They couldn't stop our singing
http://socialistworker.org/2010/02/03/they-couldnt-stop-our-singing
Brian Jones reviews a new documentary that tells the story of the
civil rights movement of the 1960s--through its music.
February 3, 2010
TOWARD THE end of the remarkable new film, Soundtrack for a
Revolution, Julian Bond summarizes the civil rights movement as
"ordinary people doing extraordinary things."
A persistent danger swirls around this history--the danger that the
participants will be canonized, effectively placing them beyond the
reach of present generations ("They were so united, so brave...so not
like us"). Soundtrack, a film that tells the story of the civil
rights movement through its music, reminds us that the people who
waged that struggle were just as frail, just as fearful of injury and
death as you and I.
But in every meeting, on every march and even behind bars, Soundtrack
shows us how the songs of the civil rights movement gave ordinary
people like John Lewis, Dorothy Cotton or Charles McDew--who are
among the many participants to contribute on-camera interviews--the
courage, the solidarity and the confidence to do such extraordinary things.
"They can put you in jail," Lewis muses, "but they can't stop you from singing.
Many of what became movement songs were really revised Negro
spirituals. At times, the old lyrics were preserved, but the meaning
shifted. "Wade in the Water" became a call to leave the "shore of
comfort" and get involved in the movement. When some said that young
people shouldn't participate in protests, children sang "This Little
Light of Mine" even louder as they marched.
In other cases, the lyrics were revised. When, in 1960, tens of
thousands of students launched lunch counter sit-ins to challenge
segregation, "I'm Gonna Sit at the Welcome Table," became "I'm Gonna
Sit at the Woolworth Counter." Often, new lyrics were improvised on
the spot, as needed. Facing police dogs, activists sang, "I Ain't
Afraid of Your Dog," or being hauled off to jail, "I Ain't Afraid of
Your Jail."
The role of a white couple--Guy and Candie Carawan--in teaching and
spreading these songs is a fascinating twist of history. When they
taught "We Shall Overcome" to the founding convention of the Student
Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, it quickly became the movement's anthem.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
SOUNDTRACK SLIPS effectively between the first-person testimonies of
participants, to black-and-white archival footage, to in-studio
sessions with professional musicians. Wyclef Jean, Angie Stone, John
Legend, The Roots, Joss Stone and a host of other artists cover
movement songs in their distinct, respective styles.
The in-studio sessions lift the songs temporarily out of context, but
with the assistance of celebrity singers (and often with instrumental
support), we are offered an opportunity to dwell on a particular
song--on the poetry and resonance of its lyrics, the mood and emotion
of its tune.
Certainly Jean's "Here's to the State of Mississippi" stands out. The
studio performance, with a ripping guitar and angular bass, is
spliced with the historical footage and interviews, rather than
standing alone. The effect transports the viewer to an emotional
state where the murder of three civil rights workers--Andrew Goodman,
James Chaney and Michael Schwerner--lands with tremendous force.
The constant presence of personal danger for activists is further
reinforced by the dramatic use of titles and photographs. A slick
collage of student mug shots pulls back to impress us with the scale
of arrests. Later, a series of photos fade in and out with titles
that reveal the manner of death--"shot," "bludgeoned," "bombed,"
"burned" and so on.
Of course the death that hit the movement--and the nation--the
hardest was that of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Here, Soundtrack
dwells on the tragedy of King's assassination on April 4, 1968, but
it does so at the expense of exploring the radical turn in King's
work in the last year of his life: King's stance on Vietnam, or even
of the Memphis strike with which he made common cause.
In 1967, King blasted the war in Vietnam and called the American
government "the greatest purveyor of violence in the world today." In
1968, he joined striking sanitation workers in Memphis and called for
a radical redistribution of America's wealth. Perhaps it's not fair
to expect this film to cover King's political trajectory, but this
reviewer can't help but think that those omissions may have been
necessary to pull off the film's final frame--Barack Obama's
inauguration ceremony.
While there can be no doubt that Obama's election was made possible
by the struggle of the previous generation, it's becoming harder for
people to swallow that his administration is the "realization of
King's dream" (as it is often put), especially given the president's
escalation of the war in Afghanistan and his failure to address
Depression era-level unemployment in Black America.
Still, the strength of this film lies in the power of music, and its
ability to communicate something essential about the Black struggle
in America. "The music is how we know who we are," comments a wistful
Harry Belafonte. Through song, we are drawn inside the activists'
roller coaster of emotions. What we hear in Soundtrack is the sound
of ordinary people summoning the inner strength to do extraordinary things.
--
Soundtrack for a Revolution, a documentary by Bill Guttentag and Dan
Sturman, featuring performances by Wyclef Jean, Angie Stone, John
Legend and The Roots.
.
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