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Alternating Sounds—Phonographies of Resistance in Postbellum American Literature Josh Massey
T
he notion of “matter” is interesting. To matter means to be material, and to be material means to be visible, but what happens when things are made not to matter, or don’t matter? To not matter is to be immaterial, to not exist, to be invisible; but in what ways does invisibility mean non-existence? This conflict between seeing and being creates a blindness to things oppressive society does not wish to see.1 The aforementioned relationship is constructed by an oppressive society towards African Americans, through the slave trade, Reconstruction, and eventually the Jim Crow era. The African-American is seen by an oppressive society in ways that make their interests and desires disappear, and the literature of the late 19th and early 20th century works to create and reproduce this relationship. An image or discourse of the African-American structured by the minstrelized oppositions between the “happy-go-lucky darky” and the criminal occults any other vision of the African-American, creates a significant risk for those who do not want to play the part of a “happy-go-lucky darky,” because they may instead be labeled as a criminal.2 This binary definition of African-Americans causes their true social and individual forms to be invisible to oppressive society. However, their invisibility is not constrained to the realm of sight, but also interferes with the realm of African-American sound. Their sounds, whether made through voice, instrument, or other medium, can be appropriated and taken out of context. Because of this, “black” music seems to exist in a sphere that is separate and outside (or inside) of the influence of oppressive society; however, it is active within that society. African-American music resists the segregation that works to devalue and belittle its creators; it seeps into the senses of the oppressive majority, affecting its members in ways they cannot explain or stop, forcing its listeners to recognize that there is a problem that needs to be addressed in society as a
whole.3 The “blackness” attributed to the African-American is a “blackness” of a fantasy necessary to sustain and support the construct of “whiteness”.4 Oppressive society has to create a visual image of a stereotypical African-American, so when they listen to “black” music, they wish to hear the sounds of a stereotype. By defining “black” music, “white” music is created as a binary opposite which is viewed in a positive light and accepted by society.5 This raises many questions, and leads us to ask: What makes black music black? On the surface, the obvious answer is that it is performed by African-American artists, but are there lyrical topics, instruments, or rhythms that make “black” music black? More importantly, how have African-Americans transformed blackness into a creative and critical resource for aesthetic and political work? W.E.B. Du Bois starts to answer this question in his book, The Souls of Black Folk. He writes of the African-American as “born with a veil, and gifted with second-sight in this American world…a world which yields him no true self-consciousness, but only lets him see himself through the revelation of the other world” (8). To him, the self-consciousness of an oppressive society impedes the ability of African-Americans to be self-aware; they know themselves as they are known by others, while also knowing that they are different—a difference not defined by the
3 Hip-hop and rap today are examples of this—even though they may say things that are not suitable for the ears of the youth of America (as determined by their parents), they still find a way to communicate their messages to the masses.
1 The “invisible man” in Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man experiences this issue—he becomes invisible because oppressive society does not wish to see him in the way he wishes to be seen. Without worrying about being seen, he is able to transgress in society in ways he could not fathom doing before.
4 Susan Gubar’s Racechanges explores whiteness and blackness as being both two separate entities, while also being completely intertwined. In the chapter, “Adventures in the Skin Trade,” she introduces her arguments by examining a vase that has to heads on it—one with “white” features and one with “black” features—that face away from each other. They both make up the same whole head, but their separate halves will never be able to see each other, and when one views the vase, they will only be able to see a side-profile of each head, or one head at a time. Essentially, the vase, though almost a thousand years old, “whose mysteriously doubled features speak to the complementarity of Western and African images of womanly beauty,” gives us a visual image of how race, though socially constructed in order to create separate spheres of being, really creates intermixed spheres of being where perceived “whiteness” and “blackness’ interact constantly (3).
2 To play the part of the “darky” begs mockery, while being seen as a criminal begs lynching.
5 “Black” music in the 1950s was rock music, while “white” music was rock ’n’ roll, which is just “black” music played by white people.
Fifth World
