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imported post -
23-09-05, 05:20 PM
This article says it all for me:
Helen Kolawole
Thursday September 22, 2005
The Guardian
Black music has never been in such a healthy state sales-wise, but politically
it has reached an impasse. Forget the occasional whiff of rebellion and menace
served up by the likes of hip-hop's 50 Cent; commercial black music has never
been so conservative, both in the aesthetic values that it delivers and the
homogeneous sound that it regurgitates. And the 10th anniversary of the Mobo
(Music of Black Origin) awards, which take place tonight, is a good point for
reflecting on why this might be.
Black pop music isn't the problem. It and the nerdy purists who criticise it
have been with us longer than Diana Ross's recording career. There is little
difference between the inane silliness of a typical Destiny's Child song and
Motown's flowery offerings of old. But what does grate is the almost complete
absence of a visible black counter-culture. Perhaps because, for once,
capitalism isn't keen to exploit it on any grand scale - at a time when it is
needed most.
Black individuality and expression are stifled when defined by banal industry
terminology such as "urban". At best this is a lazy catch-all that includes
anything from Joss Stone to Dizzee Rascal. At worst it's a patronising euphemism
for blackness that routinely serves to constrict creativity.
For example, the music station Channel U purports to showcase young black
British talent. But blackness is now being defined as groups of
indistinguishable hoodie-clad youths for whom hedonistic consumerism is nirvana.
Beneath the anti-establishment posturing lies a deeply cautious, insecure
generation.
While Channel U and similar TV stations are awash with conformity, breakthrough
acts such as Ms Dynamite get the occasional airing. But although her forthcoming
single makes protestations about the pharmaceutical industry's lack of ethics in
Aids-stricken Africa, she's a novelty.
The lack of political artists like her doesn't reflect the hunger for change
that exists in black communities, rather the power structures that maintain the
status quo and get rich on pimping a one-trick ghetto culture.
In today's marketplace, if you have the audacity to believe that black music
extends from Kelis to Fela Kuti, and from John Legend to John Coltrane, you will
be hard-pressed to find this reflected on black music channels, radio stations
or, indeed, award ceremonies, other than the point where they check James
Brown's pulse and give him an award for surviving such extensive dental surgery.
Unlike its white counterpart, black independent music isn't considered
commercially viable. But a black indie chart might be a good starting point
where true innovators such as London's Blacktronica would not have to compete so
hard with Ashanti's conformist warblings or Usher's love of bling.
Modern-day minstrels are what some commentators have called those artists who
market pimping and gangstas as black culture. "Keeping it real" is their
hackneyed response. But challenging these retrograde representations certainly
does not mean painting a rosy picture of the brutal world that so many inhabit.
Nor should it involve constructing ivory towers from which a few black artists
can conduct high art while the masses implode on nihilism. It's about truthfully
reflecting our multifaceted black cultures.
Monolithic constructions of blackness engulf us, and deconstructing them is a
tiring process, which is probably why, amid the euphoria that will no doubt
accompany the Mobo awards' considerable achievement this year, the status quo
will prevail.
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