By: Anthropoliticorpus HumaneasWithin the corners of black identity are a host of anti-monolithic sentiments. Many of these sentiments are echoed in music, hair, clothing, and vernacular. In the presence of so many ethnic notions, deviation from cultural norms can often yield one a whole lot of misunderstanding and judgement. I should know--I carry two shoulders bearing the chips of the implicit imagistic expectations of those believing that they share my racial experience. Lately, I've been on a chronic N.E.R.D fix on my mp3 player; I haven't had an appetite for anything less than a mohawk; and I haven't been able to tolerate wearing anything lighter than black (and that includes the shade on my lips). I'm generally a moody soul---so nothing should be wrong with my latest mood manifestation. Right? Well, not quite. In the age of "just do you," and what visually seems to be a nostalgic (though inevitable) return to 80s aesthetic, why do I get the "he thinks he's white" stare from all the "I'm from Anacostia, but I'm gettin' off @ Gallery Place to transfer" black folks whenever I'm on the green-line? I'd like to think that I'm just as "salt-peppa-ketchup and mumbo sauce on my fries from the Carry-Out" as the next guy; only, I prefer a pair of chopsticks (hey, it is not my fault you only know how to use a fork). And, notwithstanding an admittance of personal narcissism and a little bit of perceptive paranoia, it seems like if you're black and you look like you have an appreciation for the anarchy and angst of Marilyn Manson, you're casted the quiet glance of racial treason, and everybody assumes that you must be that long-lost-silent racially ambiguous black kid from Falls Church with too many white friends to realize that your stickered skateboard is not a real mode of transportation.
---Enter the AfroPunk Rockers---
Some five years ago, the legendary James Spooner and Ayanna Mackins created a documentary entitled "Afro-Punk: The Rockn 'n Roll Nigger Experience." The piece explores the lives of a number of black youth immersed in an alternative social culture saturated in punk, emo, and metal rock music. Exile, interracialism, dualism, blackness, and aesthetic are examined through what seems to be a vicarious third-person ethnographic lense, where notions of black-identity are invited by the challenge of inward doubt and visual negation. I saw the film way back when I was a volatile misanthrope rocking a buddhist mind, mala beeds, and a self-made Krishna sarong through Congress Heights (no one had the wherewithal to try to whip my ass for it, because the confusion was too thick). It turns out that so many of us are ignorant about black aesthetic and black music. I've never been one to believe in the racial ownership of social expression, but I do believe in crediting the origins for the betterment of our more primitive selves. Rock music (and its popular aesthetic) is black. Rock-n-roll originates from the likes of gospel and blues music, and in the 50s and the 60s, the musical idiom incorporated elements of country western music to create more of a multi-racial experience and appeal. Pioneers of this music do not include Elvis (he just replicated), but instead include artists like Little Richard, Bo Diddley, Jerry Lee Lewis, Chuck Berry, Fats Domino, and even Ike Turner's abusive ass. In my judgement, Nina Simone was one of the earliest explicit embodiments of what we know today as "punk-rock"; listen to her song entitled "Revolution" to get my drift. Later on, we see this kind of music take shape more pervasively with the genius of Jimmy Hendrix and others.
Okay---so by now, many of you are thinking "enough with the boring history lesson." Well, that leaves everything else; the mohawk, the black, the piercings, the mosh pit, and the rage. What the hell is it all about? Well, moshpits are strikingly similar to indigenous African dance traditions, in which dance circles are formed to invoke a particular diety. Some of the movements seen in moshpits are clearly West African dance; the undulation of the back, the opposite circulatory coordination of the arms, the lifted percussive knees, and the closeness to the ground. Tattoos, piercings, mohawks, erie face paint (make-up) are as ancient and afrocentric as scribes and heiroglyphs. And the rage and the dark mood? Well---if you have to wonder about that, then you dont deserve an answer.
In Spooner and Mackins' film, a more personified explanation is given for the late domination of rock music by white youth; but harnessing the dangers of black intra-racial discrimination, homophobia, heterosexism, and stereotypism is the most urgent theme screaming throughout the subtext in the film. Tamar Kali, one of the more well-known AfroPunk rockers of our time, talked about how she discovered African aesthetic through punk rock, yet endured being called a "dike bitch" and a host of other xenophobic epithets by other black people in the street. Hence, the "exile" I mentioned earlier. And I wont even mention the hideous discriminatory culture of sexual and gender identity anti-pluralism/exclusivism of the black community---that will be another post. More importantly, the documentary teaches some valuable lessons for our closed-minded black brethrens. We all need to revisit our ethnic notions before we voice them. And just in case you were wondering, AfroPunk is a social grassroots movement, one that is out to redefine the parameters of blackness and to challenge conventional norms that degrade and devalue deviation from normativity. See the film if you're in the mood, but more importantly, celebrate those who by the braveness of their own individualism are different from you. One's image is never meant to be determinative.
Some AfroPunk(esque) Artists/Bands: Living Colour, 24-7 Spyz, Cipher, Tamar Kali, Imani Coppola, Bad Brains, Nona Hendryx, King's X, Fishbone, and Whole Wheat Bread.
Circa DC 2008 (The Cusp of August & September)---
Listening to N.E.R.D's "Anti Matter":
