the song(s) and with the questions that were raised on Tuesday. If listening is political, historical, timeless, personal, intimate, social, critical, creative, and onward, then it must also be affective. How did my feelings sound to my students? What did they feel that they couldn’t (yet) say—or perhaps even access? And why, if the social context within which Armstrong lived and performed is as important to the song’s legibility as its lyrics, would these questions or their answers even matter?
DeleteThis last question feels to me at the heart of my own relationship with the sonic, at least as it pertains to this class. When I say that Armstrong’s voice “pierces through”—that it seems to transcend something in order to approach something else—what am I really talking about? What is the relationship between blackness and affect (and form)? Is it possible to feel blackness before/without seeing it?
After a week of thinking about it, I'm still really hung up on Weheliye's commentary of "double-consciousness" being both a visual and auditory experience. If I think about Louis Armstrong's performance, there is something I take away both form the visual experience (camera shots, lighting, Louis' stage presence, etc.)that is completely separate from the aural experience.
ReplyDeleteFirst there are the actual lyrics themselves which, in some ways, seems reminiscent of Du Bois' sorrow songs where Armstrong's lyrics mirror "the music of an unhappy people, of the children of disappointment; they tell of death and suffering and unvoiced longing toward a truer world, of misty wanderings and hidden ways" (169) The lyrics comment on social awareness where Louis(like Ellison's protagonist)struggles with the complexities of race and the human condition. The visual observations translate into musical grounding thus, linking engagement through disembodiment.
The second form of this experience is literally sound. The recording of Louis' voice is grave and at times mumbled, but each time I listen to this song, I always resonate in his pauses where I anticipate resolution from his intonations. If we go back to the idea of the opacity of music where we discussed that there are limitations between lyrics and vocals so that either can't be translated/interpreted in the same way I still wonder how live performances of jazz (where there are other sensory experiences involved) differs from recording especially as we consider how Black Atlantic culture has evolved and communicated over the past 60 years.
Posted on behalf of Laura Feibush: One thing that we didn't talk about explicitly with regards to Black & Blue is the way that Armstrong occupies two different characters even as one performer on the stage: Armstrong the vocalist and Armstrong the horn-player. When he's playing the horn, he's not just playing lines that he'd otherwise sing-- it's really quite a different "voice" or "character" being expressed. Sometimes the instrumentals in a piece can be in tension with the vocals, too, providing yet another space for Armstrong to potentially incorporate forms of subversion or even more richly nuance and texture the performance. Looking at the phrasing of the horn and the voice, different as they are though coming from one person, could provide us another way into understanding what Armstrong's doing performing this problematic song.
ReplyDeleteI can't quit without remarking on Armstrong's vocal timbre. I remember hearing "What a Wonderful World" for the first time as a child and having a strong reaction to his voice-- not necessarily negative, but definitely confused. I wondered how he could sing for so long with that gravelly quality-- it seemed like it must hurt him, and I definitely wondered if he was "putting it on." That tone quality is so central to Armstrong's uniqueness, though. Can it actually be considered a textual quality for us to interpret? Does anyone else register strong reactions to Armstrong's actual voice?