Lift Every Voice and Sing
“Within the African diaspora,
music functions as a method of rebellion, revolution, and future vision…” –
Shana Redmond
I have been waiting on Anthem: Social movements and the sound of
solidarity in the African diaspora by Shana Redmond all semester based on
my interests in social movements, solidarity, and traditionally black
organizations. Like all the works of the semester, there is a variety of things
that we can unpack that this work directly recognizes. These broad themes include:
1. The
transnational nature of music throughout the African diaspora and other
countries;
a. discussed
since starting the semester with The
Black Atlantic, seen in more detail in Chapter 1 “From Race to Nation:
‘Ethiopia’ and Pan-African Pageantry in the UNIA,” and Chapter 6 “Sounds of
Exile: ‘Nkosi Sikelel’ I Afrika’ and ANC Ambassadors”
2. Use of
language/writing
a. discussed
during our sessions on notes on poetics with special interest to Langston
Hughes, and Chapter 3 “Songs of Free Men: The Sound Migrations of Ol’ Man
River’”
3. Impact
of gender;
a. discussed
in part by The Muse is Music, Dragon
Can’t Dance, in chapter 4 “Women’s Work: ‘We Shall Overcome’ and the
Culture of the Picket Line,” and Chapter 5 “Soul Intact: CORE, Conversations,
and Covers of ‘To Be Young, Gifted, and Black’”
4. Impact
and reverberation of black music;
a. discussed
in part by Black Resonance, The Music is Music, and in the
Conclusion: “The Last Anthem: Resonance, Legacy, and Loss at the Close of the
Century”
5. Performance
a. Discussed
all semester and throughout the chapters, with special attention of this
discussion in Chapter 2 “Extending Diaspora: THE NAACP and Up-“Lift” Cultures
in the Interwar Black Pacific”
While each of these points are
enlightening, I would like to focus on Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing (here on
referred to as Lift) and contemporary anthems that serve as rallying cries for
change. While I make note of these 5 points, what other points do you think are
essential Race, Writing, and Sound that are brought up in this text?
Redmond begins her discussion
of Lift in Chapter 2, but acknowledges the song throughout the entire book. The
origins of the song predate the NAACP, but specifically non-black supporters
(Joel E. Spingarn, Mary White Ovington, and Rabbi Stephen Wise) of the organization
saw the importance of a national song to brand themselves as a form of
solidarity and collective prayer despite emerging class cleavages among Black
Americans (66-68). At its creation, the NAACP wildly held bourgeoisie morality
and respectability politics which could have easily altered the reception of
Lift. James Weldon Johnson’s southern roots are seen as a way to ease some of
these Northern tensions. How can respectability politics alter the receptive
nature of music? Distancing from bourgeoisie morality seems interested when
thinking about the way Langston Hughes ensured his work had a working class
sentiment. Does the class or geographical background of an anthem change the
response? How does Lift allow us an opportunity build solidarity through
remembrance?
While the words of the song
should not be forgotten, I would instead like to spend time thinking about the
performance of the song. Below are 3 ways in which Lift is performed, all
brought together by the words, but still very different. Thinking about the
listening exercise we have done this semester, what do you hear the sonic doing
that’s different in each of these performances? Also while thinking about the
performances, think about the passages in which Johnson is asked about the
proper way to perform these songs (78-80). Do the performers sing as suggested
by Johnson, “In singing the last stanza of ‘Lift Every Voice and Sing,’ the
first six lines should be sung softly; the next two lines, the long lines,
should be sung with a gradual crescendo; and the last three lines should be
sung fortissimo”? Finally, while looking at these performances, how is Lift an
anthem that belongs to those within the Black diaspora. As Redmond states,
Johnson acknowledged that the song belong to the race and not him, in what ways
can we continue to make these anthem “ours”? In the opening of each of these
performances are a few of my thoughts:
1.
This first performance of Lift is at the
conclusion of a program (as opposed to the beginning of the program like many
national anthems). This performance is done at a PWI, but it appears to be in
largely black space where people are familiar with the song. Dr. Rudolph P.
Byrd asks everyone to stand, something that Johnson acknowledged as customary
of this song. This version is more closely related to my idea of this song. All
three stanzas of the song are performed and words are provided for the
audience.
2.
This second performance by Ray Charles is one I
was previously unfamiliar with. This is a fun performance of the song on the
Dick Cavett show. The second verse was not performed. Additionally, this
performance is at a more upbeat tempo; however, Ray Charles slows down for the
last few lines and ends the performance by saying Amen. This performance
supports the idea that this song is also a prayer (78) and is interesting to
think about Ray Charles’ fusion of gospel with soul/R&B.
3.
This third performance is by the Mizzou
University Singers and friends. Another thing to think about is what purpose is
the performance of this song serving. Here, it is seen as “a moment of beauty
in a sea of emotion” following racial tensions on the campus in the Fall of
2015. This is performed standing with linked arms, interracially, and the words
available to the singers. All stanzas are performed.
While Lift is a classic black
anthem that reminds of us of our ancestors, it may not have the same rally cry
that newer songs have. Does Lift have the same impact as being able to scream
“We Shall Overcome,” “To Be Young Gifted and Black,” “Say It Loud, I’m Black
and I’m Proud,” “Fight the Power,” or “We Gon’ Be Alright”? I overwhelming see
contemporary protest songs as pep talks to let Blacks know that we are great
despite the world saying otherwise. In thinking about Lift, what does it do
sonically different than contemporary Anthems? Additionally, many of the
contemporary songs come from artists with working class backgrounds and sentiments,
does class change the way we digest these anthems?
Other questions I was thinking
about and hope to discuss more during our class discussion are the following:
1.
What are some of your experiences with Lift Ev’ry
Voice and Sing? Do you remember the first time you were introduced to this
anthem?
2.
What is currently your favorite protest anthem
and/or rallying cry?
I was particularly drawn to Redmond’s third chapter, as Candace said, deals with language and performance in song and poetics, particularly Paul Robeson. I was provoked a lot by the beginnings of this chapter in that it delineated the history of the Show Boat play and alluded to Black representation and tradition in American (and European), a history that I was unfamiliar with. Redmond analyzes the duality of both agency and (mis)treatment of Black characters/performers/aesthetics in the play and its roots in the minstrel tradition, where it differs and where it relates. I found this section particularly resonant in light of the recent critical and commercial success of Hamilton. I don’t mean to take away any agency or positive praise from the Broadway production or Lin Manual Miranda, and perhaps this is reductive or fraught discourse, but it did make me ponder the contemporary role of Black characters and performers in spaces that are predominantly white and upper-class, as it relates to history. As Redmond notes, the “Ol’ Man River” lyric “N------ all work while de white folks play” takes new meaning with the role of Paul Robeson, the black actor at the center of the performance(104). However, Robeson, a pupil of DuBois (136), proved to be a large player in political moves that combatted the forces he worked amidst and show us his agency:
ReplyDelete“In the hands of Paul Robeson, ‘Ol’ Man River’…was a catalyst for a labor activism that incorporated protest strategy”(139).
Perhaps bringing up Hamilton is a digression (and I’ll admit it is a cultural text of which I am not the most familiar), but I believe it relates to some of Candace’s questions. I like the idea of thinking about ways we can “continue to make these anthems ‘ours.’” How do works maintain a belonging to those in the Black diaspora when they operate in spheres that are predominantly white? Lift Every Voice and Sing, in my experience, has a very powerful insider and outsider effect going for it, most white people don’t attend functions where it is performed save for an occasional MLKJ Day or similar event. But what does it mean when these “sounds of solidarity” may not be seen as such, and are the soundtrack to spaces where race may not be present outside of those that recorded the song? Is there always room for allyship in the consumption of these sounds by non-black people?
As far as my first interaction with Lift Ev'ry Voice & Sing,” I actually don’t know that I heard it (or at least wasn’t aware of what I was hearing), shamefully, until college. Living in Joplin, Missouri I didn’t attend a predominantly black church or inhabit predominantly black spaces unless I was at a family event for my dad’s side of the family. At cookouts we listened to music on CDs but never Lift to my knowledge.
DeleteMy first acknowledgment of the cultural weight of the song came from two events (of which I am not sure occurred first). I attended Washington University in St. Louis on a scholarship that brought in (mostly, because of current laws) Black students who wouldn’t normally be able to attend because of admission costs etc. The scholarship program provided a large network from a class anywhere from 20-40 in size. Every year there was a commemoration ceremony for the founder of the program and it began with singing Lift—the lyrics were printed on a program that everybody was given. This was the first time I remember witnessing/being a part of a performance of it. The second event that heightened this was viewing Do The Right Thing in my freshman film seminar. The film begins with a saxophone (I believe) playing the beginnings of the song (before it moves on to the Rosie Perez/Fight The Power sequence, and I always associate this as a big moment in me recognizing the song, whether it was on first or second viewing.
Part I- Reading through Anthem: Social Movements and the Sound of Solidarity in the African Diaspora, a couple of questions come to my mind. 1) How do we deal with anthems that arise out of the sort of organized, hierarchical settings like the UNIA and the complications to solidarity they represent? 2) What happens when anthems that arise out of popular settings fall out of favor?
ReplyDeleteThis first question comes from the description of “Ethiopia (Thou Land of Our Fathers).” On the one hand, Redmond notes how this text articulates the UNIA’s position on colonialism in Africa and served as a link between the exclusion of Black political participation in the United States and colonial oppression of black subjects worldwide (24-25). But even in its attempts at solidarity, there are exclusionary aspects to the song (as well as the organization). Woman were both present in the song (by use of the word “persons” as opposed to a masculine signifier) and yet are given a subordinate position in the actual performance of the song, where men are given the lead (28-29). Likewise, it’s hard to discuss “Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing” outside of the NAACP’s focus on economic uplift (even with my experiences of the song in actuality having no real connection to the NAACP), and the strains to solidarity along class lines (65-66). This really comes as no surprise, given the fact that anthem selection and nation-building are (or at least have historically been) exclusionary processes, deciding who and what belongs, something that Redmond notes:
“The composition and performance of ‘Ethiopia’ model the types of anxieties that exist within nationalist constructions, namely anthems. These songs are intended as public expressions of unity, an ambitious concept and practice under anyone’s direction that inevitably falls short of its goal. ‘Ethiopia’ exposes these hazards and imperfections…” (28)
The flip side of this in some senses are anthems that arise out of popular use, like “Ol’ Man River” or “We Shall Overcome” (or even “Fight the Power” and “Get By,” as Redmond notes, and “Alright,” as Candice points out). These songs offer a space for people’s voices to be heard perhaps a little more. Yet even given their effectiveness, Redmond demonstrates some reservations about anthems that arise out of popular use. As Steffan notes, it’s in Robeson’s hands that “Ol’ Man River” becomes an anthem, particularly because of the changes Robeson made to the original text (118-120). Once the song is separated from Robeson, some tension occurs. “‘Ol’ Man River’ continues to capture audiences,” Redmond writes, “but its attachment to protest has vanished” (278). It begs the question of what happens to anthems propped up by popular favor when they fall out of that favor.
I do want to take a brief moment in this post to also answer the questions Candice poses. I don’t remember exactly when I was exposed to “Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing,” but know that it was present throughout elementary school, mostly in music classes during Black History Month. However, the most notable interaction I had with it was during an MLK Holiday observance my sophomore year in college where it was sung. This moment stands out to me as it was one of the few times I had heard it since starting high school and being in predominantly white spaces. The fact that it was sung in the same chapel I attended Mass in throughout college was surreal to me. Granted it was at an event attended mostly by Black students, but there was still something added to the affirmation I felt in that moment.
ReplyDeleteIn terms of what anthem or rallying song currently stands out the most to me, that one is a little harder, in part because it forces me to pick sometimes along cultural lines. Do I go with Kendrick Lamar’s “Alright,” a song that has been hailed by many as the new Black national anthem? Do I go with Calle 13’s “Latinoamérica” a song some hail as the unofficial anthem of the region and the live performance of which at the Latin Grammys—with Residente beginning with a plea to the audience to transport themselves back to their countries, all while clad in a t-shirt calling for Puerto Rico’s independence (“una sola estrella libre”)—was highly lauded? Do I go with Tego Calderón’s “Loíza,” an ode to the town itself but also to what it represents: the black population of Puerto Rico that is often ignored and pushed out of nation-building processes? Do I go with Jimi Hendrix’s rendition of the national anthem, which for me comes as much out the space of growing up Black in Seattle as it does the Vietnam War? How do our own particularities and subjectivities come into play with what anthems we feel are ours?
Calle 13: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HCGiz4WLstg
Tego Calderon: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zmCa0cIx3AA
Jimi Hendrix: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MKvnQYFhGCc
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ReplyDeletePart I:
ReplyDeleteCandace,
I really like that you're connecting the text and the anthems it's discussing to the personal level, because I think that's kind of what Redmond is getting at when she says throughout the text, that "As a movement strategy, anthemic musical exchange was a social relay practiced, first and foremost, among the organization, its members, and those whom they sought to mobilize...these actors did not capitulate to the political as a static realm of engagement controlled from the top down; the political was wherever three or four gathered in the name of justice and labored to speak to one another" (4). Throughout the book, she describes the local sphere as the impetus for these anthems, which grow from particular, specific contexts and are "announced more by their 'routes' then their 'roots,' yet precisely their foundation in Black traditions allow their passage domestically and abroad" (15). This characterization emphasizes the importance of individual members of these movements, which start locally, are spread through the travel of individuals and groups, and the strengthening of bonds between people, like Hikida's connection to Johnson and the NAACP which was both a salient example of the relationship of Japan within the black diaspora and an example of the necessary constituent parts--individual relationships--that made up the larger political movement. It seems above all to be individuals' connections to these songs that give them power.
Aside from the locus of the political that is imagined as local in the text, I'm particularly interested in the way the sonic comes into play here. Regarding "Lift," Redmond is particularly attentive to the fact that Johnson had originally been planning a poem. She writes, "By changing the composition from a poem to a song, Johnson acknowledged the necessity and power of collective performance" (70), and "through adjusting the method of delivery from text to sound, James Weldon ensured that the historical progress that he championed would have… a deeper and longer-lasting resonance than his individual address or poem may have allowed" (71). The sonic here is endowed with certain powers, at least within the context of an anthem. It can be disseminated more easily, with more freedom from state control. It has a longer-lasting resonance. It creates non-linguistic bonds through the mutual recognition of the song when translated. But the sonic power of the song was not limited to the moment of its creation, or even early translations like Hikkida's. Tracing "the routes" to the present day and looking at the power the song has in the video clips you've included and in personal experiences demonstrates that there's something about this song that goes far beyond its lyrics and lies in that "collective performance" facilitated by the medium of the song itself.
Now regarding your question: I have no early experiences with "Lift," and had only a passing academic familiarity with the song until this year. I had never been present anywhere during a live performance--that I remember--and it didn't have any deeper, personally felt meaning to me. This year, I began working at a public school in Pittsburgh with a student body of almost all poor black students.
Part II
ReplyDeleteThe school district is closing at the end of this year, and the students are incredibly disillusioned about the opportunities that school will open up for them. The community deals with regular violence, incarceration, substance abuse issues, and other effects of poverty, the school district has adopted an adversarial stance toward students and families evident in their discipline policies and the way they enforce them, and many weren’t engaged with the content we presented. The curriculum was not very dynamic, classroom management was inconsistent, and as a result, students were so disengaged that they walked out of classes without warning, would become confrontational, or would simply refuse to do work.
In February, the district held a Black History Month assembly that an alumnus was allowed to organize. She came in with a hip-hop group made up of former who had since become activists with Black Lives Matter and had been performing in Flint the week prior. The assembly began with a short spoken-word poem and then led into a performance of "Lift."
During the song, I saw a number of students who I knew as particularly disengaged and non-compliant stand, sing along, and join hands. No one had distributed the words, nor were they on display, yet most of the student body was singing along. In fact, it was some my more compliant, more traditionally engaged students, largely, who remained in their seats. Throughout the rest of the assembly, the students were well-behaved and extremely engaged! They applauded and participated. It was my best day at that district by a mile! Students' positive behavior continued until, at the end of the assembly, the new principal took the mic to thank the alumnus and the rest of the performers for coming. She was greeted by a very loud chorus of boos and students began leaving their seats and trying to get out of the auditorium within minutes.
There was definitely something powerful about "Lift" for these students, though it wasn't just the song, I think, but entirely different political space set up when their peers were demanding their attention instead of the teachers/administrators, mostly white, who had been a negative part of their life for so long.
I will say, during "Lift" and the remainder of the assembly, the teachers remained mostly seated and non-participatory. Some teachers sat with students to monitory their behavior, but otherwise, they were mostly looking at their phones or just watching the performance quietly. It didn't touch our lives in the way it clearly did for the students who were standing and singing along. Still, I couldn't help but be amazed by the power of this song, along with the rest of the performance, to get my students excited, to make them feel there was a point to what they were doing inside that school building. The auditorium was transformed into something different than usual, a student-and-community-owned space of empowerment rather than a space of degradation.
I am no longer at this district, but for the time that I was, this was the only time I saw engagement and excitement from this many students at the same time. This is the only experience I have being a part of a performance of "Lift," so I have nothing else to compare it to, but I was moved by its power for that particular group of young people.
Candice, you bring up important insight in working through Redmond’s Anthem. Redmond’s work is placing the sonic in a particular socio-political framework. Redmond is grounding the sonic as a political ideology and not so much as a sonic practice. For example, Redmond writes that sound “is a complex system of mean(ing)s and ends that mediate our relationships to one another, to space, to our histories and historical moment (1). Within this capacity the sonic engages in a political labor. Nevertheless, I think it is important to unpack notions of solidarity and black political allegiances. By framing the sonic through solidarity, Redmond forgoes opportunities to challenge, complicate, and reveal nuances to Black sonic performances of solidarity. For me, notions of solidarity, and black solidarity in particular, are often romanticized, utopian, and reductive. Candice, I think your questions get at the notion that people engage with performance practices for various reasons. For example, in her discuss of “Lift” Redmond thoroughly interrogates the political implications of the song and its developing relationship to national identity. However, Redmond quickly trances over discussions of “Lift” as a hymn. I think the under engagement with “Lift” as a hymn is a historiographical misstep. In working through this period, I’m slightly surprised that she did not interrogate the role of Black religiosity with political activism.
ReplyDeleteIn response to your questions, I do not think that “Lift” allows for an opportunity to build solidarity through the remembered. I think “Lift” engages in a particular black ontological process. However, it’s historicized narrative is reinforcing an engagement with American ideals that I am not certain is historically supported. Personally, I would need additional archival documents to validate a claim that enslaved Black folks valued American religious practices and democratic notions of liberty. So it is less about memory than constructing a historiographical argument about black national participation, which Redmond writes about. I read/sing/listen to “Lift” as a response to an African-American existential crisis. Yet, what is interesting about Redmond’s selections is the continued deployment of this song as a marker of black heritage. Unlike other contemporary anthems, “Lift” has maintained a transtemporal legitimacy and maintenance. And to be transparent, I’m really good at knowing the lyrics of the first verse. However, after that things get shaky and the last verse is a free for all. I state that, because in my experience, “Lift” is and isn’t about the lyrics. Whereas I may not recall of the lyrics, I know the melodies (and maintain the melody even if I don’t recall the words –I’m always thankful for people that print out the text in advance). Although anthem singers are policed by “lyric enforcers” the body and the melody also participate in solidarity. Within our contemporary, I have witness a certain historical obligation to the song. However, when people don’t remember the lyrics it also does something to destabilize notions of solidarity.
Post-Class Comment-
ReplyDeleteFor this week’s post-class comment I’m adding a little clarification to both my post and in-class comments. With regards to my identity: I identify as everything that I feel I am: African-American, Puerto Rican, Latino, Afro-Latino, Afro-Puerto Rican, Caribbean, Mixed, Afro-American-Boricua, etc. I identify with all the songs I listed in class/in my blog comment, and more (somehow forgot Ismael Rivera’s “Las caras lindas,” a sinful omission). My issue comes with having to choose one thing that I am, which having to choose one anthem often represents. Even with anthems that arise out of popular choice, there’s still often an aspect of exclusion that comes along with them, where belonging has the flipside of not belonging. On college applications (as with other forms), I marked “Other” because I could only mark on racial/ethnic identity rather than all that apply. Consequently, I didn’t receive the first e-mail that was sent out by Vanderbilt’s Black Student Alliance, an e-mail that went out both to all returning members and any incoming students who’d marked “Black/African-American” on their application. With anthems, I feel like it’s often the same thing: pick one (group, but necessarily anthem, as especially as sometimes multiple exist at the same time for one group) or pick none. Redmond spoke a little bit on this with regards to both “Ethiopia” and “Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing.”
I should also say that some of this is location-dependent, growing up in the Northwest (Seattle) and spending college in the Mid-South (Nashville). Folks from New York and Florida (Miami specifically) have never really put that type of pressure on me. So maybe there’s also something going on with populations in specific areas, where lower populations of either Blacks or Latinos puts tighter definitions on what it means to belong (though you’d think it would be the opposite).
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ReplyDeletePost Class Response:
ReplyDeleteOkay, so there were two points brought up in class I would like to briefly address here only because I was a bit troubled by the chapter about Ol' Man River being considered as "Black Anthem" of sorts. So in class Imani made a point about Anthems being translated into rallying cries. She also asked what kinds of things give anthems their voice? Now for me, Ol' Man River is not nor could ever be a rallying cry. And if so, for what? I remember Le'Mil discussing how Lift Ev'ry Voice has melodic haunting attributed to it. Perhaps Ol'Man River serves the same purpose in reminding us of our soulful and harrowing past that needs to be remembered at least through song. However this was the one chapter in which I disagreed with Redmond where though the story itself was quite sad and inspiring, I do not and cannot accept this as a black anthem when it's call is muted and seems almost rhetorical in the same ways that Louis Armstrongs "Black and Blue" seems to be purely observational of the black struggle. Could Armstrong's song be considered anthemic by these same standards?
hi,
ReplyDeleteadmin
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