Rhythms of The Afro-Atlantic World

Contents
introduction
Mamadou Diouf and Ifeoma Kiddoe Nwankwo
part one: religion

The Economic Vitamins of Cuba: Sacred and Other Dance Performance
yvonne daniel
19
Performing Pentecostalism: Music, Identity, and the Interplay of

Jamaican and African American Styles
melvin l. butler
41
The Women Have on All Their Clothes: Reading the Texts of Holy Hip-Hop
deborah smith pollard
55
part two: dance

Rhythmic Remembrances
yvonne daniel
79
Citizenship and Dance in Urban Brazil: Grupo Corpo, a Case Study

luca m. surez
95
Muscle/Memories: How Germaine Acogny and Diane McIntyre

Put Their Feet Down
susan leigh foster
121
To Carry the Dance of the People Beyond: Jean Lon Destin,

Lavinia Williams, and Danse Folklorique Hatienne
millery polyn
136
part three: contemporary music

Motherland Hip-Hop: Connective Marginality and African American
Youth Culture in Senegal and Kenya
halifu osumare
161
New York Bomba: Puerto Ricans, Dominicans, and a Bridge Called Haiti
raquel z. rivera
178
Talking Drums: Soca and Go-Go Music as Grassroots Identity Movements

deidre r. gantt
200
Warriors of the Word: Rapso in Trinidads Festival Culture

patricia van leeuwaarde moonsammy
214
Timba Brava: Maroon Music in Cuba

umi vaughan
234
Salsa Memory: Revisiting Grupo Folklrico y Experimental Nuevayorquino

juan flores and ren lpez
256
Epilogue: Performing MemoriesThe Atlantic Theater of Cultural

Production and Exchange
carroll smith-rosenberg
269
contributors
275
index
281
Introduction
mamadou diouf and ifeoma kiddoe nwankwo
Located simultaneously inside and outside Western modernities and aesthetics,

Afro-Atlantic peoples have used music and dance to continually represent and
reinvent their multiple bases of identityphysically, emotionally, and intellectually.1 Through the two genres, these communities dramatize, articulate, and
appreciate their historical narratives in relation to their African, European, and
American genealogies. As venues for the staging of these dramas of contact,
conict, and synthesis, music and dance are crucial sites for the narration of
Afro-Atlantic modernities as well as key arenas in which Black agency, creativity, and dominance are at once recognized by the West and claimed by AfroAtlantic people.2
Along with linked modes of religiosity, music and dance have also gured
prominently in scholars approaches to documenting the results of the multidimensional cultural contact brought about by the Atlantic slave trade. The focus
of pioneers like Fernando Ortiz on these genres was not a coincidence but,
rather, a recognition of the fact that Afro-Atlantic music and dance simultaneously carry history and memory within them and show the ways communities
have blended past with present realities, yielding wholly new cultures. Widely
considered to be the most visible contributions of African-descended communities to the making of the Atlantic world, music and dance have been
identied, along with orality, not only as the main modes of occurrence and
dissemination in the world of black culture but also as linked channels of black
expressivity and presence in the world scene.3 African music is always music
for dance, and African dances are polymorphic music, with the upper and the
rhythms of the afro-atlantic world
lower parts of the body appearing to move to two different, related clocks. Not
only are they pleasurable and erotic, but they are also powerful spiritual
grammars and rituals of socialization, languages of interventions in nature and
society, contributing to the expression of African religious and cultural beliefs
and manifestations of and engagements with historical (dis)continuities.4
This unique collection of essays connects nations from across the AtlanticSenegal, Kenya, Trinidad, Cuba, Brazil, and the United States, among
othershighlighting contemporary popular, folkloric, and religious music and
dance as living evidence of the ironically productive potential of this age of
consumerist globalization, especially for Afro-Atlantic artists and communities. In this most recent era of nancially driven ows of culture and peoples
within and among the nations of the Atlantic, Afro-Atlantic music and dance
have become prime commodities. As economic commodities they fatten the
bank accounts of multinational media companies and well-positioned artists.
As cultural commodities they are employed by individuals and communities to
craft cultural and ideological weapons for their battles against colonialism and
neocolonialism, governmental corruption, and the inequalities created and
perpetuated by the same multinational/mercantile system that makes this
transnational weaponry possible. Religion and religious cultural products are
key commodities in the contemporary moment of globalization, commodities
that inspire, illuminate, and disseminate approaches to dening and enacting
community and citizenship. Along with secular music and dance, these traveling consumer products are constitutive elements of Afro-Atlantic communities perceptions, expressions, and enactments of conceptions of identity, often
even when they appear to be wholly local. As such, they exemplify what can be
usefully termed globalization creolization.
By tracking the continuous reframing, revision, and erasure of aural, oral,
and corporeal traces, the contributors to Rhythms of the Afro-Atlantic World
collectively argue that music and dance are living indices of a constant
(re)composition and (re)mixing of local sounds, gestures, epistemologies, and
memories. These multiple and intersecting itineraries are transformed by continuous movements across time and geography, becoming at once more local
and more transnational while also representing African and diasporic communities economies of knowledge about the Atlantic worldparticularly around
issues of citizenship, consumerism, and the social and political mission of arts
and artists.
Scholars have long sought to map the circuits of Afro-Atlantic music and
dance, tracing the travels and revisions of specific sounds, forms, and gestures
Introduction
/ 3
among sites. With regard to the role of drums brought along (by slaves) from
the African coast,5 in particular, Ned Sublette notes that they allowed slaves to
dance at a certain place on deck during the Middle Passage and on Sundays
and holidays or even at break, because the planters realized that dancing was
important forit is not an exaggeration to saykeeping the slaves alive.6 Although both forms are vital, music has been accorded more attention than
dance. As noted by Alexander G. Weheliye, music, more than dance, has and
still continues to function as one of the main channels of communication between the different geographical and cultural points in the African diaspora, allowing artists to articulate and perform their diasporic citizenship to international audiences and to establish conversations with other diasporic
communities.7 The plethora of books and articles on African and African
American music, more specically on jazz8 as the embodiment of American
music,9 is ample evidence of this perception.
This valuing is not new. Building on Frederick Douglasss identication of
the magnetic and soul-stirring power of the sorrow songs, as he termed
them,10 W. E. B. Du Bois, in The Souls of the Black Folk,11 devotes [an] unforgettable chapter to the songs created in the doldrums of slavery in order to give
them a serious and proper interpretation, just as later Mr. Henry Edward
Krehbiel in his Afro-American Folksong: A Study in Racial and National Music
gave them their most serious adequate musical analysis and interpretation.12
Du Boiss musical interpretation focuses on songs that are indeed the siftings
of centuries and on music . . . far more ancient than the words and in it, in
which we can trace here and there signs of development.13 According to Du
Bois, music is the foremost accomplishment of the black humanity, ahead of
slave labor and the various modes and rituals of black religiosity.14 Alain Locke,
editor of The New Negroour rst national book . . . representing a unied
community of national interests set in direct opposition to the general economic, political, and theological tenets of a racist land15dedicated an entire
section to music and dance, with articles contributed by himself on Negro spirituals, by J. A. Rogers and Langston Hughes on jazz, and by Claude McKay and
Langston Hughes on dance.16 This tradition has been upheld and revised by
scholars and activists, such as Amiri (Leroi Jones) Baraka,17 who are interested
in the connection to African forms and/or the transforming effect of colonial
musical inuence. Music and dance have been used to restore the sense of humanity and rootedness that slavery took away, while participating very powerfully in their reconguration and reinvention by modernist traditions.
Edouard Glissant, by adding the gift of speech [orality] gesture and dance
as forms of communication18 to Du Boiss three gifts of music, labor, and

spirit, illuminates the historical connection between music and dance and the
interwoven dialogue about both forms embedded within discourses on African
and African American identity, memory, and cultural expression. Negritude
authors Aim Csaire and Leopold Sdar Senghor have eloquently ascribed to
music and dance the critical functions of dening Blackness and Black presence
in the world stage together or separately. In addition to Du Boiss invitation to
listen to the souls of Black folks,19 Senghor stresses their physical and corporeal exposition. They are not only sung but danced, blending sensuality and
spirituality through rhythm; thus they have to be seen. For Senghor, rhythm is
the architecture of being, the internal dynamics that gives it form. He explains, Rhythm is the vibratory shock, the force that, through the senses,
strikes us to the root of our being and expresses itself in the most material, sensual ways: lines, surfaces, colors, volumes and architecture, sculpture and paintings, accents in poetry and music, movements in dance. But, in doing so, it orders all this concreteness toward the light of the spirit.20 In conversation with Du
Bois,21 Senghor opposes rhythm, considered the dening feature of African
musical and dance practices, to the two signicant attributes of Western music,
harmony and melody, thereby connecting the gifts of work, music, and spirituality. He describes the physical, oral, and aural enactment of rhythm as constructing the last and only vestiges of the corporeal, sonically folding the body
into the voice and vice versa.In this process of folding, he continues, the ear
is directed toward the sound process itself, that is, the way in which a black
voice performs and constructs its corporeality.22
Paul Gilroys The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness is
credited by many scholars with inspiring a vibrant discourse on the narratives
of selfhood, community, and race embedded in the cultural products born of
the movement of people of African descent throughout the Atlantic. He attempts to account for the place of music in modern black culture, afrming it
a privileged place in diaspora cultures through the interactions of the performers and the audiences, and the intimate relationships to modernity, beyond
ethnically coded dialogue. In addition to explicating the Atlantic dimensions
of the work of intellectuals such as W. E. B. Du Bois, Richard Wright, and Martin Delany, Gilroy sought to pay particular attention to the import of the creations of musical artists such as Soul II Soul. Houston Baker, in Modernism and
the Harlem Renaissance, explores how music and certain black vernacular oral
expressions are inscribed in African American literary works, in particular how
certain sounds are replayed in literary artifacts. The work of music historians
Introduction
/ 5
and musicologists such as Robert Bennett, Ingrid Morrison, Elijah Wald, and
Alexander G. Weheliye also reveals an increasing attentiveness to the musical
products of the Black Atlantic. New approaches in literary as well as in music
and dance studies are attempting to attend to the complexities of the transactions between instruments (including the body and the technology of production and dissemination of music), sites of performance, innovations and repetitions, audience, and commodication, as well as the politics of music and
dance in different regions of the Atlantic. Much of the work, particularly that
published by major presses, has centered on U.S. African American music or
Cuban music and, to a lesser degree, on African, British Caribbean, and nonCuban Latino/Latin American music. Nevertheless, lacunae remain, particularly in terms of religious/ritual/spiritual music. In addition, monographs published on other forms of music are often nationally bounded.
Rhythms of the Afro-Atlantic World seeks to ll those persistent voids by
foregrounding the trafc between and among communities, the cross-cultural
and/or transnational movement of Afro-Atlantic cultural products, their consumption by other Atlantic communities, and the extent to which they result in
new forms of and approaches to dening and enacting citizenship. This moment has made it possible for communities to be even more aware of the strategies that others are using to talk back, so that even when a community creates
and/or enacts a form that is local, it still has within it elements born of a
translocal awareness, whether the signs of that are easily recognizable or deeply
embedded. Consequently, local forms cannot easily be cordoned off or denitively distinguished from global ones. It is not that the local or the nation are
disappearing but, rather, that the national citizen himself /herself, like the national music or dance itself, is constituted in part by a historical and presentday transnational. The essays in this collection are case studies of modes and
means of exchange in the contemporary Atlantic cultural marketplace, more
specically of those that serve as a way for populations to empower themselves,
express their power, and move their struggles against local inequality forward.
The transnational trafc, therefore, becomes a medium for the production of
empowered citizenries. The developments in music and dance explored here,
born of circum-Atlantic capital and consumer goods ows, are responses to,
critiques of, and consciously crafted alternatives to the top-down contact made
possible by this most recent era of globalizationmarkers of processes of globalization creolization. Lateral engagements create an alternate route map for
commodity trafc, albeit cultural and ideological trafc, enriching the local
rather than dominating or silencing it or making it unrecognizable. As such,
they demand greater attention from scholars working to delineate Afro-Atlantic peoples places in and responses to this contemporary moment of globalization, especially since these peoples were the core/basis of the previous era
of major trans- and circum-Atlantic trafc. Being attentive to the sorts of lateral engagements addressed here allows further insight into their position vis-vis this contemporary one.
the essays
For decades, the tracking of Africanisms and creolization, often through studies of religious practice (i.e., syncretism), has been fundamental to studies of
Afro-Atlantic culture, particularly those done by Atlanticist historians and anthropologists (e.g., Sidney Wilfred Mintz and Richard Prices The Birth of
African-American Culture and Edward Kamau Brathwaites The Development of
Creole Society in Jamaica). The essays in the rst part of this volume illustrate
the extent to which this era of globalization creates a multidirectional cultural
and economic trafc in religious music and dance, fueling the creation of new
forms of religious expression and new approaches to linking the religious and
the secular, genres that cannot be as easily comprehended through traditional
syncretism/Africanism models. They acknowledge the foundational signicance of the earlier scholarship on religious syncretism, particularly the extent
to which it helped to provide the language and conceptual tools for talking
about the cross-cultural dynamism inherent in Afro-Atlantic religious and cultural expression, while also illustrating the ongoing and particular importance
of religion to Afro-Atlantic peoples attempts to reconcile their multiple cultural, epistemological, and psychological worlds and identities in this era of
consumer culture globalization.
In her essay titled The Economic Vitamins of Cuba, Yvonne Daniel argues
that African diasporic dance and music practices in the Caribbean are important parts of religious ritual but are also targeted economic commodities that
many governments use to boost tourism. As evidence, she discusses the ways in
which Cuban worshipers and dancers use their own African dance practices as
a form of public display, as spiritual offering, and as a national guardianship
of the orichas, while the performers are also keenly aware of the governments
economic interest in these practices and so perform for tourists in order to aid
Cubas struggling economy. Additionally, the large numbers of instructional
workshops and dance and music festivals held on the island have lured international students to Cuba, thus creating a subtourist group that also contributes
Introduction
/ 7
greatly to the nations economic welfare. Additionally, the revenue from students allows instructors access to foreign goods and helps students form important professional connections, a greater knowledge of Cuban culture, and
more expertise in their art. Nevertheless, the seductive lure that ritual performances like dance hold for tourists has also created some social problems, like
the rise in the sex trade, prostitution, and HIV/AIDS. Nevertheless, argues
Daniel, ritual performances are part of a secularization process that is inherent
in Cuban communism/socialism, and dance and music will continue to be used
strategically by Cubans for the greater benet the national government, foreign
visitors, and themselves.
In contrast to Daniels essay, Melvin L. Butlers contribution to this volume
discusses the ways in which African American and Jamaican reggae-inuenced
music has been received and appropriated among Pentecostal Jamaicans at
home and abroad. He argues that music coming from the United States to the
island of Jamaica plays a complex and often contradictory role in how churchgoers identify themselves in relation to religious and cultural outsiders. For example, younger Jamaican Pentecostals are now drawn to African American
gospel music styles, often characterizing them as black, though not necessarily Jamaican. In fact, for many urban congregations, African American gospel
styles provide a means of expressing a modern Pentecostal aesthetic while
counteridentifying against the white hymnody and white-sounding traditional Pentecostal music of earlier generations. At the same time, black styles
are also associated with the traditional clap-hand choruses that are characteristic of indigenous musical genres like ska and dancehall. Despite their global
and local cultural connections, some Jamaican preachers are vehemently opposed to either of these inuences and criticize contemporary church practices,
which they contend have strayed too far from those of traditional Pentecostalism. Butler argues that for them, worldliness, African Americanness, and
gospel reggae all seem to be interchangeable terms. For many Jamaican churchgoers, though, gospel music with African American and island inuences is a
means of expressing both religious authenticity and cultural distinctiveness.
Additionally, for Pentecostals living abroad, it can often serve as a source of personal strength and a foundation for minority group consciousness, allowing Jamaicans to partake in cathartic acts of cultural solidarity and celebrate a common national identity, even when they are far away from home.
Deborah Smith Pollards The Women Have on All Their Clothes shows
how the nancial, lyrical, stylistic, and market infrastructure created by hiphops success (evidence of the new ways and places capital circulates) opened
doors for the creation and popularization of the gospel hip-hop hybrid, holy
hip-hop. Smith Pollards chapter focuses almost exclusively on holy hip hop,
the term she uses to discuss Christian rap music. She begins by outlining the
controversy that often arises from the fact that, although its fans and practitioners see it as one of Gods many ways to reach the postcivil rights, postR&B generation, many of holy hip-hops opponents accuse the genre of being
sacrilegious. However, Pollard argues, a closer examination of the testimonies
and lyrics of many artists reveals that, even though their musical evangelism is
generation-specic in its packaging, the general goal of the music is the same
as that of traditional gospel music: to bring Christianity to the masses. Furthermore, Pollard argues, in several of its performative elements and lyrics,
holy hip-hop illustrates many cultural traditions of the African diaspora in
general and of the African American church and its traditional gospel music in
particular. Such traits include call-and-response, vocal intonation, testimony,
and evangelical zeal.
The second section centers on dance, foregrounding the ways that dance inspires, reects, and enacts the productive dynamics of cultural circulation in
this era of globalization. Signicantly, the essays here focus variously on the
specics of the body gestures born of cross-cultural and intercultural contact
and on the politically and epistemologically subversive possibilities and implications of dance as an art form.
Linking Afro-Atlantic religion with the corporeal intellect inherent in sacred dance, Yvonne Daniels Rhythmic Remembrances explicates how
African-originated valuations of rhythm and ritual have persisted in the
African diaspora, particularly in the danced, sung, and drummed knowledge
that survived New World slavery and is now retained in the religious practices
of Haitian Vodou, Cuban Yoruba, and Brazilian Candombl. Daniel points out
that although the general objectives of such rituals are to gain personal
strength, achieve spiritual balance, worship divinities, and maintain the solidarity of the ritual community, some of their effects include the awareness of
the stored knowledge within the human body and the discovery of the vast
knowledge that still exists within the rituals of African diasporic religious performance. For example, some traditionally African religious chants contain
rich information about the religious and therapeutic uses of herbs and plants,
drum patterns exhibit sophisticated mathematical complexities, and dance
movements challenge and strengthen the bodys physiological and psychological capacities.
The bridging of healing, education, and arts, and the afrmation of their
Introduction
/ 9
constant interactions with politics and resistance are central to Millery Polyns
chapter in this volume. He examines the development of danse folklorique Hatienne (Haitian folkloric dance) by Jean Lon Destin and Lavinia Williams,
discussing the ways in which each dancer employed it to entertain and educate
their audiences on Haitian culture, as well as to better train Haitian dancers in
the 1940s and 1950s. Polyn concedes that although they were not completely
successful in eliminating all of the stereotypes associated with vodou and its sacred dances, their innovation and transmission of the art form educated
dancers and their audiences on Haitian and West Africanbased cultural heritages that helped attract tourists to the island and advance Haitis project of
economic and cultural development. Through cultural ambassadors like Destin and Williams, popular dance became evidence of Haitis cultural progress,
even as government ofcials and upper-class Haitians feared that Haitis modern image was being challenged by dancings focus on the primitive elements
of the Haitis vodou religion. Indeed, by advancing vodou-inspired Haitian culture, both the dancers who performed and the ofcials who supported them
were making a bold statement against a Eurocentric Haitian (and global) society that ignored and demeaned African diasporic peasant art forms. By doing
so, individuals like Destin and Williams used the popularity and evolving
representation of Haitian folkloric arts as a means to address both the economic and sociocultural challenges to modern development in mid-twentiethcentury Haiti.
A similar quest for economic development, cultural modernity, and a history and a historicity located in the performances, rituals, and reenactment of
remembrances has created an obsessive search for alternative forms to Western
modernity, and this quest has had a great inuence on the Brazilian development project. In her contribution,Citizenship and Dance in Urban Brazil, Luca
M. Surez utilizes the concept of anthropophagy in order to discuss modern
Brazils failed and ever-evolving attempts at aesthetic and economic progress.
By arguing that the modern Brazilian city is in a natural but perpetual state of
ruin, she contends that perhaps the dancing body can represent that city, since
it, too, is in constant movement. She goes on to argue that dance memory performed by Brazilian artists celebrates a rich African musical, cultural, and religious past but is also an act of rebellion that challenges the rigidity of the countrys complex class, gender, and racial hierarchies. For illustration, she examines
the Grupo Corpo, a Brazilian dance company that has performed over thirty
original choreographies in the last four decades. She argues that the companys
technical style integrates ballet, African, and modern dance, thus mirroring
10
Brazils complex sociocultural history, and that with its rst major performance, Maria Maria, it became one of the rst highbrow dance troupes to do
so on an elite national and international stage. According to Surez, such
events are important because the violence committed against the poor and
other marginalized groups in a virtually lawless police state has placed Brazilian democracy in grave danger. Citing the 2002 documentary Bus 174 as proof
of the desperation of the underclass, Surez argues that groups like Grupo
Corpo and its offshoot Corpo Cidado are crucial in modern-day Brazilthey
serve as powerful examples of how art and community can work together to
better the lives of those most negatively affected by mid-twentieth-century
Latin Americas failed modernizing projects and most heavily affected by todays neoliberal economics and globalization. Surez concludes by declaring
that modern dance has become far more than a rebel movement against classical European dance forms; it now serves as the bodys illustration of Brazils
multiple narratives of tradition and progress and as a tool for sociocultural
change.
The line of inquiry opened by Du Bois and the Negritude authors on the
conversation between the African and the African American through dance, a
form of [corporeal] communication (Glissant), is at once recalled, revised,
and restaged in this volume by Susan Leigh Foster, who shows how two contemporary women choreographersthe Senegalese Germaine Acogny and the
African American Diane McIntyreare able, through a repertoire of corporeal
techniques, to recover, (re)imagine, and rescript their African heritage in order
to index a range of experiences, emotions, practices, and narratives of the Black
Atlantic. By choreographing black bodies, they reenact and unveil the histories of joy, sorrow, worship, war, pain, and pleasure, but they also (re)draw the
geographies and itineraries carved in black skins and cut deep into black esh.
Using Bourdieus and Foucaults theories of the corporeal memory in the oppressed, as well as scholarship on Africanist dance aesthetics, Foster explores
conceptual possibilities of muscle memory, the bodys capacity to store and
then evoke personal, psychological, cultural, and historical memories by muscular movement. She proposes that dancing has the capacity not just to remember but to reconnect the body to a cultural heritage by using a set of actions to evoke past instances of bodily movement.
Undoubtedly, this line of queries identies music and dance as both marker
and (re)enactment of black radical difference and alterity. Senghor, for example, considers musical and dance notations and rhythms as the mediating devices interconnecting music, speech, and dance as specic modes of represen-
Introduction
/ 11
tation recurring in specic strategies aimed at producing another reason,

emotional and affective, the reason of the touch of the Negro-African rather
than the reasoning eye of the European. This essentialism has a radical subversive function: to deconstruct the ethnological invention of African cultural
manifestationsdance in particularas primordial, primitive, and prelogical
forms of communication and cultural expression and as the privileged sites for
the understanding of primitive cultures.
The third section offers rich contributions on contemporary expressive and
performative genres, paying close attention to emergent or totally ignored musical, discursive, or dance forms and particularly to the ways in which they are
used by their practitioners to address issues of race and identity. This volumes
concern with the organizing features and categories of the literature on the cultural expressions of the Atlantic world is remarkably reected in the fresh exploration of the historical and continuing circulation and exchange that has
shaped the poetics and politics of that world. These essays remap the different
routes of the musical and dance waves by examining the multiple sites as well
as the bridges between the performances, rituals, commodities, and expressive
art forms aimed at enjoyment and political claims. Through focused case studies, this volumeparticularly the third sectionassesses the economies of
knowledge and singular black modernities, narratives, and modes that the
artists and their work create, thereby intervening in the debates surrounding
world music and dance histories. Rhythms of the Afro-Atlantic World distinguishes itself as a collection that focuses on the circulation of cultural forms
across the Atlantic world, tracing the paths trod by a range of music and dance
forms within, across, or beyond the plethora of locals that constitute the Atlantic world. The editors and contributors of this volume do so, however, without assuming that these paths have been either always in line with national, regional, or continental boundaries or always transnational, transgressive, and
perfectly hybrid and syncretic.
It is precisely from such a perspective that Raquel Z. Rivera examines, in
this volume, the aesthetics of Puerto Rican and Dominican New Yorkbased
musicians and dancers who embrace traditionally Haitian and Afrodiasporic
culture in their art. By doing so, she argues, they challenge the hegemonic
notions of Latin American/Latino nationality/ethnicity/panethnicity that,
though it claims to promote cultural inclusiveness, often ignores Latin Americans rich and undeniable African heritage. These musicians forcibly introduce
and celebrate their African heritage through various performances of bomba,
the musical genre that most scholars and practitioners consider to be the oldest
12
known of AfroPuerto Rican forms, one that contains numerous subgenres

and whose musical traits can be found in Cuba, Trinidad, the Virgin Islands, the
southern United States, and, most important, Haiti. Indeed, bombas use of
Kreyl lyrics and devotional hymns to Vodun gods and its infusion of other
Afrodiasporic-identied genres like rumba and hip-hop have angered many
members of older generations, who want to retain bomba as a national product
of Puerto Rico, not a genre that links together the African heritages of
Caribbean New Yorkers. Nevertheless, asserts Rivera, bomba dancers and musicians refuse to let their blackness be steeped in the bleaching waters of Latino
self-denial, and this refusal allows for intercultural creativity and solidarity
that is impossible through most of the overtly Eurocentric concepts of Latinidad, using Haiti as a much-needed bridge linking together the Afrodiasporic populations of the Spanish-speaking Caribbean.
Following the intensication of the music and dance trafc across the Atlantic animated by the youth, Halifu Osumare, in her essay titled Motherland
Hip-Hop, discusses the social dynamics of African hip-hop, using two rap
groupsPositive Black Soul of Senegal and Kalamashaka of Kenyaas examples of hip-hop artists who have appropriated hip-hop music and are using it
in an effort to improve socioethnic conditions on the continent. Using her theory of connective marginality, Osumare argues that overlapping global social
spheres of culture, class, historical oppression, and youth itself complicate the
typical explanation of American popular cultural imperialism for the perceived
wholesale adoption of rap culture by global youth. By looking at groups like
Kalmashaka (K-shaka) and Positive Black Soul (PBS), one is able to see that a
large part of Africas hip-hop movement is actually quite different from its contemporary American counterpart. According to Osumare, African hip-hops
focus on social critique, black liberation, and specic political challenges in
various African nations is a far cry from the bling-bling booty music currently popular in the United States. She contends that African hip-hop, though
comprised of a range of subgenres (many of which promote as much materialism and hedonism as their American counterparts), often promotes a rise in
consciousness that actually has much more in common with U.S. hip-hops
earlier forms and its current underground scene.
This collection seeks to reorient the discourse on traveling cultural forms
around and between Atlantic enclaves by being attentive to the specics of the
formstheir specic geneses, the specic uses to which they are put by their
creators and consumers, and the specic ways in which they travel or churn in
place. In doing so, it connects the attentiveness to music and trans-, circum-,
Introduction
/ 13
and inter-Atlantic movements evident in the work of Atlanticist literary and

cultural studies scholars with the linked explications of form and culture present in the work of ethnomusicologists and with the great emphasis on the particular nature of particular movements and/or particular locales in the work of
Atlanticist historians such as Franklin W. Knight, Julius S. Scott, and Richard
Price. This methodological blending widens the intellectual conversation while
also pushing the scholarly discourse within the individual elds. For example,
after giving a brief introduction to the origins and aesthetics of calypso, soca
(the child of calypso), and go-go music, Deirdre R. Gantt presents her argument within such parameters, insisting that, despite differences in location and
sound, both genres share a common goal: offering underrepresented populations the power to negotiate and express their African heritage and to revise,
afrm, and project their collective cultural identities through music. Additionally, Gantt argues that both soca and go-go also share three African musical
traits: polymetric ensemble drumming, call-and-response techniques, and the
use of allusive repetition that can span the works of various artists over a number of years. After discussing the nuances of each of these traits in each genre,
Gantt makes illuminating observations about how soca and go-go music have
positively affected Trinidads tourist industry and the public image of Washington, DC.
Patricia van Leeuwaarde Moonsammy, in her essay titled Warriors of the
Word, discusses rapso, an indigenous form of Trinibagonian music that, although it is a variant of calypso, is often overlooked as a part of the earlier
genres musical legacy. She argues that, like calypso, rapso artists often use their
lyrics to enter into dialogue with the cultural, social, and economic politics of
identity in their native land. By tracing rapsos offshoot from calypso through
the experimentation of artists like Lancelot Kebu Layne, Moonsammy recovers the genres long history of political involvement in union activism, labor
strikes, and grassroots community development. Nevertheless, despite such a
long activist involvement with the downpressed, rapso is often ignored by
Trinibagonian music lovers in favor of other, more popular (and, at times, less
socially conscious) genres of music, like dancehall and American hip-hop.
Moonsammy laments that cultural biases and unscrupulous owners of radio
stations and record labels encourage rapsos marginalization; however, she also
expresses hope that burgeoning technological advancements and a growing
global cultural awareness will soon save it from the threat of obscurity.
In Timba Brava, contributor Umi Vaughan argues that timba is more than
just an Afro-Cuban genre of musicit is also a rich cultural site on which sev-
14
eral of Cubas most heated social debates intersect, including those on economic policy, identity formation, gender roles, and, most important, the islands long history of complicated race relations. He further asserts that although it was born in the face of challenges posed by a radically changing
Cuban society during the special period of the 1990s, timba is also the culmination of a centuries-old love-hate relationship between Cuba and its AfroCuban population. In fact, Vaughan dissects timba into four main stylistic elements (structure, timbre and texture, content, and context) and then focuses
on the ways in which each area illustrates diverse musical inuencessome of
them traditionally Cuban, but many more of them Afrodiasporic. Even more
interesting, Vaughan establishes very rmly that timba is heir to a long tradition in which Afro-Cuban culture persisted in the face of very strong opposition nourished by an upper class that wanted to present Cuba as a monolithic
white country to the outside world. This history makes the genre most appealing during a time in which black and mulatto Cubans must assert their identities inside the countrys rapidly changing culture and social structure. Vaughan
concludes by stating that timba continues to negotiate complex relationships
with the nations government and international markets, maneuvering power
and opportunity from a marginalized position to one of agency and power.
This volume closes with Salsa Memory, a collaborative production by
scholar Juan Flores and musician Ren Lpez that enacts on paper the meeting
of rhythms embodied in the pioneering salsa bands that are the focus of the
piece. As a bridge between two political and musical eras (the 1970s and the
present), Ren Lpez and his bands enable an in-depth comparative case study
that illuminates the possibilities inherent in the contemporary globalization
moment. In tracing the historical and present-day versions of Lpezs band and
the ways in which they parallel and carry within them signal moments in the
history and present of the conicted story of salsa, Salsa Memory amounts
to an exercise in musical and cultural memory. Delving into the details of the
bands music, the role of each player and instrument in particular songs, and
the very specic musical and cultural histories that rhythm and dynamic invoke, the essay lays bare the mechanics of various sorts of memory making
through the aesthetic expressions explored throughout this volume. In this particular essay, the voice of the practitioner whose production process is underpinned by the corporeal and aural connection to the historical and rhythmic
dimensions of the beats blends with the voice of the critic/historian/fan who
cannot resist the call of the rhythm.
These interventions illuminate music and dance forms that at once restage
Introduction
/ 15
and revise aesthetic, corporeal, aural, cultural, and political conversations

about Africa, Europe, and America that have been going on at least since the beginning of the Atlantic slave trade. Born of this era of globalization, though,
these forms also embody the distinctive tools available to Afro-Atlantic communities in this moment, not the least of which is the global market.
Notes
1. V. Y. Mudimbe, The Invention of Africa (Bloomington: Indiana University Press,
1988).
2. M. Wright, Becoming Black (Durham: Duke University Press, 2004).
3. In an interview with Benetta Jules-Rosette, Paulin Joachim, one of the rst West
African cineasts and an active participant in the Negritude movement, insists on such a
quest of inserting African culture into the civilization of the white man. It was to afrm
our presence, pure African presence, because the colonizers have always negated our culture, as if they could be a people without a culture . . . We wanted to create an African renaissance in Paris, to signify to the European in which we were immersed that blacks had
their own culture and could assert that culture and that presence in the white world
(Benetta Jules-Rosette, Black Paris: The African Writers Landscape [Urbana: University
of Illinois Press, 1998], 35).
4. Ned Sublette, Cuba and Its Music: From the First Drums to the Mambo (Chicago:
Chicago Review Press, 2004), 57.
5. Ibid., 58.
6. Moreau de St Mry cited in ibid.
7. He adds CDs, twelve-inch singles, MP3s, and videos to the repertoire of black Atlantic sound channels mentioned in Peter Linebaughs remark that the ship remained
perhaps the most important conduit of Pan African communication before the appearance of the long playing record (as quoted in Paul Gilroy, The Black Atlantic: Modernity
and Double Consciousness [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993], 13).
8. For example, Robert OMeally, Brent Hayes Edwards, Farah Jasmine Grifn,
eds., Uptown Conversation (New York: Columbia University Press, 2004).
9. Robert OMeally, ed., The Jazz Cadence of American Culture (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988).
10. Frederick Douglass, Narrative of the Life, ed. William L. Andrews and William S.
McFeely, Norton Critical Editions (New York: W. W. Norton, 1997).
11. W. E. B. Du Bois, The Souls of the Black Folk (1903; repr., New York: Library of
America, 1986).
12. Alain LeRoy Locked, ed., The New Negro (1925; repr., New York: Maxwell
Macmillian International, 1992), 201.
13. Houston A. Baker, Jr., Modernism and the Harlem Renaissance (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 60.
14. Du Bois, Souls of the Black Folk, 214.
16
15. Baker, Modernism and the Harlem Renaissance, 77.

16. Locke, New Negro, 119227.
17. Amiri Baraka, Blues People: Negro Music in White America (New York: William
Morrow, 1963).
18. Edouard Glissant, Caribbean Discourse: Selected Essays (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 1989), 248.
19. Du Bois, Souls of the Black Folk, 12.
20. L. S. Senghor, Lesprit de la civilisation ou les lois de la culture ngro-africaine,
special issue, Prsence Africaine (1956): 6061. The translation, by Abiola Irele (The
African Experience in Literature and Ideology [Bloomington: Indiana University Press,
1990], 76), is from the slightly modied version by F. Castaldi (Choreographies of African
Identities: Negritude, Dance, and the National Ballet of Senegal [Urbana: University of
Illinois Press, 2006], 23) (emphasis added).
21. R. Judy, Introduction: On W. E. B. Du Bois and Hyperbolic Thinking, boundary 2
23, no. 3 (Fall 2000): 33.
22. Alexander G. Weheliye, Phonographies: Grooves in Sonic Afro-Modernity
(Durham: Duke University Press, 2005), 54.
[To view this chapter, refer to

the print version of this title.]
Performing Pentecostalism: Music, Identity, and the

Interplay of Jamaican and African American Styles
melvin l. butler
A growing trend in contemporary African American gospel has been the incorporation of West Indian inuences in performances and commercial recordings. This trend is not particularly surprising, since for decades, music scholars
have recognized the transnational ties between Jamaica and the United States.
These ties have had a profound impact on the development of sacred and secular musical practice in both locales. Kenneth Bilby, for example, has noted that
a signicant amount of Jamaican popular music recorded in the 1970s is imbued with a hymnlike quality that suggests the inuence of African American
church worship on Jamaican expressive culture.1 This essay discusses African
American gospel artists and their music as a dynamically recontextualized,
African diasporic phenomenon and focuses primarily on the reception and appropriation of island-inuenced gospel recordings among Jamaican churchgoers at home and abroad. I seek not only to emphasize the transnational ows of
gospel music from the United States but also to call attention to the ongoing
negotiations of identity that occur as a result of these ows. In ways that are understood to be controversial, young Jamaican Pentecostals often strive to make
this music by African American gospel artists their own, even as many religious
leaders vehemently protest its perceived negative impact on Jamaican youth
and the congregations to which they often belong.
Pentecostalism has been developing steadily in Jamaica since the 1920s,
thriving along with belief systems such as Kumina, Revival (or Pocomania),
and Rastafarianism. In a Caribbean nation where this brand of Christianity is,
according to recent studies, now the professed faith of as much as a quarter of
41
42
the population,2 believers see the music through which they articulate their
faith as intimately connected to their religious and cultural identities. African
American gospel music coming from the United States plays a complex and at
times contradictory role in how Jamaican Pentecostals identify themselves in
relation to religious and cultural outsiders. While in Jamaica in 2002 and 2003,
I became increasingly fascinated with how Jamaican Pentecostals were appropriating music recorded by African American gospel artists. This music is
transmitted to the island when U.S.-based gospel groups tour internationally;
through Jamaicans traveling to and from the United States; and, most noticeably, by way of global cable networks, such as Black Entertainment Television,
and through Jamaicas gospel radio station, Love 101 FM. Among Jamaican Pentecostals, television has traditionally been deemed an aspect of worldly living
that is to be avoided as church members seek to lead a sanctied life centered
primarily on asceticism and spiritual devotion. Although restrictions on television sets have loosened dramatically (since the turn of the twenty-rst century), TVs are still viewed with suspicion by older Pentecostals, and it is only
since the mid-1990s that radio has emerged as a signicant medium for the
transnational spread of North American gospel styles.
I therefore nd it remarkable that many Jamaican Protestants and Pentecostals with whom I spoke are now drawn to African American gospel music
styles and that they often characterize these styles as black, though not necessarily Jamaican. For churchgoers living in the urban areas of Spanish Town
and Kingston, African American styles provide a means of expressing a modern Pentecostal aesthetic while counteridentifying against the white
hymnody and white-sounding imported gospel music that some Jamaican
congregations seem to prefer. Black styles are associated mostly with contemporary U.S. gospel artists inuenced by rhythm and blues and hip-hop, but also
with the traditional clap-hand choruses and the ska and dancehall rhythms
characteristic of contemporary Jamaican gospel music. Whether they emanate
from Jamaican or foreign soil, however, I contend that the use of gospel styles
experienced as black signicantly impacts the experiential framework of
church local musical-social activity.
Gospel concerts in Jamaica and the Jamaican diaspora often feature a variety of styles, including traditional hymns and gospel reggae, as well as music
recorded by well-known African American gospel singers such as Yolanda
Adams, Kirk Franklin, Donnie McClurkin, and Fred Hammond. These events
offer youth an opportunity to enjoy a Christian form of entertainment while
Performing Pentecostalism
/ 43
socializing with churchgoers outside of their regular congregations. However,

gospel concerts are viewed by many older Pentecostals as a recently acquired
trend of which true believers should be wary. Thus, there prevails a certain
skepticism with regard to any musical practice that is seen as a departure from
established tradition.
A fondness for the Jamaica of yesteryear resonates with the lyrics of songs
popular among older Pentecostals, many of whom converted during the 1950s
and 1960s. These Pentecostals often talk about the way things used to be, back
when Jamaica was such a paradise and when churchgoers took pleasure in
singing classic hymns and Jamaican choruses, many of which are unfamiliar to
younger generations. Through verbal testimonies and through hymns with titles
such as The Old Time Religion and Old Time Power, believers retell conversion experiences and express nostalgic sentiments brought on by the historical
consciousness of past events, as well as through a re-membering process that
blends lived experience with the biblical account of the day of Pentecost.
The opposition that some Jamaican preachers express toward African
American cultural inuence takes the form of a scathing critique of contemporary church practices, which, they contend, have strayed too far from the more
authentic practices of yesteryear. One of the perceived dangers in moving
away from traditional practices is that Jamaican Pentecostal identities will be
compromised as so-called worldly inuences begin to inltrate congregations.
The modern musical activities of many Jamaican churches are deemed inauthentic or articial to the extent that they rely on emotionalism and entertainment rather than on the Holy Spirit for their affective impact. Church leaders often express a desire for a return to old times characterized less by
emotional musical practices that tickle the ear and more by the transforming power of Gods anointing. One preachers sermon lamented the many
changes that he felt have moved the church away from a genuine experience of
the Holy Spirit. What we need today, he asserted, is not more music and
emotional singing, but we need the old time anointing. He added, This generation has to make so much music because they have to create an articial joy!
In the old times, the people . . . didnt even have a lot of instruments. But when
they sang What a Friend We Have in Jesus, oh my! I dont need no organ to
help me preach!
The signicant point here is that worldliness and African Americanness
are conated, at least implicitly, in the discourses of some Jamaican Pentecostals. Indeed, most of the changes mentioned by the preacher are experi-
44
enced by older Jamaican churchgoers not only as more modern and

articial but also as evidence of African American inuence on traditional Jamaican Pentecostal practices.
The preachers reference to the hymn What a Friend We Have in Jesus
provides evidence of a Jamaican preference for the meaningful lyrics of traditional hymns and sober songs over the one-liners and simpler choruses
whose appeal derives more obviously from rhythmic or melodic elements. Although hymn singing is practiced by many African American Pentecostals, it is
noticeably more prevalent among Jamaican churchgoers. The emphatic statement I dont need no organ to help me preach! refers to the organists practice of interjecting percussive chordal attacks in between a preachers words
during a sermon. This occurs most often when a preacher switches to a singing
or intoned style of sermonizing, which is more characteristic of African
American preachers than Jamaican ones. The use of the organ to complement
or help the preacher is not commonly found in Jamaicas Pentecostal
churches, although I did occasionally notice it in urban areas such as Kingston
and Montego Bay, where churches often attract preachers visiting from the
United States.
For many Jamaican churchgoers, island-inuenced gospel music is a means
of expressing both religious authenticity and cultural distinctiveness. It can
even become a way of musically asserting, Not only am I a Pentecostal Christian, but I am a Jamaican Pentecostal Christian. This type of assertion is most
striking among Jamaican Pentecostals living abroad in places such as New York
and London, where religious, cultural, and long-distance national identities become a source of personal strength and a foundation for minority group consciousness.
performing jamaicanness: donnie mcclurkins

caribbean gospel medley
To illustrate the way in which Jamaicans express cultural identities through
gospel music, I would like to focus on a gospel performance by African American gospel singer Donnie McClurkin, using his recording Donnie McClurkin:
Live in London and More (2000) to underscore the relation between religious
and cultural identity. The recording, which is available in both audio and video
formats, is McClurkins second commercial release and was a hit among both
African American and Jamaican churchgoers at home and abroad. After the CD
was released, McClurkin made his rst professional trip to Jamaica, performing
/ 45
a gospel concert at Church on the Rock, a Pentecostal church in Kingston, in

October 2000.3 Since then, McClurkins popularity in Jamaica has continued to
grow. Throughout much of my eld research in 2002, one particular track from
the recording, Caribbean Medley, was played almost daily on Love 101 FM.
McClurkins performance takes place at Londons Faireld Hall before a
predominantly African Caribbean crowd of gospel music enthusiasts. A
woman emcee introduces him as a native New Yorker whose second home is
London and expresses pride in the fact that McClurkin has chosen London as
the locale in which to make his live recording. McClurkin and his group perform several selections before launching into a series of traditional Jamaican
choruses. As this track on the CD begins, McClurkin introduces the medley and
makes a verbal appeal to Jamaicans in the audience.4
Well, then, we gon sing us some Jamaican songs. But if we sing em, you gotta
get outta those seats. And you gotta dance like youre really from Jamaica, or
your parents were from Jamaica, or parents parents were from Jamaica! But I
want you to be true to who you are!
McClurkin humorously exaggerates a Jamaican accent, repeating the word Jamaica several times and placing emphasis on the second syllable, which is
drawn out and melodized to mimic the vocal inection of a native patois
speaker. He uses the idiomatic expression parents parents in an attempt to
draw on colloquialisms familiar to Jamaicans in the audience. McClurkin also
calls on his listeners to be true to themselves, suggesting that participation in
Jamaican-style gospel music and dance is a way for his listeners to assert and
conrm their island identities. As McClurkin speaks, the band begins a reggaestyle accompaniment, with characteristic keyboard/guitar offbeats. The rst
piece of the medley is Ive Got My Mind Up. When the vocal melody begins,
the bass guitar and bass drum complete the sonic approximation of classic
1970s reggae accompaniment, characterized by what is sometimes referred to as
the one drop rhythm, marked by a stress on the second beat of each measure.
The second piece of the medley is Goodbye, World. The keyboards,
drums, and guitar continue the reggae-style accompaniment throughout this
piece, as the rhythm of the bass guitar changes somewhat to support the new
melody and chord progression. From Goodbye, World, the group moves
into Born, Born, Born Again, which is one of the oldest and best-recognized
choruses in the medley. In the middle section of this piece, McClurkins voice
becomes more forceful, taking on a rougher character as he imitates the
46
dub-style delivery of a contemporary dancehall DJ. He cries, Born of the

water, Spirit an de blood. T[h]ank God Im born again! which is sung four
times against an accompanying backdrop that has shifted into the more percussive and syncopated rhythm also employed in contemporary dancehall
performances.
Next, McClurkins rhythm section returns to the classic reggae groove that
underlies a repetition of the rst medley piece, Ive Got My Mind Made Up.
The recurrence of this chorus establishes it as the medleys unifying theme. The
reggae groove is maintained as the band segues into I Am Under the Rock,
followed by the chorus Jesus Name So Sweet. At this point, the bass line varies
once more, switching to a simple arpeggio pattern that, like the previous one
drop bass pattern, accents the second beat of each measure in typical reggae
fashion.
After repeating the chorus initial couplet, the rhythm section replays the
syncopated dancehall rhythm while McClurkin delights the crowd by adding
the short patois refrain Every rock me rock upon Jesus, Jesus name so sweet!
This phrase does not translate easily into Standard English. However, Jamaican
churchgoers explained to me that the repetition of the word rock and the idea
of rocking upon Jesus suggest the idea of movement with Jesusliterally,
through holy dancing, and metaphorically, through lifes ups and downs. The
chorus thus celebrates the sweetness of Jesus, who serves not only as a spiritual dancing partner during collective praise but also as a guide and comforter
amid the rocky road of everyday life. This idea of movement is underscored
by the chorus additional patois refrains, which, although not performed by
McClurkin, are sometimes sung in Jamaican country churches.
Me slip and me slide and me rock upon Jesus.
Jesus name so sweet.
Me dilly and me dally and me rock upon Jesus.
Jesus name so sweet.
He concludes the medley by returning to Ive Got My Mind Made Up.

However, before the nal repetitions of this chorus, the instrumentalists suspend the classic reggae groove as McClurkin tells one of his coperformers,
Okay, Juanita, we sing it like this. He then shifts gears by slowing the tempo
and inserting the chorus of the traditional gospel hymn Oh, I Want to See
Him. During this hymn, the singer reverts to his celebrated R&B-inuenced
contemporary vocal style, and the rhythm section backs him with a smooth, un-
/ 47
derstated accompaniment reminiscent of the sound of African American church

music. Although McClurkins prefatory remark, We sing it like this, reveals to
the audience his awareness of the cultural difference between himself and the
audience, collective participation in the medley ultimately helps to foreground
the common spiritual ground between them. By sandwiching this hymn within
the medleys reggae choruses, McClurkin thus skillfully appropriates the contrast between Jamaican and African American styles of gospel expression.
Both the audio and video recordings of McClurkins performance fade out
on Fire, Fall on Me, leaving the listener (or viewer) to imagine the continuing
moments of celebratory praise induced by the Caribbean Medley and heightened by its nal piece. McClurkin eventually introduces the next song with remarks that once again reveal his ability to manipulate cultural musical difference and effectively evoke place through musical sound.
Well, thats how you all do it in England and in Jamaica. Now I gotta take you to
my home. Im a-show you how we do it in Perfecting Church in Detroit, Michigan, where the pastor and founder is Marvin L. Winans!
McClurkin sings the last phrase, placing special emphasis on the churchs pastor, a renowned contemporary African American gospel singer who later makes
a guest appearance during the concert. After the short introduction, the band
begins a bass-heavy funk groove, setting the stage for McClurkins next piece,
Hail, King Jesus. Although McClurkin portrays this piece as emblematic of
African American gospel expression, the songs musical style is viewed by more
conservative African American Pentecostals as too worldly because of its perceived similarity to secular hip-hop genres. In fact, the musical styles of McClurkin and other African American gospel artists such as Kirk Franklin are often deemed wholly inappropriate for use in a Pentecostal church context. While
these styles, sometimes referred to as hip-hop gospel or holy hip-hop, may
succeed in expressing an African American cultural identity, they fail to resonate with the religious identities of African American Pentecostals who fear
the loss or contamination of the gospel tradition that they experience as vital to
their contemporary practice.
I mention the interplay between religious and cultural identities among
African Americans because it bears some resemblance to musical negotiations
of identity among Jamaican Pentecostals. There is indeed a fascinating tension
that arises between the way in which McClurkin employs musical style in his
Caribbean Medley to signify cultural distinctiveness and the manner in
48
which many Jamaican churchgoers use it to assert their Pentecostals identities.

The Jamaican Pentecostals I interviewed express great pride in their Jamaicanness. Moreover, they are adamant in their belief that their Pentecostal faith
does not in any way make them less Jamaican, even though their standard of
holiness prohibits involvement in certain quintessential Jamaican musical genres. Although many Jamaican Pentecostals nd the classic reggae style of McClurkins medley entertaining in a concert setting or for radio listening, such a
style is rarely performed during actual church worship. The same choruses are
often sung, but the rhythmic accompaniment does not draw so obviously on a
classic 1970s reggae sound, because it evokes images of the contemporary
dancehall (where this style is still featured), Bob Marley, ganja smoking, and
Rastafarianism.
In Jamaicas Pentecostal churches, traditional choruses are typically sung at
a slightly slower tempo than that employed by McClurkin, albeit with a denser,
more quickly moving underlying accompaniment. Pentecostal church musicians sometimes described their style to me as old R&B or ska, referring to
the commercial popular music genre that developed on the island during the
late 1950s and 1960s. At Mount Olivet and Riversdale Pentecostal Church, I was
often impressed by the ska-like rhythmic accompaniment that characterizes
most of the up-tempo singing.
In some cases, Pentecostals take issue with both the musical style and the
use of Jamaican patois in a traditional chorus. Although preachers do occasionally switch into patois during sermons, hymns and choruses are nearly always sung in Standard English, which is viewed as the more respectable language within Jamaican society. The tendency to steer clear of Jamaican patois in
sung expression may indicate a desire to avoid the social stigma historically attached to Pentecostal musical and bodily expressions. To illustrate this point
further, we need only reexamine McClurkins performance of Jesus Name So
Sweet. While most of the Jamaican Pentecostals to whom I spoke are familiar
with the patois versions of the chorus, I rarely heard these lyrics during church
services. Some pastors to whom I spoke expressed negative views of McClurkins medley. For example, one referred to it as a tacky Jamaican imitation. Another pastor took issue with the use of the phrase Every rock me rock
upon Jesus. It doesnt mean anything, she complained in response to my
question about the signicance of the lyrics. Its just some words they throw
together! Among conservative congregations, praise and worship moderators
choose lyrics closer to Standard English, such as Every time I talk about Jesus,
Jesus name so sweet, after which they generally repeat the initial couplet.
/ 49
Near the conclusion of a service I attended at Mount Olivet, a group of

teenagers began singing the chorus as some congregants stood at the altar seeking the inlling of the Holy Spirit. They began with a traditional rendition of
the lyrics, but then, feeling uninhibited since the service was nearly over, they
switched into patois versions of the chorus. Picking up on this shift and being
familiar with McClurkins recording, the instrumentalists began playing a
dancehall reggae accompaniment. By this time, the Spirit inllings and
rellings had already taken place, and most congregants were simply rejoicing
in the Lord, enjoying the celebratory aspects of Pentecostal musical praise.
However, Pastor Orie, who had been trying for the past ten minutes or so to
calm things down and stop the musicians from playing so he could dismiss service with prayer, gestured more urgently for the musicians to stop.Okay, okay,
he admonished, were getting carried away. Lets stick to the original. We want
the Holy Ghost to always be in control. For Pastor Orie, as well as for many of
the congregants, the musical style of the chorus had begun to get too worldly,
crossing the boundary of appropriate church music.
fun in the son: gospel reggae, concerts, and

popular entertainment
In February 2002, when I arrived on Jamaicas north coast to begin my eldwork, I quickly gained a sense of the popularity of discourses concerning
worldly and holy expressive behavior. In the local paper The Western Mirror, an
article announcing the opening of a new adult nightclub called Pleasure
Dome was placed adjacent to a poem entitled Christianity versus Heathenism, which called for the espousal of a holier, more biblically based
lifestyle among Jamaicas citizens. The journalistic juxtaposition of these two
pieces indexed for me a moral dichotomy that is particularly discernible among
the islands evangelical Christians and also present within the broader Jamaican
society.
What reinforced my sense of the pervasiveness of this dichotomy between
the church and the world was that Jamaicas tourist sectors were in the process
of gearing up for the annual return of Spring Breakers, many of whom would
be college students from the United States. According to the Jamaica Gleaner,
the spring break season usually lasts for six weeks beginning in mid-February
and attracts more than 50,000 college students annually.5 Each year, this contingent of party-hungry foreigners faithfully descends on Jamaican resorts in
and around Negril, Montego Bay, and Ocho Rios, where all-inclusive resorts,
50
such as Sandals, Breezes, Club Ambiance, and Hedonism, cater to pleasureseeking young adults who crave fun and romance in an exotic locale. While
local news reports highlighted the positive impact of tourism on the Jamaican
economy, commentators expressed concerns felt by many Christians that the
tourists were having a negative moral impact on Jamaican society. Another article in the Gleaner commented on the history of lewd and excessive conduct
among visiting Spring Breakers who reportedly stripped naked and used their
tongues to clean whip cream [sic] from each others bodies, while a large crowd
cheered them on at a popular establishment in Montego Bay.6 Following a
great deal of public complaint, the Jamaica Tourist Board and the Jamaica Hotel and Tourist Association issued a code of conduct discouraging sexually explicit acts among patrons and threatening to take severe actions against establishments that allowed them.
By March 2002, the Jamaica Tourist Board launched the countrys rst
gospel spring festival, entitled Fun in the Son. This three-week festival is extremely popular among young Jamaican Pentecostals. For foreign tourists, it
offers a spiritually acceptable alternative to the rowdy party scene usually associated with Spring Break. Fun in the Son features Jamaican gospel artists such
as Carlene Davis, Papa San, Stitchie, Grace Thrillers, Prodigal Son, and Robert
and Genieve Bailey, as well as internationally known African American gospel
performers such as Hezekiah Walker and Ron Kenoly. The festival provides a
charismatic Christian dancehall space in which participants enjoy intense bodily participationjumping and waving their arms to the sounds of gospel reggae. However, for some conservative Pentecostals, Fun in the Son overemphasizes the celebratory aspects of musical praise, tickling the ears of participants
but failing to minister to their spiritual needs. It is wrong, they say, to engage in
musical practices that so closely resemble those of the secular dancehall.
The music of secular dancehall artists such as Beenie Man, Bounty Killer,
Lady Saw, and Buju Banton is considered too worldly for inclusion in either
worship services or gospel concerts. However, since the mid-1990s, a number of
dancehall artists have converted to Christianity and begun recording gospel
reggae songs featuring dancehall rhythms set to Christian lyrics. Gospel reggae
artists such as Stitchie, Papa San, and Judy Mowatt have renewed their images
and reestablished themselves as legitimate gospel artists. However, as Stolzoff
notes, some critics question the sincerity of these conversions and suspect that
they constitute nothing more than a savvy marketing ploy to capture the untapped demand for dancehall music among Christian teenagers whose parents
forbid them to listen to mainstream dancehall music.7 Beenie Mans parodic
/ 51
rendition of Gospel Time, conspicuously positioned as the rst track on his

CD, no doubt represents both a marketing strategy and also a tongue-in-cheek
response to dancehall artists who, unlike him, claim to have converted.8
Some Pentecostals to whom I spoke feel that certain musical styles, especially gospel reggae, are simply too worldly and therefore unacceptable irrespective of the contextual frame in which they are performed. Most Pentecostal
pastors simply view gospel reggae as too stylistically distant from the hymns
and choruses of the Pentecostal tradition to be used in the worship service.
Cheryl, age thirty-two, serves as youth president in her organization. When I
asked her about the styles she felt were appropriate in her church, located near
Montego Bay, she replied,
Churches use different styles. For example, we use a lot of hymns for congregational singing . . . Its my personal conviction. There are a lot of different styles
churches use. It really depends on the focus you want to get. Reggae doesnt t.
It crosses the line for me.
Nonetheless, some Pentecostals deem gospel reggae appropriate within a festival or concert frame because it helps to attract young people and keep them in
the church.
Most Jamaican Pentecostal pastors I have encountered teach against wearing makeup, jewelry, chemically straightened hair, and pants, establishing a set
of prohibitions that have to do mostly with the comportment of women and
girls. African Caribbean Pentecostal women differ from their African American
counterparts in that the latter are much more likely to have straightened hair.
Beyond that, there is a great deal of variation in the degree to which Pentecostal
congregations adhere to specic rules concerning dress.
Among the saints, there is often considerable debate regarding the necessity
of women abstaining from wearing pants, cosmetics, and jewelry. Although
Pentecostal organizations sometimes exert inuence over the way in which
holiness is interpreted, it is typically the pastor who establishes the dress code
for his or her congregation. Liberal-minded Pentecostals sometimes view the
dress code as old-fashioned, too rigid, legalistic, and lacking a sound biblical
basis. They argue that the code is overly dependent on man-made traditions
and has become an unnecessary hindrance to the growth of Pentecostal
churches. More conservative Pentecostals cite biblical mandates to lift up a
standard (Isaiah 59:19, 62:10), stressing that while holiness is a matter of ones
heart and not dened by dress, it should manifest itself through ones daily
52
comportment, including outward appearance. Moreover, it is largely through

the dress code that Pentecostals seek to distinguish themselves from the world
of popular culture. Preachers often lament the fact that some saints are too eager to adopt fashionable practices, many of which stem from the United States.
Thus, for many African Caribbean Pentecostals, upholding the standard involves preserving ones island identity and maintaining a critical distance from
things negatively associated with the United States.
Some women have told me that they follow a stringent dress code purely
out of obedience to their pastor. Others adopt the holiness standard wholeheartedly, particularly when they view immodest apparel as an unwanted reminder of their preconversion lifestyle. I have spoken to several Pentecostal
women who adhere to the dress code because they feel a need to maintain the
Pentecostal tradition handed down to them by their mothers and grandmothers. For these women, the standard of holiness is a sacrice to God that they
view as a sign of virtue and humility.
Given the fact that dress codes seem more prohibitive for women than for
men, I asked Sister Wright whether she felt holiness standards make it harder
for girls than boys to stay committed to the church. No, its the same, she insisted, because boys have more peer pressure to get sexually involved. One of
the reasons women strongly outnumber men in most Pentecostal churches may
be that secular symbols of womanhood do not clash as harshly with Pentecostal
holiness standards as do symbols of masculinity, which include alcoholic
drinking, gambling, and sex outside of marriage. As Austin-Broos notes, The
moral signs indicative of being a clean vessel . . . bear on why [Pentecostal]
practitioners are more often women than men.9
The disproportionately large number of males in church leadership roles
no doubt reects a long-standing gender bias in the broader society. However,
as Austin-Broos suggests, the assertion of a patriarchal status [through a leadership role] mitigates the inevitable denial of [other] signs of masculinity.10 I
would add that musical participation, particularly instrumental performance,
is also a highly signicant way through which Pentecostal men derive a sense of
empowerment, a vehicle for self-expression, and a vital means of male bonding
within an overwhelmingly female socioreligious context.
Sister Wright also spoke to me about the temptations of worldly music,
which she dened as the reggae beat. She explained, Sometimes you hear it
[on a sound system] and you want to start moving [imitates secular dance
moves]. And the children have it hard because the bus driver and the car driver
could play music loud, and you cant ask them to turn it down! When I asked
/ 53
Sister Wright about the kinds of gospel music she dislikes, she responded, Calypso . . . I dont like the calypso. By this, she referred to the genre known as
gospel reggae, which is enormously popular among young Pentecostals but
often critiqued by elders because of its dancehall-inuenced characteristics.
I had the opportunity to speak with Pastor Orie on several occasions during my three-month stay in Liliput. I was most struck by his commitment to the
hard work of evangelism. I never wanted to pastor, he admitted during one
interview. The most important thing is for people outside the church to get
saved. We spend too much time sitting down inside the church. Noticing that
there were no Pentecostal churches in Liliput, he originally came to the area
with the hope simply to reach lost souls by teaching and preaching the Word of
God. During one early-morning prayer meeting in 1998, when a lady was lled
with the Holy Spirit, Pastor Orie became inspired to continue his work. The
church land was donated by a man who lived nearby in a small, one-room
house. I feel God sent you here, the man had said, so Im gonna give you this
land. Pastor Orie concluded that it was Gods will for Mount Olivet to be established in its current locale. The biggest source of frustration for Pastor Orie
is that he lacks the money to go out and preach like he wants. There are a lot
of areas, he insisted, that need to hear the gospel. Therefore, he prays for the
means to purchase a truck so that he can carry the Christian message to more
people.
Although Mount Olivet is considered a mainstream church because of its
nominal afliation with the United Pentecostal Church (UPC), this U.S.-based
organization does not extend to Pastor Orie any nancial support. In fact,
Mount Olivet was built using money mostly from his own pockets. The saints
here dont have much, he explained. He noted that the UPC churches in Jamaica are not that well organized, particularly in terms of actively maintaining ties to sister churches in Jamaica and to the international headquarters in
the United States. Consequently, the construction of new churches, such as
Mount Olivet, is often undertaken without organizational oversight and sometimes lacks even local support from other churches on the island.
The Jamaican UPC churches meet twice a year, during February and August. Pastor Orie dreams of someday attending an international UPC convention in the United States and hopes that his ministry might receive a nancial
boost through organizational channels. Despite serious difculties, Pastor Orie
expressed his plans to continue expanding his work in Jamaica by building a
new edice in the upcoming months. We have to go out and claim the land,
he often preaches, referring to the Old Testament Israelites mission to occupy
54
enemy territories.11 We have a lot of work that need to be done, just like in
America.
Notes
1. Bilby, Jamaica, 170.
2. Austin-Broos, Jamaica Genesis.
3. Jamaica Gleaner, October 23, 2000, http://www.jamaica-gleaner.com/gleaner/
20001023/star/star1.html
4. The video version of the concert shows McClurkin rst asking for applause from
various African and African Caribbean ethnicities. He solicits responses from Barbadians, Trinidadians, and St. Lucians before nally asking the Jamaicans in the audience,
whom he apparently knows to be in the majority, to show themselves by applauding. After their enthusiastic response, McClurkin proceeds to introduce the medley of Jamaican songs.
5. Jamaica Gleaner, March 21, 2003.
6. Jamaica Gleaner, March 21, 2002.
7. Stolzoff, Wake the Town, 268 n. 4.
8. This kind of intertextual dialogue across the sacred-secular divide goes in both
directions, as gospel reggae artists sometimes mention secular dancehall DJs on recordings and in live performances. I see the musically embedded conversations that take
place among Jamaican singers as a kind of signifying practice common throughout the
African diaspora. See Gates, Signifying Monkey.
9. Austin-Broos, Jamaica Genesis, 123.
10. Ibid.
11. Num. 13:2630; Josh. 1:111.
Bibliography
Austin-Broos, Diane J. Jamaica Genesis: Religion and the Politics of Moral Orders.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1997.
Bilby, Kenneth. Jamaica. In Caribbean Currents: Caribbean Music from Rumba to Reggae, edited by Peter Manuel. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1995.
Gates, Henry Louis, Jr. The Signifying Monkey: A Theory of Afro-American Literary Criticism. New York: Oxford University Press, 1988.
Stolzoff, Norman C. Wake the Town and Tell the People: Dancehall Culture in Jamaica.
Durham: Duke University Press, 2000.
The Women Have on All Their Clothes:

Reading the Texts of Holy Hip-Hop
deborah smith pollard
Hip-hop, a billion-dollar global phenomenon comprised of grafti art,

turntable artistry, break dancing, and rap, has evoked some of the most complex and incendiary public discourse of the last thirty years. With music and
cultural critics citing rap musics role in educating youth and in showcasing the
pro-woman lyrical power of some female emcees, on one hand, and the media focusing on the violence, misogyny, and materialism, on the other, it would
appear that the discussion could not possibly become more layered.1 However,
the inclusion of religious themes has added another, often more controversial
element to the discussion.
While references to the tenets of the Nation of Islam and the Five Percent
Nation, Rastafarianism, and Christianity can be found within some of the lyrics
of global rap music, the goal of this chapter is to focus exclusively on Christian
rap/holy hip-hop.2 The controversy arises from the fact that its fans and practitioners view the combination of these seemingly disparate formsthe gospel
of Jesus Christ and rapas providential, a means through which God intends
to reach the postcivil rights, post-R&B generation. In contrast, its detractors
view this amalgamation as sacrilegious. Despite what some view as the oxymoronic nature of holy hip-hop, a closer examination of the testimonies and
lyrics utilized by these artists reveals that their approach to the ministry is generation-specic in its packaging but age-old in purpose, that is, it mirrors, in
several of its performance elements, as well as in text and intentions, many of
the hallmarks of the Black Church and the African diaspora.
55
56
terminology
There are a number of names by which these performers are known, including
holy hip-hop artists, hip-hop gospel artists, Christian rappers, gospel rappers,
Christian emcees, and poetic evangelists. However, there are others who prefer
simply to be known as hip-hop artists or rappers. Because there is no unanimity
regarding the label, in this chapter, I use holy hip-hop (HHH) or Christian rap
to refer to the performance genre of all of the artists who use elements of hiphop, especially rap, as a vehicle for disseminating the gospel message.
The reasons why individuals gravitate toward one label and shy away from
another are almost as numerous as the artists themselves. Some are reluctant to
use anything that announces their afliation with gospel, because they nd
they are often dismissed before they can get a fair hearing, particularly by those
who think Christian rap would have to be, by denition, tedious and boring or
by those who remember the awkward early days of the genre. Others shun what
they consider a limiting descriptor, not because they are ashamed of their faith,
but because their music often ends up in CD racks next to gospel artists who
sing quartet or choir music when they would prefer to be placed with performers like Jay-Z, Kanye West, and other artists who are known for their verbal
skills. The consumers that buy that music are the audience they hope to attract.
Among those who have embraced the use of adjectives to designate the kind
of rap they present is William Duce Branch. A native New Yorker, Branch has
been part of the holy hip-hop movement for more than fteen years, rst as
half of a Christian rap duo, Children of Life, and then as a founding member
and primary spokesperson for the Cross Movement, a highly popular and critically acclaimed Philadelphia-based group.3 The Ambassador has perhaps
taken more time than most to contemplate what can happen when hip-hop
and religion converge, having written his masters thesis, The Theological Implications of Hip-Hop, at Dallas Theological Seminary. During an interview
with Gospelava.com about his 2005 solo release, The Thesis, he explained
why he nds using modiers around the word hip-hop a positive step for those
who minister through this musical form.
First of all, the Bible has not called us to destroy everything in the world . . .
Placing an adjective on it has altered this Hip Hop. We have termed it Christian
Hip Hop or Holy Hip Hop. Thats our way of changing it. So we dont change
Hip Hop. Thats just another earthly topic. Weve modied it. Some people
dont want to place Holy or Christian in front of it. They just want it to be Hip
The Women Have on All Their Clothes
/ 57
Hop. We have done it because we believe that the modication in light of what
Hip Hop is makes you think. When you hear it, you think of all the things that
are not related to God. We gladly added the term Christian to Hip Hop to let
them know to expect something different from us.4
The term Holy Hip Hop has been attributed to two men, Danny Wilson and
eDDie Velez (Da Preachin Puerto Rican), who founded a conference and
awards program in the late 1990s. On their Holy Hip Hop Web site are the following words: Our mission statement, since 1997, is to Take the Gospel to the
Streets through the global proliferation of Spiritually-Enlightening Holy Hip
Hop Ministry, Music & Entertainment Glorifying Christ.5 Over the years, a
number of Christian rappers and fans, including many not ofcially afliated
with the organization, have come to embrace the term. Since its founding, Wilson and Velezs Holy Hip Hop ministry has grown to encompass a weekly syndicated radio program; a series of compilation CDs called Holy Hip Hop: Taking the Gospel to the Streets, distributed by EMI and featuring Christian rappers
from around the country; and alliances with a variety of other individuals interested in promoting Christian rap.6
There are those who disagree with The Ambassador and the founders of the
Holy Hip Hop ministries about the use of adjectives to describe the genre.
Among them is Detroiter Jason Wilson, who previously performed and produced secular hip-hop as a member of Kaos and Mystro. The duo was popular
throughout the Midwest in the 1980s and early 1990s and even had spot dates as
the opening act for Public Enemy, whose music they sometimes sampled. After
rededicating his life to God, Wilson thought he would have to leave hip-hop behind, until he heard, through the performance and ministry of The Ambassador, that rap could be used effectively and artistically by Christians.7 Today,
using the name Maji, Wilson is a founding member of The Yuinon (pronounced union), which brings together various artists, producers, and others
who see rap as an evangelistic tool. He has produced gospel-themed hip-hop
for locally based and national artists, including The Ambassador. His response
to the question of nomenclature was this:
I try not to use any terms besides Hip Hop. Because of those titles [holy,
Christian, etc.] holy hip hop has limited its territory and hindered its possibilities to be effectively used as a tool for ministering to the unsaved. When Eric
B & Rakim came out, no one referred to their brand of music as 5 Percenter
Hip Hop. Or when Public Enemy came out, no one referred to their music as
58
Black Power Hip Hop. It was just Hip Hop. So I simply call our genre Hip
Hop. But the individuals who rap are Christians.8
It is worth noting that while Maji personally avoids using certain adjectives, the
Web site for The Yuinon states that their recording division strives to produce
quality Christian hip-hop music that will challenge, encourage and address
heartfelt needs and social issues.9
Still another Detroiter offers a different perspective. Kimberly Williams, a
seventeen-year veteran of the gospel music industry, was introduced to presenting the gospel publicly as part of her familys traditional singing group and
as an instrumentalist for her fathers church. The founder of G-Praize Music, a
full-service marketing and promotions company, she has represented a variety
of national artists, including Lisa McClendon and many performers who are
part of Cross Movement Records. In the 1990s, she worked for Crystal Rose
Records; while there, in 2003, she coordinated the nationally released compilation Pure Flava/Pure Gospel, featuring urban and hip-hop gospel performances.10 Williams, who raps and performs spoken word under the name Kiwi,
calls what she performs Christian hip-hop.
I think it ows better with any other genre we havegospel jazz, Christian
rock. I think the term holy hip hop is over the top. Maybe its my upbringing
and the whole holier than thou thing. I think your lifestyle and your lyrics and
ministry will speak for itself. That goes back to the argument that some present
to just call it hip hop. After all, you dont say Christian boxer.11
cultural and historical linkages

According to such scholars as Teresa L. Reed and Anthony B. Pinn, there has always been an intertwining of the sacred and the secular in Black music, despite
the consternation that the fusion has often created.12 Reed traces this melding
to the African continent, where there was no sacred/secular dichotomy prior to
contact with Western mores.13 Religious themes have often surfaced in Black
secular music, whether one examines the lyrics of work songs, blues, jazz, R&B,
or soul. Similarly, the Negro spiritual and traditional and contemporary gospel
music owe much to their secular cousins, since each form has a nonsacred
counterpart, including the gospel blues that bluesman turned gospel pioneer
Thomas A. Dorsey created and the contemporary sounds of gospel made famous by Edwin Hawkins and Andrae Crouch, which were heavily inuenced by
/ 59
the R&B and jazz they heard as teens in California. Of course, the list of contemporary performers who were trained in the Black Church and whose vocals
reect that inuence includes such notable gures as Aretha Franklin and Al
Green as well as Beyonce Knowles and Fantasia.14
The importance of the spoken word throughout the African diaspora is another reason rap and gospel music were bound to cross paths. Linguist Geneva
Smitherman writes that admiration for those who handle language with dexterity and power has its roots in Africa, where respect for the well-turned phrase
and the phrase turner is pervasive. The oral tradition, then, as Smitherman describes it in Talkin and Testifyin, is one of the cultural elements the African
brought to the New World, a component that has survived both the Middle Passage and four centuries of contact with European-Americans. She explains,
The pre-slavery background was one in which the concept of Nommo, the
magic power of the Word, was believed necessary to actualize life and give man
mastery over things . . . In traditional African culture, a newborn child is a mere
thing until his father gives and speaks his name. No medicine, potion, or magic
of any sort is considered effective without accompanying words.15
The reverence for competent speakers within the Black Church tradition
connects the contemporary African American with his forerunners who worshiped in the praise houses and invisible churches of two centuries ago.
Within the slave community, there was an ample supply of impressive speech,
much of it generated by the Black preacher who was held in high esteem because of his rhetorical prowess.16 In Gods Trombones, poet James Weldon Johnson pays tribute to these traditional Black sons of thunder, as they were often
called.
The old-time preacher of parts was above all an orator, and in good measure an
actor. He knew the secret of oratory, that at bottom it is a progression of rhythmic words more than it is anything else. Indeed, I have witnessed congregations
moved to ecstasy by the rhythmic intoning of sheer incoherencies. He was a
master of all the modes of eloquence. He often possessed a voice that was a
marvelous instrument, a voice he could modulate from a sepulchral whisper to
a crashing thunder clap.17
Because this affection for verbal prowess runs throughout African American
history and culture, individuals who are as different as preachers and poets,
60
bluesmen and Gospel-ettes, testiers and toast-tellers, reverends and revolutionaries are unied in their ability to rap and by the communitys appreciation of their gift.18
Even a supercial glance at the history of the traditional Black Church reveals a deep reverence for the speaker and the spoken word. The apex of the
worship event is, of course, the preaching of the sermon, or the delivery of the
message, usually by the pastor or spiritual leader of the congregation, as documented by such researchers as Arthur Paris in Black Pentecostalism and Walter
Pitts in Old Ship of Zion, who examines the Afro-Baptist worship experience.19
Everything that comes before the sermonthe devotional service, with its uttered prayers and testimonies, as well as the music from the congregation and
choirspaves the way for this pivotal juncture of the worship, according to
Pariss research.20 As a Baptist pastors daughter, I have attended countless
church services and made note of the fact that there is often a special stance
taken by the members of the usher board as the sermonic Bible scripture is read
and as the pastors take their text, that is, as they announce the title and direction of their message. The ushers prevent departures and entrances of any kind
during that period, and they often stand in a linear formation, cross right hand
over left, and then place both over their hearts in indication of the sacredness of
the moment.
As for the preachers themselves, special designations are given to those who
are particularly adept at delivering the sermon according to cultural guidelines.
A particularly competent preacher may be described as a whooper (a term
that refers to a particular style of preaching and a unique sound made during
the process), a bench walker, or somebodys preacher (that is, a competent
minister whom people gladly claim as their own). Grace Sims Holt, in the article Stylin Outta the Black Pulpit, offers the terms soul jerkers and spellbinders
as descriptive titles given to Black preachers who use a range of rhetorical devices in order to captivate their audiences.21
Those who protest the fact that holy hip-hoppers utilize the vernacular to
minister to their generation should consider that the successfully performed
Black sermon usually contains what Gerald Davis calls the weighted secular
factor. Davis argues that the traditional Black sermon is rooted in an
identiable African American aesthetic system, or systems, one which supports the production and perpetuation of both folk and popular performances.22 After evaluating sermons by a number of Black preachers, Davis reported that there are indeed specic characteristics for the performed
traditional Black sermon. These sermonic elements (with provisions made for
/ 61
individual innovation) include a primary focus on language and meter, as exemplied by syntactic harmony, repetition, parallelism, and rhyme;23 elaboration and illustration achieved through the use of independent narrative blocks
that are linked by thematic bridges;24 the utilization of vernacular and contemporaneity, otherwise known as the weighted secular factor;25 and the employment of sermonphones, including the single word, the phrase, the nonarticulated sermonphone (grunts, groans, and hums), and the sound-absent
sermonphoneall of which serve a variety of semantic purposes.26 While some
of these elements are virtually synonymous with the performed traditional
Black sermon, many of these rhetorical devices are also at the heart of what the
most skilled Christian rappers deliver to their audiences.
Over time, gospel music performers created their own speech traditions. In
fact, Pearl Williams-Jones and Mellonee Burnim demonstrated, in their separate research, that gospel music is comprised of Black forms of music, dance,
and spoken word.27 The speech practices include, but are not conned to, song
introductions, testimonies that might be interjected at any point within a song,
the work of gospel radio announcers and live-event emcees, narratives such as
those told by the extraordinary storytellers Shirley Caesar and Dorothy Norwood, and call-and-response patterns used to involve congregations in musical
program or services.28 The oral customs also include the use of prayers and
scriptures for a variety of reasons, among them the transformation of otherwise secular spaces, such as auditoriums and amphitheaters where gospel concerts are presented, into churches.29 The phrases are often a combination of
words taken from Black sacred repertoire as well as idiomatic expressions from
Black secular culture that constitute what Smitherman refers to as Black Semantics.30 Since the mid-1980s, the gospel community has often heard those
expressions presented in the form of rap.
the convergence of hip-hop and gospel

Holy hip-hop can be seen as a logical, virtually inevitable continuation of historical speech and musical patterns within the Black community in general and
the Black Church community in particular. Indeed, writes Horace C. Boyer,
many gospel music lovers insist that African American preachers were the rst
rappers and that gospel rappers have been long overdue.31 Simultaneously, it is
a sacred adaptation of what the Sugar Hill Gang rst commercialized in 1979
with the release of Rappers Delight. By the mid-1980s, the long overdue experiments with holy hip-hop began. The late Tim Smith, a Detroit-based pio-
62
neer in playing holy hip-hop on radio and a writer for several national music
publications, responded to the question of his earliest memories of Christian
rap by recalling Scott Blackwell, a prominent club DJ in New York, taking a sermon and putting beats behind it in the 1980s. It was so cool, he remembered.
And its like, This is what I hear on Sunday morning. Same thing.32
Both the allmusic.com Web site and Breakaway online magazine place
Stephen Wiley and Michael Peace as the pioneers of Christian rap, with their respective Bible Break and Rock It Right albums.33 In a one-line summary of Wileys contributions placed on allmusic.com, Bill Carpenter, author and music reviewer, calls Wileys work lightweight.34 Smith, who recalled that Wiley wore
suits when he performed, described his raps as having a homogenized sound:
It didnt have the heavy beats that you hear from Gospel Gangstaz [a popular
HHH group], people like that. It sounded like Mary Had A Little Lamb with uh,
you know, Im being real! It sounded like Mary Had A Little Lamb with a bit of
an edge to it. And that was our introduction to Christian rap.35
Whatever some may have felt Wileys performances lacked, there was apparently a market for it, since its sales placed it among the top ve on the CCM
(Contemporary Christian Music) charts, as Smith remembered. Michael Peace,
just a bit later in the 1980s, introduced the hard-edge rap sound for that time,
marked by what Smith described as his beats, his delivery . . . his street look.36
Not readily received by the church, Peace reached out to those on the streets
and worked with urban ministers and rapped to youth in schools, gyms, and
anywhere else they would have him.37 Eventually, Kiwi recalls, these earliest
gospel rappers were followed by a new generation, many of whom were signed
to record deals: A-1 Swift (Gospocentric Records/B-Rite Music), Transformation Crusade (Benson Music), dc Talk (Forefront Records), and E.T.W.End
Time Warriors (Forefront Records).38
In their willingness to stand on street corners and evangelize if necessary,
many of those who are involved in holy hip-hop are a link to the past. From its
emergence at the end of the nineteenth century through much of the rst half
of the twentieth century, gospel music was used primarily as an evangelistic
tool within the context of church services, of course, but also during outdoor
revivals, tent meetings, and other less-structured settings.39 Many of todays
Christian rappers continue that tradition of takin it to the streets for at least
two reasons: it allows them access to youth who would not ordinarily walk into
churches, and it provides alternative platforms for their alternative ministry.
Today, unlike the early days of HHH, where the majority of sanctuaries were
closed to them, the venues that welcome Christian rappers are multiplying
every year. Both mainstream and Christian media, including the New York
/ 63
Times and Charisma, corroborate what I have found in my own research:

churches around the country are now sponsoring holy hip-hop artists and services and even starting their own record labels in order to support the talented
youth from their congregations.40 These churches, along with the various music concerts, festivals, and conferences that feature HHH, have helped the genre
to attract a wider audience.41
priming the mainstream for holy hip-hop

The artist who has assisted HHH the most in commanding more attention
from mainstream media and conservative churchgoers is Kirk Franklin. This
composer, arranger, producer, pianist, and rapper (he only occasionally sings)
has a backstory that is dramatic enough to be adapted for the big screen, which
is in the planning stage. Neglected by his teenage mother, he was raised by his
great aunt and uncle. Mesmerized by his uncles piano playing, Franklin himself began playing by the time he was four. Taken to church by his great aunt
several times a week, he was already directing, playing piano, and arranging for
choirs when he was a teenager. Acting out in a variety of ways to prove that he
was as tough as the bigger guys despite his slight stature, he became a teen parent and a high school dropout. Despite these detours, his prodigious talents
caught the attention of Milton Biggham of the Georgia Mass Choir and Gospel
Music Workshop of America, Inc. But it was when he met Vickie Mack Lataillade, founder of Gospocentric Records, that history was made.42
Franklin has reportedly sold twelve million recordings, making him the
most successful gospel artist in contemporary history.43 His music ranges from
his rst hit single, a ballad called Why We Sing, to his song with the widest
crossover appeal, Stomp, from the recording Gods Property from Kirk
Franklins Nu Nation, which reportedly sold 4.5 million copies and layers old
George Clinton funk, rap, and a gospel message. His album The Nu Nation
Project (Gospocentric Records, 2001), the rst recording by a gospel artist to
ship platinum, typies the urban, in-your-face, not-your-mothers gospel music Franklin has produced.
Like his hip, singing colleagues, including Mary Mary and Tonex,
Franklin has been mistaken by the public as a hip-hop artist.44 Undoubtedly,
these and similar gospel performers include elements of hip-hop in their presentations, including rap, attire, and dance. However, as is the case with his
singing peers, the majority of Franklins music is appropriate for and widely
used in thousands of Black churches during the Sunday morning worship experience. His being viewed as an HHH performer is understandable, since
64
some of his biggest hit singles (e.g., Stomp and The Revolution) reect his
upbringing as a self-described church boy as well as his earlier career as a
break-dancer known as Kid Fresh.
The Revolution, from The Nu Nation Project, is a prime example of how
Franklin visually and textually has layered the traditional gospel message with
hip-hop elements. The young people with whom I conducted feedback interviews reported that both the CD version and the video work to attract hip-hop
headz for several reasons: the incessant beats are there, it has the look of an
R&B/hip-hop video (quick cuts, multiple outts on the main artist, various
performance scenarios, and stylized choreography), and the featured rapper is
the esteemed hit-making producer Rodney Darkchild Jerkins, whose long list
of credits includes Michael Jackson, Destinys Child, and Mary Mary.45
Clearly, the hook for the hip-hop loversand the distancing device for
those who are notis the attire, the dancers, and the rap. These components allow Franklin to approach a new audience without looking or sounding radically different from them. In two of the three video scenes in The Revolution,
he and the singer/dancers perform with the casual/athletic wear popularized by
hip-hop culture. The choreography reects Franklins break-dancing career in
that it is far more street than sanctuary, without being sexually provocative. The
movements are energeticat some points, the singer/dancers seem to bounce
on and off the ooryet it is never lurid, as both male and female participants
are clothed in unisex athletic wear.
However, just beyond these exterior aspects, there are layers of other texts
that allow this song to be viewed as an evangelistic tool. Franklin begins the
song and video by reciting a verse of scripture and engaging in a verbal exchange with one of the other young men in the production. He delivers words
from the King James Version of Revelation 7:1617 in his most dynamic sermonic style.
They shall hunger no more
Neither shall they thirst anymore . . .
For God shall wipe away
Every tear from their eye.
Interspersed between these phrases are the kind of Sunday morning responses
generally heard in the traditional Black Church while the woman or man of
God is delivering the Word. The listener and viewer are told from the onset of
the song and video that the focus is ministry through several elements, includ-
/ 65
ing the church-appropriate call-and-response and the directive from the young
speaker to Franklin to do what he was called to doPreach, preacher! Other
texts help to place the song within the gospel music tradition including a rap by
Franklin that encompasses some widely held Protestant doctrine regarding the
triune nature of God and the divinity of Jesus.
While at least one of the six feedback respondents found the dancing a distraction from the message, she did agree with the other ve that the gospel was
denitely discernible within The Revolution. The gospel message is also
identiable within the other hip-hop inuenced songs Franklin has recorded,
including Stomp, which features Cheryl Wray, formerly Salt of Salt-n-Pepa
fame, rapping on the urban remix.46
the cross movement

Unlike Kirk Franklin, members of the Cross Movement (CM), whose lyrics are
at the center of this investigation of Christian rap lyrics, are representative of
those who use HHH as their primary evangelistic tool. Still, they can be viewed
as unusual within the genre, in that they have experienced sales and other kinds
of success most of their colleagues have yet to garner. The group originally consisted of ve young men who were solo Christian rappers until 1995, when they
decided to combine their verbal skills and reach out to persons who were a
part of Hip Hop Culture like themselves but did not know God.47
The name Cross Movement initially covered three entities that had similar
missions but distinct personnel and ofcers. First was the performing group,
currently consisting of four performersThe Ambassador (William Branch),
Phanatik (Brady Goodwin), T.R.U.-L.I.F.E. (Virgil Byrd), and The Tonic (John
Wells)and the rap songs they write and perform. Second was Cross Movement Records (CMR), the brainchild of the Tonic and former CM member
Earthquake (an original member who now focuses on the label), who created
the independent label so that no one could ever ask an artist signed with the
label to water down the Gospel. Besides the namesake group, CMR is also
home to rappers Da Truth and Flame and singers J. R. and Michelle Bonilla.
Third was Cross Movement Ministries, headquartered in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, which emphasized teaching and disseminating the gospel and was
headed by The Ambassador and Phanatik.48 The latter was replaced in 2006 by
other initiatives, including ChristIaN Hip-Hopper.com, a Web site that aims to
articulate a philosophy for ministry and to serve as a site that groups a number
of effective Christian hip-hop ministries.49
66
Several music insiders have assessed the Cross Movement to be among the
most inuential artists within HHH. Kymo Dockett, a writer for Whats the
Word online magazine, explained, Whether you judge success based on the
number of lives reached for Christ, the number of albums sold, or the amount
of projects dropped, Cross Movement have quite remarkable stats on all three
fronts.50 The reasons for their three-pronged success are summarized by Jon
Corbin: The difference between this group and previous artists who had made
such an attempt was that these guys were actually good.51
the performance aesthetic

A live or video performance of the Cross Movementor of any other Christian
rap artist or groupinitially appears to have the same performance aesthetics
of any hip-hop concert: the artists in urban fashion, such as Timbs (Timberland boots), loosely worn jeans, and oversized shirts; a DJ mixer; and a hype
crowd of young and young-minded fans, attired like the artists they have come
to see, mouthing the words, and with hands raised or pumping the air as their
favorite rappers take the mic on an elevated stage. But when I made a presentation to a group of young teens at the Calvary Baptist Church in Salt Lake City,
Utah, in 2005 on this topic, I showed several videos, including When I Flow
(Its Gospel) by CM, The Revolution, by Kirk Franklin, and Ste Pon Di Enemy (Step on the Enemy) by Papa San. When I asked what made the performances holy and not just hip-hop, they replied, The women have on all their
clothes, an obvious reference to the sometimes scantily clothed and sometimes
virtually unclothed video vixens that usually populate the screen as fully clad
male rappers perform.
Kiwi explains, from her vantage point as an artist, what should be holy, sacred, or gospel about the genre: Lyrics, ministry and lifestyle, what any Christians lifestyle should be about. Unfortunately, once people think hip hop, their
minds will immediately go to what the media portrays hip hop to be, the 40s,
bootie shorts, and gyrating. So, the term is used to give a distinction, No, were
not about that. Were about lifting up Christ through this music.52 Maji, when
asked the same question, responded, Nothing is holy about our genre, but
there are some individuals in it that strive to live a Christian/holy/righteous
lifestyle. Because the attire, beats, and presentation are so similar to what is
found in nonreligious rap, lyrics become critical, since it is in the text that one
nds the message of the gospel.
/ 67
the lyrics
Holy hip-hop artists often perform songs in which they describe the sins and
conditions from which the Lord has delivered them. In this key way, they are as
much a part of the gospel music continuum as any choir members or quartet
singer. An oft-repeated oating lyric in the Black Church about having been
changed by God is He picked me up, turned me round, placed my feet on solid
ground. In the Cross Movements song Rise Up, the group offers a look back
at their lives before they accepted Christ and, after doing so, thanks God that
they are no longer involved in various godless pursuits, as they label them.
And though the world is godless we thank God that God has called us
From being ballers, and players, and pimps and alcoholics
Times are hard but even still we must run our hardest
Run like Forest, with a limp, but we run regardless! 53
Just as the apostle Paul could preach from experience about having a lifechanging encounter with Jesus Christ, some members of the holy hip-hop
community, including the Cross Movement, can do the same. The Tonic, for
example, who told a Washington Post interviewer that he had been a heavy
drinker in the past, said during that same interview, Look at us . . . We were violent, we were sexually immoral. We come from that, and look at how we
changed. In our eyes, were walking miracles.54 Because they have been
changed, they feel compelled to share the good news with others without delay,
according to Hebrews 12:12: Run with perseverance the race that is set before
us [the believer].
At the beginning of one of their most celebrated songs, Blood Spilla, The
Ambassador describes the mission of the group: Were the Cross Movement,
which is an alliance of born again believers in Jesus Christ that are trusting God
by His grace to become agents through whom Hes gonna advertise salvation
and also communicate His purpose for all of humanity.55 Though it is not the
norm for HHH songs to have a spoken introduction before the artists go into
the fast-paced rap that is characteristic of the genre, these opening words from
The Ambassador serve as both a mini description of their mission and a spiritual framing device for that which follows. This statement is reective of what
Christians call the Great Commission, a directive given by Jesus Christ as
recorded in Matthew 28:19: Go ye therefore, and teach all nations. The proof
68
that they have this specic objective is conveyed in the songs lyrics, which offer
a number of cultural and spiritual allusions, beginning with the application of
the words thrilla in Manila.
(2X) Its the thrilla in Manila
Jesus Christ versus every mans killa
Sin and deaths got the whole world gettin illa
But I praise God for the Blood Spilla
Here, the group alludes to the audacious young Muhammad Ali, who, in
1975 as he prepared to ght Joe Frazier, coined the memorable phrase thrilla
in Manila and then beat his opponent in a most humiliating fashion. The
Cross Movement is using cultural shorthand, making reference to an occurrence that is three decades old, in order to convey their spiritual assessment of
the contest between Jesus Christ and the twin adversaries of sin and death. It
is a face off that must occur for two reasons: because it is a key Biblical
prophecy and because, the group says, the world is getting further away from
doing what is right.56 Since the face off will result in the eradication of the two
ills that destroy mankind, they thank God for Jesus Christ, who will be triumphant over sin and death and who, according to Christian doctrine, shed
his blood for the redemption of humankind. He is the one referred to here by
CM as the Blood Spilla.
Eschatology, the study of the nal prophetic events mentioned in the Bible,
is another topic to which Christian rappers have applied their skills, as CM does
in Cry No More, one of their most infectious tracks to date. The song is based
on Revelations 21, the same section referred to in Franklins Revolution, in
which the promise is that in the world to come, the faithful will no longer cry,
because they will be removed from the sad things of this world and will live
eternally in the presence of God.
One day I wont cry no more
Cant wait for the day when people wont die no more
Daddys wont say, bye no more; lie no more
In the streets bullets wont y no more
Right after the very singable chorus from which these lines are taken, CM goes
into the spiritual reasons for wanting the prophecies to be fullled.
/ 69
One day we takin off baby and ever since the Lord saved me
Ive been waitin for the day we can say, its all gravy
Its all crazy tryin to see life when its all hazy
How can I persist to do right when Im all lazy?
Feel me? Too much pain it all ails me
Vexed, cause I can feel the effects of the Fall daily
The pain in my chest is strong, lets get on
Come Lord, quick, bring on the eschaton
End the search, start the new earth, ex your true worth
Honor your Son, let Him come, perfect the new birth
Within the lyrics lie references to several core Christian beliefs that a listener can follow without a biblical concordance. CM talks about the daily
struggles of earthly life that can be traced to the Fall of Adam and Eve. However, they explain their belief that there will come a time when this life ends and
Gods promised new earth will replace the current one, which is one of the central eschatological prophecies of the book of Revelation.57 The group does not
get embroiled in the pre-, post-, or midtribulation debates that center on
whether believers will go through certain challenges during the end times or be
spared from them altogether. Instead, they stick to the point on which all of
these groups agree: one day we takin off baby.Takin off ties into one of the
most persistent images in Black folktales and the traditional songs of the Black
Church: ying away to escape the troubles of this world.58 CM reminds their
listeners that believers in the gospel look forward to the establishment of a new
theocratically ruled world (Honor your Son; let Him come), where God will
give the true believers the ultimate reward for their faith and faithfulness: eternal life with him.
Another prevailing theme in gospel/Christian songs is the love believers
have for God, a reection of 1 John 4:19: We love Him because He rst loved
us. It is the same kind of personal love connection depicted in the Cross Movements Blood Spilla, which, while focusing on the sacricial death of Jesus
Christ, also articulates the profound reverence, love, and awe the group feels for
their Savior because of the price he paid to bring humankind back to God.
I step back to take a chill pill
just to let the thrills build
back up and now I have to say that I still feel
70
goo-goo about the one the crew brings to you

died to woo you and bring you back like part twoooh!
As expressive as these words are concerning the love the group members feel for
Christ, they are equally bold later in the song in drawing a line in the sand to
challenge those who suggest that their gods are on the same level as the God of
the Bible.
If its your God let him speak
Ill hide let him seek, Ill jump let him leap
Let him swim the deep. Did his blood leak?
Does your god love me?
Will he still propose even though I get ugly?
Can he turn trouble to ease?
Can his love make me weak in the knees like SWV?
If he can take the sins of the whole worldswallow em
Experience death then resurrect, then Ill follow him
But if he cant then Im stayin with my camp
We a pack of theocrats gettin amped cause our God is champ! 59
Using the language of love affairs, including talk of proposals and getting weak
in the knees, CM delivers lines that are simultaneously clever, vernacular, and
accessible.60 They are clever in that they take us back to the original allusion to
Muhammad Ali and the inevitable ght between God and Satan, vernacular in
the description of who the performers are (we a pack of theocrats gettin
amped), and therefore accessible in that they are able to attract those who nd
HHH at times either too didactic or not as skillfully created as the work produced by secular artists.61
As one reviewer explained, with clever wordplay and quality production,
The Cross Movement does not disappoint.62 These words can also be applied
to many of their peers, including Da Truth, Kiwi, Mahogany Jones, and the
artists of Reach Records, two of whom, Lecrae and Tedashii, made unprecedented debuts in the number one and number two slots on the gospel charts
with their respective releases Rebel (2008) and Identity Crisis (2009). The Dont
Waste Your Life tour, featuring these two high-charting rappers, their equally
skilled label mates Trip Lee and Sho Baraka, and Cross Movement Records
artist Flame, was among the most anticipated and most successful for the genre
in 2009. These performers are among those of their generation who have
/ 71
learned to balance the message of the gospel with the skills required within rap.
Space will not allow the investigation of more lyrics here; those that have been
analyzed demonstrate that the work these Christian artists perform is both holy
and hip-hop, which makes it a spiritually and culturally important mode of expression worthy of academic investigation.
Notes
1. For a full discussion of some of the debates surrounding mainstream hip-hop,
especially rap music, see Rose, Black Noise, 12; Watkins, Hip Hop Matters.
2. Anthony B. Pinn has edited a collection of essays that address the wide-ranging
religious dimensions that can be found within rap music. See Pinn, Noise and Spirit.
A handful of individual academic articles investigate the hip-hop/gospel music connection. Garth Kasimu Baker-Fletcher examines and categorizes the rhymes of African
American Christian rappers, using the theory that the Christian message is expressed in
rap music through the polarities of oppugnancy [creative forms of resisting oppression]
and/or opacity [the tendency of oppressed people to simultaneously live with negativity
and oppose it] using religious symbols and language (Facing Truth, 30). Guthrie P.
Ramsey, Jr., explores the broader hip-hop aesthetic in the performances of such gospel
artists as Karen Clark Sheard and Kirk Franklin (Santa Claus, 190215). Cheryl Renee
Gooch looks at the fact that some Black Church leaders view the use of gospel rap as a
complement to other religious music forms (Rappin for the Lord, 22842). In a brief
article, Michael Eric Dyson states that rap mirrors the weaknesses and strengths of society; and that examining it more critically would allow the church and others to identify
their own shortcomings (Rap Culture, 26873).
The present essay differs from these works in that I argue that a close textual analysis
of the lyrics of holy hip-hoppers reveals their commitment to delivering the gospel message of their forefathers in an aesthetic package that will attract their contemporaries.
3. Information on Cross Movement Records artists can be found at http://www
.crossmovementrecords.com/pages.asp?pageid=66461.
4. Lacy, Ambassador Interview.
5. Found on the home page for Holy Hip Hop.com.
6. Ibid.
7. Jason Wilson (Maji), personal interview, Detroit, MI, November 10, 2003.
8. Jason Wilson (Maji), email communication, January 31, 2008.
9. The Yuinons Mission.
10. Kimberly Williams (Kiwi), personal interview, Detroit, MI, January 7, 2004.
11. Kimberly Williams (Kiwi), email communication, January 29, 2008.
12. See Teresa L. Reed, Holy Profane, introd.; Pinn, Noise and Spirit, 212.
13. Reed, Holy Profane, 15.
14. Ibid., 1013; Pinn, Noise and Spirit, 212.
15. Smitherman, Talkin and Testifyin, 7778.
16. Raboteau, Slave Religion, 237.
72
17. Johnson, Gods Trombones, 5.

19. Paris, Black Pentecostalism; Pitts, Old Ship of Zion.
20. Paris, Black Pentecostalism, 54.
21. Holt, Stylin Outta the Black Pulpit, 196, 200.
22. Davis, I Got the Word, 2831.
23. Ibid., 5153.
24. Ibid., 101.
25. Ibid., 61, 105.
26. Ibid., 98100.
27. For a full discussion of the dening elements of gospel music, see WilliamsJones, Afro-American Gospel Music, 37385; Burnim, Black Gospel Music Tradition,
164.
28. For examples of the storytelling tradition within gospel music, see Caesar, Hold
My Mule; Norwood, Denied Mother. I examine the work performed by gospel radio
announcers/DJs in my article Gospel Announcers (Disc Jockeys), 87101.
29. I discuss how gospel announcers and singers use words to create spatial transformations in my article Gospel Announcers (Disc Jockeys), 9496.
31. Boyer, African American Gospel Music, 486.
32. Tim Smith, personal interview, Southeld, MI, September 25, 2003.
33. Breakaway mentioned the two artists as HHH pioneers at http://www.family
.org/teenguys/breakmag/features/a0020488.html (the current URL for Breakaway is
www.korministries.com); allmusic.com presents a one-sentence critique of Wiley, calling him the original gospel rapper, at http://www.allmusic.com/cg/amg.dll?p=
amg&sql=11:cyec97u7krkt. An equally brief mention of Michael Peace, whom allmu
sic.com has debuting in 1987, occurs at http://www.allmusic.com/cg/amg.dll?p=
amg&sql=11:kifyxqq5ldke.
34. Carpenter, Stephen Wiley.
35. Tim Smith, personal interview, Southeld, MI, September 25, 2003.
36. Ibid., 2003.
37. Ibid., 2003.
39. Williams-Jones, Afro-American Gospel Music, 271, 274; Boyer, African American Gospel Music, 1229.
40. See Leland,Rappers Are Raising; Gaines,More Churches Getting in Step; Pedrotti, Holy Hip-Hop. Also see Smith and Jackson, Hip Hop Church.
41. The Edwin Hawkins Music and Arts Seminar, the Gospel Heritage Praise and
Worship Conference, and the Bobby Jones Retreat have involved urban contemporary
artists, including those who perform holy hip-hop, as panelists and performers. The
Motor City Praisefest (Detroit, MI) is just one of many gospel music festivals that have
made room for Christian rappers to perform.
42. Franklin shares his autobiography that will be the basis for the movie in Church
Boy: My Music and My Life.
43. This designation does not include artists such as Aretha Franklin and Amy
/ 73
Grant, who sing both secular and gospel. The sales gure was provided by Tracey Artis,
vice president of Gospocentric Records, during a 2007 telephone conversation.
44. Kia Jones, electronic communication, December 2004.
45. I conducted feedback interviews on February 3, 2000, while showing The Revolution and several other videos to six gospel music fans in Detroit who also serve as
choir members, ministers, and/or praise and worship leaders in their churches. The interviewees included Portia J. Dye, Timothy Dye, Kyra D. Edwards, Sean C. Mosley, and
DeRonae K. Smith.
46. Franklin, Kirk Franklin Presents Gods Property. Lyrics can be found at http://
www.lyricsdomain.com/11/kirk_franklin/stomp.html.
47. http://www.crossmovement.com/start.asp (the current URL for Cross Movement is http://www.crossmovementrecords.com).
48. Ibid.
49. ChristIaN Hip-Hopper.com, June 29, 2006, http://www.christ-in-a-hip-hop
per.com/pages.asp?pageid=38574.
50. Dockett, interview with Cross Movement.
51. Corbin, review of Human Emergency.
53. Cross Movement, Holy Culture. The complete lyrics can be found at
http://www.crossmovementrecords.com/articles_view.asp?articleid=8341&colum
nid=1321.
54. Segal, Rap That MTV Wont Play, G1.
55. Cross Movement, Heavens Mentality. The lyrics for Blood Spilla can be found
at http://www.lyricsbox.com/cross-movement-lyrics-blood-spilla-qsp4fnv.html.
56. Genesis 3:15 forecasts this confrontation when God says to Satan, I will put enmity between thee and the woman, and between thy seed and her SEED. It shall bruise
thy head, and thou shall bruise His heel. It is also to be found in many of the eschatological (end time) scriptures found in Revelation that the Cross Movement and other
HHH groups reference frequently.
57. See, for example, Revelation 21:1: And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for
the rst heaven and the rst earth were passed away; and there was no more sea.
58. For example, it is the mode of escape used by the slaves in the folktale retold in
the book The People Could Fly, by Virginia Hamilton. The song Ill Fly Away, a congregational song that has also been performed in traditional and contemporary gospel
forms, contains the words: One glad morning when this life is over, Ill y away. To a
land on Gods celestial shore, Ill y away . . . Just a few more weary days and then, Ill y
away. When I die, Hallelujah by and by, Ill y away.
59. Cross Movement, Heavens Mentality.
60. The phrase weak in the knees is an old description of an individuals response
to his or her beloved as well as the title of a song made popular in 1992 by the R&B girl
group SWV (Sisters with Voices), which is referenced in the lyrics.
61. For a highly satirical look at how difcult deciphering some Christian rap lyrics has
been deemed by some, see Christian Hip-Hop Artists Lyrics Too Theologically Complex
for Rap Fans, http://www.holyobserver.com/detail.php?isu=v02i01&art=dawgma.
62. Capulong and North, Cross Movement.
74
Bibliography
Ambassador. Interview by Dwayne Lacy. Gospelava.com, 2005. http://www.gospelava
.com/articles/ambassadorinterview2005.html (accessed June 26, 2006).
Baker-Fletcher, Garth Kasimu. Facing Truth and Resisting It. In Noise and Spirit: The
Religious and Spiritual Sensibilities of Rap Music, edited by Anthony B. Pinn. New
York: New York University Press, 2003.
Boyer, Horace C. African American Gospel Music. In African Americans and the Bible,
edited by Vincent L. Winbush. New York: Continuum, 2000.
Burnim, Mellonee. The Black Gospel Music Tradition: A Complex of Ideology, Aesthetic and Behavior. In More than Dancing, edited by Irene V. Jackson. Westport, CT:
Greenwood, 1985.
Capulong, Maria, and Stan North. Review of Cross Movements Higher Denition.
Gospelava.com, n.d. http://www.gospelava.com/reviews/crossmovementdeni
tion.html (accessed November 12, 2004).
Carpenter, Bill. Stephen Wiley. Allmusic blog. http://www.allmusic.com/cg/amg
.dll?p=amg&sql=11:aifexqq5ld0e.
Christian Hip-Hop Artists Lyrics Too Theologically Complex for Rap Fans. Holy Observer, May 15, 2004. http://www.holyobserver.com/detail.php?isu=v02i01&art=
dawgma.
ChristianHipHopper.com. http://www.christ-in-a-hip-hopper.com/.
Corbin, Jon. Review of Cross Movements Human Emergency. cMusicWeb.com, July
2002. http://cmusicweb.com/hiphop/crossmovement/humanemergency.shtml.
Cross Movement, interview by Kymo Dockett. Whats the Word, 2004. http://
wtwmagazine.com/cross_movementinterview.htm (accessed April 10, 2006).
Cross Movement Records home page. http://www.crossmovementrecords.com/pages
.asp?pageid=66461.
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Dyson, Michael Eric. Rap Culture, the Church, and American Society. Black Sacred
Music: A Journal of Theomusicology 6, no. 1 (1992): 26873.
Franklin, Kirk, with Jim Nelson. Church Boy: My Music and My Life. Nashville: Word
Publishing, 1998.
Gaines, Adrienne S. More Churches Getting in Step with Hip-Hop Music. Charisma,
August 2003.
Gooch, Cheryl Renee. Rappin for the Lord: The Uses of Gospel Rap and Contemporary Music in Black Religious Communities. In Religion and Mass Media: Audiences
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Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, 1996.
Hamilton, Virginia. The People Could Fly. New York: Knopf, 2004.
Holt, Grace Sims. Stylin Outta the Black Pulpit. In Rappin and Stylin Out: Communication in Urban Black America, edited by Thomas Kochman. Urbana: University of
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Holy Hip Hop.com. http://www.holyhiphop.com/ (accessed January 30, 2008).
Johnson, James Weldon. Gods Trombones. 1927. Reprint, New York: Viking Press, 1976.
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Leland, John. Rappers Are Raising Their Churches Roofs. New York Times, September
13, 2004.
Paris, Arthur. Black Pentecostalism: Southern Religion in an Urban World. Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1982.
Pedrotti, Kay S. Holy Hip-Hop: Saturday Night Gathering Captures Teen Talent, Emotions. Lutheran, July 2003. http://www.thelutheran.org/article/article_buy.cfm?arti
cle_id=4030.
Pinn, Anthony B. Noise and Spirit: The Religious and Spiritual Sensibilities of Rap Music.
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Discography
Caesar, Shirley. Live in Chicago with Rev. Milton Brunson and the Thompson Community
Singers. Rejoice Records, 1988.
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Cross Movement. Holy Culture. Cross Movement Records, 2003.
Franklin, Kirk. Kirk Franklin Presents Gods Property. B-Rite Music, 1997.
Norwood, Dorothy. Dorothy Norwood and the Combined Choir of Atlanta, Georgia: The
Denied Mother. Savoy Records, n.d.
yvonne daniel
rtmos, rituales y recuerdos de la sabidura

Antes de bailar, cantar o tocar, hay ritmos, rituales, y recuerdos.
Antes de bailar, cantar o tocar los tambores,
tenemos que saludar a Elegba, Elegbara,
el nio de negro y rojo y de la diversin y abiertas.
Es el que nos da permiso a cruzar la puerta
y comunicar bailando.
Es el al principio que nos ofrece la sabidura del baile.
[Before dancing, singing, or drumming,
there are rhythms, rituals, and memories.
Before dancing, singing, or playing the drums,
we must greet Elegba,
Elegbara, the playful child of black and red.
It is he who gives us permission to cross the doorsill
and communicate spiritually as we dance.
It is he who rst offers us dancing wisdom.]
In the dancing and music-making communities that I study, I see power, endurance, joy, and rapture; I see this in the visual display of worshiping, performing, believing dancers and musicians. When I witness the most common scenes
of ritual performance in Haiti, Cuba, or Brazil, I am reminded of a stage full of
Chicano couple dancers in Californias Cinco de Mayo celebrations, large groups
79
80
of young Irish girls performing to bagpipes on St. Patricks Day in Massachusetts, and hundreds of Pacic Islanders performing traditional hula in San Francisco at the Ethnic Dance Festival. These are all, like my study groups, large ensembles enacting unison dance movement, and it is awesome as well as curious.
When unison movement is augmented exponentially in hundreds of performers, as it is in these secular, civil celebrations, the viewer is privy to a greater
sense of what many dancing and believing ritual performers experience as they
express themselves bodily in religious celebrations.1 Where there is ensemble
movement based on a unison dance vocabulary, there is doubled and tripled
power, vivid and often chilling dance/music expression. The ritual communities
I have lived among have been performing as a unied ensemble with the same
movements to the same rhythms for centuries. This essay focuses on those
rhythms and deciphers rhythmic signicance over time in the African diaspora.2
My eld research has unfolded what I call embodied knowledgeS, many
sorts of knowledge within performance, such as botany, philosophy, physiology, psychology, history, mathematics, ethics, gastronomy, music, dance, and so
on.3 While my companions within ritual communities do not name this knowledge as I do, I cannot avoid the standard disciplines that this knowledge references in nonritual institutions and societies. Since I am sharing what I have
learned about different values and behaviors with members from my own society, I use the meaningful terminologies and relevant analogies of my society in
an effort to explain understandings from other societies. In this essay, I concentrate on rhythm in danced, sung, and drummed knowledge in the religions of
Haitian Vodou, Cuban Yoruba, and Brazilian Candombl.
overview of african-descended religions

In ritual contexts of Haiti, Cuba, and Brazil, strong belief systems initiate regular, routine ceremonial performances.4 The ceremonies that have developed
concentrate heavily on either the human body or the suprahuman bodythat
is, a human body that has been transformed by a spiritual incorporation. The
communities meet according to a ritual calendar and form a mass of dancing
bodies in periodic ceremonies. The dancing bodies accumulate intensity, energy, and spirit; they display power and enact, as well as disseminate, knowledge. Worshiping performers reenact what they have learned, what they have
been told, what they feel, and what they imagine. They re-present spiritual understandings that are held within religious families, temples, or houses.
Haitian famis, Cuban familias de santo, and Brazilian terreiros da santo are
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extended ritual families that are re-created in the image of a consanguine and
religious ideal. In the countryside as well as in urban areas of these three sites, a
head of household or a formally elected member of the ritual community
serves as ritual leader, healer, and diviner for his/her blood relatives, many
adopted members, and a few honoric members. It is within the ritual family,
small or large, that proper performance instruction takes place.
The historical circumstances of enslaved African descendants have created
a deep reliance on the abstract expressiveness of the dancing body and on nonverbal, communicative procedures. Meaning registers within visceral responses
to kinesthetic and musical affect.5 As worshipers perform, they sense and learn.
As they continue to perform over time, embodied knowledge is deciphered and
consulted. For example, community members are rst exposed to specic elements and processes that give general ritual knowledge. They are taught chants
in archaic ritual language; they are introduced to unaccompanied drumming,
as well as drumming with an array of dance sequences. They are encouraged to
have a formal familiarity with owers, plants, and herbs (including their
specic placement in- and outdoors, their uses for bathing, and their recipes for
drinking). They are taught distinct body manipulations (codied handshakes,
turning salutations, bows, and other gestures on the oor). Also, members sustain short and long periods of isolation and quiet.
When the silence is broken, they are often asked about the bodily sensations
they have experienced. Inevitably, community members are directed indirectly
to survey what the body is communicating and to give voice to its mute delivery. The introduction of specic ritual elements, the inquiry, the focus on quiet,
and the assessment of bodily discoveries all result in an ongoing method of observation, referencing, and periodic consulting. There is a dynamic, practical,
current-referencing of the body that can mean many things over a lifetime of
performance and reection.
The general objectives of dance/music ritual are to achieve balance between
the spiritual and human worlds, to praise the supreme Divinity and celebrate
divinities, to gain individual strength and dignity, and ultimately to maintain
and secure the social solidarity of the ritual community. The methods used to
accomplish these objectives are instrumental and vocal music-making, dancing, praying, and spiritual transformation. One of the by-products of these efforts is awareness of stored knowledge within the dancing and music-making
body. Over time, the musicians and dancers, those whom I call the experiential
librarians of ritual practice, become consciously aware of the vast knowledge
that exists within African diaspora religious performance.
82
embodied rhythmic knowledges

Experiential librarians store understandings and perspectives inside their bodies. They contemplate on and digest the knowledge that is found in observation, practice, and communal rituals. They sing, drum, and dance the codied
and sequenced rhythms of the ancestors and provide opportunities for others
to experience and learn.
Chants, Songs, and Singing

Through regular performances over time, whole and abbreviated texts of ritual
prose and poetry have been repeated and passed on in prayers, but mainly in
chants and songs of African nations. Many versions of these were conserved by
the continuous input of arriving Africans in the transatlantic slave trade from
the sixteenth to the late nineteenth centuries.
The Spanish and Portuguese initiated Africanness in the Americas, but they
were not alone.6 The Spanish brought ladinos, or Afro-Spanish descendants,
from the European immersion in African culture for over ve hundred years,
that is, through Moorish descendants in Spain and by means of their early exploration of both island and mainland territories of the Americas. Portugal intervened in continental African slavery and spread it north to Portugal and
Madeira and eventually west across the Atlantic Ocean.7 Portuguese forts at Sao
Tom and Angola (now Gabon to Zambia) held supplies of Africans coming
from Upper Guinea (now Senegal to Sierra Leone) from 1441 to 1700. Africans
from Lower Guinea (now Sierra Leone to Cameroon) and Angola were the
main sources for human trade from 1700 to 1888.8 However, the Danes, the
French, the English, and the Dutch were also heavily involved in the Atlantic
slave trade.9 As a result of the continuous ow of African cultures, customs, and
values across the Americas for four centuries and despite the horric interruption to hundreds of African cultures, worshiping practitioners were able to retain many African chants and songs in the Americas. They did not always understand the lyrics in African languages, since the enslaved were often forced to
take on the languages of the colonizers.10 Still, hundreds of songs and chants in
African languages and some in European languages are sung as central elements in all three religious sites.11 The accumulated plant knowledge of the
African-descended community can be found within the lyrics of this vocal literature; that is, ritual chants and songs reveal an embodied botany.
Plant knowledge spread from African herbalists to the larger African-de-
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scended community as medicinal knowledge; however, plant knowledge spread

not only through ritual specialists but also through community singing of
rhythmic texts and repeated religious stories. African descendants retained
specic words, word concepts, and religious poetry that referenced plants. They
adapted practices that were associated with the words and understandings, although in new contextual orders and perhaps occasionally with new meanings.
Embedded in the archaic and evolving African languages of ritual chants
and, importantly, also in ongoing social instructionwere references to the attributes of plants and their relationship to behaviors, characteristics, and preferences of cosmic divinities. Rhythmic singing of religious chants connected
divine understandings and plant life. Sung rhythmic references kept religious
history alive and simultaneously reinforced belief in cosmic divinities, their attributes, leaves, and herbs. In effect, the chants maintained knowledge for wellbeing and health by referencing botanical information that could be used for
medicinal purposes. While ritual chants functioned musically to initiate the
forward progress of a ceremony, they also functioned educationally to connect
specic plant names and medicinal properties to specic African divinities.
In the research ndings of Michel Laguerre and Harold Courlander for
Haiti, Pierre Verger and Robert Voeks for Brazil, and Lydia Cabrera and Morton
Marks for Cuba, we nd lush examples of codied plant knowledge.12 Regarding Cabreras vast contributions, ethnomusicologist Morton Marks says,
A complete botanical entry in Lydia Cabreras El Monte thus consists of a Spanish common name, a scientic classication, the plants Yoruba and Kongo
names, and an orisha owner.
Afro-Cuban herbalists knew the orisha owners, ritual applications, and curative powers of hundreds of trees, roots, barks, grasses, herbs, vines and owers.
In their exploration and classication of the Cuban forests and savannas, they
were undoubtedly guided by the cognitive categories anthropomorphized as
the orishas.13
Also through the translations of Yoruba chants to English by John Mason, we

know that the chant liturgy is lled with oricha details including associated
leaves and herbs and favored plants.14
In fact, the sung chant texts in each of the three sites made botanical information declarative; rhythmic singing of chants and songs made the texts forceful enough to be remembered and effective enough to assist healing and curing
practices.15 The rhythmic remembrances within sung rituals of Haiti, Cuba,
84
and Brazil have helped to maintain botanical references as embodied botany

within their sacred mission.
Drumming
Dance analysis and cultural interpretation of ritual performance indicate that
ritual music is predicated on a body of mathematical knowledge that was
linked to it ages ago.16 In order to maintain the rhythmic relationships that
structure and ignite spiritual transformations in ritual performance, important
intervallic relationships and sequences are linked in the vital rhythmic content
of liturgical music. I call this linkage buried mathematics, the recessed or hidden mathematics of African-descended drumming traditions. I am referring to
a fundamental rhythmic relationship between the tones or intervals that are
heard in liturgical drumming. This relationship comprises the sequences of
rhythms that render shape, form, and content to the religious drum traditions
of Haiti, Cuba, and Brazil.
Musical relationships can be reduced to numerical expressions in the analysis of drum traditions. When pitches or tones of a drum are sounded, they are
understood primarily in terms of musical relationships; however, they can also
be expressed as intervallic, numerical, or ratio relationships. When the bat are
readied for playing, for example, ideally their larger heads, or enus, and the
smaller heads, or chachas, do not have the same pitches. All three drums (Iya,
Okonkolo, and Itotole) are tuned by the shape of the drum itself, the stretch, tension, or predetermined inner dimensions of the skins, in relation to one another.
If the enu of the ittole is the same pitch as the chacha of the oknkolo, drummers
perceive the tone as low and tend to tighten the head of one or the other, so
that there is a distinction (a personalized sweetness) that characterizes each
pitch. In mathematical terms, the drums have an intervallic relationship, that is,
a second (2nd), a third (3rd), a sixth (6th), and so on, between each head.
While the drums are not tuned to relative or exact or tempered intervals, as
a guitar or a piano is tuned, they are most often heard as 2nds, 3rds, and 6ths in
relation to one another or to the primary iy, or mother drum. The drummers
I have interviewed have all agreed that even though Cuban ethnologist Fernando Ortiz and the bat masters of the 1950s explained the tuning of the
drums in solfeggio terms, or in Western music-oriented terms, they did so for
better understanding within a lay public. Most drummers say this is not the
way of tuning in common practice today. Rather, they look for the ring, for
overtones of each drum head, and, most important, for a separation of pitches
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or tones among all heads, that is, for six heads to have six different tones or usually four to six pitches (some may be doubled at the octave). When they strike
or manipulate the drums with their ngers instead of their hands (called a
muff ), the drum pitch moves up a half step; so the three-drum orchestra
could potentially have twelve pitches as its basic tonal repertoire.
The mathematics of the drums (or of the twelve pitches) is ultimately the
rhythms themselves. Even within one rhythm, like that of the giros or chekeres
(gourds) that play a single rhythm repeatedly for hours in a ceremony, the
sounded variation of syncopated patterns is a nonrandom series of fractions. At
some point in the history of the rhythms, the language of sacred orichas, liturgy
emerged in the form of a specic regulated pattern for each drum. Through the
marriage of the three rhythmic patterns within a drum orchestra, a consequent
rhythmic core was created. Thereafter, the sequence of several successive core or
fundamental rhythms, or a sequence of trataos, was established and retained.17
Music and rhythmic organization are a synthesis of sounded time, patterned fractions in mathematical, as well as tonal, relationships. A drum liturgy
or a specic religious drum tradition is an order or a long series of specic
rhythms, or trataos. Buried in the resultant music that is heard are not only musical but also numerical intervals, patterned fractions that make up the combined rhythms. Rhythmically timed relationships are fundamental to African
descended drum liturgies, and they affect human response behavior in specic
predetermined (spiritual) ways.
Each tratao has the potential tonal and rhythmic substance to initiate spirit,
to move the dancing, believing, or prepared body. Much of ritual drumming
assumes, but also attempts to initiate, a progression of emotive as well as rhythmic patterns. Ritual singing is in synchrony with specic rhythms that are effected into sound, repeated, and intensied (sometimes exactly in synchrony
and sometimes oating above the resultant rhythms). As ritual singing intensies rhythmically and tonally, as the drumming is augmented in terms of
speed and intensity as well, and as rhythmic dancing is repeatedly performed in
unison, the human body is sensitized, affected, pulled into communion with a
community of knowing bodies and with altered consciousness.
When there is an indication that a dancers movements have intensied
such that the body is open within the style of the dance, is ready for or on
the edge of manifesting divine spirit, ritual drummers support the worshiping
dancers energy. Sometimes they simply play steadily, and that rmness gives
rise to the shift between the material and spiritual worlds, the divine moment
of transition or crossover. At other times, drummers give insistent slaps,
86
kasses or breaks, to push for change or transformation. Still at other times,

drummers make differences: they play a completely different rhythm; or they
play faster, louder, more forcefully; or they use muffs and insert rhythmic and
tonal changesall to generate the proximity of the spirit world, all to effect an
opening of the delicate but necessary gateway into the spirit world.
When the dancing body is readiedthat is, when the dancing body has
penetrated the sacred gatewaythe central core of the trunk is either extended
with the extremities spread apart or contracted and vibrating rapidly and erratically. Often the worshiping priest/medium/performer hops on one foot,
then arches the back and exposes the entire body. Within the characteristic
dance patterns for each divinity, there is a climax or augmented motion; a fullbodied display results, sometimes in sustained energy, as in a slow and complete body undulation (e.g., in the feint of yenvalu), and sometimes percussively, as in the preparation for a rapid strike or at an implosion of energy (e.g.,
in the broad steps of Chango or the swift and erratic shifts of Yansan).18
Musicians in Fon, Yoruba, and other African ethnic groups of the past came
to understand that specic codied intervals, sounded as drummed rhythms in
a series, were able to produce physical, emotional, and spiritual transformations inside the believing and prepared body. Later, musicians in Haitian,
Cuban, and Brazilian ritual communities replicated the rhythmic remembrances, the rhythmic series for affect in the bodies of dancing worshipers. The
repeated sequencing of specic rhythmic patterns that are made up of
sounded codied intervals and series of fractions corresponded to emotional
changes in the dancing body, that is, other states of consciousness in the worshiping body. Over time, musicians savored the formulas of musical mathematics as traditional rhythms for each divinity of each African nation. They exclusively rendered the rhythmic drum sequences on ritual occasions. Without
verbal articulation of the numerical expressions, intervals, or mathematics that
underlies each rhythmic pattern and comprises each drum tradition, musicians
have played a buried or recessed mathematics for centuries.
Today, master drum musicians understand this type of mathematical
knowledge as musical knowledge, but they express it as love of the ancestors
in rhythmic remembrances. They share with their apprentices the sequenced
sacred rhythms that constitute what the analyses here refer to as hidden mathematics. The ritual community is grateful for the layering of properly timed
musical relationships because proper musical mathematics helps to accomplish
ritual objectives, that is, spiritual transformations and balance between the human and spiritual worlds. In predetermined rhythmic, tonal, and intervallic re-
/ 87
lationships (or variable, shifting, and acceptable musical relationships),

ritual musicians display the buried mathematics of the dance/music liturgy.
In order to facilitate human dancing and suprahuman transformation, they
rely on rhythmic remembrances.19
Dancing
Within the religions of Vodou, Cuban Yoruba, and Candombl, the human
body is mapped by the divinities themselves, and the specialized tissue of a
given part of the body, with its associated internal organs, is understood in
terms of its anatomical, associated physiological, and emotional functions.
Consequently, anatomy, physiology, and psychology are linked within the
danced rhythms of African-descended religious rituals. For example, in Haitian
Vodou, a particular part of the body is associated with each of the Haitian divinities, or lwas. Dancer, researcher, and one of my teachers, Madame Lavinia
Williams Yarborough stated that in teaching Vodou dances,
The feet are dedicated to the god of war, Ogoun Feraille; the hips to the Congos
spirits of beauty and love; the chest to the brave warriors, the Ogouns [and Ibo
spirits, 1970: personal communication]; the spine to the snake god, the water
god and the rainbow goddess, Papa Damballah, Maitre Agwe, and Maitress
Ayida Wedo respectively. The hands are dedicated to the spider spirit, Ghede
Zarien.20
From Yarboroughs description and from discussions with other dancing

worshipers and ritual specialists, I constructed the accompanying chart for my
three ritual sites.21 Most of the African nations that were on the island of Haiti
at the outset of the Revolution in 1791 are displayed in terms of lwas on specic
parts of the human body. In the Cuban context, the mapping of the body with
Yoruba orichas is slightly different from Brazilian Candombl orixs, even
though these two are both Yoruba belief systems in the Americas. This difference helps to remember and emphasize that there is tremendous variation
within the African practices of the Americas.
My dance consultants have cautioned me to make clear that the dances for
the lwas, orichas, or orixs utilize the dancing body as a whole and that performers are concentrated fully within their entire bodies as they perform in
routine ceremonies for and with the ritual community. Within the dances for
each divinity, however, the divinity-associated body parts are usually empha-
88
sized. For example, in the yenvalu dance of Haiti, the constant whole body undulation (in the torso, in the rippling of the back and the lift and fall of the
chest) emphasizes the stories and importance of the snake, called Papa
Dambala. In Haiti, the snake is coded with notions of ongoing life. Two snakes
together, Dambala and his wife, Aida Wydo, make an alliance and, in an arch,
cover and protect the Vodou world. Their typical undulating movements reference continuity of life, copulation, birth, and rebirth. Continuous life is thereby
codied in the yenvalu dance through the visual undulation of the torso and
back, and yenvalu coincides with the specic Haitian lwas that are mapped on
the spine.
Yoruba dances also articulate the associated body parts of each divinity,
mainly in hand and arm gestures and/or foot patterns, despite the entire dancing bodys involvement. In Cuba, Ochun is sparkling, bubbling, silky-strong
water. She splashes over the whole body and, in her womankind essence,
spreads water or honey over the entire body with her arms and hands. Her body
stroking links her to all the blood vessels throughout the body, but she emphasizes her lower abdomen and the genital area to invoke her power in fertility
and reproduction or childbearing. In Brazil, Yansans hands and armswaving
in the air, beating the air as if in a stormcharacterize the orix as air, breath,
the wind. Yansans dance uses alternating rib and hip shifts over a fast-paced
foot pattern, activating the body areas with which she is identied. Accompanying chants, stories, and life histories of the divinities also reveal their associated body parts. Similar anatomical associations lead to physiological understandings when coupled with associated medicinal plants, all of which combine
within spiritual knowledge.
African-descended dance/music rituals are carefully constructed sets of
rhythmic and sensory stimulation that result in specic emotional and associated physical behaviors. While the ritual practices unfold religious liturgies and
sacred orders of chants, drumming, and dancing, the rituals also compound
and layer physiological principles of the body, which result in ecstatic psychological experiences, both conscious and unconscious.22 Concentration on
specic parts of the body implies knowledge about what occurs inside the human body within repetitious, codied and mostly unison dance behavior.
Rhythmic dance sequences are structured events that have been calculated over
time to reach the full range of any one bodys physiological and psychological
capacities. With multiple bodies in strong, unison and repeated movement,
however, the rhythms stimulate affect tremendously. What results from the
/ 89
rhythmic remembrances of dance performance is suprahuman performance

that displays embodied physiology and psychology.
conclusion
For over ve hundred years of enslavement, colonization, and postcolonial dominion of the Americas, there have been periods when the drums were outlawed and ritual paraphernalia were destroyed. Prejudice and repression
against African-descended religious practices have been rampant; however, the
ritual systems, the dancing religions, have continued in Haiti, Cuba, and Brazil.
The dancing and music-making body has held forth, repeatedly enunciating
Fon, Yoruba, Kongo-Angola, and other African understandings and displaying
embodied rhythmic responses. African descendants in the Americas have consistently joined together in ritual practice to articulate the resultant rhythms
and the ensemble unison dancing of their heritages; that is, worshiping musicians and dancers did remember. Unison dance expression of codied rhythmic patterns have constituted not only their religious faith but also their faith
in the power of the dancing and music-making body, called ach in Cuba, axe
in Brazil, and espri in Haiti.
In rhythmic rituals, the dancing/music-making worshiper was able to reinforce memory and enable, as well as retain, the embodiment of all sorts of
knowledgeSover centuries and across geographies. Embodied philosophy
continues to frame the values and behavior of worshipers and reveals an understanding of a suprahuman and interactive world within ritual performance.
Embodied botany continues to emerge from within sacred chant texts that have
survived in the vocal repertoire and healed the bodies of worshiping African
descendants. Embodied physiology continues to surface within the particular
parts of the human body that are associated with spiritual divinities and also
from within the totality of dance/music performance. Embodied psychology
continues to unfold in efcacious transformations, supported and/or initiated
by codied, rhythmic drum and dance sequences. Embodied mathematical
knowledge ultimately directs drum orchestrations, excites choral singing, and
instigates powerful unison ensemble dance movement, in order that worshipers experience and store knowledge bodily.
The accumulation of knowledge in ritual practice and the transposition
and application of that knowledge to social life yield the wisdom within the
dancing religions or embodied knowledgeS. Rhythmic rituals have guarded
90
those knowledgeS, and those of us who dance and make music store them as
rhythmic remembrances, only to share the resulting wisdom repeatedly in ritual performances. There have always been rhythms, for centuriesrhythms inside the drums and within the dancing bodyand rituals continue the
rhythms. There are also memories, images that surface from within the
rhythms inside the rituals. The memories echo innitely across time and geography. They send bodily messages, rhythmic remembrances. Dance rhythms,
rituals, and remembrances leave us transformed, centered, balanced, fresh, and
full. We in the ritual community dance the ancient body knowledgeS, the wisdom of ach, axe, and espri.
Al nal de bailar, cantar o tocar, tenemos que reasumir a Elegba
Para llamar a sus dimensiones de Ena y Echu, las cerradas.
La dualidad inmensa de esta fuerza vital nos deja organizados,
en orden, completos y satisfechos a nal del tnel espiritual.
Nos dejan rezando.
Nos dejan transformados.
La sabidura siempre nos deja bailando.
[When we nish dancing, singing, and drumming,
we must return to Elegba in his closing forms of Ena and Echu.
The immense duality of his vital force leaves us clear, centered,
completely satised at the end of a spiritual path.
The two sides of Ena leave us praying, transformed.
Wisdom always leaves us dancing.]
Notes
This essay is taken in large measure from my book Dancing Wisdom, which was condensed for a keynote address at the Atlantic Initiative Conference, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, March 17, 2005. What follows is a more concentrated inquiry on
rhythm. It is dedicated respectfully to the following musicians who have assisted my
classrooms, my research, and my ritual life: drummers Gerald (Mamadi) Victory, Rick
Blanton, the late Wilfredo (Fredi) Moreno, Victor (Papo) Sterling, Abi Holiday, Nelson
Lebron, Michael Wingeld, Hiram Rivera, Nestor Citron, Butch Haynes, Tobagi Stewart,
Ralph Eaglefeather, Sheila Escovedo, Pete Escovedo, Juan Escovedo, Dobru, Jessie, Edner,
Fanfan, and Richard Doest, as well as pianist Julius Robinsonmy fantastic friends and
musical support.
1. There is always a measure of variation within unison; it is the intent of unison
movement that differentiates it from genuine variation. Here, the term unison movement
/ 91
presumes the variation that always exists among performances of the same dance material, either in repeated performance of any one individual or among the performances
of several or many performers intending to execute the same dance motions, activities,
or behaviors.
2. The communities I draw my examples from can be seen in my videos: Public Vodun Ceremonies of Haiti and in the Palo section of Cuban Dance Examples. These show
ensemble ritual dancing, which can be compared with solo performances in Cuban
Dance Examples.
3. Daniel, Dancing Wisdom, 5193.
4. Ibid., 14862; Bolvar, Los orichas de Cuba; Desmangles, Faces of the Gods; Brandon, Santera from Africa to the New World; Harding, Refuge in Thunder. The authors of
religious texts that are referenced within the present essay owe tremendous debt to the
courageous undertakings of earlier investigators of African religious practices in the
Americas: see, for example, Herskovits, Life in a Haitian Valley; Hurston, Tell My Horse;
Courlander, Haiti Singing; Landes, City of Women; Bascom, Focus of Cuban Santera,
Ifa Divination, Shango in the New World, and Sixteen Cowries; Deren, Divine Horsemen;
Cabrera, El monte, La sociedad secreta abaku, Yemaya y Ochun, and Reglas de congo;
Verger, Notes sur le culte des Orisa; Mtraux, Voodoo in Haiti; Jahn, Muntu; Bastide,
African Religions of Brazil; Dunham, Island Possessed.
5. Excellent examples of the psychological and physiological connection of dance
affect can be viewed within the following lms and tapes: Deren, Divine Horsemen
(1967); Kramer, To Serve the Gods; Brewer, Bahia; Gonzalez Martin and Gallardo, Ache
Moyuba Orisha; Quinones and Soto, Nganga Kiyangala; Vega, When the Spirits Dance
Mambo.
6. Thornton, Africa and Africans, 129334; Knight, Caribbean, 2366.
7. Sweet, Recreating Africa, 1386.
8. Ibid., 30. The trafcking in Africans ended slowly over a century in the sites of
studyofcially in 1804 (1791) for Haiti, in 1886 for Cuba, and in 1888 for Brazil.
9. See, respectively, Willocks, Umbilical Cord, 4798; Saiton et al., Histoire et Civilisation; Williams, From Columbus to Castro, 13655; Hartog, Curaao, 15990.
10. For example, many songs and chants in both Cuban Palo and Brazilian Angola
rituals are in Spanish or Portuguese, due in part to the early introduction and continuous assimilation of Angola or Kongo-Angola peoples to the languages of the colonizers from the sixteenth century forward. By the nineteenth century, the linguistic repertoires of these African-derived groups were diminished, and the languages of the
dominant masters were often substituted in songs and chantssometimes with just a
few words or phrases, but at other times, they were fully transposed.
11. See, for example, Mason, Orin Orisa; Laguerre, Voodoo Heritage; Courlander,
Haiti Singing and Drum and the Hoe.
12. Laguerre, Voodoo Heritage; Courlander, Haiti Singing and Drum and the Hoe;
Verger, Ew; Voeks, Sacred Leaves of Candombl; Cabrera, El monte; Marks, Exploring El
monte.
13. Marks, Exploring El monte, 229.
14. Mason, Orin Orisa.
15. Bloch, Symbols, Song, Dance, 5181.
92
16. I am especially grateful for discussions I had during February, March, and April
of 2008 with three knowledgeable bat drummers in the San Francisco/Oakland Bay
area: Dr. Umi Vaughan, Rick Ananda, and Sandi Perez. What I posit here is heavily impacted by their views; however, whatever faults may be found in my argument are entirely mine. My consultants shared with me immeasurable insights to the path of those
dedicated to the drums; some of their more descriptive words appear in quotes. I thank
them here publicly.
17. Among Cuban professional dance specialists, the rhythm of the giros or chekeres
is most often called iyesa, and so is the dance step that accompanies that rhythm. These
terms are not to be confused with the Iyesa drums, which are single-headed, more conical than barrel or hour-glass shaped, and used mainly in separate celebrations for
Ochun. The Iyesa drums have a different set of rhythms than those used by giros or
chekeres.
18. The terms used in examples here refer to specific dance practices, dance names,
and the divinities who are associated with each dance.
19. See also Fleurant, Dancing Spirits; Amira and Cornelius, Music of Santera; Klein,
Yorb Bt Goes Global; Summers et al., Bata Rhythms from Matanzas.
20. Yarborough, Dunham Technique, 159.
21. The chart is a skeletal account of what was generally accepted between 1990 and
2002. I am grateful to Haitian dance masters Jean Lon Destin and Louins Louinis;
Brazilian dance specialists Pai Carlinhos, Augusto Soledade, and Isaura Oliveira; and
Cuban dance specialists Ana Perez and Lourdes Tamayo. See also the computer drawings
by Leah Smith of the human body and the spiritual divinities of Haiti, Cuba, and Brazil
in Daniel, Dancing Wisdom, 6263, 7576.
22. Walker, Ceremonial Spirit Possession; Bourguignon, Trance Dance; Deren, Divine
Horsemen.
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Daniel, Yvonne. Dancing Wisdom: Embodied Knowledge in Haitian Vodou, Cuban
Yoruba, and Bahian Candombl. Champaign: University of Illinois Press, 2005.
Daniel, Yvonne. Public Vodun Ceremonies in Haiti. Filmed, produced and directed by
Y. Daniel, New York: Insight Media, 1997. DVD/video recording.
Deren, Maya. Divine Horsemen: The Living Gods of Haiti. 1953. Reprint, New Paltz, NY:
McPherson, 1983.
Deren, Maya. Divine Horsemen: The Living Gods of Haiti. 1967. New York: Mystic Fire
Video, 1985. Video recording.
Desmangles, Leslie. Faces of the Gods. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press,
1991.
Dunham, Katherine. Island Possessed. Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1969.
Fleurant, Gerds. Dancing Spirits: Rhythms and Rituals of Haitian Vodun, the Rada Rite.
Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1996.
Gonzalez Martin, Antonio, and Christina Gallardo. Ache Moyuba Orisha. New York:
Latin American Video Archives, 1990. Video recording.
Harding, Rachel. A Refuge in Thunder: Candombl and Alternative Spaces of Blackness.
Hartog, Johan. Curaao: From Colonial Dependence to Autonomy. Aruba: De Wit, 1968.
Herskovits, Melville. Life in a Haitian Valley. 1937. Reprint, New York: Octagon Books,
1975.
Hurston, Zora Neale. Tell My Horse. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott, 1938.
Jahn, Janheinz. Muntu: The New African Culture. Translated by Marjorie Grene. New
York: Grove Press, 1961.
Klein, Debra. Yorb Bt Goes Global: Artists, Culture Brokers, and Fans. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007.
Knight, Franklin. The Caribbean: The Genesis of a Fragmented Nationalism. 2nd ed. New
York: Oxford University Press, 1990.
Kramer, Karen. To Serve the Gods. New York: Erzulie Films, 1981. Motion picture.
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Laguerre, Michel. Voodoo Heritage. Beverly Hills, CA: Sage Publications, 1980.
Landes, Ruth. City of Women. 1947. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1994.
Marks, Morton. Exploring El monte: Ethnobotany and the Afro-Cuban Science of the
Concrete. In En Torno a Lydia Cabrera, edited by Isabel Castellano and Josena Incln, 22745. Miami: Universal, 1987.
Mason, John. Orin Orisa: Songs for Selected Heads. Brooklyn: Yoruba Theological Archministry, 1992.
Mtraux, Alfred. Voodoo in Haiti. Translated by Hugo Charteris. New York: Knopf, 1972.
Quinones, Tata, and Louis Soto. Nganga Kiyangala. New York: Latin American Video
Archives, 1991. Video recording.
Saiton, Jean-Pierre, Raymond Boutin, Richard Chateau-Degat, Lydie Ho-Fong-Choy
Choucoutou, and Gerges B. Mauvois. Histoire et Civilisation de la Carabe (Guadeloupe, Martinique, Petites Antilles). Tome 1: Le temps des Genses; des origines 1685.
Paris: Maisonneuve and Larose, 2004.
Summers, Bill, Michael Spiro, Duraldo Devar, and Vanessa Lindu. Bata Rhythms from
Matanzas. San Francisco: Cabiosile, 2007.
Sweet, James H. Recreating Africa: Culture, Kinship, and Religion in the African-Portuguese World, 14411770. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2003.
Thornton, John. Africa and Africans in the Making of the Atlantic World, 14001800. New
York: Cambridge University Press, 1998.
Vega, Marta Moreno, and Bobby Shepard. Cuando los Espiritus Bailan Mambo/When the
Spirits Dance Mambo. New York: Franklin H. Williams Caribbean Cultural Center/African Diaspora Institute of New York City, 2002. Film.
Verger, Pierre Fatumbi. Ew: O uso das plantas na sociedade iorub. Sao Paulo: Editora
Scharcz, 1995.
Verger, Pierre Fatumbi. Notes sur le culte des Orisa et Vodun Bahia. Dakar: IFAN, 1957.
Voeks, Robert A. Sacred Leaves of Candombl: African Magic, Medicine, and Religion in
Brazil. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1997.
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E. J. Brill, 1972.
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on the Social and Political Contexts of Afro-American Dance, edited by Joyce Aschenbrenner, 12159. New York: Congress on Research in Dance, 1980.
Citizenship and Dance in Urban Brazil:

Grupo Corpo, a Case Study
luca m. surez
introduction
Arguably, civil society in certain countries of Latin America and the Caribbean
is in a state of ruin. Perhaps because of that, the conceptualization of citizenship has become a critical point of interrogation. Arjun Appadurai and James
Holston posit,
Citizenship concerns more than rights to participate in politics. It also includes
other kinds of rights in the public sphere, namely civil, socioeconomic, and cultural . . . It concerns the moral and performative dimensions of membership
that dene the meanings and practices of belonging in society. Undeniably,
people use violence to make claims about all of these dimensions of belonging.1
In a country as large and complex as Brazil, formulations of and access to belonging are beleaguered by historical exclusions and economic disparity. Violence gives the disenfranchised a certain kind of voiceinsurgent citizenship,
as Holston calls it in his recent book. Yet I am not convinced that insurgency
leads to functional democracy; instead, it makes the democratic project ever
more fragile. With these considerations of exclusion and insurgency, I look to
the interstitial spaces that allow for claims to belonging, as suggested in the preceding quotation. In my research, I explore modalities of resistance and survival and new formulations of citizenship and/or pathways to social inclusion
by focusing on dance companies, their development, their international success, and their eventual role as local sociocultural agents.2
95
96
Lately, I have found the theoretical formulations presented by Argentineborn Mexican cultural theorist Nstor Garca Canclini of great interest. He
proposes a fundamental relationship between consumer markets and citizenship, arguing that to think about different kinds of market-driven consumption
could lead to new theories of social renewal.
The articulation of consumption and citizenship requires a relocation of the
market within society, the imaginative re-conquest of public spaces, and interest in the public. Consumption can be a site of cognitive value; it can be good
for thinking and acting in a meaningful way that renews social life.3
How can social life be renewed by consumerism? In many ways, dance arts internationally marketed as signiers of a national identity have been engaging
this phenomena for quite some time. Dance, from my perspective, is clearly an
object of consumption, valued highly on a global scale, capable of becoming an
active agent in local and specic situations. Still, such a vast statement begs
denition, elaboration, and qualication. Thus, I nd myself caught up in the
examination of the multiple, often seemingly unrelated narrative constellations
produced by dance, choreography, and representations of violence.
With this essay, I point to contact zones between Brazilian cultural production and local sociocultural realities through specic examples of dance and
lm and argue that they dene interpretations of Brazilian national identity
and make important interventions to what is arguably a fragile democracy.4 In
particular, I suggest that the creative trajectory of the internationally renown
modern dance company Grupo Corpo and their grassroots project Corpo
Cidado (an NGO founded in 1999) serve as locations of action that intercept
the harsh realities of extreme marginalization, poverty, and violence in Brazil.
Arguably, as we will see, Grupo Corpos work and artistic experience have functioned as a social catalyst that has recuperated national memory through the
groups staged performance of Maria Maria (1976) and that is presently serving
the city through Corpo Cidado.
In the following pages, I draw out ve sections through which I show how
an elite stage choreography can represent a nation and the specic hybrid nature of its people; how a dance company, even despite itself, is symbiotically
inuenced by the city it occupies and the artistic movements that precede it;
how a group performing a nonnarrative choreography tells a story of alienation
and ritual spectacle anyway; and how the fame acquired by many years of international and national success put Grupo Corpo in a position to return to the
city and its problems. In the course of the last four decades, Brazilian national
Citizenship and Dance in Urban Brazil
/ 97
representation has changed quite dramatically. In 1976, Grupo Corpo hit the
world stage as a uniquely Brazilian phenomenon; today, ghetto movies have hit
international screens as representative of an equally Brazilian condition. Both
dance and lm representations signal the impasses Brazil continues to experience as the nation shapes a much desired democracy and includes new citizens.
I suppose that a succinct way to delineate my inquiry would be to ask, how do
highbrow and lowbrow art forms intersect to create a crucial space of contact
and possibility? Specically, how does a dance company help redene a nation,
represent artistic growth, intervene violence, and interpolate citizenship?
modernity and the city

In the 1920s, the anthropophagy movement in Brazil addressed the issue of
Brazilian modernity, describing Brazilian uniqueness and calling for aesthetic
and economic progress that would allow the country to stand on equal terms
with developed nations. In particular, Oswald de Andrade forged an imaginary
national identity through his exegesis of the Manifesto antropfago. His text
states, Anthropophagy alone unites us . . . Socially. Economically. Philosophically . . . sole law of the world . . . My sole interest is in that which is not mine.
Law of humankind.5 The basic premise of the discourse of anthropophagy was
that Brazil was able to ingest all that was foreign and give it a special twist, thus
transforming colonial and imposed European ideology and philosophy into a
uniquely Brazilian phenomenon. Andrades anthropophagy inverted the negative representations cultivated in the sixteenth century that portrayed Brazilians as natives who collected Brazil-wood for trading with Europeans, or by
those who collected Europeans in order to devour them in complex anthropophagous rituals.6 For Castro Rocha,7 anthropophagy is central to Brazilian
culture and has been present in three fundamental stages of Brazils intellectual
history, namely, in Romanticism, Modernism, and Tropicalism.8 For me, anthropophagy is ever present, particularly, in dance and performance.
In the 1950s, modernist architecture had a key moment of success with the
construction of Brasilia. However, in a larger sense, successful modernism,
where perpetual renovation is nancially possible, has been constantly foreclosed by dictatorships, military regimes, and general government corruption.
In the popular imaginary, Brazil is relegated to the status of a tourist country:
the site of samba, sex tourism, exotic pleasures, and daring ecological travel.
Brazilians have looked up to Europe and the United States, adopted their most
attractive ideologies and patterns, and changed these to t the particularities of
Brazils national circumstances. Because of Brazils history as a colonized and
98
postcolonial space, nothing seems to be new but, rather, an imitation, repetition, or translation. Critics such as Brazilian Wander Melo Miranda have described this phenomenon in terms of a late modernity in Brazil.
Brazils late modernity engages novelty and celebration in both its accomplished feats and setbacks. The modernist project is, as Jurgen Habermas has
insisted, an unnished one. For this reason, I propose that, rather than looking
with sadness at the cities that stand alone in the middle of the Serto or amid
the glaring poverty in the neighboring favelas as they struggle to rise to an unattainable greatness of modern symbolism with their short cycles of evolution,
we should view and evaluate all of the attempts toward modernization with
pride. I suggest that the project of modernity in Brazil is one of audacity and
energy. It is an ever-new adventure that responds to the huge impediments imposed by national economic failures and the disintegration of sociopolitical
stability.
Social critics have insisted that Belo Horizonte, the fourth largest city in
Brazil, is a haven of the cruel contradictions of modernization in an economically and politically challenged country. For example, in the introduction of Arquitetura da modernidade, Brazilian critic Leonardo Barci Castriota quotes
Claude Lvi Strausss observations from a visit in the 1930s published in Tristes
Tropiques. Lvi Strauss wrote that the cities of the New World suffer from a
sense of decadence. As soon as they are completed, these cities are immediately in need of reconstruction. The neighborhoods resemble a fair or an international exhibit constructed to last for a few months, rather than an urban
space that would be a lasting symbol of the cities modern status. With the lapse
of time, the celebration ends, and the cities fall apart. Lvi Strauss concludes
that they are not new cities as contrasted with ancient cities; instead, they are
cities with a very short cycle of evolution. Barci Castriota agrees with Lvi
Strausss observations of the developing Americas and discusses how it applies
to Belo Horizonte, where the city barely manages to establish itself before being
engulfed by what he refers to as the destructive logic of modernization.9 The
city attempts to become modern, both economically and aesthetically, but these
attempts are precluded by lacking economic resources.10 Continual renovation
and renewal is not possible. Consequently, urban decay becomes an integral
part of the city. Theoretically, then, the central focus extends beyond any tradition of ruptures and continuities. Thus, understanding the city requires accepting the layers of ruin that result from failed attempts of modernization. As
such, the city is organic. It is in constant transition, always responding to the relentless elements. Like most major cities in Latin America, Belo Horizonte ex-
/ 99
ists in a constant state of transitoriness. Its attempts at modernization are

ceaselessly plagued by the reality of social and economic ruin, which is overtly
visible in the streetsthrough homelessness and crumbling buildings. In his
seminal works, Walter Benjamin has described that history is presented in transitory nature: the process of natural decay marks the survival of past history
within the present.11
I would like to avail myself of these concepts of city in a state of ruin and of
ruin as a natural state of transitoriness to entertain my own musings about the
ways in which dancing bodies expose potential in space and thus intersect the
city. If transitoriness is a viable state through which the ruins of sociopolitical
failures can be challenged, then perhaps the human body and its movement in
space offer a site of contestation. Perhaps bodies, albeit physical, real, and materially present, can be compared to the city, as they are never static. From birth,
they are en route to death, through experiences of ourishing and inevitable
decay. Bodies in space, in perpetual movement, defy decay. Unlike the cities
which have proven to fail at the modernizing projectbodies engaged in a long
legacy of dance traditions defy annihilation and historical erasure. Arguably,
dance memory performed by dancers, both in the streets and on the stage, keep
alive multiple and multiplying rhythms, steps, choreography, languages, and
gods and challenge class, gender, and racial categories.
Art, dance, music, and community projects are active interveners against
human and moral ruin through discipline and memory. They offer models of
survival for individuals, communities, histories, and traditions. The arts challenge the state of aesthetic, economic, and social decay that so aficts cities like
Belo Horizonte. In this light, the arts are vital to processes of democratization.
However, the process is convoluted and often not so simple to trace. In the following sections, I hope to support this afrmation by drawing out the more
complex sociocultural interactions existent between a history of aesthetic
modernity, elite choreography, African dance traditions, and market representations of violence through lm. How do all of these signiers of Brazilian reality intersect to present a larger narrative of rights, citizenship, and violence?
How does dance play a pivotal role to counter the negative realities of poverty?
grupo corpothe beginning: representing the

complexity of the brazilian nation
Grupo Corpo Companhia de Dana was founded as a cooperative dance company in 1975, during the last ten years of the Brazilian military regime. The
100
troupe was established by a group of siblings and a close friend: Rodrigo Pederneiras (company director and choreographer), Pedro Pederneiras (stage
manager), Paulo Pederneiras (lighting manager), and Miriam Pederneiras and
Carmen Purri (dancers and ballet mistresses). Initially, they met in the basement of the Pederneiras family house, where they held rehearsals and eventually opened a school. They studied with the pioneers of dance who came from
Europe in the 1960s, such as Rolfo Gelewsky, Klauss Vianna, and the Brazilians
Carlos Leite and Marilene Martins. They also studied in Buenos Aires, where
the dance world was more rmly established. Over the course of almost forty
years, Grupo Corpo has performed over thirty new choreographies. The companys technical style integrates ballet, modern dance, and African movements
and rhythms. This synchretic style underscores the company members dance
education and mirrors Brazils complex sociocultural history. For example, the
companys creative evolution can be subsumed under three key phases that
reect some of the changes the country has experienced. The rst phase of the
companys development (197580) is shaped by the recuperation of a multiple
past and the afrmation of the present, leading to a much-needed sense of hope
and future possibility.12
Among the rst performances were Maria Maria (1976) and ltimo Trem
(1980), which were created by the Argentine Oscar Araiz. While it might seem
odd that an Argentine choreographer would be the one to stage a piece that is
identied as representative of Brazilian culture, it was quite logical. He had
been invited to set it, since years earlier, Rodrigo and Pedro Pederneiras went to
study with him in Buenos Aires and had then developed a very close working
relationship. Araiz became a teacher and mentor for the troupe, helping them
realize their initial goal of organizing as a professional dance company. The
piece is ultimately symbolic of a Brazilian national unity, but it also engages a
universal story of survival against all odds. It was met with extreme success in
Argentina, where they performed it annually in response to enthusiastic invitations. Recalling Benedict Anderson and Paul Gilroy, dance critic Randy Martin
reminds us that national states have only ever been composed of many distinct
cultural groups and identities . . . [that] are themselves projected, to both citizens and foreigners, as if they made some coherent whole, unity (Critical
Moves, 177). That unity is often cultivated and performed in relation to the
specic circumstances of the artists. To a certain extent, it can be argued that
Maria Maria is an exercise in self-exoticism that signals a more complicated situation. After my interviews with a number of the original company members,
/ 101
I believe that they were strategizing in order to enter an international scene of

dance and national representation.
Maria Maria put the young troupe on the map of the international theater
circuit. Importantly, Maria Maria served as an internationally marketed master
narrative of a country that was foundationally shaped by African history and
traditions. This kind of representation was novel for European audiences and
deeply afrmative to the Brazilian masses, whose African roots had been until
then historically negated and fairly absent in terms of national representation.
With Maria Maria, Grupo Corpo becomes one of the rst highbrow dance
groups to introduce popular, African-based dance and tradition to the elite national and international stage. Set to music by Milton Nascimento and Fernando Brant, this performance also initiated a tradition of working with major
Brazilian composers.
In the years that followed, Rodrigo Pederneiras became the sole choreographer,13 and the company eventually entered a second phase of production
(198193), which visited the established greats of classical dance and music.
The following list exposes a curious revisiting of European tradition: Rodrigo
produced Sonata (1984) with music by Sergei Prokoev, Preldios (1985) with
music by Frdric Chopin, Schumann Ballet (1988) with music by Robert Schumann, and Missa do Orfanato (1989) with music by Wolfgang Amadeus
Mozart.14 In contrast to an original and nationally important work such as
Maria Maria, this phase seems to negate the original, giving preference to imitation. However, literary critic Roberto Schwarz notes, Copying is not a false
problem, so long as we treat it pragmatically, from an aesthetic and political
point of view freed from the mythical requirements of creation ex nihilo.15
Thus, I suggest that this period of Grupo Corpos artistic development is very
Brazilian.
Arguably, Grupo Corpos creative production nds its roots in the Brazilian
tradition introduced by Oswald de Andrade (18091954) in his texts Manifesto
da poesia Pau-Brasil (1924) and Manifesto antropfago (1928). Anthropophagy is
that search for aesthetic excellence and a desire for a utopian state. Grupo
Corpo engages this historical trajectory of Brazilian modernity and, consequently, highlights the interactivity between the African and folkloric
inuences that shape it. The company, in this second phase, is the quintessential antropfago (cannibal). It has ingested as much as it could of all classical
and popular dance and performance forms and then added a unique and dynamic twist of its own. Any copying from European models actually informs
102
the groups active exploration of national identity through the quagmire of inherited colonialism and global dance experiences.
In brief, during the second phase, the company was experimenting with
classical dance language as it tried to discover its own place in the international
dance circuit. Grupo Corpo also continued to gure out ways to return to
uniquely Brazilian forms of expression. For example, Rodrigo choreographed
to the works of famous national composers such as Ernesto Nazareth and
Heitor Villa-Lobos and to contemporary vanguard Brazilian music such as
Uakti.16 In 1979, the company traveled to Paris for a six-week engagement at the
Theatre de Ville (formerly the Sarah Bernhardt Theatre), after which the young
dancers were able to stay on for approximately six months and discover new
trends in dance as well as improve their own techniques.
According to my timeline, in the third phase of the companys development
(1994present), Grupo Corpo has achieved a distinctive artistic maturity. With
pieces like Sete ou oito peas para um ballet (1994) and Parabelo (1994), the
staged works and the artists have become harbingers of a vanguard in movement that stretches beyond the limits of mere imitation of the classics. With the
choreographies in this phase, Rodrigo Pederneiras legitimizes his companys
originality. Now Grupo Corpo has integrated international dance language into
choreography that is unique to and symbolic of Brazilian experience, without
being trapped into any stereotype of Brazilian exoticization. Rodrigo is counted
among the greatest choreographers of the twentieth century, along with such
world-renowned creators as Merce Cunningham, Martha Graham, Jos Limn,
and Pina Bausch. Within historical parameters, Grupo Corpo has functioned as
a catalyst that has moved from the recuperation of Afro-Brazilian national history with Maria Maria (1976), to imitation with Schumann Ballet (1988), to the
avant-garde with Sete ou oito peas para um ballet (1994), to reintegration into
the city through its social project Corpo Cidado (1999).
maria maria: dance as a master narrative

Maria Maria draws on a historical national identity shaped by slavery, violence,
and censorship. It was rst performed in the Palacio das Artes in Belo Horizonte in 1976. The piece tells the story of a heroine gure that metaphorically
represents Brazils multiple and multiplying histories and identities. The name
Maria is extremely common throughout Latin America and Spain. The author
of the text, Fernando Brant, claims that he fashioned this character according to
his memory of two Marias: Maria Tres Filhos, a daughter of slaves who had wit-
/ 103
nessed his birth; and Maria Tato, a contemporary of his who died at a young
age. Nonetheless, he did not want to limit Maria Maria to the memory of these
two women: Maria Maria is more than a script of a woman following her destiny, [it is] something like the journey of a woman moving toward human solidarity.17
Marias character is performed by two or three different dancers, in order to
highlight the multiple aspects of Brazilian life and womanhood. The text, composed of fteen sections, narrates a lifeline from birth to death. The choreographed poem exposes the simplicity of a poor woman, the seminal role of
colonialism, the resulting displacement and exploitation caused by the Middle
Passage, and cultural/religious syncretism. The performance is a grand spectacle of a hybrid national identity and of suffering peoples surviving all odds. In
the programs distributed at performances in Buenos Aires, the following description informed the public of this very Brazilian experience.
Maria Maria, a simple name of a woman. Black body with soft secrets, lively
eyes snifng the night, strong arms working the day . . . A coming and going of
cooks preparing delights for some grand feast. Among them: Maria. While they
stir the kettles, they remember their ancestors . . . The slaves recall their land of
origin, their natural liberty . . . Beaten and wounded, the memory of the gods
they venerated in their land, the African gods, are always present in them . . . ,
but in Brazil there are other gods that they did not know and whose inuence
they could not escape . . . On her death-bed Maria tells her truths with profound sadness and a steely hope. Later, death, burial. All sing her song of death,
her creed.18
Maria is one feminized nation composed of many experiences, races, and religions. The music and text are not about defeat but about triumph. Even as
Maria goes to her grave, hers is a life that counts. As she recalls her life, the
truths and sadness, she does not resign herself to dismay. This representation of
human resilience also served as a metaphor of the countrys overwhelming experience with a repressive military government.
This period of Latin American history was fraught with disappearances,
torture, silencing, and general fear. The companys initial artistic production
corresponded to a series of international, neighboring political conditions,
such as the 1973 coup dtat that rendered Chile a military/dictatorial state under the leadership of General Pinochet and the continuing dirty war in Argentina under a repressive military regime that committed crimes of mass dis-
104
appearances and murders. Brazil was experiencing its own extended period of
military rule. The Argentine, Brazilian, and Chilean governments took violent,
repressive action to eliminate all contamination and focused onbut were not
restricted tothe communists. Such social conditions were volatile in many respects. Cultural elites created a climate of solidarity; they sought each other out
and engaged intensively in artistic production as a response to the severe repression; thus, the presence of a number of Argentine artists in Brazil was no
coincidence. They would escape their own dictatorships and live in obscure security in a neighboring country where their own revolutionary ideals were silenced, but not by violence (toward them). It was precisely because of this political climate that the Brazilian people needed a national narrative that would
recover their past history and afrm their present lives.
Despite the economic hardships, military repression, racial incongruities,
and general fear, the people never gave up. In 1975, while the military was
cleaning the country of all undesirables, the fact remained that Brazil was not
a homogenized nation and could never fulll the dreams of fascist ideals of purity. Arguably, the military repression coalesced the vanguard movements
throughout Latin America, and the innocent production of Maria Maria underlined this very dichotomy between a government that sought progress
through intolerance and a country whose identity was shaped by its history of
slavery, miscegenation, African traditions, and folklore.19 Maria Maria was a
consequential response to this tension. Ultimately about Brazilian resilience, it
is a master narrative that recognizes changes and rejoices in the continuities
that arise from those very changes. This performance became an immediate
success in Buenos Aires and Paris, and Grupo Corpo disclosed to the world the
strength of the Brazilian people.
While Maria Maria was interpreted as a national narrative, it also played a
pivotal role in locating Belo Horizonte on the map as a leading cultural city,
alongside Rio de Janeiro and So Paulo. The dance piece relates specically to
Minas Gerais (the two Marias are from Diamantina, an important eighteenth
century, colonial, gold-mining town). The musical score belonged to the Minas
Gerais region on several levels. First, one section is composed of a poem by
Mineiro20 writer Srgio Sant-Anna, titled I Am an Old Black Woman, Sitting
Here in the Sun.21 Second and most important, the composition was exclusively performed by Milton Nascimiento and Nana Cami to Fernando Brants
lyrics. Nascimento and Brant were part of the group O Clube da Esquina,
which included L and Marco Borges, Ronaldo Bastos, Beto Guedes, Toninho
Horta, and Carmelo Larrea. During the sixties and early seventies, they became
/ 105
a phenomenon of the people, especially of the Mineiros. They gathered on the

street corner of Ls house in Belo Horizonte and played for the kids of the
neighborhood. The story goes that the group of friends would meet on a street
corner in the working-class neighborhood of Sagrada Famlia. Their rehearsals
on a street corner were highly symbolic. The group did not belong to any elite
club; instead, it belonged to everyone, in a public space that was neither limited
nor limiting. During repressive military times, bringing music into the streets
resisted a sterile, ofcial public sphere. Grupo da Esquina sang on corners and
recorded major, international hits, reviving the local, popular memory of the
peoples and becoming a national and international success story.
In an interview, Rodrigo Pederneiras emphasized the fact that Brazil is a
colonial country shaped by mixed elements that are rooted in a certain kind of
tension. He questioned how one could represent that and added that the sum is
much richer than its parts.22 He does not look at things in fractured terms. Instead, he aims at representing the multiple aspects of the world he sees as one
unit. Grupo Corpo is ultimately a sum of dancers, experiences, social moments,
dance styles, and choreographies that create one body. The groups name lends
itself to a synonymous parallel between the dance company and Brazil. Grupo
Corpo is neither a group nor a body but both. Without the group of dancers,
directors, musicians, and composers that assemble the nal spectacle and ritual, it is not a whole, a sum. The parts would not be able to function were they
separated. Likewise, what is presented through the name Brazil is actually, as
Mario de Andrade and Gilberto Freyre noted, a conglomeration of numerous
cultural, racial, political, and geographic factors. One look at a map of South
America reminds us of the vast geographic region the country occupies. It extends from the beaches of Bahia, to the Serto, to the mountainous regions of
Minais Gerais, to the Swiss-like south. Grupo Corpo represents Brazil: one nation that covers a vast and diverse geographic terrain and is construed by the
very real experiences of contact between Africa, Europe, and the Americas.
dance, emotion, and spectacle

The choreographies that followed in the early part of the third phase explored
nonlinear narrative forms. Rodrigo Pederneiras has stated that those pieces
have no narrative thread or meaning, but after seeing several of them, I disagree. From my vantage point, I suggest that a number of the pieces underscore
the stresses of industrialization on the body and invite one to think about experiences of alienation in the modern world.
106
For example, when I saw Sete ou oito peas para um ballet, I thought about
the ritual aspect of the theater. The moment of the performance felt, simultaneously, like a primitive ritual and a modern spectacle. In other words, I interpreted the performance as a ritual. It was repeatable but not reproducible. The
lights that ooded the stage and the conspiratorial feeling of the audience
awaiting a magical moment when the lights dimmed and the focus directed at
another worldthe lit stage, the rehearsed, and live motionrecalled, for me,
a specic ritual gathering centered around an exhilarating experience of spiritual and intellectual communion. Randy Martin has noted, The audience is
not only part of the events reason for being but also its means of becoming,
which momentarily embodies the communicative idea of performance.23 He
argues, however, that movements object is movements purposeits agency,
if you preferbut also its materiality as culture, its crystallization as experienced event.24 The contrast that Martin points to as the communicative idea of
the performance and the crystallization of experienced event are what I interpret as performance as ritual.
When I viewed Sete o oito peas, I allowed myself to be transported to another world of illusion. The music was at once familiar and discomforting. It
felt explicitly mechanical in many parts; but the dancers sometimes countered
this when their movements became ripples reminiscent of movement in water.
The elements were recalled throuth the choreography: water, re, earth, and air.
The dancers moved between patterns of unison, syncopation, repetition, and
abruptness. As viewer, I was mesmerized by the action on the stage. The stage
exuded energy as if it were molecular movement for the human eye.
Part of the stage was occupied by a large group of dancers, a crowd scene.
In contrast, a solitary dancer in prole in a corner kept pace with the heartbeat
in the music with nonstop sharp relevs25 with bent knees and sudden consistent contractions of the lower body. The crowd moved as a unit toward
something. Could they be people in a subway or an airport? Could they be a
colony of worker bees or ants? The steady movement was contrasted by the
consistent tickthe quick, jerking pli and jetof a solitary dancer downstage on the right. I interpreted this dancer as a clock marking time. The music
faded and a new sequence was introduced, an adagio of disconnected bodies.
No one looked at the other. Even though they were performing the same steps,
they were expressly not interacting. The looks on their faces emphasized boredom and isolation. Then, a new movement was introduced to the stage. The
entire company was on, and the choreography emulated industrial mechanization with movements that reminded me of clocks, pegs, and other mechanical
instruments.
/ 107
My interpretation of what was going on was inspired by the forceful repetition of dance steps. The bodies seemed to have become objects; the objects became machines; interjections of hip thrusts reminded me that there existed,
nonetheless, suppleness implying human presence. This continued for long
enough to drive a main thought: life is alienating, and comfort is found only in
repetition, because it marks a degree of familiarity. However, after a while, the
repetition also begins to feel alienating and frantic. I wondered how much
longer the dancers could sustain such a relentless pace, paralleling mechanical
movement but exhausting human capacities.
The insistent repetition and rhythm culminated in an abrupt halt. After all
that noise and movement, silence suddenly pervaded the space. The only sound
heard from the dancers was their heavy breathing from such athleticism. The audiences own respiration had been affected by this demonstration. The breathing
was replaced by an enthusiastic explosion, the audiences burst of applause. The
frenetic movementnormal for a machine, but too harsh for human bodies
had nally nished. The curtains came down and the ritual/spectacle came to an
end. I thought about how the difculties of life could be alleviated by a few
breathtaking encounters with illusion. With these kinds of choreographies,
Grupo Corpo became an international commodity, serving up spectacle of human possibility through technique and choreography. The story that came to
mind with this supposedly nonnarrative performance focused on how people
have been isolated by industrialization and its failed attempts at modernization.
The performance of Sete o oito peas could have two meanings. On the one hand,
it could point to human alienation. On the other hand, it could underscore the
companys own separation from Brazils many local realities.
I would like to meditate on this theoretically. For example, in The Society of
the Spectacle, Guy Debord posits,
The whole life of those societies in which modern conditions of production
prevail presents itself as an immense accumulation of spectacles. The spectacle
appears at once as society itself, as a part of society and as a means of
unication. As a part of society, it is that sector where all attention, all consciousness, converges. Being isolatedand precisely for that reasonthis sector is the locus of illusion and false consciousness; the unity it imposes is merely
the ofcial language of generalized separation.26
Spectacular society is alienated from its origins. People are severed from the
realities of everyday life. All that is left is a consumer society jonesing for the
next spectacle and never satised; thus, Grupo Corpo courts the risk of becom-
108
ing a spectacular representation emptied of the specicities of the history that

have shaped it. But this does not happen. The troupes position is double: it
serves as a testimony of the modern aesthetic, both representing Brazil on an
international level and afrming the possibilities of modern dance on a regional level. As a spectacle, the company might seem to be an alienated image
in a world hungry for the new and the exotic, reproduced by pictures and advertising sound bites. This, however, points to the trajectory of success in Latin
America. By becoming an object of international consumption, the group also
becomes a local example of possibility through discipline, global dance languages, and international artistic engagements.
the body, cannibalism, and the city

The Brazilian national, sociopolitical reality in 2009 is dramatically different
from what it was in 1976, when Grupo Corpo had its debut representing the nation with Maria Maria. Todays representations focus on crime-ridden favelas
(shantytowns), which are inhabited by a largely Afro-descendant population.
Films referred to as ghetto movies in the industry graphically highlight gang
life. In particular, these lms refer to a population explosion in cities because of
the massive migrations from rural to urban areas.
Cities are at the epicenter, where claims for citizenship and rights are taking
place. In their introduction to Cities and Citizenship (1999), Appadurai and
Holston sum up the situation.
There is a broad criminalization of the poor at the same time that social groups
at all levels come to support the privatization of security and the extralegalization of justice as the only effective means to deal with marginals. In other
words, there is a massive support for market forms of justice on the one hand
(private security, vigilantes, enforcers) and, on the other hand, for extralegal
and even illegal measures of control by state institutions, particularly the police
(and related death squads) who kill large numbers of marginals. This kind of
violence further discredits the justice system and with it the entire project of
democracy and its citizenship.27
With the continued criminalization of the poor and the marginalized and with
a relatively lawless state, democracy is in a critical crisis. As a consequence, the
struggle for democratic life is not only more acute but must be engaged creatively. Appadurai and Holston suggest, As the social movements of the urban
/ 109
poor create unprecedented claims on and to the city, they expand citizenship to
new social bases. In so doing, they create new sources of citizenship rights and
corresponding forms of self-rule.28
The incipient violence that aficts Brazilian urban cities has been clearly
depicted by movies such as Pixote, Hector Babencos 1981 award-winning lm
about a boy abandoned by his parents to the streets of Rio de Janeiro; O Cidade
de Deus, Fernando Meirelles and Ktia Lunds 2002 lm about violence in a
well-known Rio favela; and Bus 174, Jos Padilhas 2002 documentary of the hijacking of a bus on June 12, 2000, in Rio de Janeiro. Bus 174, for example, underscores the dynamics of violence, its memory, and how myriad manifestations of violence emphasize exclusion. Sandro Nascimento, a marginal, poor,
black youth, hijacked a bus and, for four-and-a-half hours, was televised cursing, accusing, and terrorizing his hostages at gunpoint. For four-and-a-half
hours, the nation could not take its eyes off of the scene. He was murdered
(once out of sight of the cameras) in the police car that should have taken him
to prison and a later tribunal. This documentary raises many important social
issues. Central are the origins and perpetuity of such extreme violence
throughout Brazilian urban centers.
In a more complete and complex study of brutal transgressions in Brazilian
culture, anthropologist Teresa Caldeira succinctly posits,
In its most general formulation, the dualist interpretation of Brazilian paradoxical developments suggests that Brazil has never become a fully modern society (a model identied with either Western Europe or the United States). Instead, Brazil is marked by a split between a hierarchical order (private, informal,
personal) and egalitarian order (public, formal, legal), and the two relate in
complex ways to produce the peculiarly Brazilian culture.29
Caldeira brings Roberto DaMattas work to bear on her own interpretation of

the problem: for DaMatta, the hierarchical order is the legacy of colonial (i.e.,
slave-based) relationships and institutions.30 Inheriting traditions of brutality
borne out of slave culture, the police have power and continue to empower
themselves by daily using unwarranted, random violence. Such mistreatment
does not afict all. It is written, Brazilian legislation guarantees preferential
treatment by the police and prison system to anyone with a college degree.31
Violence, according to DaMatta and Caldeira is constitutive of Brazilian social
order.32 When viewing a documentary like Bus 174, it is critical to consider its
message and social implications within an individual perspective (Sandro be-
110
comes individualized through violence) and a larger, extremely complicated

social and political reality (violence is used as a mediator that changes the position of the marginalized to central, with a voice, a story, and an impact).
Sociologist Luiz Eduardo Soares, who is interviewed in the lm, argues that
Sandro was one of many invisible bodies in the city who were hungry for social
existence. Consequently, high on glue or cocaine, Sandro put on a little show
for the cameras, which incited him to become even more violent. The media
usually seek the most sensational of events. In front of the cameras, Sandro
morphed from being marginal, abused, and invisible to becoming powerful,
abusive, and famous. According to Soares, Brazilian society is to blame for
this kind of violence; despite its democracy, it still espouses ideals of order and
progress that marginalize and criminalize the poor, and it condones inhumane
methods to clean the streets and make the cities safe. Middle and upper classes
alike coexist with the poor but do not want them in their way. As a result, closed
communities have popped up in major cities. Also, as Yvonne Bezerra de Mello,
the social worker interviewed in the documentary, points out, when polls were
taken as to whether the street children should be eliminated at any cost, many
people responded clearly. They wanted the grime off the streets. That grime
happens to be human bodies, made invisible by their poverty. Soares notes that
there are two ways of producing invisibility: one can be made invisible if the
others presence is neglected, and one can be made invisible if a stigma is cast
over the presence of the homeless, thus replacing the singularity of a life with
the prejudices of the dominant class. The disparities between the homeless and
favelados (those who live in shantytowns and squatter colonies right alongside
major cities and, often, afuent neighborhoods) still recall the cleansing projections of the dictatorship and military periods of Brazilian history. Bus 174
gives a voice and a history to the tragic life of Sandro and asks the viewer to rethink the bewildering infrastructures of violence.
When Sandro was six, his mother was stabbed to death. He was a solitary
witness, screaming for help; but nobody came to his aid. According to Bezerra,
who knew him, this trauma led to his running away to the streets of Rio de
Janeiro. In July 1993, he was one of sixty-nine street children living in the Candelaria Church area. In an interview with one of the survivors, he remembers
how some of the boys had had an earlier altercation with some police, who
promised to punish the boys. It was a weekend, and the children did not take
the threats seriously. But between eleven and midnight, a van pulled up to the
area in the street where they slept. The youngsters believed that it was a soup
truck, and all went over for some food. Instead, policemen jumped out and
/ 111
started shooting. Seven were killed, and sixty-two escaped. Yvonne Bezerra has
studied the plight of the children who survived the massacre at Candelaria.
Thirty-nine were murdered under different but equally violent circumstances,
others disappeared, and the few who remain live in extremely precarious conditions. She notes that these children escape extremely abusive homes and go
on to even more ruthless existences on the streets. Their lives are diminished to
nothingthey have nothing to lose and can explode at any given minute.
Sandro was one of the survivors who lived to witness, tell, and retaliate. The
lm traces Sandros life and interviews the people who knew him. During almost two years, he studied capoeira with Gil Velho, but this access to an art
form did not help recuperate him from the path of anger and hatred. I want to
believe that many happy stories can be incited by the arts, but it is also critical
to understand the limitations. A capoeira dancer, Coelho, laments that Sandro
was too hooked on glue snifng and cocaine to be saved. (Snifng glue is a
common practice among street children that allows them to forget their
hunger, and it is both addictive and lethal.) After years of incarceration and
street life, Sandros life was simply lost. According to Soares, boys like Sandro
are hungry for social existence, and Sandro do Nascimento found his hours of
social existence and inclusion through extreme violence.
I have detailed central parts of this documentary lm not only to focus on
the realities of ignored bodies and marginalized lives but also to invite considerations of alternatives to violence. In effect, the problem is economic, reected
on a defunct educational system, which further distresses the role of active citizenship in major cities and their corresponding nations. Education specialists
Nelly Moulin and Vilma Pereira have noted,
Since the economic miracle of the 1970s, Brazils economy has undergone
successive recessions that have impoverished the wage-earning classes. Such
drastic economic and social changes have had a profound effect on the socialization of all Brazilian children. Schools, responsible for shaping citizens and
preparing children for entry into the economy, have assumed some of the socialization functions previously performed by the family. But Brazilian schools
are unable to perform satisfactorily their traditional duties to mold citizens and
workers.33
With such severe limits on education, many are systematically precluded from
citizenship, rights, and basic life possibilities. At this point, reminiscent of the
slave period, music and dance both step in to offer alternative modes of sur-
112
vival, resistance, and existence. Numerous studies have paid attention to this
phenomenon. For example, anthropologist Victor Turner examined the role of
the arts in marginal lives through his work on capoeira in the favelas. Turner
claimed that the martial art gave the children and the communities something
to focus on and relief from povertys destructive effects. Barbara Brownings
groundbreaking studies of samba and other popular Afro-Brazilian dances offer more nuanced analyses signaling both resistance and the insidious presence
of racism and sexism in cultural interpretations of the AIDS epidemic. Most recently, the 2005 documentary lm Favela Rising, directed by Jeff Zimbalist, focuses on another young, urban poor male to show that crime is not the only answer to invisibility. Similar to the circumstances of Bus 174, the war is between
the police and the poor. In this case, drug lords in a Rio de Janeiro favela killed
four policemen. In retaliation, the police slaughtered twenty-one of the shantytowns residents, regardless of their innocence to the previous crime. This documentary focuses its attention on Anderson S, one of the witnesses and survivors of the event. Certainly, he could have turned to greater violence, as was
the case with Sandro; instead, he founded Grupo Cultural AfroReggae. The
documentary tracks the work of this organization, which utilizes the popularity of music and dance to counter the violence and crime that the youth of that
favela experiences daily.
So how does dance work its way into the city? How do cities that are being
eaten up by violence reframe themselves to address the horrible results of invisible bodies wanting to make a mark? Anderson S offers some answers. Let
us once again turn to the work of Grupo Corpo.
If the company lived through a period of its own version of anthropophagia, it did not explode as a victim of all it ingested. Instead, it has ingested experience and knowledge, and it is now sharing the nutrients (to continue the
metaphor). Cultural, elite anthropophagia now confronts violent cannibalism
of the masses that are desperately seeking a route to some kind of social inclusion and individual rights. Arguably, the moral demise of Brazilian society is a
result of the modernizing project, which encouraged huge migrations to the
cities. Almost two centuries ago, Schwarz aptly noted, ways of rewriting the
history of Brazil so as to understand the way that our backwardness formed a
part of the development of modern society . . . [help us understand that], backwardness was not something separate in the modern world, but a part of it.34
Much has been written on modernity, but these writings generally focus on
the ills it has brought society. This leads me to pose a pertinent question: in a
state of no return, wouldnt it be prudent to seek out alternative interpretations
/ 113
and modes of function that would lead to solutions? Artists, intellectuals, and
communities can engage in an active dialogue between their crafts and their
surroundings that could eventually help change the conditions of the cities they
occupy. In order for dance to really be part of the city, it must embrace the histories of its people and the evolution of dance practice, both on and off the
stage. Many small companies, NGOs, and alternative social programs are
sprouting throughout the country to address the dire conditions of poverty and
violence. Aware of the circumstances that highlight the clashes between the visions and projects of modernization in contrast to the astronomical rates of
poverty, illiteracy, and crime that plague the country, ve members35 from the
body of Grupo Corpo initiated a project, Sambalel, to bring dance to high-risk
children on the borders of a favela in Belo Horizonte. Grupo Corpo, located at
the center of a city surrounded by the poverty of shantytowns and challenged
by growing violence, has turned its attention to its home city, Belo Horizonte.
In March 1998, Grupo Corpo initiated O Projecto Sambalel, which brings
music, dance, capoeira angola, and instrument classes to over 140 children in
the Santa Egenia region. Grupo Corposs project statement describes the active role it plans to take in citizenship building.
O Projeto Sambalel represents a step forward in this policy of collective action.
It understands its identication with Belo Horizonte, with its population, with
which it has created a passionate and reciprocal relationship for the past 24
years. With this project, Grupo Corpo can channel its accumulated experience
to the most underprivileged segments of society by providing classes in dance,
capoeira angola, music, and instrument making for the children receiving aid
from sister sponsors . . . Knowing that acts of solidarity make us a better people,
a better Brazil, worthy of our cultural richness.36
Effectively, in 2000, the directors legally turned the growing outreach projects
into an umbrella NGO, called Corpo Cidado. This program aims to help
keep and/or get children off the streetsthus removing them from the oblivion of identity that tears at their livesand to give them a sense of self and
placement in the larger community. As per the mission statement, the project
addresses the grave abuses experienced by street children and gives their otherwise ignored bodies the possibility of integration and citizenship. Concretely,
690 youngsters are enrolled in the program. When the director, Miriam Pederneiras, visited Ann Arbor with the photo exhibit Sambalele, she told the story
of one child who went on to receive a scholarship to continue dance study at the
114
main company studio. In the grand scheme of things, Corpo Cidado reaches
out to a very few. But Miriam insisted on the importance of changing one life
at a time, rather than giving up and helping no one, ignoring en masse the
growing numbers of globalizations victims.
Of course, we could be cynical and ask why the company did not do social
work before or if it is not incited more by government tax breaks than by honest social concerns. Perhaps, I think, those are not the questions that merit sustained attention, since what counts is that important outreach work is being
done. Perhaps we should welcome tax breaks, as they may be a key to indirect
governmental support for the poor. Nonetheless, we must be aware of the documented impasses:
In the nal analysis, while NGOs intend to help ameliorate the problems of
street children and adolescents, by and large, they have instead perpetuated
their problems because NGOs fail to help children get off the streets, to redirect
them to their families, or to support their families.37
Indeed, studies suggest that citizenship is not so easy to attain as more complicated issues, such as home residency and family structures, are implicated. Still,
could we hope that dance, with its transnational possibilities, might help get at
least a few off the streets and onto the international stage? Could we envision
an entryway into a paying job, an international skill, a home to build on, and a
global world of open doors initiated by dance and performance?
I believe that Grupo Corpo and Corpo Cidado offer a case study of growing examples of how dance/performance and the community/surroundings
can connect to actively modify the conditions left behind by the debris created
by failed modernizing projects in Latin America and by the new hierarchies
brashly forged by the injustices of neoliberal economics and globalization. On
the global level, Grupo Corpo has fullled an insatiable need for the spectacular and put the modern dance movement in Brazil on the map of international
culture. On the local level, it is an integral part of the city of Belo Horizonte.
Over the many fruitful years of its existence, it has trained dancers, offered
scholarships to the children of the periphery, held special free performances
for the public schools, and introduced an international dimension to its
hometown. No longer is modern dance a rebel movement against and in response to classical ballet in Europe and the United States; instead, it is an interactive agent of multiple narratives of tradition and progress in cities such as
Belo Horizonte.
/ 115
Brazilian cities mirror a series of classications inherited from a long history of slavery, This inheritance is presently deployed by growing favelas and
new walled cities. Dance is a potent venue to defy established divisions between the rich and the poor.
conclusion
Twenty-rst-century reality is haunted by continued economic failures and
plagued by growing violence. The spectacle of dance in the theater, only available to a select audience, is indeed another factor of modern alienation; but
dance can play a role in the education of its environs when it is brought back to
specic local sites. Spectacle is a complicated and important part of consumerism, recalling Nstor Garca Canclinis theory of consumers and citizens.
In this essay, I have described how Grupo Corpo concatenates with the historical trajectory of Brazilian modernity and impacts citizenship building. By
examining the interrelated historical, artistic, and sociopolitical worlds, I hope
to have exposed some of the links between the stage and the city, global culture
and regional problems, and international spectacle and local realities. The companys work, as it has evolved over the years, emphasizes the plurality of histories, races, ethnicities, memories, rhythms, and possibilities. Dance creates constellations of communities, locally and globally, and thus recongures modes of
belonging to community and nation.
In New York City, Angolan dancer and choreographer Jlio Leito heads a
group called Batoto Yetu that works with inner-city children, bringing them
out of high-risk situations. Leito has also worked in Brazil with Grupo Corpo,
where new works were choreographed that included Angolan dance tradition,
Brazilian rhythms, and Afro-American compositions. Similarly, in the United
States, groups like the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre work very closely
with inner-city children, bringing them a sensibility of the arts and survival
that would otherwise remain amiss. The great late Katherine Dunham worked
for years in Haiti, New York, and Brazil. Her anthropological dance research, revival, and choreography not only kept the transatlantic rhythms of dance, survival, resistance, and community alive but also introduced and integrated new
ways of valuing the self, creating community, communing with a growing
global culture, and challenging the abhorrent violence that the global economy
wreaks on the poor. Dance transcends national borders, retains traditions, and,
because of its nonstatic quality, confronts the ruins of late capitalism on a
global scale, inciting us to consider the possibility of wider sociopolitical inclu-
116
sion and its effects on local lives. The initial transatlantic trades that brought
African lives to the Americas constitute a foundational history that is repeated
by new formulations of violence manifested by police states and globalizations
many injustices. Equally, as a challenge, the African rhythms that have mutated
over the centuries inform new modalities of social renewal and expand citizenship to new social parameters.
Notes
Research for this essay was made possible by a Rockefeller Foundation Postdoctoral Fellowship administered by Wander Melo Miranda at the Centro de Estudios Literarios at
the Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais; the generous welcome, support, and information proffered by Grupo Corpo; and a semesters leave and supplemental support
from the University of Michigan. Muito obrigada to everyone in So Paulo and Belo
Horizonte who gave of their time, resources, and contacts. Early guidance from my college mentor George Ydice put me on track with this research as I wrote the proposal:
obrigada, Profe. Special gratitude is extended to Maralice Souza de Neves and Charles Bicalho. Thanks also to Sueann Cauled and Elizabeth Martins for proofreading my translations. A nascent version was presented to the Latin American and Caribbean Studies
Program Brown Bag Series, and an abbreviated version was presented at the Atlantic
Studies Initiative Conference Rhythms of the Atlantic World, both at the University of
Michigan in Ann Arbor. A part was also presented at the 2006 Ford Conference at the
National Academies. Special thanks go to Yvonne Daniel for her continued support and
conversation with respect to my longer-term ethnographic project. Many more of her
wonderful points will be incorporated in the resulting book.
1. Appadurai and Holston, introduction to Cities and Citizenship, 14.
2. Doris Sommers work on cultural agents to bring change to crime-stricken Latin
American cities is crucial here. For example, she emphasizes the story of how, during his
two terms in ofce, the ex-mayor of Bogot, Antanas Mockus, was able to reduce the
crime rate by putting mimes in the street and using creative venues to alter the levels of
aggression and violence in the city.
3. Garca Canclini, Consumers and Citizens, 47.
4. In the 1992 book Imperial Eyes, Mary Louise Pratt based her study around the
concept of contact zones. For her purposes, she used this terminology to refer to the
space of colonial encounters, the space in which peoples geographically and historically
separated come into contact with each other and establish ongoing relations, usually involving conditions of coercion, radical inequality, and intractable conict (6). She later
elaborated, A contact perspective emphasizes how subjects are constituted in and by
their relations to each other. It treats the relations among colonizers and colonized, or
travelers and travelees, not in terms of separateness or apartheid, but in terms of copresence, interaction, interlocking understanding and practices, often within radically
asymmetrical relations of power (7). It makes sense that Pratt, focusing on the eighteenth century, expounded on colonial encounters and offered a new reading of these
/ 117
dynamics. For my own work, I depart from her denition and propose an investigation
of present-day contact zones created by market culture in a twenty-rst-century global
world. By examining the artistic production of a particular dance company and setting
it against the backdrop of a longer history of Brazilian aesthetic and economic modernity, I describe new contact zones of representation and identity formation. The sites of
contact that I analyze are carried out in spaces of performance.
5. Oswald de Andrade, translated in Schnapp, Biting the Hand That Feeds You,
24546.
6. Castro Rocha, Let Us Devour Oswald de Andrade, 7.
7. Castro Rocha presents anthropophagy as a problem that begs a contemporary
reanalysis. In Let Us Devour Oswald de Andrade, he argues that discourses about
identity are essentially useless, because they are inevitably tautological (5). His essay
presents an important overview of the modernist writers . . . re-reading of anthropophagy (8). He quotes Frances Picabias Dada Cannibal Manifesto from 1920 and
mentions Fritz Langs 1926 factory whose production core turned into an enormous
mouth fed by the workers bodies and Paul Valrys ideas interpreting artistic inuence
as a matter of digestion (12). Castro Rocha agrees with Mrio de Andrades presentation of the anxiety of cannibalism as a result of the trauma of World War I. Even with
such literary and historical contextualization, Oswald de Andrades systematic exposition of anthropophagy engaged a uniquely Brazilian process of ingestion of foreign materials and national production.
8. Ibid., 6.
9. Barci Castriota, Arquitectura da modernidade, 19.
10. This concept is used in Shakespeares The Tempest, Karl Marxs Communist Manifesto, and Marshall Bermans All That Is Solid Melts into Air.
11. Quoted from Buck-Morss, Dialectics of Seeing, 160.
12. Rodrigo Pederneiras choreographed Cantares, rst performed at the Teatro do
Centro de Arte Corpo in Belo Horizonte in 1978. With this piece, he made his debut as
the companys ofcial choreographer. However, during this period, it was Maria Maria
and ltimo Trem that dened most keenly the companys production and popularity.
13. With the exception of the 1988 performance of Mulheres, which was choreographed by Susanne Linke.
14. See Katz, Grupo Corpo, for exact dates of opening performances.
15. Schwarz, in Beverley, Aronna, and Oviedo, Postmodernism Debate in Latin America, 281.
16. Most dance companies cannot survive without state and/or private sponsorship.
Luckily, in 1989, Shell became an ofcial corporate sponsor of Grupo Corpo, which was
the rst dance company in Brazil to nd corporate interest that committed nancial
support to further the evolution of the creative dance work without imposing any restrictions on its production. Such clear-cut support guaranteed the companys stability
for almost a decade. Many other companies have since followed this example of corporate and creative union.
17. Maria Maria mais que o roteiro de uma mulher pelo caminho de seu destino,
algo assim como o cainho de uma mulher em direao a solidariedade humana (Martins, Maria Maria, 11).
118
18. From program in Spanish distributed during performance in Argentina in 1970s.

Mara Mara, un simple nombre de mujer. Cuerpo Negro de blandos secretos, ojos
vivos olfateando la noche, brazos fuertes trabajando el da . . . Un ir y venir cocineras
preparando manjares para alguna gran cena. Entre ellas, Mara. Mientras revuelven las
ollas, recuerdan a sus antepasados . . . Los esclavos rememoran a su tierra de origen, su
natural libertad . . . Golpeados y heridos, siempre est presente en ellos el recuerdo de los
dioses que veneraban en su tierra, sus diosces africanos . . . pero en Brazil hay otros
dioses, que ellos descononcan a cuyo inuyo no pudieron escapar . . . En su lecho de
muerte, Mara dice sus verdades, con profunda tristeza y frrea esperanza. Luego, la
muerte, el entierro. Todos cantan su canto de muerte, su credo . . . Due to spatial constraints, I do not elaborate this point here. An excellent study is presented by historian
John Chasteens National Rhythms, African Roots: The Deep History of Latin American
Popular Dance, whose examination of African Dance, Mara de la O, and other important connections historically between popular dance, African dance, and staged dance
merits sustained comparison in another venue.
19. I say innocent here because during interviews with the Pederneiras and Carmen Purri, they all claimed not to have been conscious of any rebellious act against the
nature of things at the time. They mentioned that while they had to perform the piece
before opening night to censors, they were not restricted in any way with what they did.
Carmen Purri remembered that only minor changes were made to some sections upon
the censors recommendations. Of course, I wonder how much of that unspoken continued censorship remains when recalling that period of the companys initial years.
20. A Mineiro is someone from Minas Gerais.
21. Eu sou uma preta velha aqui sentado ao sol.
22. Que existe sempre uma coisa mais rica . . . a soma (Rodrigo Pederneiras, interview by Luca M. Surez, April 1999).
23. Martin, Critical Moves, 38.
24. Ibid., xii.
25. Relev is a ballet term that refers to the motion of the foot by which the heel is
lifted and all body weight is concentrated on the ball of the foot and the toes.
26. Debord, Society of the Spectacle, 10.
27. Appadurai and Holston, introduction to Cities and Citizenship, 15.
28. Ibid., 12.
29. Caldeira, City of Walls, 140.
30. Ibid.
31. Ibid., 142.
32. Ibid.
33. Moulin and Pereira, Families, Schools, 43.
34. Schwarz, Misplaced Ideas, xii.
35. Jacqueline Gimenes, Cristina Castilho, Carmen Purri, Pedro Pederneiras, and
Miriam Pederneiras.
36. O Projeto Sambalel representa um passo adiante nesta politica de atuao comunitria. Compreende a identicao do Corpo com Belo Horizonte, come sua populaco, junto qual, h 24 anos, vive uma histria apaixonada e recproca. Com o projecto, O Grupo pode canalizar para os segmentos mais desprivilegiados da cidade seu
/ 119
acmulo de experincia, proporcionando cursos de dana, capoeira angola, msica e

confeco de instrumentos para crianas atendidas pelas entidades parceiras . . .
Sabendo que as aes solidarias nos fazem um povo melhor, um Brasil melhor, digno de
nossa riqueza cultural (from a 1998 uncopyrighted handout package seeking funds).
37. UNICEF, 1992, quoted in Moulin and Pereira, Familes, Schools, 51.
Bibliography
Appadurai, Arjun, and James Holston. Introduction. In Cities and Citizenship, edited
by James Holston, 120. Durham: Duke University Press, 1999.
Barci Castriota, Leonardo, organizador. Arquitectura da Modernidade. Belo Horizonte:
Editora UFMG, 1998.
Beverley, John, Michael Aronna, and Jos Oviedo, eds. The Postmodernism Debate in
Latin America. Durham: Duke University Press, 1995.
Buck-Morss, Susan. The Dialectics of Seeing: Walter Benjamin and the Arcades Project.
Cambridge: MIT Press, 1989.
Burt, Ramsay. Alien Bodies: Representations of Modernity, Race, and Nation in Early
Modern Dance. New York: Routledge, 1998.
Caldeira, Teresa P. R. City of Walls: Crime, Segregation, and Citizenship in So Paulo.
Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000.
Chasteen, John Charles. National Rhythms, African Roots: The Deep History of Latin
American Popular Dance. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 2004.
Debord, Guy. Society of the Spectacle. New York: Zone Books, 1995.
Garca Canclini, Nstor. Consumers and Citizens: Globalization and Multicultural
Conicts. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2001.
Habermas, Jrgen. ModernityAn Incomplete Project. In Postmodernism: A Reader,
edited by Thomas Docherty, 98109. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.
Holston, James. Insurgent Citizenship: Disjunctions of Democracy and Modernity in
Brazil. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007.
Katz, Helena. Grupo Corpo: Companhia de Dana. Belo Horizonte: Salamandra, 1995.
Martin, Randy. Critical Moves: Dance Studies in Theory and Politics. Durham: Duke University Press, 1998.
Martins, Sylvia. Maria, Maria: A Msica e a Mulher de Minas Num Contexto Universal. Minas Gerais: Suplemento Literario, April 3, 1976.
Melo Mirando, Wander, ed. Narrativas da modernidade. Belo Horizonte: Autentica, 1999.
Moulin, Nelly, and Vilma Pereira. Families, Schools, and the Socialization of Brazilian
Children: Contemporary Dilemmas That Create Street Children. In Children of the
Streets of the Americas: Globalization, Homelessness, and Education in the United
States, Brazil, and Cuba, edited by Roslyn Arlin Mickelson, 4354. New York: Routledge, 2000.
Pratt, Mary Louise. Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation. New York: Routledge, 1992.
Rocha, Joo Cezar de Castro. Let Us Devour Oswald de Andrade: A Rereading of the
Manifesto Antropfago. In Anthropology Today? edited by Jorge Rufnelli and
Joo Cezar de Castro Rocha. Special issue, Nuevo Texto Crtico 2324 (2000): 519.
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Schnapp, Jeffrey T. Biting the Hand That Feeds You (On the 70th Anniversary of the
Manifesto Antropfago). In Anthropology Today? edited by Jorge Rufnelli and
Joo Cezar de Castro Rocha. Special issue, Nuevo Texto Crtico 2324 (2000): 24247.
Schwarz, Roberto. Misplaced Ideas: Essays on Brazilian Culture. London: Verso, 1992.
Sommer, Doris. Review 71, Art and Accountability. In Review 71: Celebrating the
Americas Societys 40th Anniversary with a Special Supplement on Cultural Agents,
40th anniversary edition, Review 71 (November 2005): 261314.
Turner, Victor. The Anthropology of Experience. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1986.
Muscle/Memories: How Germaine Acogny

and Diane McIntyre Put Their Feet Down
susan leigh foster
In this essay, I stage a duet between two contemporary choreographers, one

Senegalese and one African American, both women of roughly the same age. I
try to decipher the distinctive ways in which they vivify their African heritage
in order to gain additional perspectives on how the body might participate in
creating a sense of agency for a subject under duress. This inquiry grows out of
my attempts to theorize tactics of resistance as more complicated and diverse
than the terms resistance, opposition, mimicry, or strategic essentialism seem to
allow. Although many of these terms implicate physicality in the project of contesting and undermining hegemony, I want to expand and also historicize the
repertoire of corporeal techniques that could be implemented when confronting empire.
Pierre Bourdieu and Michel Foucault have shown that what gets stored
within physicality as tacit knowledge includes memories from a cherished past
about how to do things and also patterns produced by and from within systems
of oppression. Theater historian Joseph Roach theorizes this systematic incorporation and reiteration of structurings of domination as a process in which
bodies and places together construct vortices of behaviorpatterns of action
that congeal and become perpetuated over time.1 Bodies in the present are
summoned into these vortical operations through a process of surrogation in
which present bodies esh out the gestures of the past. In what follows, I want
to chart possible structurings of noncompliance with these gravitational ows.
Several dance scholars will be dancing along with these two choreographers, helping me to understand and describe their work. Brenda Dixon-
121
122
Gottschild, inspired by Robert Farris Thompson, was the rst to identify

Africanisms such as polycentrism, high-affect juxtaposition, ephebism, and
deadpan as central to an Africanist dance aesthetic. Examining the appropriation of these traits by choreographers such as George Balanchine and the postmodern Judson Church group, she showed how an Africanist aesthetic served
to vitalize high and white forms and give them their cool. Thomas DeFrantz,
building on Dixon-Gottschilds work, has also complicated the analysis of
African American identity with considerations of sexuality and class in his
study of Alvin Ailey. Kariamu Welsh Ashanti has illuminated the deeply complex and intertwined relationship between music and dance in African cultures, and Jacqui Malone has demonstrated this relationship in a variety of
African American popular dance forms. Veta Goler has provided a powerful
feminist analysis of the African American female body. Halifu Osumare, in her
studies of hip-hop, has shown how to track the migratory paths of this world
dance form. This essay builds from their visionary scholarly initiatives.
Here, I also want to explore possible meanings of a phrase commonly utilized in a variety of dance parlances: muscle memory. Dancers frequently refer
to muscle memory as the capacity for memories to be stored in and evoked by
movement of the musculature. Sometimes these memories are personal and
psychological. At other times, memories insinuated into muscle reference cultural and historical experiences of a people. In this application, the term approximates the concept of embodied memory, also used to signify what Diana
Taylor has called a repertoire of movements through which history is summoned up and reinvoked.2 Yet how, exactly, are such memories housed in the
muscles? How are they acquired, and how do they endure? What, exactly, do
they remember? I will propose that dancing has the capacity not to remember
but, rather, to re-member, or to reattach the body to a cultural heritage in various ways. Dancing does not activate some historical past that lies dormant in
the body, and the musculature does not function as a storage facility into which
the past has been packed. Instead, dancing, as a set of actions, vitalizes a connection to past instances of dancing and other ways of moving. Both the muscles and the nerves that activate them engage in movements that reference,
while never being the same as, a past way of moving.
In the same way that there can be no absolutely faithful replication of past
movement, so there is no singular way to put ones foot down. This phrase,
colloquial for taking a rm stand on an issue, also implies an act of resisting. In
what follows, I use the phrase to signify physical actions through which a resistive practice is constructed. Although putting ones foot down could suggest
Muscle/Memories / 123
that one assumes a static and rigid position, choreographers Germaine Acogny
and Diane McIntyre have each put their foot down repeatedly over the span of
their careers, performing a move that has developed over time in relation to a
changing point of contact. Their postures thus remain exible and responsive
to the moment in which there are engaged.
Before reading further, please focus on your foot for just a moment. What does your
foot know at this moment? The texture and warmth of a sock or the contour and
limits of a shoe? The sense of a thong between big and second toes or the circulation
of air through space? What does your foot sense about its orientation in space at the
end of the leg? It knows the angle of its extension from the calf and the degree of
tension in all of its parts. Perhaps it registers the results of earlier actions in the
form of pains, aches, weariness, or agitation. Perhaps it manifests the effects of routines or training regimens that have cultivated its structure, strength, or exibility.
Reading its physicality, what might we learn about what this foot remembers?
Germaine Acogny is the daughter of a Senegalese functionary who went to

school in France to acquire the skills necessary to administer the colony and
who also learned there to abhor dancing.3 Much to her fathers dismay, Acogny
showed exceptional talent at dancing from an early age. Like him, she went to
France, where she studied ballet and modern dance in the early 1960s. Returning to Senegal, she began teaching dance classes in the courtyard of her home
and also in the lyce where she was hired to be in charge of physical education.
In these earliest classes, she began to develop a codication of what she calls
African dance steps, inspired by the dance techniques she had learned in
France. Although she borrowed from ballet its categorization of positions and
steps and, I would argue, also a spatial stability to each positions look, she did
not incorporate ballets insistence on the geometric structure informing the
poses.
The moves in her vocabulary continue to require a groundednessa sense
of dynamism moving from the ground up through the feet and inhabiting the
entire bodythat she describes as specically African. What might it mean to
be grounded? Does it refer to a distribution of weight, a quality of attentiveness,
a focus on the bodys core, or maybe all of these? Or do concepts such as
weight and core, in their assumption of universal applicability, run counter
to the specicity required to relate foot to ground that is necessary for groundedness to emerge? Is groundedness a universal trait, or does it vary from
ground to ground?
124
In his study of the colonization of Australia, Paul Carter has argued that
taxonomic projects, such as Linnaeuss classicatory system for botany, extracted each object of scrutiny from its ecology, its historical and geographical
surroundings. It loses all power to signify beyond itself, to suggest lines of development or the subtler inuences of climate, ground and aspect. In short, its
ecology, its existence in a given, living space is lost in the moment of scientic
discovery.4 Groundedness, then, might require an enduring sensitivity to the
relationship between the land and the body, a relationship that is specic to a
particular land and a particular body.
Acognys adaptation of ballet could seem to jeopardize her dances groundedness, especially since ballets classication of positions and steps comes out of
a taxonomic project similar to that of Linnaeus. Along with all the academies of
science, Louis XIV established the Academy of Dance, and sometime in the
1670s, he ordered his principal dancing master Pierre Beauchamps to discover
the means of making the art of dance comprehensible on paper. According to
Beauchamps, he set about shaping and disposing characters and notes in the
form of tablature in order to represent the steps of the dances and ballets in
such a way that they could be learned without need of personal instruction.5
Three features of this mandate stand out as crucial to the way in which it
disciplined the bodys movement.6 First, it invented a regularized vocabulary of
universal actions subtending all steps. Movements signicance was thereby reduced to a set of possibilities to elevate and lower, to move along a specied
path, or to articulate rhythmic patterns with the legs and feet. Using this single
classicatory rubric, the notation subjected dancing to laws that all movements
appear to share. Cultural and historical specicities of particular dances were
smoothed out or erased through the implementation of absolute conceptions
of vertical and horizontal space as well as metricized time.7 Second, this system
consolidated a single point of view from which to assess the bodys progress
throughout the dance. Rather than recalibrate ones actions in response to the
movements of those around one, the dancer was taught to maintain awareness
of his or her path in relation to a maplike rendering of the entire space. Third,
the notation had as a principle objective the elimination of personal instruction. Body-to-body transmission of information was to be replaced by a textual
literacy, one that would enable a much wider circulation of dances and also authorship rights to them. Taken together, these three features of the notation
project had the effect of uprooting the body from its specic locality and establishing universal standards for the performance and teaching of dance.8
Although the dance notations that resulted from Louis XIVs mandate did
not circulate widely, the pedagogical assumptions underlying this dance notation continued to inform the development of ballet up through the twentieth
century. Acogny borrowed from this ballet pedagogy its identication of positions and steps, using it to establish a basic repertoire of moves for a new panAfrican dance form. Yet this borrowing enabled her to defy the colonizing project that the taxonomy had originally facilitated. Against the stereotypic Western
conceptions of African dance as natural, impulsive, or genetically encoded, she
used this codication to demonstrate its discipline, its virtuosity, and its
artistry. Against the Western assertions about the unknowability of African
dance, its lascivious tendencies or chaotic energy, she proposed a clear curriculum of study and identiable criteria of competence.
Not only did she refashion ballets classicatory framework into an anticolonial project, but she also infused its pedagogical precepts with new values.
Specically, her insistence on groundedness asks dancers to sense a variegated
earth rather than to perform on an unmarked horizontal plane. For example,
her current school, Ecole des Sables, boasts an exquisite, open-air dance studio
with a sand oor. Students practicing technique experience the uneven terrain,
the slight changes in pitch and texture of the ground, with each step they take.
Thus, her approach afrms ones ability to respond to that earth in idiosyncratic or improvised ways rather than to execute a taxonomy of steps deriving
from universal principles of movement. In addition, it insists on the need to
learn the dance from another body rather than from a set of printed symbols.
Because of interest in codifying a lexicon of steps, Acogny was identied by
Leopold Senghor, president of Senegal, and by Belgian-Senegalese choreographer Maurice Bjart, director of Brussels prestigious Ballet du Vingtieme
Siecle, to assist in the establishment of Mudra Afrique, one in a network of
schools that Bjart hoped to establish to promote contemporary dance in relation to distinctive dance traditions worldwide.9 Initially Bjart specied the
curriculum: daily classes in ballet, the Graham technique (based on the teaching of U.S. choreographer Martha Graham), Acognys African technique, dance
composition, and drumming. He also selected a Belgian director, who, in turn,
chose the instructors. Of African ancestry, they arrived from Haiti to teach Graham and from the U.S. to teach ballet. Both men claimed to know African
dance better than Acogny, and they attempted to take over her portion of her
curriculum.
Acogny deantly opposed this, confronting Bjart and refusing to continue
with the project unless she was acknowledged as the sole director and authority of the school. Bjart consented, and Acogny, asserting her own leadership
126
and reputation, allowed these foreign teachers to continue to teach their specialities. Thus, in her participation with Mudra Afrique, Acogny invited a colonial project into dialogue with her own dance practices, but she never allowed
it to dominate. She put her foot down, offering Bjart her own leadership instead of the colonial structure he proposed.
As head of Mudra Afrique, Acogny maneuvered around colonial expectations in yet a third way. Teaching European students alongside those from several African countries, she learned to accept that their sincere efforts simply
looked different. Rather than force conformance to a canonical repertoire, she
began to integrate their variations into her teaching, thereby developing an
ever-changing, constantly renewing practice. Even as the National Ballet of
Senegal achieved increasing prominence, touring the world with its showcase
of traditional tribal dances, Acogny deed the Western conception of an opposition between tradition and innovation, on which the National Ballet was
based.10 Instead, she constructed an ongoing inquiry into African dance, treating its tradition as perpetually self-renewing. In addition, she began to forge a
pan-African aesthetic, the hybrid product of the encounter between European
contemporary dance and African forms, which extended beyond region or nation to invite participation from choreographers all over the continent.
Now look at your foot. Note the color of the skin. Survey the calluses, the exact
shapes and lines of extension of the toes, the shape of the arch, the dryness or moistness of the skin. Look for scars, bunions, cracks in the skin. Note the length and
color of the toenails. Does your foot indicate a class or gender or ethnic afliation?
What does its physicality say about its past? What do its appearance and internal
sensations say about what it has been through?
At about the same time that Acogny was teaching in Mudra Afrique, African
American Diane McIntyre graduated from Ohio State University, where she had
received extensive exposure to modern dance through renowned faculty Vicki
Blaine and Helen Alkire and such visiting artists as Anna Sokolow and Valda Settereld. She moved to New York City in 1970 and founded her own company,
Sounds in Motion, in 1972. As the name of the company suggests, McIntyre focused her choreographic inquiry on the collaborative interplay between music
and dance, and she conceptualized musicians and dancers, equally, as members
of a single company. In this interplay between sound and motion, McIntyre undertook to stage improvised choreography. Afrming improvisation as risky and
cutting-edge, she also highlighted its history as an intrinsic feature of African
American performance. Her dances used improvisation as a means to establish

a danced dialogue about African American identitycelebrating and criticizing
African American culture and, at the same time, casting its strengths and
predicaments as issues of enduring human concern.
If Acogny was dancing within and against two hundred years of French
colonial domination, McIntyre was dancing across the Middle Passage and all
that it represented. Saidiya Hartman has shown that in the case of U.S. slavery,
patterns of behavior have continued to mark the body and its cultural production more than a century after its supposed abolition.11 Hartman analyzes actions such as the slave being forced to dance on the auction block in order to
sell himself by looking smart and lively. She demonstrates how these actions recur in minstrel entertainments as a central inuence on such characters as the
Sambo gure.12 Continually present even today in advertisements and popular
culture images of all sorts, Sambo reiterates the masters mandate that the slave
perform a simplistic enjoyment in dancing, one that proves the indefatigable
and carefree disposition of the black body while also demonstrating the lack of
intelligence and the subservience expected of subhuman beings.13
Hartman also suggests how dancing functioned to redress the pained and
abject slave body. It fortied, in the face of violent domination, dishonor, natal alienation, and chattel status,14 the body held in servitude. Through such
practices as stealing away, in which slaves stole themselves away from the master to spend time in self-designated ways, or holding their own dances, in which
they devised parodic versions of the masters social dances, slaves were able,
partially, to stage a sense of their own agency.15
McIntyre determined to create anew this sense of agency by drawing on
Africanist aesthetic principles such as the integral relation between music and
dance. Buoyed by a substantial tradition of African American choreographers
working in the modern dance traditionKatherine Dunham, Pearl Primus, and
Talley Beatty, among othersshe worked to insinuate these principles into a
contemporary moment where their enduring effectiveness could take on new
signicance. Unlike her predecessors, however, she also gave central place to improvised action. Improvisation functioned as an Africanist remembering, defying the Western opposition between choreography and improvisation, in which
choreography is viewed as a xed strategic plan and improvisation as an unstructured process of discovery. Working in a manner similar to jazz musicians,
she asked dancers to improvise the choreography, making decisions in performance about how the dance would proceed. Not only did this use of improvisation confound traditional modern dance assumptions about the planned and
128
the unanticipated, but it also functioned as a way of staging life on the edge, a
highly pertinent focus especially for inner-city black culture resonating with the
agendas formulated by the civil rights and Black Power movements.
In order to rene their improvisatory abilities and to forge an intimate relationship between music and dance, McIntyre and her company members
spent long hours in the studio improvising with jazz musicians. Here they developed the abilities to trade rhythms; to imitate, embellish, or vary their responses to the calls of others; and to move beyond the familiar toward newly
crafted movements and phrases. Prompted by this investigation, McIntyre also
began to investigate earlier jazz dance forms and their histories in relation to
the African diaspora.16 Two years after the founding of her company in 1972, she
traveled to Haiti, where she witnessed Vodou ceremonies and studied the integral relation between music and dance embodied in Haitian dance forms.
Throughout the early 1970s, she also studied Lindy and its many variations, in
order to deepen her understanding of possible relations between music and
dance.
McIntyre worked with master dancers of the Savoy Ballroom era in order to
establish the historical underpinnings of her own practice. From these studies,
she expanded her vocabulary to include movement from the snake hips, jitterbug, cakewalk, truckin, Charleston, mess around, Suzy Q, and camel walk, and
she was able to integrate these forms, their steps and their principles, with her
modern dance background to achieve a distinctive and powerful signature style
of moving.17 She also tapped the social dance traditions mandate for inventive
individualism as a way to approach collaborating with her dancers. Rather than
develop a single vocabulary and technical standard against which all dancers
were measured, McIntyre worked with dancers individual strengths, building
up a shared language of gestures and phrases that was implemented specically
for each piece.
McIntyres interest in the past is particularly striking within the context of
the modern dance tradition in which she had been trained. As dened through
choreographic initiatives such as those of Isadora Duncan, Martha Graham,
and Doris Humphrey, modern dance disdained the past, emphasizing instead
the radical innovation in movement vocabulary. The choreographer might
look to ancient mythology for the dances subject matter, but the movement
repertoire used to explore and express that subject necessarily appeared as new
and individual. This newness helped to rationalize a new status for the female
dancing body as elevated, spiritually motivated, and humanitarianand hence
radically distinct from representations in either ballet or burlesque. By con-
ducting choreographic experimentation that ostensibly shunned both ballet

and history, these artists secured an archetypal and universal status for their
work.
As much as they claimed individual distinctiveness, the white modern
choreographers lexicons shared a striking commitment to groundedness, conceptualized and pursued in opposition to the nongrounded colonizing body of
ballet. Unlike ballet, the bodies of these white feminist choreographers strongly
moved into earth in order to reach toward the sky. Barefoot and unencumbered
by corsets, embracing the earth and its gravitational force, they worked the
body as dynamic ow between fall and rebound, contraction and release, centripetal and centrifugal momentums. Whereas ballet constructed an unmarked
horizontal space into which the body ventures, these modern choreographers
constructed an ahistorical interiority, whose universal impulses could be
tapped and harnessed as impetus for movement. As in Feuillets notation, the
ground they embraced was thus rendered as ahistorical and unmarked, yet
rather than a pure geometric space, the modern choreographers presumed an
absolute gravitational ow that sustained all bodies equally within its dynamic
tension.
With the psyche thus identied as purely individual rather than socially
marked and with the ground identied as universal earth, these choreographers
could place under erasure the inequities on which their success depended. As
Susan Manning has shown, they largely ignored the absence of bodies of color
on the concert stage, and, simultaneously, they indulged in their entitlement to
represent all bodies.18 African American choreographers, such as Dunham or
Primus, who attempted to participate in the modernist paradigm were thereby
subjected to a double bind. They were seen either as natural performers, when
they foregrounded Africanist elements, or as derivative, rather than original,
artists, when they attempted to experiment with more abstract vocabularies.
Although black bodies began to populate the stage in larger numbers by the
1950s and 1960s, they continued to be pressured to represent the specics of
their raced and classed backgrounds, while white choreographers could continue to claim the project of radical exploration of the new. For example, Alvin
Ailey achieved renown for the depiction of African American life in the South
or in Harlem, whereas Merce Cunninghams success grew from the ability to sequence the motions of unmarked, white bodies using chance procedures.
McIntyres synthesis of historical materials and improvised action broke
with the dominant white tradition of experimentation in modern dance, and it
also radicalized African American modernism. Moving out from the Africanist
130
connection between music and movement and using as source material events
from African American history, literature, and popular culture, she showed
work that was both historical and experimental. McIntyre grounded her choreographic project not in a place but in a process, that of continued improvisation with traditional materials. Like Dunham and Ailey, she drew from and valorized the tribulations and struggles that African American identity entails, yet
she pushed beyond the depictions of specic communities and their narratives
that her predecessors had utilized in their work. Instead, she showed a community of dancers, well-versed in traditional vocabularies yet capable of transforming them through inventive variation and recombination, who created
new conversations about their contemporary world onstage. She put her feet
down into the histories of white and African American modern dance, establishing a new way to afliate with a specic identity and a set of universal concerns, both at the same time.
Now stop reading and go nd another foot to compare with your own. Look closely
at the differences in the size and shape of the toes, the arch, the heel. Note the differences in appearance, but also share the sensations that your foot is feeling with the
other person. Together discuss these differences and speculate about their histories.
McIntyres company Sounds in Motion operated within Harlem and beyond for over fteen years, furthering the Black Arts Movements rejuvenation
of Harlem and also touring nationally. By the late 1980s, McIntyre decided to
retire from running the company, because the business overtook the creative
practice of making dances. She had to spend way too much time raising money
and too little time working with dancers in the studio. Yet she has continued to
work with groups of dancers and musicians on special projects, defying the
pick-up company model of setting pieces quickly on hired dancers by working
with artists for sustained periods of time.
After establishing a successful school of African dance in Toulouse, France,
in the 1980s, Acogny began soliciting support for the establishment of a new
school in Senegal. In 1998, Acogny celebrated the opening of Ecole des Sables,
in Toabab Julau, forty miles south of Dakar. As in Mudra Afrique, Acogny has
worked to create a strong sense of community between local inhabitants and
the international students who attend the school. By inviting villagers to performances, integrating their labor and resources into the schools economy,
Acogny keeps the village from becoming a museum, while afrming the
lengthy history of its habitus. Acogny has further ensured that rejuvenation by
canonizing a vocabulary, one that she continues to teach but that acknowledges
the exible interplay among all bodies that take it on.
McIntyre, in contrast, decenters and destabilizes the very notion of vocabulary by emphasizing improvisation and each dancers distinctive skills of inventing and transforming movement. Her sense of community asks dancers to
build together what it is that they share. Where Acogny tries to keep tradition
alive by emphasizing the new, McIntyre incorporates history in order to keep
the present accountable for the moves it makes. In these diverse ways, each
choreographer has worked to build a community that is playful, critical, and
continually renewing itself.
Both work to re-member Africa, yet each has formulated a contrasting set
of tactics in response to distinct colonial histories. Acogny traveled to the colonizer, borrowing concepts that helped to elevate her own tradition in the colonizers opinion. Accepting the colonial invitation to collaborate, she then used
it to create Africa anew. Similarly, McIntyre schooled herself in traditional
modernism but then constructed a radically alternative process of dance making, one that avowed her African American heritage while simultaneously constructing a new vision of the social and the ways that bodies can share and exchange movement. She moved out from a white tradition to uncover her own
history, insinuating it into the white tradition in a way that both exposes and
obviates the traditions fundamental investment in whiteness.
Each choreographers technique of putting her foot down is unique, responding to political and aesthetic exigencies of her moment. Acogny grounds
her practice in a particular physical environs, cultivating an awareness of the
specicities of a place called Africa. McIntyre grounds her practice by cultivating the historical lineage of which she is a part. Both of these projects
demonstrate how muscle memory is cultural memory and how cultural memory is muscular.
Now just give your calf a little massage. There are nine separate muscles in the calf
that extend into the foot, enabling its ability to ex, extend, pronate, or supinate
and to transfer the bodys weight earthwards. See if you can sense their difference.
Try to follow them from their attachment along the tibia or bula across the ankle
joint and down into the foot. Which ones are tense? Which ones are supple or
twangy? Can you connect the pattern or muscular development to activities you
perform regularly or to actions from your past?
132
Turning for a moment to the investigations of perceptual theorists, we learn

that muscles contain two types of nerve bers, one that prompts the muscle into
motion and a second that continually registers the amount of tension that the
muscle is manifesting at any given moment. This second type of nerve ber,
called a proprioceptor, delivers to the central nervous system the information
concerning the ongoing location, whether exed or extended, and effort,
whether tensed or relaxed, of every part of the body. According to James Gibson,
this information is then used as a point of reference in deciphering all forms of
sensory input.19 Thus, our eyeball, for example, can give us relatively little visual
information, but the eyeball in combination with the ocular musculature that
surrounds it can tell us a great deal about our surroundings. Similarly, we know
the location of a sound in relation to the orientation of the head as the sound is
heard. We know what our foot is moving toward on the basis of how we are
standing. These two kinds of nerves create what Gibson calls a perceptual system. The senses do not passively receive stimuli that the brain then processes
and determines a course of action, and the will (wherever that is located) does
not command the muscles into actions such that they obey in order to produce
action. Rather, sensation and action work together to create information.
Not only does action help to produce perception, but scientists are now
positing that individuals, based on their heritage of past experiences, literally
perceive the world distinctively. Neurophysiologist Alain Berthoz explains that
the oculomotor path followed to explore a face is completely different depending on what the observer is thinking: whether she thinks that the individual is rich, sad, or well-coifed, that his ears are protruding, and so on.20 Pleasure or fear or interest all inuence the tiny motions of the eye, known as
saccades, through which visual perception occurs.21 Ones history of engagement with the environment profoundly affects how one sees and, consequently,
what one sees.22 Knowledge production thus depends on the detection of a noticeable difference between two or more events, all of which are in motion.
Acognys and McIntyres careers make apparent this epistemological choreography. Each has persevered in an action of grounding rather than adopting a
static posture or stance. They show us, each in a different way, that there is no
absolute ground toward which the foot descends. Rather, the act of putting
ones foot down entails a constant revaluing and reassessing of what is necessary to preserve dignity and claim worth. There is also no single action by
which the leg moves toward and into the ground. Both bodies remain exible
as the leg descends, drawing sustenance from what is beneath, but not becoming hard as they defy that which is coming at them. However, Acogny has
trained the sole of the foot as sensitized interface between the earthly and the
corporeal, whereas McIntyre teaches it to weave between past and present.
Each choreographer thus re-members a past differently. In their teaching,
in their work with groups of dancers, in their crafting of dances, each choreographer formulates sets of actions that build up a sense of the past. They actively
create memory of a past through their commitment to a shared vocabulary of
movements. These motions resemble a past way of performing and carry with
them a history of signicance, but they are only made meaningful through the
consensus about them that is established as dancers and viewers collectively
work out what they are doing and watching. Thus, Acogny and McIntyre do not
use physicality as a storage unit within which some past set of actions is housed,
nor do they bolster a body willing to proclaim a universal position from which
to survey and remember the world. Instead, they vivify physicality as coproducer of memory: memorys pastness is dened by the presentness of the corporeality of the rememberer, and both are in motion.
Now stand up and then put your foot down. What is your foot feeling at this moment?
Notes
1. See Roach, Cities of the Dead.
2. See Taylor, Archive and the Repertoire.
3. Much of the following information about Acognys life was acquired through a
weeklong series of interviews with her that took place in the Department of World Arts
and Cultures at the University of California, Los Angeles, in January 2004.
4. Carter, Road to Botany Bay, 22.
5. Quoted in Harris-Warrick and Marsh, Musical Theatre at the Court of Louis XIV,
84.
6. Literary historian Jean Noel Laurenti explains, The French dancing masters had
to unify a vocabulary of steps with diverse origins, from the provinces or from abroad:
to discover what this vast repertoire had in common, it was necessary to rst distinguish
all the constituent parts. This would permit the use of the same signs (in different sequence of course) to note down a minuet or passepied, originally from the west of
France, as well as a gavot or a rigadoon, imported from the southeast, or a Spanishstyle sarabande or chaconne. The Feuillet system thus reects an approach which, by
passing through the universal laws of movement, nally arrives at a kind of universal
language of dance, allowing the different traditions to communicate (Feuillets Thinking, 87).
7. See Feuillets Thinking.
8. Elsewhere I have argued that this project of inventing dance notation buttressed
134
the colonial project. As Mary Louise Pratt and many others have argued, this disembodied synthesis of pure space and absolute viewpoint worked effectively to rationalize the
colonial project. The corporeality that connected space and viewpoint extended itself
outward from a central verticality toward a periphery, through an unmarked space. The
act of moving through such a pure space was characterized as value-free, and any labor
entailed in traversing this space went unregistered. Within such a space, neutral bodily
features and motions, such as those specied by the notation, operated to conrm the
existence of an absolute set of laws to which all bodies should conform. Implementing
this bodily disciplining, the colonial regime could rst institute protocols of comportment at home and then proliferate these standards and indexes of behavior to those foreign bodies that it desired to govern abroad. These protocols acquired their persuasive
force by standing as the most basic and therefore universal units out of which human
behavior is composed.
9. Acogny was brought to Leopold Senghors attention when choreographing his
famous poem Femme Noire, Femme Nu, and he subsequently sent her to Brussels to
be evaluated by Bjart. She had pressed on Senghor the need to include dance within his
theory of Negritude, but he wanted Bjarts assessment of her philosophy and competence.
10. Castaldi, Choreographies of African Identities.
11. Her analysis attempts to elucidate the means by which the wanton use of and the
violence directed toward the black body came to be identied as its pleasures and dangersthat is, the expectations of slave property are ontologized as the innate capacities
and inner feelings of the enslaved, and moreover, the ascription of excess and enjoyment
to the African effaces the violence perpetrated against the enslaved (Hartman, Scenes of
Subjection, 26).
12. Hartman argues, These displays of excess enjoyment seemed to suggest that the
same natural law that established the liberty of all men also authorized slavery since the
natural inclination of the enslaved was good cheer and they seemingly endured horrendous circumstances with ease (Scenes of Subjection, 38).
13. Hartman writes, This indelible image of a prostrate yet perky Sambo conjures
up an idealized and fetishized state of servitude, in which the imputed consciousness of
the enslaved ensures submission and docility more effectively than either the whip or
the chain. In other words, the gure reconciles infantilized willfulness with the abject
status of the will-less object (Scenes of Subjection, 52).
14. Hartman, Scenes of Subjection, 72.
15. For an in-depth analysis of several of these deant bodies, see Brooks, Bodies in
Dissent.
16. The extent of McIntyres research into the history of the Afro-American musical
and dance traditions is particularly evident in Going North, 1881, a work that includes
banjo songs, spirituals, harmonica, and slide guitar, and in the impressive diversity of
musical sources used in her entire repertory.
17. McIntyres efforts to transplant free jazz sequencing, with its rapid pace, startling
disjunctures, and innovative harmonies, eventually consolidated a signature style of
moving, described by Cynthia Stembile West as follows: Her jumps contain a torque, a
suspension commonly seen in African dance, that freezes the dancer in midair. This re-
quires rugged physical stamina, skill, nerve, guts, and knowing exactly when to take-off.
Precision and timing are crucial elements which heighten the drama and rivet attention.
McIntyres signature is dened by suspended buoyancy, swaggered sliding walks, hands
ung out forcefully with each nger carving its own world in the space, and sustained
balances that oat on stage (Dianne McIntyre, 142).
18. See Manning, Modern Dance, Negro Dance.
19. See Gibson, Senses Considered as Perceptual Systems.
20. Berthoz, Brains Sense of Movement, 196.
21. Ibid., 201.
22. Ibid., 221.
Bibliography
Berthoz, Alain. The Brains Sense of Movement. Translated by G. Weiss. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2000.
Brooks, Daphne. Bodies in Dissent. Chapel Hill, NC: Duke University Press, 2007.
Carter, Paul. The Road to Botany Bay: An Essay in Spatial History. London: Faber and
Faber, 1987.
Castaldi, Francesca. Choreographies of African Identities: Negritude and the National Ballet of Senegal. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2005.
Gibson, James J. The Senses Considered as Perceptual Systems. Boston: Houghton Mifin,
1966.
Harris-Warrick, Rebecca, and Carol G. Marsh. Musical Theatre at the Court of Louis XIV.
New York: Cambridge University Press, 1994.
Hartman, Saidiya. Scenes of Subjection: Terror, Slavery, and Self-Making in NineteenthCentury America. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997.
Laurenti, Jean Noel. Feuillets Thinking. Translated by Brian Holmes. In Traces of
Dance: Drawing and Notation of Choreographers, edited by Laurence Louppe, 81108.
Marsat, France: La Source dOr, 1994.
Manning, Susan. Modern Dance, Negro Dance: Race in Motion. Minneapolis: University
of Minnesota Press, 2004.
Roach, Joseph. Cities of the Dead: Circum-Atlantic Performance. New York: Columbia
University Press, 1996.
Taylor, Diana. The Archive and the Repertoire: Performing Cultural Memory in the Americas. Durham: Duke University Press, 2003.
West, Cynthia Stembile. Dianne McIntyre: A Twentieth Century Griot. In African
Dance: An Artistic, Historical, and Philosophical Inquiry, edited by Kariamu Welsh Asante, 13144. Trenton, NJ: African World Press, 1996.
To Carry the Dance of the People Beyond:

Jean Lon Destin, Lavinia Williams, and
Danse Folklorique Hatienne
millery polyn
During the week of April 7, 1951, the Haiti Tourist Information Bureau (HTIB)
and the city of New York sponsored a series of cultural events celebrating Haiti
Week of New York. The festivities not only served as a platform to display the
nest in Haitian culture but also functioned as an appeal for collaboration for
the U.S. government and its citizens to fully participate in the economic revitalization of the Haitian republic.1 Key to the bureaus appeal was building a
sound tourist industry in Haiti that encouraged Americans from New York
and other states of this great Sister Republic [to] get better and better acquainted with this Tourist Paradise that Haiti represents.2 The HTIBs reference to the United States as a Sister Republic echoed Franklin Roosevelts
Good Neighbor Policy, a U.S.-centered foreign policy that promoted nonintervention and cooperative economic and cultural programs in the Americas. Although there are ample critiques of asymmetrical hemispheric relations between the United States, Haiti, and a number of other Latin American
countries, the Haitian government still courted collaborative nancial ventures
with the United States in order to alleviate Haitis struggling economy.3
Haiti Week proved to be a critical moment in the development of Haitian
tourism. Haitian cultural festivities in New York City were organized on the
heels of signicant political transition and economic depression in Haiti, particularly the coup detat against President Dumarsais Estim by Paul E. Magloire in May 1950. Furthermore, operating within a politically charged environment of the cold war, where the absence of sociopolitical freedoms in the
136
To Carry the Dance of the People Beyond
/ 137
United States due to the threat of communism often pushed the more radical
activist/intellectuals to call attention to the cultural realm, Haiti Week can
also be understood as a toolor, rather, the stage in whichto advance the notion of material and cultural advancement.4 The reports and advertisements in
the News of Haiti, an ofcial publication of the HTIB, trumpeted Haitis modern technical projects (construction of new roads and buildings), which offered
the illusion of progress.5 Material advancement in Haiti accentuated the illusions of pleasure for the middle-class North American traveler despite the aftereffects of the nineteen-year U.S. occupation of Haiti, which offered minimal
structural improvement and held the country in arrears to a number of U.S. investors. Celebrated Haitian and African American artists, dancers, and literary
gures such as Jean Lon Destin, Katherine Dunham, and Jean Brierre participated in Haiti Week programs, clearly sending the message that cultural arts, at
this particular moment in time, served as Haitis most valuable resource.
This essay focuses on the development of danse folklorique Hatienne (Haitian folkloric dance) by Jean Lon Destin and Lavinia Williams and on how
they employed it to entertain, to educate their audiences on Haitian culture,
and to technically train Haitian dancers in the 1940s and 1950s. As early as the
middle 1930s through the 1950s, the advancement and consumption of Haitian
cultural arts gained full support by the Haitian government in order to develop
Haitis tourist industry. In fact, many Caribbean administrations encouraged
tourism during this time in order to complement industrialization and answer
the dilemma of debt, unemployment, and failing economies.6 The emerging
popularity of Haitian dance, along with painting and music, attracted curious
tourists and artists and also helped reinvigorate Haitian cultural production
and consumption, which, in many ways, perpetuated elitist notions and racist
images of Haitian culture as exotic and primitive.
The challenge for Haitian artists to escape the trivialization of its culture as
either exotic or demonic in the minds of foreigners remained overwhelming.7
Inuenced by the racist travel narratives and zombie lms that proliferated the
American landscape during U.S. occupation (191534) and postoccupation
(193457), such as White Zombie (1932) and I Walked With a Zombie (1943),
many tourists were intrigued by notions of a primitive and mysterious
Haiti. Haiti was the Africa of the West, without the long voyage, and maintained some semblance of U.S. inuence. Scholars Grarde Magloire and Kevin
Yelvington assert: In the anthropological imagination of Haiti with its legacy
of colonial and neocolonial ethnography, itself a cousin to travel narratives,
Africa, Vodou and Race, among others, have remained key images in the rep-
138
resentation of Haiti as a whole.8 This anthropological imagination intersects

with popular ideas, and the images of Africa, Vodou, and Race become
synecdoches, standing for African savagery as part of a larger colonial discourse on the religions of primitive people regarded as fetishistic, superstitious, [and] cannibalistic.9 Dance, Haitian folkloric dance in particular, among
other cultural art forms, served as the vehicle for which many tourists would
authenticate their racist and paternalistic beliefs. Destin and Williams proved
not to be completely successful in overcoming such bigoted perceptions of
vodou and its sacred dances. Nevertheless, Destins and Williamss innovation
and transmission of Haitian dance educated dancers and their audiences to
Haitian and West Africanbased cultural heritage(s), helped to attract tourists,
and also demonstrated that the cultural arts enhanced the modern project of
economic and cultural development.10
I argue that their work sought to codify Haitian dancediscipline it, classify it, and theatricalize itso as to exhibit Haitis art form and its cultural ambassadors on the world stage and to educate their audience to Haitian history
and culture. From the late 1940s to 1956, the golden age of tourism in Haiti,
Destin and Williams transformed the pedagogy of Haitian folkloric dance by
establishing national institutions in Haiti that focused on the technical development of dance (i.e., oor stretches, body conditioning, ballet training, choreography classes, etc.).11 The creation of a polished, well-conditioned and professional group of dancers, inuenced by the class and cultural education of
Destin and Williams, presented a perceived cultured and more agreeable image to middle-class, liberal vacationers from the United States and Europe.
More important, the establishment of cultural institutions and the training of
Haitian dancers afrmed the creation of an alternative world by black dancers
where African-based art forms were celebrated and in consistent dialogue with
Western culture.
Haitian folkloric dance and Haitian paintings were arguably the most
prominent and popular cultural art forms exposed to the international public.
During the presidencies of Dumarsais Estim and Paul Magloire (194656), the
cultivation of Haitian art forms prospered because of noiriste state support,
which promoted a dark-skin, populist agenda, and an effective public relations
campaign that advanced Haitis cultural capital so as to fascinate and charm potential tourists.12 However, this essay concentrates on the role of Haitian folkloric dance as opposed to Haitian painting or sculpture, because of its international exposure and acclaim, its choreographers, the magnitude of its audiences,
its participatory elements, the frequency of its performances, and also its sym-
/ 139
biotic relationship with vodou religion and the growth of tourist entertainment
structures such as hotels, clubs, and theater venues. Dance performances occurred in school auditoriums, theaters, open-air sites, and nightclubs entertaining small and large audiences on a nightly basis.13 The popularity of folkloric
dance shows in theater settings motivated several hotels and clubs in Haiti to
host performances similar to Broadway musicals and to appropriate the names
of vodou divinities such as Htel Ibo Lele and its Shango Nightclub.14 Secular
danse folklorique functioned as a more visible and tangible manifestation of sacred vodou ritual, the latter of which troubled the presidents Stnio Vincent
(193041) and lie Lescot (194146). The air of hopefulness that followed the
end of U.S. intervention had also ushered in state-sponsored repression of sacred vodou, where Vincent and Lescot believed it to be politically and cultural
regressive to the state and the (re)formation of Haitian national identity. Yet the
state deemed folkloric dancebelieved to be bled of its sacred elementsa viable cultural commodity to attract tourism. Therefore, folkloric dance, arguably
more than Haitian painting, deserves particular attention to the growth of Haitian tourism, national development, and cultural nationalism.
we have an artist: jean lon destin at the

intersection of folkloric dance and vodou
In September 1935, some conservative elements of Haitian society, particularly
Haitian elites and print media sources such as Le Matin, applauded President
Stnio Vincents legislation against les pratiques superstitieuses (superstitious
practices). However, revisions in the penal code of the same year stated that
popular dances or Haitian folkloric dance, void of any sacred ritual or sacrice
of livestock in submission to deities, were legal, despite their inextricable connections with vodou.15 Scholar Kate Ramsey asserted that these legislative
changes occurred due to the development of cultural nationalism during the
U.S. occupation period, which mark[ed] the moment when it became politically desirable . . . for the state to distinguish popular dance from prohibited ritual.16 Popular dance became evidence of a national culture and of Haitian cultural progress, while religious rituals perpetuated notions of Haitian
primitivism and inferiority.
Since the late 1930s, the Catholic Church in Haiti promoted an antisuperstitious campaign with the support of the state. Intrusions by the Haitian police and Catholic clergyman on ounf (temples) and other sites where Haitians
were suspected of participating in vodou ceremonies disrupted worship and in-
140
stilled fear in the practicing Haitian peasantry. Jean Lon Destin, who was educated in Catholic churches and schools in St. Marc, possessed rsthand
knowledge of the churchs power on the Haitian aristocracy and middle class.
Coming from a middle-class family of modest means, Destin explained that
the Catholic Church told us [Haitians] it [vodou worship] was a sin [and that]
youre going to hell. All of us accepted it.17 In Haitian social politics, there existed a stark conict between Christianity and vodou. Within the Haitian elite,
Christianity operated antithetical to the complex philosophical and religious
beliefs of vodou, the religion of the Haitian masses. It was perceived as backward and contradictory to Catholic theology. Yet the Haitian peasantry and
certain indigniste scholars, such as Jean Price-Mars, who critically advanced
the cultural production of the Haitian masses, deemed vodou as symbiotic with
Catholicism and also African-based. As Michel-Rolph Trouillot asserts, to different degrees, they [elite and peasantry] shared religious beliefs rooted in the
same African-dominated cosmology and took part in similar rituals.18 This
theological division along the lines of class was clearly noted by both Destin
and Katherine Dunham as they navigated the waters of folkloric culture and
the illegal sacred rituals of vodou. Destin stated, Folksongs to them [the Haitian elite] were vodou songswhich is stupid! The minute there is drumming
they think its vodou.19 Dunham, an African American dancer and anthropologist, noted, upon her initial research trip in May 1935, how President Vincent
paid deference to folklore for the sake of the growing interest of tourists in the
island but that an air of secrecy clothed all the serious ceremonies.20 The
Haitian government, according to Dunham, frowned on investigations that
unearthed the schism between the thin upper crust of the Haitian elite . . .
[and] the black peasants, who really were by numbers and by historical content
and character and humanness . . . the true Haitian people.21 Destins and
Dunhams remarks highlighted that class divisions, particularly ruptures triggered by elitist cultural denigration of vodou belief systems and vodou-inspired
art forms, operated at the intersection of danse folklorique and vodou.
Destins recollections of this class and legal conict and its connections
with Haitian national identity can be traced to an incident involving Lina Fussman-Mathon (a pioneering Haitian folkloric dance artist, pianist, and composer), a small group of young Haitian male singers/dancers, and the Haitian
police.22 One Saturday night, Fussman-Mathon brought four boys (including
Destin) to a vodou ceremony in the rural section of Port-au-Prince, in order to
expose them to the indigenous rituals and dances of the Haitian peasantry.
Fussman-Mathon deemed it critical for their training because her dance and
/ 141
singing troupe had been formally invited to the National Folk Festival in Washington, DC. According to Destin, this trip was his rst direct introduction to
vodou culture. Destin trembled when he arrived at the ceremony, because he
believed that he and the group committed sins against the Catholic Church.
During the ceremony, members of the Haitian police force arrested the group
of observers and participants. Destin recalled the police reprimanding them,
yelling, Dont you know you are not supposed to be here? Once they were
brought back to the police station, Fussman-Mathon made a telephone call to
government ofcials explaining that they were preparing for the folk festival in
Washington, DC. The group was soon released with a strict warning.23 The
troupes release from police custody probably stemmed from several factors:
President-elect lie Lescots support of the folk festival, the fact that the troupe
trained to represent Haiti in the United States, and the inuence of FussmanMathon and the boys middle-class families. Yet the states crafting of a modern
image for Haiti was being challenged by the promotion of Haitian folklore, particularly dance, and its dependency on so-called primitive elements of the
vodou religion.
In May 1941, Fussman-Mathons folkloric troupe attended the National
Folk Festival held in Constitution Hall, Washington, DC. Considered to be an
example of Pan-Americanism at its best, the festival encouraged hemispheric
cultural exchange and understanding.24 Destin remarked that Haiti was one of
the few countries that represented African culture in the festival. To his surprise, there were no Cubans and no Brazilians performing at the event. Brazil
and Cuba, he asserted, were the two strong African-inuenced countries that
could compete with Haiti, and now we [the Haitian folkloric troupe] were the
only real one that would bring Africa!25 Destins excitement about the
troupes representation of a West Africanderived cultural past fused with
Haitian elements may have been a product of many years of reection on his
part. However, it addresses varying angles of cultural perception and authenticity. From Destins reading of the event, the dancers performed Haitian
songs and dances inextricably linked with West African traditions, memories,
and philosophies. Their creative involvement in the folk festival also afforded
them the opportunity to travel, to obtain some level of notoriety and possibly
access to monetary or cultural resources.
The Haitian state believed that the troupes participation gured into a
larger Pan-American project that could potentially reap the benets of increased tourist activity and positive exposure for the nation. The reconciliation
of these two views manifested itself in inter-American programs and Haitis
142
nouvelle cooperation, which explored ways to expand and strengthen relations

between Haiti and the United States.26 African Americans, Caribbeans, Latin
Americans and a few U.S. government ofcials understood that building and
improving cultural programs and the exchange of ideas (economic, technical,
and artistic) across boundaries might break down some of the racial barriers
in the U.S. and in the international arena.27 During the early 1940s, Walter
White, executive secretary of the National Association for the Advancement of
Colored People (NAACP), conveyed serious concerns to Nelson Rockefeller
and others about the success of the Good Neighbor Policy if the United States
did not address the issue of color prejudice and also highlight some of the
contributions nonwhite citizens made to inter-American affairs. Robert G.
Caldwell, a cultural relations ofcial in the U.S. government, agreed with
White. Caldwell afrmed that the United States could not overlook . . . the
fairly complex racial question of Latin American peoples.28 Several intellectual
and educational programs were implemented at the state and federal level, but
few critically addressed race, racism, and imperialism in the Americas.29
The performance by the Haitian folkloric troupe at the National Folk Festival received enthusiastic reviews from the U.S. press, and according to Destin,
they frequently sent newspaper clippings back to Haiti. Destin claimed that
the Haitian people couldnt believe the overwhelming positive response given
by American audiences: You wouldnt dare do those things in [the Haitian]
public . . . and Washington was loving it. The troupes exposure and acclaim
planted the seed in Destins mind that he might have a future in dance in the
United States, where monetary resources were more available and where audiences were much more welcoming.
When the troupe returned to Haiti, Destin was forced to think about how
he would make a living. He learned typography at the Haitian newspaper Le
Nouvelliste during the summer of 1941 and later returned to the United States
on a print media scholarship from the Rockefeller Foundation.30 Philanthropic
organizations like the Ford and Rockefeller foundations often tailored their
grants to U.S. foreign policy initiatives. In this case, President Franklin D. Roosevelts Good Neighbor Policy and the ideals of Pan-Americanism encouraged
technical development and international exchange in the Americas. Destins
Rockefeller grant functioned as an example of inter-American exchange. It was
during his two-year stay in the United States that Destin made initial contact
with the worlds leading dancers and choreographers, such as Martha Graham,
Katherine Dunham, Pearl Primus, and Sierre-Leonean dancer Asadata Dafora,
in order to learn the technical aspects of modern dance.31
/ 143
Haitian ofcials and cultural elites heard about Destins performances in

the United States and were impressed by his ability to garner support and interest in Haitian folkloric dance. Haitian cultural ofcials asked Destin to perform in Haitistating that the government would only invite the elite and the
educated, not the masses. This is art and you will be able to attract tourists.
Destin served now as an ofcial cultural ambassador. Friends, Haitian politicians, and ofcials communicated to him that the government needed to send
him back to the United States to make people realize that we [Haitians] have
an artist.32 By the late 1940s and early 1950s, Haitis ofcials concentrated on
exporting culture and attracting tourists foreign capital because it demonstrated Haitis cultural advancement and produced modest gains in the service
economy. At the same time, the ripple effects of tourism placed a signicant
strain on the countrys infrastructure, such as an increased need for electricity,
a central water supply, and a sewage disposal system.
By 1946, Destin returned to the United States with the intent of entertaining and educating American audiences on folkloric dance. Changing U.S. perceptions of African-descended peoples remained critical during the World War
II period, when racial discrimination and hegemonic colonial governments in
Africa and the Caribbean still reigned. Haiti proved to be a contested space
where blackness and indigenous cultural expression battled the prevailing images and stigmas of black primitiveness and inferiority.33 Haitian educational
institutions such as the Bureau dEthnologie in Port-au-Prince attempted to
counteract beliefs in black inferiority, particularly concerning the rural black
masses of Haiti. While working at Le Nouvelliste, Destin attended classes at the
bureau to learn more about vodou, Haitian folklore, and how the Haitian
masses retained aspects of West African traditions. Studying under Jean PriceMars, Destin remembered that Price-Marss text Ainsi parla loncle (So Spoke
the Uncle) became the rst book that started to open our eyes to tell us that we
are not of European descent. This book highlighted the syncretic nature of
African culture in Haitian life, which propelled many within the Haitian elite to
question, Who are weFrenchmen or African? Destin believed that
Haitians were rooted in a West African cultural heritage, even though many of
the Haitian elite did not want to believe it.
According to Destin, some African Americans during the interwar and
postWorld War II period refused to be associated with African culture; in addition, their knowledge of Haiti was quite limited.34 At the same time, black
American intellectuals and artists like Katherine Dunham, Langston Hughes,
and Paul Robeson proved essential in providing an alternative racial and ideo-
144
logical framework of Africa and the Caribbean for many U.S. blacks. Additionally, these individuals advanced Destins career to a wider audience. Dunham
invited Destin to become a guest artist in her Broadway production Bal Ngre
(1946). Langston Hughes requested him to sing and perform at parties in New
York City. When the New York City Opera produced William Grant Stills production Troubled Island, a tragic story about the reign and death of Haitian emperor Jean-Jacques Dessalines, Hughes alerted Still about Destins dancing
skills. By 1948, Destin formed his own dance company and performed at a
number of sold-out venues. His popularity allowed him to be in a position to
entertain and educate American audiences on Haitian culture and also helped
him to continue to establish relationships with African American intellectuals
and artists.
In 1949, the Haitian government asked Destin to organize a national dance
troupe for its celebration of the bicentennial anniversary of the founding of
Port-au-Prince, Haitis capital city.35 La Troupe Folklorique Nationale served as
the best publicity for Haiti. Under the leadership of President Dumarsais Estim, the Bicentennaire Exposition Internationale showcased Haitis excellence
and advancement in cultural arts. Painters, dancers, and musicians played an
essential role in inter-American cultural diplomacy.36 African American educator and race leader Mary McLeod Bethunes invitation to a presidential ceremony at the bicentennial exhibited Haitian/African American linkages to a
common struggle. President Estim honored Bethune at a very dignied ball
at the royal palace for her tireless work on the improvement of Haitian education and the lives of Haitis orphans.37 The ceremony organizers called on Destin, now considered a Haitian cultural ambassador, to perform his heralded
Slave Dance. This routine interpreted the evolution of enslaved African descendants from the point of bondage to their physical and psychological emancipation. At the moment of rebellion, Destin struggled with the chains that imprisoned him and eventually broke free, energetically dancing throughout the
ballroom, demonstrating the emergence of a revolution and the beginning of a
free black republic.
Bethune seemed to interpret the dancers breaking of the chains as an action with a very modern relevance. When Destin severed the chains, Bethune
walked over to the fallen chains, picked them up, struggled with them, and
broke them again.38 This was a signicant and symbolic gesture performed in
1949 in front of Haitian and international dignitaries. Racial discriminatory
practices, racial violence, and social and economic inequality still plagued
Bethunes United States. Bethunes connection with Destins Slave Dance ex-
/ 145
emplied African American hardship in the United States and echoed the
transnational political and cultural engagements between both groups in the
postU.S. occupation era. Destins artistic vision complemented the Haitian
cultural roots of the peasantry and consequently entertained audiences by
communicating an art experience that offered cultural awareness of Haitian
life. His success served as one of the components that helped bring notoriety
and European and American capital to an emerging tourist industry in Haiti.
lavinia williams and the technical training

of haitian dancers
Lavinia Williamss participation in the cultural events of Haiti Week (mentioned at the beginning of this essay) in the spring of 1951 set the stage for her
thirty-year relationship with the black republic. During these festivities, Papa
Augustin, a Haitian drummer and cultural consultant to Katherine Dunhams
dance company, invited Jean Brierre, a poet and director general of the Haitian
State Tourist Ofce, to Lavinia Williamss dance school in Brooklyn, New York.
After watching Williamss technique and approach to modern dance, Brierre
remarked that it was the kind of basic technique that I want my people to
learn. Within two years, Alphonse Cimber, Haitis Master of Drums and also
Destins drummer, mentioned to Williams that the Haitian government
planned to invite a foreign dance teacher to improve the technical skill of Haitian dancers. Subsequently, with the help of Haitian cultural ofcials, the Haitian government invited Williams to become a national dance instructor for a
period of six months. Excited, Williams wrote to Roger Savain, minister of propaganda, in December 1952, it has always been one of my fondest ambitions to
be given the chance to call upon my dance knowledge, and varied dance background, and present this knowledge to the people of Haiti.39
The Haitian governments offer to Williams highlights the question, why
did Haitian ofcials seek out a non-Haitian to teach dance in Haiti? I contend
that the Haitian government sought out classically and formally trained modern dancers who brought technical and disciplined training to Haitian performers. During this period of intensifying Haitis exposure through tourism
and cultural exchange, the Haitian Ofce of Tourism believed that Lavinia
Williams also brought prominence and possibly access to U.S. cultural resources. In April 1957, the Haiti Sun reported, Haitian artists, until a few years,
knew nothing about modern dances, tap dancing or ballet. Now there are hundreds of young people assisted by a French teacher, several Haitian and Ameri-
146
can teachers, who are being trained in other forms of the dance.40 Williamss
dance pedigree, which included several years of experience with Eugene Von
Gronas American Negro Ballet (193739), Agnes de Milles production of
Obeah (1940), Katherine Dunhams company (194145), and Noble Sissles USO
tour of Shufe Along (194546), proved instrumental to her earning the national instructor position and signicant to the perception that Haiti, culturally
at least, continued to move forward.41
Born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, Williamss rst memories of dance
were joyful and painful. She recalled how she gyrated on top of a box at home
to impress her family. During the degrading years of Jim Crow segregation, she
entered through the back door of a segregated Virginia dance school to take
ballet lessons.42 Studying ballet in the 1930s, Williams encountered racial discrimination as a young African American woman in a white ballet world. In an
interview, she stated, Being brought up in America you were told you were not
supposed to be a ballet dancer because youre black and your behind is too big,
and your feet are at . . . I could never get a job in America as [a] black ballet
dancer because they took away that part of me, [they] took away my ballet technique and made it modern or acrobatic.43 Although Williams nally obtained
work in ballet, specically working in Eugene Von Gronas American Negro
Ballet at Harlems Lafayette Theatre, her statement highlights the prejudice that
black dancers encountered with respect to the black female body and African
Americans approach to dance. African-descended dancers could not escape the
primitive trope in the dance world, which, in the minds of some blacks, did not
necessarily carry a negative connotation. It was often characterized as a source
of origin or basic.44 Yet ideas on the primitive within the larger North American
society and elite dance circles racialized and made inferior notions of primitive
danceimages that blacks believed they had to continuously counteract. The
description in the 1939 program for the American Negro Ballet perpetuated the
belief that black dance was instinctive, simple, and primitive.
The stirring imagination of the Negro and his innate understanding of the fundamental values have left deep, permanent impressions on the arts. In the
dance, however, this talent has been conned chiey to dance-hall jazz and
African rituals . . . These limited dance formswhile reecting mans elemental characterhave provided no outlet for the deeper and more intellectual resources of the race. In his search for expression the Negro has made several attempts to enter the serious dance but he has been handicapped by economic
conditions and the lack of artistic opportunity.45
/ 147
Although the quote attributed the marginalization of black dancers to socioeconomic inequalities and the lack of artistic opportunity, it is also important to
note that even the American Negro Ballet deemed dance-hall jazz and African
rituals as limited dance forms and not serious dance, thus reinforcing hierarchies of cultural forms and the primitive nature of African-descended peoples.
After working with Von Gronas American Negro Ballet from 1937 to 1939,
Williams joined Agnes de Milles production of Obeah in August 1940. It was
during this production that Williams acquired an interest in the culture and art
of the Caribbean, which Williams asserted was the missing link to Africa and
one of the roots that many black Americans ignored. Her skill and interest in
Caribbean culture(s) made her transition to Katherine Dunhams company in
1941 smooth.
Williamss experience in the Dunham Company profoundly inuenced her
understanding of dance and the ethnology of dance in countries of African descent. In order to prepare and understand the Dunham technique, Williams
noted the importance of understanding an ethnic groups art as a way to better
comprehend a peoples identity. Participation in a culture and obtaining a socalled authentic knowledge of why people danced and for what purpose proved
central to the Dunham technique and Williamss understanding of dance. In her
journal, Williams wrote, Beginners should be well acquainted with the history
of primitive peoples . . . [and] make a careful study of authentic rhythms in song
and dance and of their native costumes and customs.46 Additionally, Williams
noted the signicance of culture and movement as opposed to imitating it; this
was vital to creating a better dance form, to producing a superior theatrical production, and to teaching students how to improve human relations.47
Williamss upbringing in the Christian church also facilitated her transition
to vodou religion and other Caribbean faiths. Williams, who recalled her
grandmother being blessed with healing powers, remembered watching people
in church catch the holy ghost. She maintained that she was drawn to the
Holy Rollers [and] the Sanctied people.48 These experiences, Williams
noted, prepared her for participation and education in vodou and for recognition of the differences between vodou worship and Christian worship. While in
Haiti, Williams was possessed three times. In an interview, she remembered her
possession experience to be one of elation and clarity.
You are at the peak in your mental approach to who you are, and the cycle goes
upand you come to terms with yourself, mentally, physically, everything. Its
like a happy meeting with yourself. But in the U.S. when you get to the height,
148
somebodys going to come and say a heathen [and] bring you smelling salts
because sometimes they pass out.49
Williamss early Christian experiences provided her with a space to embrace

vodou culture in Haiti. In addition, her participation and possession in vodou
rituals carved out a space where she continued to learn and develop folkloric
dance and also to realize the signicance of being free of restraint or social
judgment.
Discriminating opinions from friends surfaced when Williams decided to
accept the teaching position in Haiti. Some of her friends commented, Well,
you want to go to the West Indies, thats like taking coals to Newcastle. They
[West Indians] already know how to shake.50 Common racial/ethnic stereotypes regarding African-descended peoples and their intuitive knowledge of
dance persisted within U.S. cultural spaces, as in the American Negro Ballets
1939 program description and Destins early perceptions about African Americans. Williams, as well as other dancers and participants in vodou and folkloric
dance, emphasized the tremendous amount of training and practice involved
in dance performance. To such misinformed assertions, she responded,Its not
shaking thats important . . . There is a discipline to knowing how to shake, that
is important. Furthermore, Williams argued, I know when I analyze the
shoulder movements, for instance, it is like mathematics. Everything is according to music. The African and West Indian beat is so technical, that you cant
just get up and do anything.51 Thus, Williamss formal training, her association
with Dunhams company, and her extensive international travel shaped her into
an ideal candidate for Haitian ofcials.
On April 23, 1953, she arrived in Haiti with her two daughters and was met
by a committee of Haitian delegates, including Emerante de Pradines, a popular Haitian singer.52 Her technical responsibilities included dance instruction at
the Lyce des Jeune Filles, training several teachers from the Bureau of Sports,
offering physical culture classes and body conditioning exercises to the members of La Troupe Folklorique Nationale, and also acting as a special instructor
to the troupe. Claude Barnett, founder of the Associated Negro Press, reported
that Williamss technical skill facilitated the development of Haitian potential
in the eld of dance. He asserted:
What Miss Williams has done, of course, is to establish a systematic pattern for
developing the Haitian potential for basic African dances; a potential that has
long been a part of the islands culture, by applying technical skill; a sort of
/ 149
blending of the cultures of the two countries in one art form . . . The ballet,
voodoo dancing, the Latin rhythms and acrobatic dancing, as developed to a
high degree on the American stage, have all been fused into what has come to
be regarded as the Afro-Haitian dance.53
The Haitian government and African American leaders like Barnett maintained
that Haitian dancers needed technical training in order to advance and attract
tourists and modernize aspects of Haitian culture.
In fact, during this era of postWorld War II development, the social, political, and economic aspects of Caribbean and Latin American societies were entrenched within a language of modernization. Modernization was often
dened by a nations ability to move progressively forward in technological and
industrial development. It also encompassed cultural arenas, particularly dance
and art in the Caribbean. Vodou-inspired folkloric dance, rooted in the cultural
memory and modern experience of racial slavery and New World cultural syncretism, underwent a calculated transformation by black dancers and choreographers that required classication, disciplining, and packaging so that it could
be shared with the modern world through formal dance instruction, Africanbased cultural awareness, and tourist entertainment. Rex Nettleford, a noted
dance scholar, encouraged the systematisation of dance knowledge and history in order to build a sound technique. Nettlefords ideas about the disciplining of Caribbean dance articulated the transmission of an Afro-modern
consciousness made possible through sharing of cultural information, history,
and talents among African-descended peoples in the Americas.54
In November 1954, Williams founded the Haitian Academy of Folklore and
Classic Dance (HAFCD), a manifestation of the classication of Haitian dance.
The academy married modern dance, classical ballet, and secular Haitian dance
in order to create an innovative Haitian folkloric dance tradition. Williams
sought to carry [the] dance of the people beyond its present accepted stage
and develop it so that it can be interpreted, classied and appreciated by all students of the dance and art lovers in general.55 HAFCD offered courses in ballet, choreography, and folkloric dance, each performing a particular function in
the development of the modern Haitian dancer. Ballet, as stated in Williamss
text Haiti Dance, operated as the classic foundation of dance, a universal language that conveyed a mastery of body mechanics to increase the grammar
and vocabulary of the dance for individual students.56 Trained Haitian choreographers, well-versed in the technique and methods of Martha Graham and
Louis Horst and the movement and exercises from . . . Katherine Dunham,
150
Michael Kidd, Helen Tamaris [and] Kyra Nijinsky, created new designs and
modications to sacred dance. Finally, the study of folkloric dance provided an
understanding of the form and function of vodou dance and song and also its
relationship to Haitian history.
For Williams and associated Haitian ofcials it was not simply a matter of
incorporating European forms and exercises into Haitian dance in order to legitimize it or the cultural modernity of Haiti. Similar to the Bureau dEthnologie, which utilized European scholarship, the HAFCD served as an educational
institution whose objective was to establish the signicance and to promote the
historical and cultural traditions of the Haitian masses. Nevertheless, Haitian
sacred culture was being transformeddemonstrating the malleability and
uidity of a culture whose existence was being threatened by Haitian antisuperstitious laws. Subsequently, the academy created culturally astute dancers
or, rather, ambassadorsfor Haiti. Rgine Mont-Rosier, an advanced ballet
student at the academy, became one of Haitis cultural ambassadors during the
late 1950s, when she earned a scholarship to Ballet Arts at Carnegie Hall in New
York City. Mont-Rosiers signicant press in Haiti demonstrated not only
Williamss success as an instructor but also Haitis production of another potential artist.57
Williamss technical training and her relative fame as an American dancer
proved to be a perfect match for Haiti. With the full support of the Haitian government, Williams became a central gure in tourist and socially elite circles.
Williams broadcasted Glimpses of Haiti, her radio program, three nights a week
in order to expose and educate tourists to the richness of Haitian history and
culture.58 The national and international popularity of Haitian folkloric dance,
coupled with the growing reputation of Haitian primitive art, created a sense
of national pride for many Haitians, even among some Haitian elite, who typically shunned the cultural production of the masses. According to Grarde Magloire and Kevin Yelvington, folklore had been made to serve nationalist
movements, and similar to the ways it was utilized in the texts of Jean PriceMars during the violent years of U.S. occupation, folklore was being resurrected to complement the perception of President Magloires noirisme and also
to build nationalist fervor in favor of the governments modernist projects.59
Williamss training in ballet bridged a gap between participating elites, the
black middle class, and the masses. Although Williams explained that she initially received the most resistance from Haitian elites, who claimed ballet belonged to [them] or that their children were forbidden to dance folklore, the
dance institutions allowed children of varying classes to interact in later years
/ 151
and introduced the Haitian masses to ballet as well as to the secular danse folklorique.
It is clear that Williams envisioned Haiti as a potential center of black cultural production in which people could come from all over the world for
study, and for rhythmical inspiration. In July 1954, Williams asserted that with
the cooperation of the Haitian government and its people, not only will a new
group of tourists be coming to Haiti, but they can help us to realize an establishment which may someday incorporate not only dancing, but music, painting, drama, opera, and all of the other related subjects to help found a University of Beaux Arts of Haiti.60 Institution building and social and economic
development through cultural exchange, tourism, and an effective promotion
of racial and cultural identity proved to be the manifestation of her internationalist ideals. The Haiti Sun reported that Williams was not only developing
choirs and cultivating the voices of the young Haitian but also giving Haitians
an appreciation and a pride for their national art.61
Lavinia Williams spent the next several decades in Haiti and other countries
of the Caribbean, teaching, dancing, and embracing Haitian culture. Indeed, it
was a source of spiritual inspiration and creative fulllment. When she heard
the drumbeats in Haiti, which she deemed the heartbeat in the bosom of
Mother Africa . . . that mediates you from the unknown to the known, she
knew she belonged there.62 Her dance pedagogy sought to bring recognition to
Haitis shores and also to complement the work of the Bureau dEthnologie by
educating many Haitian dancers on the form and function of Haitian folkloric
dance so as to enrich their understanding and appreciation of Haitian and West
African culture. She claimed that renowned dancer Isadora Duncan accomplished the same type of work: She discovered modern dance and went all
through Europe and Russia, and she sort of said that theres another way of doing things. And Ive said the same thing with my black people.63
conclusion
For Destin and Williams, dance was indeed a form of entertainment. However,
the art of these dancers possessed larger social and political implications that
meant considerably more to them and Haitians than pure amusement. By advancing vodou-inspired Haitian culture, these dancers made a bold statement
against an incredibly class-conscious Haitian society that ignored and demeaned art forms possessing peasant origins. These artists understood that
creativity could be used as currency to aid in the advancement of Haitian na-
152
tional identity and possibly further develop cultural pride and consciousness in
the African diaspora. The popularity and evolving representation of Haitian
folkloric arts operated as one of the means to address challenges to modern development in Haiti.
The activities of these Afro-modern dancers proved signicant because
these endeavors utilized the realities of antiblack and antipeasantry prejudices
to advance a black internationalist consciousness and because they served as a
means to develop Haiti through tourism and cultural redemption during the
postoccupation period. The fusion of dynamic folk customs and modern
ingredients were not contradictory but afrmed the culturally redemptive histories and experiences of African-descended peoples with Western dance
forms, institutions, and discourses in order to produce new ideas, organizations, and conversations.64 With the international recognition of Haitian art
forms, Haitian folkloric dancing was one way to articulate Haitis right to participate in inter-American and global affairs.
Notes
1. News of Haiti, March 15, 1951, in Claude Barnett Papers, box 203, General Correspondence folder, 195154. The opening of the Haiti Tourist Information Bureau, an
ofcial government agency, at Rockefeller Plaza in New York coincided with the commencement of Haiti Week events.
2. News of Haiti, March 15, 1951, in Claude Barnett Papers, box 203, General Correspondence folder, 195154.
3. For more critical responses to U.S. Pan-Americanism, see Millery Polyn, From
Douglass to Duvalier; Sheinin, Beyond the Idea; Aguilar, Pan Americanism; Ramirez
Novoa, La Farsa del Panamericanismo; Martnez, De Bolvar a Dulles.
4. Plummer, Haiti and the United States, 137.
5. On March 15, 1951, News of Haiti reported the building of fteen industrial centers
throughout Haiti and the paving of new asphalt roads. Also, it informed readers of President Magloires New Deal in Haiti, where 155 one and two-family dwellings would
be built in St. Martin Delmas, a suburb of Port-au-Prince. Scholar Michel-Rolph Trouillot asserts that Haiti became a nation of projects between 1946 and 1956 but that these
development ventures, programs, and economic missions served only as an illusion of
progress (Haiti: State against Nation, 140).
6. Cuba, Jamaica, the Dominican Republic, the Bahamas, and Puerto Rico were
some of the islands that supported tourism as early as the 1930s. See Schwartz, Pleasure
Island, 1089. Also see Ramsey, Without One Ritual Note.
7. The quote is from a comment made by Dr. Cary Fraser at the Association for the
Study of African American Life and History Conference, October 1, 2004.
8. Magloire and Yelvington, Haiti and the Anthropological Imagination, 146.
/ 153
9. Ibid.
10. Sibylle Fischers work on the disavowal of Afro-Cuban art during the Age of
Revolution proves to be signicant to understanding the contributions of art to modernization. Fischer argues that artboth visual and literary (and I would add performative art)and its representation is part of modernization and that to the extent
that modernization makes the environment representable, it is part of an artistic
process; it is almost as if perspective were as much a quality of the world as of its representation (Modernity Disavowed, 76).
11. For more information on the golden age of tourism, read Le Vogue Ngre in
Plummer, Haiti and the United States, 12338.
12. Walter White, executive secretary of the NAACP, and his wife, Poppy Cannon, organized and implemented a detailed public relations campaign for Haiti in the late 1940s
through the mid-1950s. White and Cannon, in conjunction with the Haitian government, dedicated themselves to change the image of Haiti and transform it into an economically viable and tourist-friendly destination.
13. According to a 1959 souvenir book and shopping guide entitled Joie de Vivre en
Hati, four major hotels, including the Casino International, Hotel Castel Haiti, Hotel
Ibo Lele, and Hotel Riviera, all held evening dance showsin some places as much as
two or three times a night. Souvenir book is in authors possession.
14. Ibo Lele is a nation of divinities remembered with a seven-mouthed pot. Shango
is considered to be the god of thunder. See Consentino, Sacred Arts of Haitian Vodou.
15. Ramsey, Without One Ritual Note, 11. Refer also to Kate Ramsey, Prohibition,
Persecution, Performance, 16579.
16. Ramsey, Without One Ritual Note, 13.
17. Destin, interview.
18. Trouillot, Haiti: State against Nation, 115.
20. Dunham, Island Possessed, 3.
21. Ibid. (my italics).
22. The inuence of Lina Fussman-Mathonor Lina Blanchet, as many knew her
before her second marriagecannot be understated. It is critical that more research be
done on her artistic career in Haiti.
24. For more information on the events and controversies leading up to and after
the National Folk Festival, see Ramsey, Without One Ritual Note, 742.
26. Nouvelle cooperation was a term President Stnio Vincent used during the postoccupation period. It designated a new independent Haiti and the formation of an
egalitarian partnership between Haiti and the United States along economic, political,
and cultural lines. See Verna, Haitis Second Independence.
27. Rayford Whittingham Logan Papers, box 3, Personal Diary 1941 folder. At a luncheon with Maurice Dartigue (a Haitian educator), Richard Pattee, and Charles
Thompson (chief of the Division of Cultural Relations in the U.S. State Department),
Logan was optimistic about the development of inter-American cultural relations because Pattee and Thompson were very liberal.
154
28. Robert G. Caldwell to Walter White, October 7, 1940, NAACP Papers, Group II,
box A 609, folder 5, General Ofce File Good Neighbor Policy. See also, in the same collection, Walter White to Sue Thurman, September 10, 1940; Walter White to Nelson
Rockefeller, October 4, 1940.
29. See Hanson, Cultural-Cooperation Program; U.S. State Department, Program of
the Interdepartmental Committee; Trueblood, U.S. Cultural Relations Program. At the local level, African Americans, Caribbeans, and a few liberal whites in the United States believed in the importance of informing the American public about two main issues in the
context of inter-American affairs: rst, there existed a signicant population of Africandescended peoples in Latin America and the Caribbean; second, their struggles and
achievements proved important to the success of race relations in the United States and
of Pan-Americanism.
30. See Berman, Carnegie, Ford, and Rockefeller Foundations; Cueto, Missionaries of
Science.
31. Destin, interview. Interestingly, during Destins scholarship period, he picked
up the name Jean. Destins original name is Lon Destin, but he added Jean since he
performed considerably and did not want the scholarship committee to hear about his
extracurricular activities and possibly think that he was not fullling his academic duties.
33. For a better understanding of Western perceptions of Haiti and its people, see
Dash, Haiti and the United States.
34. Destins opinions about African American consciousness of Africa and black
history in the Americas are valid. However, it is important to note the rich history on
African American anticolonialism in Africa and the Caribbean. See the growing literature on African Americans and U.S. foreign policy in the twentieth century, including
Plummer, Rising Wind; Von Eshen, Race against Empire; and Dudziak, Cold War Civil
Rights.
35. Destin assembled La Troupe Folklorique Nationale with dancers through Lina
Fussman-Mathon. La Troupe Folklorique also had a fteen-piece orchestra named Jazz
de Jeune, three drummers, and several singers. According to Destin, many Haitian
dance teachers were upset with him because he visited Haiti sparingly and could recruit
dancers away from Haitian teachers, possibly leaving them unemployed.
36. Americans and the U.S. government were invited and also participated in the bicentennial events. The Haitian government invited President Harry S. Truman and
Eleanor Roosevelt as guests to the exposition (although they did not attend), and the
U.S. Congress established a commission known as the United States International Exposition for the Bicentennial of the Founding of Port-au-Prince. See Pamphile, Haitians
and African Americans, 153.
37. See Mary McLeod Bethune to Arabella Denniston, July 29, 1949, Mary McLeod
Bethune Papers.
39. Lavinia Williams to Roger Savain, December 2, 1952, Lavinia Williams Collection, box 2, Miscellaneous Letters folder (hereafter, the Williams Collection is cited as
LWC). Roger E. Savain wrote Williams back, stating that Williams would also be the
/ 155
special instructor of the National Folklore Troupe of Haiti. In addition to that, he explained, the Department of National Education will guarantee you $50.00 a month,
and it would like you to teach plastic dance only to the girls in one Lyceum and one Normal School (Roger E. Savain to Lavinia Williams, January 22, 1953, LWC, box 2, Correspondence Letters Received, 195271).
40. Haiti Sun, April 21, 1957.
41. Lois Wilcken asserted that during Paul Magloires presidency, Haitian intellectuals expressed the need to temper Afro-Haitian dance with the aesthetic standards of
ballet and modern dance (Spirit Unbound, 116).
42. Murray, interview.
43. Lavinia Williams, interview with Annette McDonald, LWC, box 1.
44. Destin, interview. See also Torgovnick, Gone Primitive; Lemke, Primitivist Modernism.
46. LWC, box 1, 194245 folder. Williams was still working for and learning from
Katherine Dunham at this time.
47. The Dunham School and Dunhams company institutionalized this ethnological
technique and aimed to provide a well-rounded education for its students. In January
1946, Dunham wrote to Williams discussing the expansion of the Dunham School in
New York to include theater courses and cultural courses such as acting, elementary
French, and general anthropology. Dunham wanted to give students every chance to
become equipped for the human race (Katherine Dunham to Lavinia Williams, January 17, 1946, LWC, box 10, Katherine Dunham folder).
49. Ibid. According to Williams, she participated in vodou ceremonies at least once
or twice a month.
51. Ibid.
52. Williams Yarborough, Haiti, 42.
53. Undated newspaper clipping, American Contribution to Haitian Culture:
Dancer Making History as Director of Haitian Institute of Folklore and Classical
Dance, LWC, box 2, Letters Received, 195271.
54. LWC, box 19, Printed MatterCaribbean Dance folder. Lavinia Williams proceeded to teach Haitian folkloric dance, ballet, modern dance, and other Caribbean
forms of dance in Jamaica, Guyana, and the Bahamas. See American Teaches Haitian
Dances.
55. Williams, Haiti Dance, 35.
56. Ibid.
57. LWC, box 4, Regine Montrosier folder.
58. Many of these programs were rebroadcast on Chicago radio stations, presumably because of her close relationship with Claude Barnett and his wife, Etta Moten Barnett, who were based out of Chicago, Illinois. Etta Moten Barnett hosted her own radio
show in Chicago and, at times, broadcasted her show from Haiti.
59. Magloire and Yelvington, Haiti and the Anthropological Imagination, 132.
60. Haiti Sun, July 25, 1954.
156
/
61.
62.
63.
64.

Haiti Sun, no date, LWC, box 4, Regine Montrosier folder.
Lavinia Williams, interview with Annette McDonald, LWC, box 1.
Ibid.
See Hanchard, Afro-Modernity, 24568.
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of Nebraska Press, 1997.
Sheinin, David, ed. Beyond the Ideal: Pan Americanism in Inter-American Affairs. Westport, CT: Praeger, 2000.
Torgovnick, Marianna. Gone Primitive: Savage Intellect, Modern Lives. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991.
Trouillot, Michel-Rolph. HaitiState against Nation: Origins and Legacy of Duvalierism.
New York: Monthly Review Press, 1990.
Trueblood, Edward Gatewood. The U.S. Cultural Relations Program with Latin America:
The Formative Years. Gainesville: Felicity Press, 1977.
U.S. State Department Ofce of Public Affairs. The Program of the Interdepartmental
Committee on Scientic and Cultural Cooperation. Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Ofce, 1944.
Verna, Chantalle F. Haitis Second Independence: The Pursuits and Challenges of
Haiti/U.S. Cooperation, 19341957. PhD diss., Michigan State University, 2005.
Von Eshen, Penny. Race against Empire: Black Americans and Anticolonialism, 19371957.
Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1997.
Wilcken, Lois E. Spirit Unbound: New Approaches to the Performance of Haitian Folklore. In Caribbean Dance from Abaku to Zouk: How Movement Shapes Identity,
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Williams Yarborough, Lavinia. Haiti: Where I Teach and Dance. Dance Magazine (October 1956): 42.
Motherland Hip-Hop: Connective Marginality

and African American Youth Culture in
Senegal and Kenya
halifu osumare
On October 8, 2006, an important event in the evolution of African hip-hop

took place in the Cargo Club in London, England. It was an African hip-hop
festival called Afrolution, featuring hip-hop music groups from ve different
countriesZimbabwe, Malawi, Kenya, Gambia, and South Africa. Produced by
Afrolution Records, this festival represented the growing face of African rap
music and hip-hop culture that has taken root in each country on the African
continent, continuing a kind of cultural revolution that adapts and extends this
received African American youth culture. Simultaneously, African hip-hop culture facilitates connections across nation-states, languages, cultures, and ethnic
groups that have been often divided and in conict. African hip-hop youth nd
that they have more in common than they have differences, offering a potential
ameliorating force for some of Africas long-standing problems. Festivals like
Afrolution happen not only in Europe but on the African continent as well,
such as the annual Gabao Hip-Hop Festival in Gabon. These festivals, whether
in Africa or Europe, provide forums for youth from different African cultures
to nd a common voice for similar issues and concerns, linking youth on the
vast African continent through rhymes, beats, dance moves, rebellious attitude,
and particularized social critiques.
The youth subculture of hip-hop is a way of life that consists not just of the
more pervasive element of rap music production and dissemination but also of
deejay turntabling-mixing-producing; the daredevil acrobatics of b-boying
and b-girling (dubbed by the media break dancing); the more recent rap
161
162
dancing that accompanies todays rap music videos; aerosol graf art, or
grafti; and a general style, dress, and attitude about the world. The latter element of attitude is most important, because it is precisely this element, along
with the obvious commodication of the subculture by American capitalism,
that is most responsible for it proliferating from the South Bronx starting in the
mid-1970s to nearly every continent, country, culture, and ethnic group on the
planet, including Africa. The attitude of ippin the scriptor talking back to
any system of marginalization, whether based on race, ethnicity, nationality,
class, politics, neighborhood, or genderposits hip-hop as a complex subculture not easily dismissed as a new fad that would dissipate, as the media pundits once pronounced in the mid-1980s about its then initial national commercialization in the United States.
Most youths globally seem to identify with this hip-hop attitude of ippin
the script, offering alternatives to the master narrative prevalent in each particular locality. They also view the subcultures deance as a unifying force
across borders and governments. Hip-hop organizational Web sites, e-zines,
and international b-boy competitions virtually and physically link hip-hop
youth throughout the world into the concept of the Hip-Hop Globe. This is a
construct that is gaining increasing currency as young hip-hoppers grow up,
become professionals, and link together across continents to accomplish various artistic projects.
Hip-hop in Africa (and outside of the United States generally) usually emphasizes the importance of counterhegemonic messages, one of the original
penchants of the youth culture that has been obscured by its commercial
bling-bling success in America. In South Africa, a crew called Cashless Society stands in literal and metaphoric contrast to Atlantas Cash Money Crew in
the United States. Cashless Societys name alludes to the realities of their situation as black South Africans in postapartheid Johannesburg, as opposed to the
aunting of money, diamond jewelry, and cars with twenty-ve-inch rims
sported by Cash Money Crew and many other commercial U.S. rappers.
African hip-hop may offer a much needed alternative to hip-hops near total
usurpation by the U.S. multinational record industry and American capitalism.
This essay is an exploration of these dynamics in African hip-hop, grounded in
one popular rap crew in Kenya, with a brief discussion of a Senegalese group
for contrast. In exploring the dynamics of why hip-hop resonates in Africa, I
also engage my theory of connective marginality that I fully elucidate in The
Africanist Aesthetic in Global Hip-Hop: Power Moves (2007). Connective marginalities of culture, class, historical oppression, and youth itself complicate the
Motherland Hip-Hop
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more familiar explanation of American popular cultural imperialism and its

perceived wholesale adoption by youth globally.
connective marginalities in the hip-hop globe

Imagine U.S. African American and Latino hip-hop culture at the center of a
circle that has larger concentric circles emanating from it, each representing
various sociohistorical realms that facilitate, inform, and motivate youth globally. These concentric, interrelating circles of inuence are what I call connective marginalities.1 The generational connection of youth itself, as a marginal
status in most societies, is the easiest connection represented by the largest
outer circle. Often, the younger, coming-of-age generation in each society is in
conict with the adult population in control of various realms from government to social norms and rules of conduct. Youth rebelliousness becomes a natural aspect of this age-group, making hip-hops rebellious tenets extremely alluring. Many nations, like Japan and Russia, connect with hip-hop simply
because of its youthful rebellion.
Class is the second-largest social sphere of connectivity; worldwide, many
ethnic and immigrant groups, perceived as either not indigenous or simply historically inferior in a particular society, are often relegated to second-class citizenship that results in a marginalized status. For youths among these lowerclass groups in various countries, hip-hop becomes a way of giving voice to
their unrest. Class status is measured in nancial wealth, political power, and
family position in most societies; it is often inherited but sometimes ascribed
through mechanisms of social mobility. For whole populations who have been
assigned a lower social status in a particular society, it becomes difcult, if not
next to impossible, to alter that status. Hip-hops many rags-to-riches tales of
wealthy rappers who were once ghetto dwellers are stories circumscribed by
U.S. dynamics as the richest country in the world. In other nations, such as certain African countries, rap artists and hip-hop consumers coming from classmarginalized groups do not have that same social mobility. North African
Arabs living in France, for example, are rst-, second-, and third-generation
immigrants from Frances colonial empire. In 2005, it was precisely these youth
who were the source of the social unrest in France.
Historical oppression and culture are the last two connective marginalities
that help explain hip-hops internationalization. Historical oppression, as the
third-largest circle, explains the social status of a group who identies with a
long history of purposeful subjugationone that can identify with the African
164
American experience as a prototypical model of overt oppression over centuries, such as American Indians or Native Hawaiians or black South Africans.
Culture, too, becomes an important resonance in global hip-hop. If a youth
culture, like that on the African continent, comes from a society steeped in an
Africanist aestheticthat is, in artistic elements such as polyrhythm, call-andresponse, multiple meters, dance movements that privilege body isolations, and
general improvisational skills, all posited within a battling/competitive mode
that promotes energy as a vital forcethen there will be cultural connections
to the hip-hop aesthetic. This aesthetic has often been denigrated throughout
the Americas as low art, as opposed to the high art of Europe. The Africanist aesthetic has indeed been marginalized, even though it has been the underpinning of world popular music and dance.2
Hip-hop culture is the latest manifestation of this aesthetic that was transported throughout the Americas during the Atlantic slave trade. All of these
artistic elements resonate with cultures where the Africanist aesthetic is also
very prevalent. African countries become important sites where local youth
view connections between hip-hop and their rhythms exported long ago, as
well as oral traditions like the West African griots, as a shared history with the
black Atlantic. The aesthetic-cultural connection gets overlaid with class and
youth rebellion in the African urban ghetto context. In Africa, youths connect
with hip-hop as an aesthetic returned home and feel very comfortable with its
elements, including its penchant to ip the script and challenge the local status quo. My construct of connective marginality adds new dimensions to the
debate about global American cultural imperialism in general, particularly on
the African continent. The connections perceived by youth themselves mitigate
the prot motive of global pop cultural industries such as MTV Africa and the
international subsidiaries of the major record companies.
In Popular Music and Youth Culture (2000), British pop music scholar Andy
Bennett examines dimensions of the global-local problematic inherent in the
exportation of Western pop music to the rest of the world. Obviously, the
biggest problem in dealing with popular music is the issue of how to reconcile
popular musics position in the marketplace with its function as a potentially
counter-hegemonic cultural resource.3 Contrary to many of the early scholars
in the eld of cultural studies, scholars like Bennett analyze local agency as an
important aspect of popular music consumption. According to Bennett, the local audience for popular music becomes a discursive trope signifying the constantly shifting and radically heterogeneous ways in which meaning is constructed and contested in multiple everyday contexts of media use and
Motherland Hip-Hop
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consumption.4 In other words, the audience, as representative of the local values receiving the global commodity of U.S. rap music, can alternate back and
forth in assigning meaning and value to this particular style of music. Bennetts
further analysis of the signicance of locality and particularity in this era of the
massive exportation of American popular music validates my focus on agency
implicit in hip-hops connective marginalities. He notes, Far from destroying
local differences between national and regional cultures, globalization may in
fact work to enhance such differences.5 He goes on to use media scholar James
Lulls concept of reterritorialization, where global commodities are reworked
by local audiences to incorporate them into everyday local settings and, in the
case of rap music, to critique particular social and cultural dynamics of their
country. Viewing specic African localities illuminates connective marginalities and Bennetts use of reterritorialization.
africanhiphop.com
American popular culture hegemony ensured hip-hop musics popularity in
Africa since the early 1980s. South Africas wealth and connections to Europe
made it one of the rst to produce a recognized African hip-hop groupBlack
Noise, a crew from Cape Town, South Africa. They began as a grafti and
break-dance crew and started emceeing around 1989. South Africas apartheid
government initially tried to ban rap music due to its involvement in the struggle against the racist regime, speaking volumes about hip-hops connective
marginality of historical oppression. Thus hip-hops tendency toward ippin
the script of the social order was a part of the cultures early inroads on the
African continent, giving voice to youth participation in the antiapartheid
movement. The South African government did not make hip-hop legal until
1993, when rap music began to be played on radio and when rap videos appeared on television. Its legalization has resulted in todays Channel O in South
Africa as a hip-hop music video station complete with black celebrity veejays.
During the late 1980s and early 1990s, hip-hop culture escalated all over Africa,
each region privileging its own rhythmic style of rap, often in indigenous languages and musical rhythms.6
Today, the Internet serves as an important tool in facilitating hip-hops
unication process of local African youth cultures. One important Web site was
originally known as Rumba KaliThe Home of African Hip-Hop and is currently called Africanhiphop.com: The Foundation of African Hip-Hop Culture Online. That this community of African hip-hoppers is located on the
166
World Wide Web, linking the primary sites of Dakar, Cape Town, Accra, Lagos,
Dar es Salaam, and Nairobi, is indicative of the postmodern era where new
global technologies coalesce with the long-standing need for African unity.
Many hip-hop youths in Africa have transcended traditional rivalries of regionalism and tribalism and coalesced around common concerns through an
artistic expression that originated in the African diaspora, a point to which I
will return later in exploring Kenyan rap. Africanhiphop.com, as a hip-hop
zine, projects a fully democratized image of shifting voices from the various
locations on the continent. One of the primary features of the home page of the
Web site is its hyperlinked map of Africa, where one can click on any country to
get the latest news about that sites hip-hop scene, often complete with downloads of rap artists current hits.
Early on, Africanhiphop.com set its agenda for creating connections and
collaborations on the continent and across the black Atlantic. A June 1998
theme for the Web sites home page was AfricaWake Up & Unify. Rap crews
from six African countries were invited to contribute their rhymes on that
theme, often in their indigenous languages. Not only was African unity served,
but Africas connection to the roots of hip-hop in African American culture was
declared. This latter point is implicit in any cultures participation in the global
hip-hop youth phenomenon but is not always directly acknowledged. Africa
Wake Up & Unify also included American rappers KRS-One and Busta
Rhymes, as two of the cultures elders from the United States. The site read,
With artists from six African countries and one verse contributed by KRSOne, we come full circle. The site also provided a link that month to American
old school tracks, described as the oldies of which date back to 1983!7
This conscious use of hip-hop to create black Atlantic musical links continues in contemporary times. In August 2006, the Web site used the digital revolution, broadcasting over ve hours of contemporary hip-hop via African HipHop Radio. In December 2006, the Web site had a webcast of one of its
bimonthly forums, called The Satanic Verses versus the African Dilemma,
hosted by deejays Drew and J4. The issues discussed via the webcast were listed
as follows:
Bling Bling versus Pan Africanist, Revolutionary versus Terrorist, and Conscious
versus Commercial: in 2006, African hip-hop artists are facing more dilemmas
than ever before. What are the choices that they have to deal with in their careers, and which factors inuence their decisions in the context of a globalizing
and polarizing world?8
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In the computer age, African youth are linking the continent through hip-hop
in ways that their parents could have never dreamed, as well as tackling issues
that are both local and global, while positioning their youth culture in the international marketplace of popular culture and attendant ideologies. In so doing, they interrogate their particular concerns in relation to the larger context
of global capital generated by hip-hop youth culture.
This technological facilitation of African unity through hip-hop youth does
not, however, negate international pop culture industry and technological hierarchies. Hip-hop culture takes its place within the larger context of Africas neocolonialist umbilical cord, linking the continent to the Western-dominated media for news and popular taste. Although Africanhiphop.com is denitely
pro-African and has served a salutary purpose since 1997, many of its literary
contributors and critics are Europeans who either travel back and forth to
Africa or live there. Malian lm scholar Manthia Diawara observes that the
global media wired Africa to the West, . . . to the extent that Africans are isolated from nation to nation, but united in looking toward Europe and America
for the latest news, politics and culture.9 Even though the World Wide Web has
ameliorated this dynamic to a degree by linking community to community and
people to people, aspiring African hip-hop emcees are still in competition with
the hegemony of American music promoted by the global pop culture media.
African American rhythm and blues and jazz that inuenced their parents and
grandparents generations often dominate the airwaves. Indigenous rap music
is only beginning to get mainstream radio airplay in most of Africas urban centers, and when it does, American stars like Jay-Z and Diddy are more likely to
be featured than their own local rappers. Cultural resonances across Africa and
its diaspora through hip-hop subculture are manifest within continuing international hierarchies and exigencies of global capital.
Yet even with the realities of these hegemonic forces, each country has created its own cadre of rap groups and break-dance collectives that can be found
on Africanhiphop.com. One can go online and read interviews with emcees or
rappers such as Positive Black Soul, Pee Froiss, BMG 44, and Shiffai in Senegal;
Unsung Heroes in Nigeria; Rev Voltod from Cape Verde; Karim & Sphinx from
Egypt; Prophets of Da City, Cavera, and Maluka in South Africa; Pox Presha of
Nairobi; Sos-Bi of Tanzania; Kalamashaka in Kenya; Mabulu in Mozambique;
Tata Pound in Mali; and many more. African female rappers are also represented, such as Alif in Senegal, Nubian Sister and Godessa in South Africa, and
Afrik Image in Cote DIvoire. All of these African hip-hop emcees link their
artistic lineage to Africa and the black Atlantic with specic African American
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rappers, internationally known African singers such as Yousou NDour and

Miriam Makeba, and Caribbean pop stars. For example, Afrik Image of Cote
DIvoire is composed of Queen Afrik, who names her inspirations as both
Queen Latifah and Miriam Makeba, and Magic Law, who says she was inspired
by Tanya St. Vals zouk music of the Caribbean. In their online interview, they
present a new determined African female voice: We have a rage inside of us.
We want to succeed. If women can rap in the U.S.A., [we say] why dont [we]
try it in Ivory Coast.10
Cultural and aesthetic resonances across Africa and the diapsora afrm a
connective marginality of culture through hip-hop. In Africa and its diaspora,
hip-hop is less of a sign to be appropriated and adapted for indigenous purposes (although this is denitely happening in other sites) than it is a sharing
across a root aesthetic. Kenya and Senegal are consummate examples.
senegalese hip-hop
Hip-hop seems to have arrived in Senegal around 1985 with some of the rst
Senegalese rappers: MC Lida, MC Solaar (who went on to make it popular in
France), and Positive Black Soul (PBS). PBS was one of the rst emcees to mix
rap with mbalax, the traditional Senegalese drum music played in West Africa
for centuries. A received African American cultural form was immediately
adapted to t local rhythms. This is quintessential diasporic aesthetic intertext
in the reterritorialization process. Some of the newer Senegalese rap groups
that have emerged in the 1990s are BMG 44, Shiffai, Las MC, Slam Revolution,
and Daara J. Although, on the surface, second-generation African rappers, such
as Shiffai, seem to be following more of an American aesthetic with overt braggadocio, their method still falls into a traditional call-and-response aesthetic
that is as old as the griot tradition.
In the post-Senghor era of Senegal of the late 1980s, Positive Black Soul became the rap group in Senegal who put African hip-hop on the international
map. Consisting of Doug E. Tee (Amadou Barry) and Didier DJ Awadi from the
Sicap Amitie district of Dakar, the emcee and deejay duo replicate the image of
Eric B. and Rakim as the quintessential rapper-deejay hip-hop model of the
early days of the hip-hop Bronx. PBSs rst internationally successful album
was the 1996 Salam on the Mango Island label, earning them subsequent tours
on the African continent, in the United States, and in Europe as the early ambassadors of African hip-hop. Yet given this international recognition, PBS continued to steep its aesthetic in local languages and indigenous musical styles.
Motherland Hip-Hop
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More recently, they have established collaborations with Senegalese mbalax

musicians Dieuf Dieul and Hamet Maal (the brother of famed Senegalese
singer Baaba Maal) and with Doudou Ndiaye Rose, a living legend of Senegalese traditional drumming. PBSs artistic choices continue to centralize a
Senegalese image that clearly has them representing an indigenous cultural aesthetic, keeping it real in the truest sense of hip-hop culture.
Setting the tone for successful African rap being sung in indigenous languages, PBSs rst successful single, Boul Fale, meaning Dont Worry, was
sung in Wolof. Africanist Moradewun Adejunmobi says in relation to the use
of indigenous languages and, by extrapolation, lyrics in musical choices, The
actions we undertake and the discourses we produce in respect of various
languages are determined in part by our relationships to the places where
these languages are or might be spoken.11 Utilizing local indigenous languages is combined with the international language of commerce and popular culture: English. Hip-hop youth in urban Dakar reect this phenomenon
of mixing several languages in conversation that rap music often reects: In
Senegal . . . a conversational Wolof that incorporates both French and English
expressions, functions as the trademark of young men and has become directly associated in the perceptions of the Dakarois with the talk of the jeunes
bandits de Dakar, the young low-lifes. 12 These jeune bandits de Dakar include the hip-hop youths who either come from the streets or, following hiphops tendency of ghettocentricity, image themselves in that context. Therefore, language in African hip-hop becomes a way of positioning oneself in
ones local particularity, as well as in the global cosmopolitan arena of popular culture from which the cultural forms have been received. This reterritorializing process establishes a continuum from local traditional language, including localized slang, to Black English and hip-hop slang, as it is imported
from U.S. rap.
PBSs choice of Wolof and Dakar street slang as their preferred rap language
is based not only on their locality but also on the hip-hop tenets of keeping it
real and representing. As Murray Foreman announced, the hood comes
rst,13 and this penchant for localized representation (repping your hood)
extends into the international sphere. Representing is the process of taking on
the mantle from the past in the present moment, connoting responsibility to
ones present contextcrew, family, and community. Brenda Dixon Gottschild
claries that the individual is obliged to represent, in the hip-hop sense of the
word, to rise and be counted for a specic community, to positively and righteously stand up for a crew.14 If one is to represent ones cultural context, then
170
the use of indigenous language and local cultural expressions are crucial in hiphops globalized subculture.
I want to telescope out for a moment to investigate the larger contexts of
transmission and reception of American music globally. One way to understand PBSs rap content, as well as various African hip-hop artists who privilege
local culture, is by examining popular music theory. PBS and their audience
ip the script of commercial U.S. rap, using the form to address their needs
and concerns. Not only are youth in Senegal not totally abandoning their local
cultures to be MTV cool; they are examining their local cultural values that
they want to change. PBS not only included a local Wolof-slang language mix
but underpinned the entire remix of Boul Fale with a reggae rhythm, steeped
in a Jamaican dancehall rhythmic delivery of Wolof. Thus African American
rap was reimaged with West African relevance through a well-established Jamaican musical form. The dialogue within the popular music of the black Atlantic became clear early on in African hip-hop with Positive Black Souls aesthetic mix. Poet Kamau Brathwaite calls this black Atlantic musical resonance
bridges of sound. In so doing, Carolyn Cooper argues, Brathwaite
. . . evokes the substrate cultural ties that connect Africans on the continent to
those who have survived the dismembering Middle Passage. The paradoxical
construct bridges of sound conjoins the ephemerality of aural sensations
with the technological solidity of the built environment.15
Indeed, Western technology has in many ways facilitated these bridges of

sound; but so has the Africanist aesthetic heard back and forth across the Atlantic that is lodged in various social and cultural marginalities. The easy reggae groove of Boul Fale is deceptive, for the Wolof lyrics are a scathing social
critique. In the lyrics, PBS accuses national authorities of corruption, one of the
themes of many young hip-hop artists on the continent of Africa. But what
makes the entire album Boul Fale signicant is that it set the trend of sociopolitical critique for which African hip-hop is known, making this approach acceptable throughout the continent.
kenyan hip-hop
Thousands of miles away, on Africas east coast, Kalmashaka (aka K-Shaka) is a
hip-hop group based in Dandor, a poor district in Nairobi, Kenya. This dynamic rap group, who paved the way for Swahili hip-hop to become more
Motherland Hip-Hop
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mainstream in Kenya, is comprised of three members: Oteraw, Kama, and

Johny. Formed in the mid-1990s, Kalmashaka became popular with their single
Tafsiri Hii in 1998. Like Powerful Black Soul, they have performed in other
African countries, such as Nigeria and South Africa, as well as having toured
European countries, such as Sweden and Holland. Their rst full-scale album,
Ni Wakati, released in 2001, was a hit with South Africas Channel O when one
of their videos from the album got major rotation. African hip-hop groups that
have managed to get exposure on an international scale have often become
opening acts for American emcees and established African American rap
artists, and Kalamashaka is no exception, having opened for Coolio and Lost
Boyz.
Although K-Shaka has brought Kenyan rap to a larger audience, they remain
known for their socially and politically conscious lyrics. Ni Wakati addressed
street crime, tribalism, politics, and Africas continuing revolutionary conicts.
Like PBS on Africas west coast, K-Shakas vision is to use rap music to awaken a
new generation to contemporary political and cultural issues that intersect with
past African discourses. However, each African hip-hop scene has its range of
artistic content and form. Party and hardcore gangsta rap have always challenged the so-called conscious rap of the two groups on which I focus here.
In Africa, the added dimension of indigenous pop music intersecting with
rap complicates the eld. In Kenya, the popularity of so-called genege music
another bridge of sound between hip-hop, dancehall, and Kenyan traditional
musicpromotes a more danceable beat, often laced with raunchy lyrics,
which has become very popular among Kenyas youths. Genege, along with another genre called kapuka, vies with the more conscious rap produced by
groups like Kalamashaka for record sales and radio airtime. Kenyan radio is often reluctant to play socially conscious music typical of Kalamashaka because it
challenges the status quo and often specic government ofcials.
During the political upheaval and violence in Kenya over the supposed
rigged political process that elected Mwai Kibaki to the presidency in December 2007, hip-hop was a central sociopolitical commentator in the social discourse. With the serious challenge by Raila Odinga of the Orange Democratic
Party and a member of the Luo ethnic group, violence against the Kikuyu, the
largest Kenyan ethnic group to which Kibaki belongs, escalated. This longstanding ethnic rivalry erupted as a result of the presidential election, with over
a thousand people being killed and three hundred thousand left homeless. A
young rap group called the Hip Hop Parliament became hip-hops
spokespersons, denouncing the violence and voicing their generations outrage
172
about the destructive life-and-death hatreds perpetrated by their fathers and

grandfathers generations. In the process, Roje Otineo of the Hip Hop Parliament situated Kenyan youth in a denition of conscious rap: We dont play
traditional drums like our fathers, nor do we depend on western culture. We
dont care what your tribe is: our hip-hop is about love. Nickson Mberam of
the same rap crew illuminated further, I have a duty to my country and young
people like me; I dont want to be part of the problem; we want to be part of the
solution. The centrality of their message through hip-hop was borne out when
Ko Anan arrived in Kenya from the United Nations to try and broker peace.
The Hip-Hop Parliament presented him with their own written declaration of
peace.16 These contemporary African urban realities are now immortalized in
indigenous raps, making this music crucial to the struggle over politics, culture,
art, and the minds of todays youth.
The struggle between commercial and more conscious rap music is rarely
brought to the level of dominant public discourse in the United States. Due to
the all-pervasive multinational popular music, television, and general telecommunications industries that actually make music decisions for us, awareness of
choice in rap music is usurped by the ubiquitous hold on the means of communication and distribution by companies like BMG, EMI, Universal, Viacom,
and others. Because they only have access to commercial rap music, the majority of American consumers are not even aware of the struggle over hip-hops
representation.
In Kenya, Kalamashaka has remained active and refuses to record the more
commercial Kenyan music. As a way of bolstering their ranks of conscious
Kenyan rap music, K-Shaka has helped spawn other local rap groups from their
Dandora district. They have also developed musical collaborations throughout
Kenya and Tanzania, forming the rap collective Ukoo Fani Mau Mau, with over
twenty members from Nairobi and Mombasa in Kenya and from neighboring
Tanzania.
In their title track from Ni Wakati, they make explicit a world black movement for liberation that harkens back to the early twentieth-century PanAfrican movement of W. E. B. Du Bois, George Padmore, and Kwame
Nkrumah. Ni Wakati makes a direct connection between the 1960s black liberation movement in the United States and Kenyas liberation movement from
the British. On the track, Kalamashaka opens with an excerpt from a speech by
Malcolm X, who acknowledged Kenyas Mau Mau revolutionary movement in
the 1960s. In the tracks opening, Malcolm preaches,
Motherland Hip-Hop
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Theres been a black revolution going on in Africa. In Kenya the Mau Mau were
revolutionary. They were the ones who made the word Uhuru. They were the
ones who brought it to the fore. The Mau Mau were revolutionaries.
Just as Malcolm X used Kenyans peasant Mau Mau revolutionary movement

against the British colonialists to promote black awareness and empowerment
in the United States, Kalamashaka uses Malcolm Xs rhetoric to reinvoke the
discourse of freedom in Kenya against neocolonialism today. Even as PanAfricanism as a global political movement has faded in the twenty-rst century,
the Pan-Africanist nature of black cultural efforts that promote black freedom
and empowerment is becoming prominent through hip-hops globalization in
Africa. This points again to connective marginalities of historical oppression
that resonates within hip-hop youth culture. Conscious African rappers are
reinvoking a Pan-Africanist message that links decades of struggle for empowerment across the black Atlantic.
Malcolm Xs use of the word uhuru (freedom) evoked many historical moments and can be associated with specic political and cultural movements.
Besides the message of freedom of Kenyas Mau Mau movement, there was the
1960s Uhuru Movement led by the U.S. African Peoples Socialist Party, which
emphasized internationalism in the liberation of African peoples worldwide.
Other African and diasporic allusions are associated with uhuru as well. Jomo
Kenyatta, a member of Kenyas Mau Mau movement and rst President of independent Kenya (196478), named his son Uhuru Muigal Kenyatta, and that
son went on to become the leader of Kenyas African National Union, one of the
main political parties of postcolonial Kenya. Additionally, one of Jamaicas
most famous reggae groups, Black Uhuru, took the name as a way of identifying with black empowerment for liberation. Therefore, Kalamashakas use of
Malcom Xs speech that emphasized the symbolism of uhuru reinvigorates a
weakening worldwide black discourse of continuing struggle for freedom
within the hip-hop generation in Africa.
With groups like Kalmashaka in Kenya and Positive Black Soul in Senegal,
Africas hip-hop movement is in tension with the current Top 40 rap music
heard on American commercial radio. African hip-hops focus, for the most
part on social critique, black liberation, and specic political challenges on the
African continent, is a far cry from the bling-bling booty music currently popular in the United States. African hip-hop, though itself consisting of a range of
genres, tends to promote a consciousness-raising that is associated with the
174
U.S. hip-hop underground scene, rarely heard by the majority of Americas pop
music audience.17
conclusions: connective marginalities of culture

and historical oppression
African rap music has much to teach hip-hop youth and the general public in
the United States about the sociopolitical power and potential of hip-hop culture and rap music. Manthia Diawara, as an African scholar who teaches in the
United States, also offers cross-cultural analyses of hip-hop through his generation of West Africans. He captures a cross-cultural and cross-generational
connection in Homeboy Cosmopolitan, a chapter in his 1998 In Search of
Africa, where he explores his generations identication with an earlier manifestation of black cultural production in collusion with Americas pop culture
industry: namely, the exported Blaxploitation lms of the 1970s. Being a Malian
living in Monrovia, Liberia, in his early years, Diawara was struck by how much
that West African country identied with the United States (which is not that
surprising given its history with U.S. slavery and the debacle of the repatriation
movement). He says,
I saw Supery, Shaft, and other Blaxploitaiton lms in Monrovia in the early
Seventies. I remember being particularly struck by the opening sequence in Superyit seemed an extraordinary cinematic event. I was . . . fascinated with
the movies, the music, the hairstyles, the hats, and the leather jackets what were
popular among black Americans . . . To my students [at NYU now], these lms
are at best corny, and at worst celebrations of black mens macho, violence, and
misogyny. They also nd exotic the fact that although I was living so far away
and in a completely different culture, I could identify with Blaxploitation lms.
But my students tend to overlook the elements of empowerment and pleasure and the subversive strategies that these lms, and black American culture
in general, make available to people oppressed because of the color of their
skin.18
One of our foremost African lm scholars and cultural critics has captured
two important points about the transatlantic music and cultural exchange between African Americans and Africans: (1) historically, several African generations, including the current hip-hop one, have been fascinated with black
American style and cultural production as the world black population setting
Motherland Hip-Hop
/ 175
global trends from the richest country in the world; and (2) this style is a part
of an Africanist aesthetic that has provided, in Diawaras words, elements of
empowerment and pleasure for black Americans themselves, as well as for
blacks throughout the world, including Africa. The process of claiming ones
power of identity in the face of oppressionwhether it be racial as in the
United States, or ethnic, class, or political, as in the case of many African countriesbecomes an important process promoted by this aesthetic that has its
latest manifestation in exported hip-hop culture.
Realistically, African American blues, swing, jazz, funk, and hip-hop have
evidenced little conscious referencing of Africa, however much they may have
shared aesthetic principles. Yet a continuing twentieth-century secularization
of an aesthetic that originally made little distinction between sacred and profane realms is the historical legacy now bequeathed to the African homeland
from its diaspora. Sub-Saharan black Africa, then, owes a great debt to its diaspora for the many manifestations of metaphoric embodiment and cultural recreations of its own ontologylike the centrality of music and dance for constituting community, as well as aesthetic principles such as polyrhythm, a
danced orality, a call-and-response dialogue approach, and use of performance
to represent social phenomena.
To be sure, Africa has recognized these New World resonances in the past,
as evidenced by the midcentury rhumba orchestras of Kinshasa, the jazz bands
of Accra, and the popular dance styles in Ghanas urban discos after the early
1970s Soul-to-Soul tour with groups like Ike and Tina Turner and the Voices of
East Harlem. The contemporary hip-hop movement has intensied this repatriation of black American music and dance, linking distant African sites such
as Lagos, Dakar, Cape Town, Dar es Salaam, and Nairobi, among others. Connective marginalities of culture, class, historical oppression, and youth in opposition to adult sociopolitical authority facilitate these historical and contemporary resonances made manifest through rap music and hip-hop culture.
The Akan symbol known as sankofa is a bird with its head turned back toward its past. I view hip-hop in Africa in terms of this cosmological tenet of
temporal circularity. The black Atlantic looks back to its African traditions and
sends musical and danced messages ltered through its black Atlantic voices
that are in turn heard and reinvented in Africa. In the cases of Senegals Positive
Black Soul and Kenyas Kalmashaka, we witness this theory in practice by their
reterritorialization of an African American music form, recasting it in their
own lived experiences and meanings. African American emcees and the entire
U.S. rap audience have much to learn from African rap groups like Positive
176
Black Soul and Kalamashaka. The reinvoking of a world black revolutionary

movement, not yet nished, is an important contribution from African hiphop that could ameliorate current U.S. hip-hops obsessive diversion in American capitalist materialism.
Notes
1. See Osumare, The Africanist Aesthetic in Global Hip-Hop: Power Moves (New
York: Palgrave MacMillan, 2007), for a full explanation of connective marginalities. This
is my theory of one of the primary reasons for hip-hops international proliferation,
particularly found in Chapter 2.
2. I dene the Africanist aesthetic as African-based cultural forms and philosophical approaches existing in the African diaspora that continue to reect similar musical, dance, and oral practices as those in Africa; though these forms and approaches are
not African, enough resemblances in the performers attitude and relationship to audience exist that cultural connections to African cultural practices are apparent.
3. Bennett, Popular Music and Youth Culture, 35.
4. Ibid., 55.
5. Ibid.
6. See African Hip Hop Music.
7. See AfricaWake Up & Unify (accessed July 1998).
8. Drew and J4, Debate.
9. Diawara, Toward a Regional Imaginary, 103.
10. Afrik Image, interview at Rumba Kali.
11. Adejunmobi, Polygolots, Vernaculars, and Global Markets, 159.
12. Ibid., 166. Here, Adejunmobi quotes Swigart, Cultural Creolisation, 7.
13. Forman, Hood Comes First.
14. Gottschild, Black Dancing Body, 231.
15. Cooper, Sound Clash, 231.
16. Kenyan Hip-Hop Artists Use Music to Denounce Violence, Rock theVote.com,
March 10, 2008, http://www.hiphoplinguistics.com/news/2008/03/kenyan-hip-hopartists-use-music-to-denounce-violence.
17. The so-called hip-hop underground is an important aspect of the subculture
with which hip-hop entrepreneurs must continually engage. Street agency and the hiphop underground form a web of afliations, associations, and cliques that supposedly
keep it real without compromise of artistic integrity or selling out to pop culture
gatekeepers. This branch of hip-hop argues that commercial hip-hop entrepreneurs
cannot engage in effective counterhegemonic activity while courting capitalist materialism. The underground forms a perceived signicant resistance to the commercial hiphop and rap industries. The lifestyle of the rich and famous that is lived by the black millionaire moguls of rap music is considered not keeping it real by many hip-hop
communities across urban America who promote their own indie record labels, blackmarket street mixes (on tapes, CDs, and DVDs), b-boy collectives, and rivaling grafti
contingents. However, this dichotomy between underground and commercial is often a
Motherland Hip-Hop
/ 177
false one, adding an even more complex layer to the analysis of hip-hop outside the
United States.
18. Diawara, In Search of Africa, 247, 250, 252.
Bibliography
Adejunmobi, Moradwun. Polyglots, Vernaculars and Global Markets: Variable Trends
in West Africa. Language and Intercultural Communication 4, no. 3 (2004): 15974.
African Hip Hop Music. Wikipedia. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/African_hip_hop.
AfricaWake Up & Unify. Rumba Kali: The Home of African Hip Hop home page.
July 1998. http://www.africaserver.nl/rumba-kali. Accessed December 15, 1998.
Afrik Image. Interview at Rumba Kali: The Home of African Hip Hop, May 1996.
http://www. africaserver.nl/rumba-kali/index2.htm. Accessed December 15, 1998.
Bennett, Andy. Popular Music and Youth Culture. New York: St. Martins Press, 2000.
Cooper, Carolyn. Sound Clash: Jamaican Dancehall Culture at Large. New York: Palgrave
Macmillan, 2004.
Diawara, Manthia. In Search of Africa. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1998.
Diawara, Manthia. Toward a Regional Imaginary in Africa. In The Cultures of Globalization, edited by Frederic Jameson and Masao Miyoshi, 10324. Durham, NC: Duke
Drew and J4, hosts. Debate: The Satanic Versus The African Dilemma. Webcast, December 1, 2006. http://www.africanhiphopradio.com/. Accessed January 12, 2007.
Forman, Murray. The Hood Comes First: Race, Space, and Place in Rap and Hip-Hop.
Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 2002.
Gottschild, Brenda Dixon. The Black Dancing Body: A Geography from Coon to Cool.
New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003.
Osumare, Halifu. The Africanist Aesthetic in Global Hip-Hop: Power Moves. New York:
Palgrave Macmillan, 2007.
Swigart, Leigh. Cultural Creolisation and Languages Use in Post-Colonial Africa: The
Case of Senegal. Africa: Journal of the International African Institute 64, no. 2 (1994):
17589.
New York Bomba: Puerto Ricans, Dominicans,

and a Bridge Called Haiti
raquel z. rivera
It must have been around 1995, and I had just witnessed an energetic performance by the Brooklyn-based Haitian roots music ensemble Dja-Rara at a
show produced by the Caribbean Cultural Center in a large Manhattan theater
space. Dja-Raras main dancer had particularly captivated me: a short, stocky,
young, light-skinned man with a rotund and bouncy belly. His moves were
equal parts aqueous and ery, stern and gracefula beauty to behold.
I was still electried by the musicians and dancers who had left the stage
only minutes before and was only half listening to the mistress of ceremony,
who was waxing eloquent about the cultural similarities between Latinos and
other African descendants. The next group scheduled to perform was from the
Spanish-speaking Caribbean, and her words were geared toward making the
linkages between them and Dja-Rara.
A male voice behind me protested loudly, Latino? Oh, hell, no!1
Murmurs of approval oated toward me from the same direction. I was
tempted to look back but resisted the impulse.
When the mistress of ceremony said the word Latino again, the same voice
exclaimed, We gotta stop with that Latino thing. It just separates us from each
other. If were black, were black. Thats it.
I nally looked in his direction. He was only two rows behind me. It was the
dancer from Dja-Rara, surrounded by a few other members of the group. My
eyes met his bright yellow gaze, his impish smile.
Later that night, a mutual friend introduced us in the theater lobby. His
178
New York Bomba
/ 179
name was Jos Figueroa. A Dominican in his midtwenties, he was born in New
York City, raised between the Dominican Republic and New York.
I did not know then that, over the next decade, his path would cross mine
many, many times. Back then I considered myself a music enthusiast, not a performer, so there was no way I could have suspected that we would become fellow members of the Afro-Dominican musical group Pa lo Monte or that he
would become my teacher, an important member of my immediate artistic
community, and a key individual in the musical work that would be the axis of
my intellectual, artistic, and social life in New York City for the next ten years.
Back when I met Figueroa, I was conducting my dissertation research on
the role of New York Puerto Ricans in hip-hop culture. His bold interjections
from the audience at the Caribbean Cultural Centers show struck me for many
reasons, in part because they echoed the sentiments of a Puerto Rican MC by
the name of Q-Unique that I had recently interviewed who also resented the label Latino. But Q-Uniques qualm with Latino had to do with Puerto Rican ethnic identity being subsumed under the Latino panethnic umbrella so that
Puerto Rican specicities were glossed over. Q-Unique also disliked the erroneous and much-too-common assumption that Puerto Rican connections to
African Americans were more tenuous than their connection to other Latino
groups. It was not that Q-Unique identied as African American or black; on
the contrary, he resented just as much being lumped under the African American or black umbrella. It was just that Q-Unique felt culturally and experientially closer to African Americans than to Chicanosto bring in the concrete
example he used at the time.2
While Jos Figueroa, like Q-Unique, also had qualms with the label Latino,
the formers main objection was completely different: rather than the erasure of
his national/ethnic identity, Figueroa took exception to having his ethnoracial
identity as an African descendant and a black man from the Dominican Republic subsumed under the panethnic rubric. Figueroa is not alone either in his
objections or in his commitment to combatingas an artist and cultural activistthe prevalent discourses of Latinidad (Latinoness), which claim to include blackness as a constitutive element yet also insist that the result is other
than black.3 He is part of a vocal and active transnational network of artists,
scholars, educators, and activists who have, in the last decade, been stepping up
a long legacy of efforts that promote a vision of the African diaspora that fully
includes the Luso-Hispanic black Atlantic. One individual in that wider transnational network, Figueroa has also, for years, been an important xture within
180
a microcosm of folks who make and promote Caribbean roots music in New
York. It is their efforts that I chronicle here.
This essay is a fragment of an ethnography (and a love letter of sorts) of an
extended circle of New York musicians and dancers, most of them Puerto Ricans and Dominicans who also double as educators, cultural workers, and activists. Though an intergenerational group, I focus on those in their teens,
twenties, and thirties. Through this discussion, I seek to document the artistic
creativity, beauty, ideas, potential, and contradictions of a musical/social
scenea microcosm that I am also a part of.
My focus in this essay is these artists foregrounding of Afrodiasporic expressions, traditions, myths, knowledge, identities, and solidarities for aesthetic, political, philosophical, social, cultural, educational, and spiritual reasonsa foregrounding that questions the hegemonic notions of Latin
American/Latino nationality/ethnicity/panethnicity that, under the guise of inclusiveness, perpetuate the marginalization of blackness.4 Through their praxis,
these artists counter the dominant approaches, efforts, pronouncements, and
projects that claim to be celebrating our black traditions (nuestras tradiciones
negras)5 but that arguably succeed in colonizing, folklorizing, taming, and
bringing these traditions back around to the business-as-usual white supremacist, Eurocentric, or racial mixing as panacea fold.6
Though ranging widely in terms of phenotype, the majority of the artists I
write about here are black-identiedand all of them are ercely invested in
centering blackness and combating racist hierarchies. Their explicit black
identication is an important tool in the artistic work that I document.7 However, this essay will not be devoted to grappling with the contested politics of
naming.8
Robert Farris Thompson has often invoked the poignant image of New
York as the crossroads of Afrodiasporic cultures. Hip-hop, salsa, dancehall,
boogaloo, Latin soul, Latin funk, Cubop, and Latin jazz are but a few of his musical examples. The musical practices I discuss in this essay are contemporary
testimony to the fact that New York is still a crossroads of the African diaspora.
This image of the New York crossroads where the Puerto Rican and Dominican
musicians featured here meet is just as important to this essay as the concept of
Haiti as the mythical bridge that connects Dominicans and Puerto Ricans to
each other, to the rest of the African diaspora, to ancestral knowledge, and to
themselves. In a way, New York is the physical crossroads, while Haiti is the
mythical/spiritual bridgekind of like Guinee/Ginen9 has served for Haitians,
as one of the artists I focus on in this article sharply observes.
New York Bomba
/ 181
nationalizing and transnationalizing bomba

Bomba is an umbrella term that describes the oldest known AfroPuerto Rican
music. Probably developed during the seventeenth century, it encompasses numerous subgenresknown as seises, sones, golpeslike yub, calind, sic,
cuny, bambula, and numerous others. Many of these same (or similar) terms
or rhythmic patterns are/were found in Cuba, Haiti, Trinidad, the Virgin Islands, and the southern United States, among other locales. Bomba lyrics often
incorporate words derived from Kongo-Bantu languages and Haitian Kreyl,
among many other linguistic sources.10
Among the best-known examples of Kreyl-derived bomba lyrics is the following song that mixes Spanish and the Puerto Ricanized version of Haitian
Kreyl. By no means an obscure example, it is part of what has become the
bomba canon as practiced in the late twentieth and early twenty-rst centuries in Puerto Rico and the diaspora.
Miserere congo misi
Dnde est mi congo lar?
In an unpublished manuscript, Carlos Tato Torres translates the lyrics into

Kreyl as
Misey Kongo Misey
Kot ma Kongo Larn?
He translates the same lines into English as

My Sir Kongo My Sir
Where is my Kongo Queen? 11
As Torres notes in his analysis of this song, the Haitian inuence is both linguistic and spiritual. While the song makes mention of the family of spirits in
Vodou known as Larn Kongo, other bombas pay homage to the lwa, or spirit,
Damballah, as evidenced by the title of Damba Yaribe12 (in English,Damballah/the Holy Serpent Has Arrived), a song recorded in early twentieth-century
Puerto Rico by the anthropologist J. Alden Mason. Damballah is also referenced in the following song collected by Mara Cadilla and cited by Luis Alvarez
Nazario.
182
Dambamb, tinguin;
que la culebra comi el aj;
Dambamb, tinguin,
o Sico baila, culebra, aj.13
Widely acknowledged to be the most heavily African of Puerto Rican musical traditions, bomba is popularly explained as an exemplary product of the
mythical racial trilogy that purportedly underlies the Puerto Rican cultural expressions branded national.14 Bomba is often described as a result of the combination of three cultures: Tano, Spanish, and African.15 Each of these cultures is frequently explained as visible in bomba through clichd (and often
misleading) characteristics. Thus, for example, the use of maracas, or gourd
rattles, is identied as being of Tano origin, but these were musical instruments also present in the African continent prior to the European colonization
of the Americas; lyrics that are unintelligible to a general public today are assumed either to have always been gibberish16 or to have been derived from
African languages, but they have often been imported from the creolized languages of neighboring Caribbean islands; and the traditional style of dancing
and dress of performing groups is explained as deriving from Spanish sources,
eliding how these traditions have been partly invented and partly reconstructed by privileging and branding as national the traditions of certain social sectors at certain points in time.17
The 2001 Banco Popularsponsored music special Races, though offering a
more complex than usual portrait of bomba through the incorporation of multiple voices, narratives, and perspectives, still reiterates the much-touted trilogy.18 The myth of the racial trilogy purports to emphasize and promote
Puerto Rican ethnoracial diversity and inclusiveness, but it has actually been a
central tenet of Hispanophilia and Afrophobia, Latin Americanstyle.
In an article dedicated to examining the folklorization of blackness in
Puerto Rico, Isar P. Godreau argues thatthe celebration of the racial trilogy
notwithstandingit is Hispanic heritage that is seen as the essence of the nation and that blackness, when and if celebrated, is construed as an exception.
She writes,
Racial purity is, in that sense, only recognized in the past, while mixture is understood as the mark of the present. Yet, while race is mixed and de-essentialized at this point, the cultural outcome of that hybridity is construed as a homogenous national product. As a result, when the phenotypic and cultural
New York Bomba
/ 183
signs of blackness are celebrated in their own terms they are often rendered as
remnants of a past era that has been replaced by a modern, mixed present.19
The nation and national culture, coded as racially mixed, are usually celebrated without an acknowledgment of the power relations that have informed
them and continue to inform them. Bomba and plenathe genres Halbert
Barton has described as the color-coded folkloric dyad that functions as a euphemism for black peoples music20are thus paid tribute to, most notably
by the state, while concealing how such creations were forged in the context of
discriminatory practices that still persist.21
Bomba has been praised as black peoples ballet and black peoples minuet in Puerto Rico, most notably by singer Ruth Fernndez.22 She quoted her
own aphorism for the cameras in the Races 2001 music special. Already in her
late eighties when the lming took place, she starred in some of its most
poignant moments. One of them is when she recounts a painful (but victorious) incident when, as a black artist in mid-twentieth-century Puerto Rico, she
was expected to enter through a hotels back door but refused and entered (to
everyones shock) through the main door. Another one of those most powerful
moments in Races is whenseated in a regal-looking wicker chair and decked
out in a puffy-sleeved, full-length pink gown, chunky gold necklace, and scores
of rings and jingling braceletsFernndez proudly describes bomba through
the ballet and minuet comparison. Salvador E. Ferreras notes, regarding Fernndezs metaphors,
Good intentions notwithstanding, this type of characterization is no longer
shared by younger participants who would rather raise the prole of bomba on
its own merits rather than by linking it to an archaic dance of the European
colonial elite.23
Ferreras, paying close attention to bomba as it is being practiced by the

younger generations on the island as well as in the diaspora, also remarks, Nationalism, identity politics and an underlying racial ambiguity [emphasis mine]
surface as important factors in bombas renewal.24 A decade earlier, Halbert
Barton had also pointed out the primacy of the national framework, using
Modesto Cepedas25 bomba school (located in Santurce, Puerto Rico) as an example. This national framework is not unraced; rather, it is understood as fundamentally racially mixed. After pondering the implications of the remarks of
Ketty Cepeda (Modesto Cepedas wife) to her students regarding the unique-
184
ness and value of their extremely varied phenotypes when compared to the
groups representing other countries that they encountered in international folk
dance competitions, Barton concluded,
Their Puerto Rican group had all the colors in the rainbow, and this was something to be proud of and valued for its own sake. In the school context, then,
bomba dancing became a source of reection about Puerto Ricanness rather
than blackness itself.26
On October 11, 2004, an El Nuevo Da newspaper article titled Bomba Incites a Heated Debate had Modesto Cepeda vehemently objecting to historian
Lester Nurse Allendes account of bombas origins.27 According to the article,
Nurse Allende stated that his research led him to conclude that bomba is not essentially Puerto Rican. His examples included the fact that bombas seises had
names in Creole rather than Spanish, as well as the close similarities of its various instruments (in terms of confection and nomenclature) with instruments
found in Haiti, Cuba, Martinique, Guadeloupe, and Nicaragua. Cepeda, visibly
upset, confronted Nurse Allende: You cannot tell me that bomba is not Puerto
Rican. I completely reject that. This is disrespectful. The article also reports that
Cepeda stated he did not want to be African but was Puerto Rican and proud of
it and that Cepeda questioned the accuracy of Nurse Allendes pronouncements
by brandishing his bomba lineage and Nurse Allendes lack thereof.
While stressing bombas national identity is obviously Cepedas priority,
Nurse Allendes is not. Decentering bombas Puerto Ricanness strikes Cepeda as
disrespectful, whereas for Nurse Allende, it seems to be an opportunity to foreground bombas Afrodiasporic linkages. While Cepeda places emphasis on a
national framework, Nurse Allende privileges a Caribbean one.
Nurse Allendes efforts to locate bomba within a transnational Afrodiasporic framework can be interpreted in great part as a strategy to elide the constraints of the national straightjacket placed on bomba. In theory, nationalizing bomba does not have to perpetuate the marginalization of blackness. Yet it
does. Isar P. Godreau notes how celebratory renderings of blackness, such as
bombas enshrinement as a national music, routinely end up perpetuating the
existing structures of dominance and oppression.
This inclusion and celebration of blackness is not distinct from but instead
complements ideologies of blanqueamiento because it is rooted in some of the
same ideological principles that distance blackness, geographically and tempo-
New York Bomba
/ 185
rally, from the imagined margins of the nation. This distancing has the effect of
locating the phenotypic and cultural signs of blackness somewhere else.28
Lester Nurse Allendes transnational, Caribbeanist, and Afrodiasporic perspective seeking to destabilize the status quo of bomba as folklore29 and bomba as
national is the one that the circle of musicians I document here nd extremely
inspiring and insightful.
sicam moy and urban maroonage

Alma Moy was founded in 2002 by New York-raised Puerto Rican Alexander
Lasalle, then twenty-three years old.30 It is a New York-based musical group
whose name translates as Soul SoulAlma being in Spanish, while Moy is
the creolized version of a Kikongo word widely used in the Afro-Cuban Palo
Mayombe religious tradition Lasalle is initiated in.31
Presently, most of Alma Moys members are in their twenties. I was
twenty-nine years old when the group was founded and have since been one of
its elder members. Though the group attracts audiences of all ages, our core
following consists of people under forty. We play most often at music festivals,
bars, nightclubs, spiritual ceremonies, activist fund-raisers, and colleges and
schools in the tristate area. Eight of Alma Moys eleven members are Puerto
Rican, and three of its key drummers are Dominican. The group is dedicated to
playing bomba.
To hell with ballroom bomba! This is maroon bomba! irreverently exclaimed Alma Moys founder and director during a 2005 performance in the
East Harlem bar Jakes.32 Lasalles statement was, in part, a reaction to the colonial/European costume and dance movements promoted through the dominant folklorized expressions of bomba.33 Healong with other practitioners
of the younger generationscharacterizes the costumes women often wear as
frozen-in-time, caricaturesque mammy outts.34 Regarding wearing the
outts, Lasalle later told me in conversation, Its like performing in blackface!
The maroon aesthetic self-consciously promoted by Alma Moy includes emphasizing the participatory, jamlike quality of bomba musical events (rather
than its performance aspects)35 and vindicating the much-vilied community tradition of street bomba in the town of Loza, which has been described
as vulgar (too much hip movement, backs not straight enough, movements
not elegant enough) and impure (due to incorporation of Afro-Cuban instruments, songs, and rhythms).
186
Alma Moys bomba drums, built by Puerto Ricobased master drum makers Papo del
Valle and Ivn Dvila. (Photo by Elias Irizarry Rosado.)
Lasalles deant remarks struck a chord with the crowd that night at Jakes,
particularly for those who had been present during an infamous incident a few
months earlier in late 2004 when Margarita Tata Cepeda, a Puerto
Ricobased high-prole dancer and niece of Modesto Cepeda, stopped a Bronx
bombazo (where she was a guest) because she felt affronted by the disrespect
bomba was allegedly being treated with, particularly by the younger participants. Her complaints? The sensual brashness of some dancers movements, the
throwing of elegance out the window, the mixing of bomba steps with hip-hop
and rumba. Her irate actions that night were undoubtedly informed by the
reigning bomba dance aesthetic promoted by the most inuential exponents of
bomba in the last fty years: her own Cepeda family, whose key words for dancing bomba are elegance, posture, and rmness (elegancia, postura,
rmeza)straight backs are privileged, and too much pelvic movement is
shunned. Elegance, being in the eye of the beholder, is a highly contested aesthetic concept. Ironically, the Cepedashailing from the northeastern town of
Santurceand their disciples have been criticized by elders from the southern
region of the island36 for not being elegant or graceful enough.37
New York Bomba
/ 187
Of course, arguments about dance aesthetics are never objective or just

about aesthetics. Underpinning Tata Cepedas feeling of entitlement to stop the
music at the Bronx bomba jam and reprimand the participantsparticularly
the teenagers and twenty-somethingswas not only her national/international
renown as a bomba dancer and her membership in bombas best-known family but also underlying assumptions about New York bomba not being as authentic as bomba on the island.38 Part of its alleged lack of authenticity is precisely that it is being fused with other dance forms like hip-hop and rumba.
Her comments generated months and months worth of conversations, writings, and public puyas (veiled criticism).
Tata Cepeda is actually well known for her signature and innovative bomba
steps developed through the incorporation of amenco-inspired moves. The
irony was not lost for observers present during the Bronx public admonishment. Some of the younger ones later observed that at least the dance forms being fused in New York are all Afrodiasporic (bomba, hip-hop, rumba) and part
of the same family, while bomba dancers in Puerto Rico are incorporating
dance moves from further removed sources like amenco and ballet. These observers were undoubtedly placing a premium on fusing bomba with other
Afrodiasporic practices. Awilda Sterling Duprey, a highly regarded performer
in modern dance as well as bomba, seems to agree.
To my understanding, the act of dancing, in the case of the popular genres, is an
intuitive response of rhythmic/musculoskeletal associations blended by the
idiosyncratic sensory framework that the dancer possesses. Accordingly, it is
perfectly acceptable (that is, if ones mind is receptive to the reasoning behind
contextual change) that in New York so many stylistic variants are added to the
traditional patterns danced in Puerto Rican bomba, given the variety of
homonymous cultures with the sociopolitical and economic distortions and
processes that are in constant interchange in the city.39
As a witness to the underpinnings and aftermath of Tata Cepedas public

reprimand at the Bronx bombazo, I was struck by the level of heat, anger, pain,
and controversy that can be generated by debates regarding aesthetic standards.
Ironically, rather than serving to tame the disrespectful New York bomberos,
it made many of them even more deant and committed to locally based community standards where mixing bomba, rumba, hip-hop, and Dominican roots
musical traditions may be framed not as inventing or experimenting but as
employing practitioners maternal expressive languages.40 Given the intense
188
participation and interaction in the bomba scene between New Yorkraised

Puerto Ricans and Dominicans (more on this topic in the next section)folks
often having grown up more exposed to hip-hop and rumba than to bomba,
palos, or other roots musical traditions of Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republicthe quest for roots takes on very particular characteristics.
barn/bawon and a bridge called haiti

Another important element of Alma Moys self-described maroon aesthetics
is the acknowledgment of the Afro-Caribbean spiritual dimension of bomba,
an aspect that has been consistently denied in both popular and academic forumsthough it has been gaining credence in the last few years.
During another full-house performance at Jakes during 2005, Alma Moy
played well-known traditional bombas as well as a number of original bombas
and traditional Dominican palos songs dedicated to San Elas (Saint Elijah), a
spirit also known as Barn del Cementerio (Baron of the Cemetery) in Puerto
Rico and the Dominican Republic and as Bawon Simity in Haiti. Lasalle regaled the spiritmuch beloved within certain branches of Puerto Rican espiritismo (Spiritism), as well as in Dominican santera/vud/espiritismo and
Haitian Vodouwith two new songs. One of them we performed as a 6/8 ler
rhythmic pattern:
Ler ler San Isidro
Ler ler sanse mu
Ler ler San Elas
Padre de los muertos, San Elas priy
Lero lero Saint Isidore
Lero lero my saint
Lero lero Saint Elijah
Father of the Dead, pray for us
The lyrics pay homage to both San Elas and San Isidro Labrador. The reason
for the double homage, Lasalle explains, is that both spiritual entities often
work together in espiritista traditions. Furthermore, following the example of
other bomba songs passed down through the generations, Lasalle has integrated Kreyl into his compositions, choosing the same Kreyl words that of-
New York Bomba
/ 189
ten appear in much older, traditional bombas that mix Spanish and Kreyl:
mu (mwen; in English,me or my) and priy (priye; in English,pray). The
term ler itself is a term derived from Kreyl, though there are different takes
on the original term: while some have said it derives from le rose (the rose),
others say from le rond (the circle).41
Lasalle and Ernesto Rodrguez, then an Alma Moy member,42 traded
verses in the U.S. spiritual Lay This Body Down (Oh graveyard, oh graveyard
/ Im walking to the graveyard to lay this body down) to a cuny bomba pattern.
Lasalle also sang another of his originals, this time to the rhythms of a bomba
holand, and Ernesto Rodrguez later sang a song from the Dominican
salves/palos traditionboth songs dedicated to San Elas, their lyrics closely
mirroring each other. Though I wrote down many of the nights details the day
after this performance, I failed to note if the percussionists played a bomba
holand for Rodrguezs song or if they played palos or salves. Though I wish I
could remember the choice made that night, I nd my own lack of clarity and
precision somewhat betting to the degree of fusion between the two national
traditions as Alma Moy and others practice them. Oftentimes we have sung
Dominican tunes to a bomba rhythmic pattern and on bomba drums, and almost just as often we have sung them to salves or palos rhythmic patterns
played on bomba drums.
That night, Lasalle wore a huge top hat, a black suit jacket with a purple
handkerchief tucked in the breast pocket, and sunglasses, in tribute to El
Barn/Bawon and the way that he is traditionally rendered. Though not explicitly stated during the performance, Alma Moy paid homage that night to the
powerful spirit that rules over cemeteries and thus over the deadand we did
it by stressing the commonalties among diverse African-derived musical and
spiritual traditions in the Americas. But these were not haphazardly chosen
commonalties: just like the Barn del Cementerio was the numinous entity
providing the spiritual glue for our performance that night, Haiti was the historical and mythical bridge linking the traditions of Puerto Rico, the Dominican Republic, and even the southern United States.
Manuela Arciniegas, another of Alma Moys Dominican members and
one of the very few female percussionists who plays the lead drum among existing bomba groups, was raised speaking Puerto Rican Spanish in the South
Bronx. The twenty-eight year old began playing Dominican and Puerto Rican
roots music as soon as she returned to New York once she completed her undergraduate degree at Harvard. She says:
190
Alma Moys Manuela Arciniegas and Obanil Ir Allende Solana at the 2008 recording
of the Freedom album spearheaded by the Welfare Poets as a fund-raiser for Puerto Rican political prisoners. (Photo by Elias Irizarry Rosado.)
My spirit called me to bomba, early. I had access to palos and I loved it, but then
something happened with bomba where it was a new beginning. I always felt
like it was mine and its strange cause Im Dominican. But its like my spirit is
like, No, this is a big part of who you are. So when I started hearing about the
Haitian roots [of bomba] I got really excited. Im like, Oh, the point of connection was like three generations ago with my Haitian ancestors and your
Haitian ancestors and theyre on both islands! Lets celebrate that. Its important to get rooted in those spaces where the cultures overlap, the times overlap,
descendancies overlap.43
Rather than just celebrating bomba as a national Puerto Rican musical

tradition or a Latin American music phenomenon, Alma Moy places a
greater priority on practicing/performing bomba within the context of Afrodiasporic traditions and exploring most profoundly the connections between
roots music in Puerto Rico and the rest of the African diasporaparticularly
the Dominican Republic and Haiti. The groups self-description provides a
good example.
New York Bomba
/ 191
Alma Moyos signature contribution to La Bomba includes promoting spiritual and revolutionary Bomba songs and practices obtained through years of
research throughout the island of Borinquen. Our music celebrates the connection between all descendants of the African Diaspora in the United States,
the Caribbean, and Latin America. Our goal is to create a cultural revolution
that promotes our Afro-Caribbean identity through an exhilarating rhythmic
journey.44
In that challenging of the dominant discourses that perpetuate the blackness/Latinidad divide or that promote the national framework as the most important one, Alma Moy is certainly not a lone exception but an example of a
larger cultural phenomenon in New York City. They are merely part of a small
but vocal circuit of Caribbean roots musiciansmany of them Puerto Rican
and Dominicanwho know and collaborate with each other. Between four to
six members of Alma Moy have at one point or another been part of the Dominican roots music groups La 21 Divisin, Pa lo Monte, Palo Mayor, Claudio
Fortunato y Sus Guedeses, and Kalunga Neg Mawon. Other examples of New
Yorkbased musical groups that include (or have included) both Dominican
and Puerto Rican members (and that, to varying degrees, highlight the connections between the musical traditions from both countries) are Yaya (Puerto Rican and Dominican roots music), Il Ay (Dominican, Puerto Rican, and
Cuban roots music), Bmbula (Puerto Rican roots music), and Tato Torress
Yerbabuena (Boricua roots music). Then there are groups like Pa lo Monte and
Kalunga Neg Mawon whose focal point is Haitian-Dominican music; the core
of their membership is (or has been) Dominican but has also included Haitians
and Puerto Ricans.
Juango Gutirrez, director of Grammy-nominated plena and bomba ensemble Los Pleneros de la 21, believes that the contemporary youth-led roots
music scene in New York City builds on the musical and community-based
work of groups like his (founded over two decades and a half ago) and many
others.45 What he does notice as a distinct difference between his generation
and the younger ones is the heightened degree of collaboration and musical hybridization between Dominicans and Puerto Ricans. In the spirit of description
and not judgment, Gutirrez characterizes the prior musical collaborations between Dominicans and Puerto Ricans using the popular aphorism juntos pero
no revueltos (together but not convoluted), while aptly describing the younger
generations praxis as juntos y revueltos (together and convoluted).46
While playing in the same groups and hybridizing Dominican and Puerto
192
Rican roots musical and spiritual traditions, the younger generations have
posed a challenge to the primacy of the nation as the guiding principle in the
perpetuation of roots musical traditions (a perpetuation frequently guided by
attempts at preserving a static nation-identied folklore rather than nourishing living traditions).47 Likewise, these younger generations of roots musicians
have been self-consciously laboring to break with the blackness/Latinidad dichotomy.48 New York Dominicans and Puerto Ricans have been reimagining
their national and/or ethnic musical traditions by challenging Latino and Latin
American Eurocentrism and narrow-minded nationalisms and stressing their
connections to the wider African diaspora. In the process, they have also been
constructing and reconguring social, political, and spiritual alliances and reshaping/reimagining history.
Born and raised in New York City, Alma Moys Alexander Lasalle is the
child of parents from the town of Moca in the western part of Puerto Rico, a
member of a family of bomba practitioners, and a descendant of Haitians who
were forced to leave the country by their enslaver after the Haitian Revolution.
Evidently, the concept of Haiti as a link or a bridge is more than just poetic collective history to him. But neither is it for many other key players in this New
York roots music scene.
Pedro nico Noguet, founder of the plena group Cap Prieto, was raised
in Mayagez, the largest town on Puerto Ricos western coast (adjacent to
Lasalles hometown). In a 2004 community forum of bomba practitioners,
convened to air out preoccupations and strengthen collective bonds, Noguet
replied to a Dominican participants mention of New York Puerto Rican examples of institution building serving as inspirational models for the New York
Dominican community.
My great-grandmother was Dominican. The rst time I saw a pandereta used to
play salves was in Mayagez. Its very important that the unity between Dominicans and Puerto Ricans is respected. Its a unity that is centuries old. Im
very interested in emphasizing that.49
To Noguets statement, Ernesto Rodrguez added,

Dominicans and Puerto Ricans are two branches of the same tree. From my
Moms hometown in the Dominican Republic you can see the lights in
Mayagez. When I got to New York, the rst community that opened their arms
to me were Puerto Ricans.
New York Bomba
/ 193
This last statement brings us back to Manuela Arciniegass childhood remembrances of a tight Dominican/Puerto Rican link, based on shared New
York City experiences but self-consciously tied by New York-based bomba
practitioners to previous historical moments of shared experiences in the
Caribbean, such as those centuries-old ones along the western coastal towns of
Puerto Rico, particularly Mayagez. Whereas bomba aesthetics as re-created by
Santurce and Loza-based folkloric groups dominated popular conceptions of
bomba for most of the second half of the twentieth century, long-standing efforts to include Mayagez in bombas narrative culminated in the prominent
inclusion of Don Flix Aldun y Sus Tambores in the 2001 music special Races.
Mayagez and nearby towns and their traditions have served to inspire
young researchers/musicianslike Lasalle, Rodrguez, Arciniegas, Noguet, and
many othersto investigate and develop further what their ancestors started
(and the linkages between them). When I rst became a bomba enthusiast in
the mid-1990s, Mayagez songs like Libert, Seplate, and Obli Mabl
were not yet part of the bomba canon; today, they most certainly are.50
Though the exact meaning of the lyrics is still being debated, the Kreyl origin
of many of the terms is agreed on. The most obvious is, of course, the rst: libert is the Puerto Ricanized version of libte (freedom/liberty). Seplate,
though much less obvious, is said by researchers and practitioners (often one
and the same, in the case of the folks featured in this essay) to be possibly derived from cest pour la tt (in English, its for the head) and has spiritual underpinnings derived from Vodou, where the lwa closest to a devotee is known
as the mt tt (in English, owner of the head or master of the head).51
The song Mwe Ale is an original composition by Osvaldo Bemb Lora
and Niko Laboy of Il Ay, a group founded in 2004 that gathers some of the
best young New York Puerto Rican and Dominican percussionists and singers.
The group performs both sacred and popular genres such as plena and bomba
from Puerto Rico; palos, salves, and congos from the Dominican Republic; and
bat, giro, and rumba from Cuba. The lyrics to Mwe Ale, a remix of Kreyl
into Caribbean Spanish and set to a bomba cuemb, are a poignant homage to
the town of Mayagez as a meeting point for Puerto Ricans, Dominicans, and
Haitians. The rst part of the chorus is in Kreyl: mwe ale, mwe ale (Im going, Im going). The second part is in Caribbean Spanish: pa Mayagez (to
Mayagez).
Ironically, Haitithe much-maligned blackest country of the Caribbean in
the imperial/racist imagination, the one that has fueled what Halbert Barton has
termed the voodoo-phobia52 against bombahas become the bridge that con-
194
Members of Kalunga Neg Mawon, Alma Moy, and other musicians play gag in Sunset
Park, Brooklyn, at a 2005 street BBQ and jam in solidarity with the Acosta family, brutalized by police ofcers two years earlier. Playing a fututo (vaccine) on the far left is Jos
Figueroa. Drumming and wearing sunglasses is Alexander Lasalle. Drumming in the
foreground is Ernesto Rodrguez.
nects New York Dominican and Puerto Rican musicians to each other. Haiti is
also the mythical bridge that connects New York Caribbean Latinos to the blackness within. In a conversation regarding the same ideas I am elaborating here,
Alexander Lasalle perceptively described his generations hunger to connect to
Haitian traditions as a modern-day equivalent of the inspiration drawn from the
Haitian Revolution by African descendants all throughout the Americas.
In the book Esclavos rebeldes, the author said that a lot of black Puerto Ricans
saw Haiti and the Dominican Republic as the freedom land and almost heavenlike. And thats the same concept among the Haitians when they speak about
Guinee. Guinee for them is like heaven, but not like the actual country Guinea.
Its what they remember as being beautiful and free and good. Thats why when
they speak of heaven, they speak of Guinee.53
New York Bomba
/ 195
In the same conversation, Manuela Arciniegas added the poetic clincher to

Lasalles statement: Everybody keeps pointing somewhere else as heaven. Its
like heaven is the stop on the slave ship before this one.54 Thus, Haititoday
as yesterdayserves as a mythical bridge between matter and spirituality, between the outside world and the universes within, and between Afrodiasporic
populations of the Spanish-speaking Caribbean who refuse to let their blackness be steeped in the bleaching waters of Latino self-denial.
Notes
1. These are not direct quotes but my recollections from that night.
2. Rivera, New York Ricans.
3. See Flores, From Bomba to Hip-Hop; Morales, Brown Like Me?; Oboler and
Dzidzienyo, Flows and Counterows; La-Montes, Afro-Latinidades.
4. Rivera, Real Puerto Rican Culture; Rivera, Between Blackness and Latinidad.
5. The pronoun our functions here less as a familial term and more as a proprietary
one.
6. Barton, Drum-Dance Challenge; Godreau, Folkloric Others; Jimnez
Romn, Looking at that Middle Ground.
7. In 2003, Dominican-born singer and cultural activist Nina Paulinoa prominent member of the New York musical community I document herewas one of the
black-identied Latinos featured in a groundbreaking New York Times article. See
Navarro, New Yorks Black Latinos.
8. La-Montes, Afro-Latinidades, 126.
9. For analyses of Guinee/Ginen in Haitian spirituality, see Montilus, Guinea versus Congo Lands, 16369; Brown, Mama Lola; Dsir, Vodou, 9196.
10. Barton, Challenge for Puerto Rican Music, 6989; Dufrasne Gonzlez, Puerto
Rico tambin tiene . . . tambo!; Torres and Mbumba Loango, Cuando la bomba ama
. . . !; Dufrasne, La homogeneidad de la msica caribea; lvarez and Rivera, Bambula sea all.
11. Torres and Mbumba Loango, Cuando la bomba ama . . . !
12. There is also a New York-based bomba group, cofounded by Alexander Lasalle
and Halbert Barton, called Damba Yaribe.
13. lvarez Nazario, El elemento afronegroide.
14. For critical reections regarding cultural praxes and products labeled national,
see Rivera, Real Puerto Rican Culture.
15. See, for example, Petra Cepedas interview in Yves Billons 1991 documentary
Salsa Opus 3: Puerto Rico.
16. See ethnomusicologist Luis Manuel Alvarezs comments in the 2001 Banco Popular music special Races.
17. Ferreras, Solo Drumming in the Puerto Rican Bomba, 26061; Maldonado,
Bomba Triguea.
196
18. For a critical assessment of the Races music special, see Ferreras, Races.
19. Godreau, Folkloric Others, 182.
20. Barton, A Challenge for Puerto Rican Music, 71, 72.
22. Ferreras, Solo Drumming in the Puerto Rican Bomba, 92.
23. Ibid.
24. Ibid.
25. Modesto Cepeda is one of the sons of Don Rafael Cepeda, the deceased folklorist
dubbed the patriarch of bomba.
26. Barton, Drum-Dance Challenge, 148.
27. Rivera Marrero, Provoca la bomba un encendido careo.
30. Sicam Moy is the title of an original bomba composed by Alexander Lasalle
and performed by the musical group featured in this section, Alma Moy. The full chorus is Sicam Moy, que un alma libre traspasa todo (Raise/wake your spirit/life force
because a free soul can transcend anything). Sikama means to wake up or lift in Kimbundu/Kikongo.
31. Moy is related to the word mojo as used in the United States.
32. The translation is mine. His actual words were in Spanish: Pal carajo la bomba
de saln! esto es bomba cimarrona!
33. See Barton, Drum-Dance Challenge, 2932.
34. Maldonado, Bomba Triguea. See also Ferreras, Solo Drumming in the Puerto
Rican Bomba, 261: Womens traditional wide fringed skirt, with their corresponding
decorated slips, typical of staged bomba, have given way to informal outts that minimize fashion and maximize movement. When they are ready to dance they pull clothes
from their purses or tness bags and fasten wrap-around skirts over whatever their
outt happens to be.
35. See Barton, Challenge for Puerto Rican Music, for an account of the 1990s rise
in Puerto Rico of bombazos, tailored to reintroduce bomba (originally a community
event, later folklorized for the stage) to the streets.
36. Ruth Fernndez, incidentally, is from the southern town of Ponce.
37. Ferreras, Solo Drumming in the Puerto Rican Bomba, 26263.
38. I developed this idea in a three-part series, Elogio de la bomba de Nueva York,
published in Claridad, OctoberDecember 2004. A version in English, In Praise of New
York Bomba, was printed in the magazine Giro y Maraca and is available on the Web.
39. Quoted in Rivera, Elogio de la bomba de Nueva York 3.
40. I was told by a bomba practitioner who asked to remain anonymous,You know,
body movements are, to a certain point, involuntary . . . If people, especially our youth,
is mixing in bomba with rumba and hip hop its because these are often the maternal
language, the principal language, that their bodies speak (quoted in Rivera, In Praise
of New York Bomba).
41. Salvador E. Ferreras subscribes to the le rose theory: It is believed that its name
is a contraction of the French le rose, the circle formation dancers once assumed when
performing its steps (Ferreras, Solo Drumming in the Puerto Rican Bomba, 117).
New York Bomba
/ 197
42. Percussionist Ernesto Rodrguez grew up between the Dominican Republic and
New York City. A year or so after this 2005 performance, he left Alma Moy and cofounded the Haitian/Dominican roots music group Kalunga Meg Mawon.
43. Manuela Arciniegas, personal communication, 2005.
44. www.almamoyo.com/wedo (accessed March 5, 2008).
45. Juango Gutirrez, personal communication, 2005.
46. Ibid.
47. Barton, Challenge for Puerto Rican Music; Barton, Thousand Soberaos;
Rivera, Real Puerto Rican Culture.
48. This is certainly not to discount the internal debates within this generation,
though, in practice, there is a high degree of musical and dance hybridization; debates
regarding how much is too much abound.
49. These are not direct quotes but my recollections from that night.
50. Obli Mabl and Libert are included in the 2006 album Candela! (Casabe
Records).
51. Alexander Lasalle, personal communication.
53. Alexander Lasalle, personal communication, 2005.
54. Manuela Arciniegas, personal communication, 2005.
Bibliography
lvarez, Luis Manuel, and Angel Quintero Rivera. Bambula sea all: La bomba y la
plena. 2001. www.tradicionmusical.com/pdf/compendio_nal.pdf.
lvarez Nazario, Manuel. El elemento afronegroide en el espaol de Puerto Rico. San Juan:
Instituto de Cultura Puertorriquea, 1974.
Barton, Halbert E. A Challenge for Puerto Rican Music: How to Build a Soberao for
Bomba. Centro 16, no. 1 (Spring 2004): 6989.
Barton, Halbert E. The Drum-Dance Challenge: An Anthropological Study of Gender,
Race and Class Marginalization of Bomba in Puerto Rico. PhD diss., Cornell University, 1995.
Barton, Halbert E. A Thousand Soberaos: CICRE and the Bombazo Movement. In
Cultural (con)Fusion? [Transcaribbean Performance and Performers] Simposium IV,
edited by Lowell Fiet and Janet Becerra, 3547. Rio Piedras, Puerto Rico: Caribe,
2000.
Brown, Karen McCarthy. Mama Lola: A Vodun Priestess in Brooklyn. Berkeley: University
of California Press, 1991.
Dsir, Dowoti. Vodou: A Sacred Multidimensional, Pluralistic Space. Teaching Theology and Religion 9, no. 2 (April 2006): 9196.
Dufrasne, J. Emmanuel. La homogeneidad de la msica caribea: Sobre la msica comercial y popular de Puerto Rico. PhD diss., University of California, Los Angeles,
1985.
Dufrasne Gonzlez, J. Emanuel. Puerto Rico tambin tiene . . . tamb!: Recopilacin de
artculos sobre la plena y la bomba. Rio Grande, Puerto Rico: Paracumbe, 1994.
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Ferreras, Salvador. Solo Drumming in the Puerto Rican Bomba: An Analysis of Musical Processes and Improvisational Strategies. PhD diss., University of British Columbia, 2005.
Flores, Juan. From Bomba to Hip-Hop. New York: Columbia University Press, 1999.
Godreau, Isar P. Folkloric Others: Blanqueamiento and the Celebration of Blackness
as an Exception in Puerto Rico. In Globalization and Race: Transformations in the
Cultural Production of Blackness, edited by Kamari Maxine Clarke and Deborah A.
Thomas, 17187. Durham: Duke University Press, 2006.
Jimnez Romn, Miriam. Looking at that Middle Ground: Racial Mixing as Panacea.
In A Companion to Latina/o Studies, edited by Juan Flores and Renato Rosaldo,
32536. Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2007.
La-Montes, Agustn. Afro-Latinidades: Bridging Blackness and Latinidad. In Technofuturos: Critical Interventions in Latina/o Studies, edited by Nancy Raquel Mirabal
and Agustin La-Montes, 11740. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2007.
Maldonado, Melanie. Bomba Triguea: Diluted Culture and (Loss of) Female Agency.
In Caribbean without Borders: Literature, Language, and Culture, edited by Dorsia
Smith, Raquel Puig Ramos, and Ileana Corts Santiago, 95117. Newcastle, United
Kingdom: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2008.
Montilus, Guerin C. Guinea versus Congo Lands: Aspects of the Collective Memory in
Haiti. In Global Dimensions of the African Diaspora, edited by Joseph E. Harris,
16369. Washington, DC: Howard University Press, 1982.
Morales, Ed. Brown Like Me? The Nation Online Edition, February 19, 2004.
http://www.thenation.com/doc.mhtml?i=20040308&s=morales (accessed March 5,
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Navarro, Mireya. For New Yorks Black Latinos, A Growing Racial Awareness. New York
Times, April 28, 2003.
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Talking Drums: Soca and Go-Go Music as

Grassroots Identity Movements
deidre r. gantt
introduction: the peoples music

Soca music is a fast-paced derivative of calypso. Its name is derived from Lord
Shortys self-described mission to nd the soul of calypso.1 It was created in
the 1970s by the calypsonian Gareld Blackman, better known as Lord Shorty
or the Father of Soca, who began experimenting with East Indian rhythms,
using instruments such as the dholak, tabla and dhantal and fusing them with
the calypso beat.2 The Indian inuence in soca faded out fairly early in the
genres development, resurfacing in the last decade as soca gave birth to new
forms such as the hybrid chutney-soca.3
Like calypso, soca is closely linked to the Trinidadian Carnival, or mas
(short for masquerade). Other common features between the two genres include a lead singer; sometimes a duet and, more rarely, a group of vocalists; and
a lyrical emphasis on sexuality and double entendre. Soca tends to forgo its predecessors frequent political commentary in favor of fete musicparty anthems associated with the annual carnival season. Dudley identies another
distinction between the forms: The [soca] vocal line is very sparse in comparison with traditional calypso. The denseness of syllables and the storytelling
style of text have given way to short, crisp phrases that function more like instrumental riffs than narrative.4
Around the same time that Lord Shorty was experimenting with calypso,
Washington, DCbased guitarist and bandleader Chuck Brown was creating
another unique sound: go-go music. Go-go historians Kip Lornell and Charles
200
Talking Drums / 201
C. Stephenson, Jr., write that Brownaffectionately known as the Godfather

of Go-Gobegan experimenting with this new sound as early as 1971; however, they consider his 1974 and 1975 live shows as the turning point when the
new sound emerged.5
Go-go music is distinguished from all other forms by the go-go beat, often
called a pocket. The beat is described by Lornell and Stephenson as a
polyrhythmic, syncopated, dotted rhythm that consists of a series of quarter
and eighth notes . . . which is underscored most dramatically by the bass drum
and snare drum, and the hi-hat. This basic rhythmic unit is ornamented by
other percussion instruments, especially the conga drums, timbale, and handheld cowbells.6
The live show environment is a central factor in both the development and
naming of go-go. While playing cabarets to predominately African American
audiences in Washington, Brown recognized the need to compete with disco
DJs, who could keep the dance oor packed and led partygoers to dislike the
pause in between songs.7 According to Lornell and Stephenson, Brown
replied in kind, performing non-stop with the percussion section keeping the
beat, playing the funk, until the band grooved into the next selection.8 This
performance strategy led to the name go-go, derived from the Smokey Robinson song Going to a Go-Go, to characterize the sound that goes and goes and
goes.9
While soca and go-go began as primarily aesthetic movements by individual musicians, both genres were rapidly popularized by working-class and poor
Trinidadians and Washingtonians of African descent. Despite differences in location and sound, soca and go-go music share a common project: an attempt
by these populations to negotiate and express their African heritage and to revise, afrm, and project their collective cultural identities. The specic nature
of each populations project is closely linked to their historical and contemporary situationsTrinidads as an essentially biracial, formerly colonized, developing nation and DCs as a predominately black nonstate that happens to also
be the capital city of the worlds superpower.
a common heritage
Due to the numerical majority of Africans in slavery-era Trinidad and differences between the repressive practices of American and French slaveholders,
Africans in Trinidad were much more successful than their American counterparts in preserving connections to African culture. This has resulted in a direct
202
connection of soca to African music practices. This lineage extends back in time
to calypso, cariso, the calenda (drum-based songs and dances that accompanied
the stick ghts of the nineteenth-century jamette Carnival as celebrated by
Afro-Trinidadians following emancipation), and earlier genres like the jhouba
and belair.10 When the British banned drumming after seizing control of
Trinidad from the Spanish, Trinidadian ingenuity maintained the link through
innovations like the tamboo bamboo, a stick drum cut from bamboo canes.11
In the United States, including, of course, Washington, DC, along with Virginia and the Carolinas, from which many current black Washingtonians trace
their immediate roots, the white establishment stripped the African minority of
visible manifestations of African cultural practices. Yet many so-called African
music practices clearly survived due to what Olly Wilson calls shared conceptual approaches to the process of music-making in the absence of clearly inherited techniques.12
The African strategies found in go-go music are also derived from interactions with Caribbean and South American residents of the Washington area,
whose cultures had retained African music styles through more concrete methods. Chuck Brown was inspired to add conga drums and timbales to the go-go
sound from his stint with Los Latinos, an Afro-Latin band with whom he had
played prior to forming the Soul Searchers.13 The inuences of Afro-Latin and
Afro-Cuban music was not, of course, limited to the Washington area but was
present throughout American society, particularly in the 1940s through the
1960s.14
In the 1970s and 1980s, ideologies of cultural nationalism and Afrocentrism
spread throughout Washingtons black population. Go-go musicians, audiences, and students responded to this movement by emphasizing the connection between go-go and African music. This tendency was shown most clearly
in Straight Up Go-Go, a 1992 documentary, in which Howard University professor Dr. Elias Jones states, [Go-go] reminded me of Africa, it reminded me of
the Caribbean, and it was one of the strongest elements of African presence that
I felt in Washington, DC. In the same lm, go-go drummer Jason Lane describes the sound as punk, rock, mostly African, and a fan, Brian Knight, says,
Its kind of like the original beat from Africa. Music critic and writer Nelson
George compares go-go to the music of Fela Kuti, while music teacher and gogo drummer Mamadi Nyasuma connects the music to the agogo bell and the wa
wa ko rhythm of West Africa.15
Whether inherited through direct and literal or conceptual and symbolic
methods, soca and go-go share three common strategies of African music-
Talking Drums / 203
making: polymetric ensemble drumming, call-and-response between performers and the audience, and the use of repetitive lyrics that appear in multiple
songs performed by multiple artists over a long period of time (years). These
strategies have specic applications in the larger project of communal identity
formation and expression that these communities have undertaken.
First, the ensemble drumming embodies the process of negotiating multiple identities that characterize both the Afro-Trinidadian and black Washingtonian experience within their cultures. As Nyasuma notes, The African
rhythm was polyrhythmic: all the drums were saying different things but they
had to be in sync with one another.16 Describing the uses of call-and-response,
Jeff Pressing states that where the response does not copy the call, the response
typically has an invariant form and involves several to many singers or instruments, whereas the call is often solo and is more likely to feature substantial
variation and improvisation.17 This is certainly true of its function in soca and
go-go, in which artists employ call-and-response to engender both vocal and
physical interplay between the musicians and audience members, transforming
the fete and the go-go into sites of co-creation, where all members are united in
performing their shared identity. The use of repeated phrases and themes creates a script of sorts, a blueprint for transmitting the shared identity through
time and space. J. C. Roederer writes,
Repetition . . . limits the burden on memory, achieves intensication of engagement and attention, and promotes automaticity. This heightens the grooves
potential for emotional impact, reinforcing the power of imposed communal
rhythms to establish behavioral coherence in masses of people.18
The descendants of African slaves in Trinidad and Washington have inherited

and adopted common modes of expression; however, the sociopolitical experiences of working-class Trinidadians and Washingtonians are distinct. Thus, the
cultural identities being expressed and dened through these tactics are very
different and very specic to members of these groups. This helps to explain
why each style is highly popular in its region of origin, while being relatively invisible in the mainstream.
soca and the trinidadian identity

It is no accident that soca music emerged from calypso roughly a decade following Trinidads independence from Great Britain. Though connected to ear-
204
lier Afro-Trinidadian music styles, traditional calypso emerged in the wake of

the Arouca riots and general repression by the British colonial government at
the turn of the twentieth century.19 Calypso became what the former prime
minister Eric Williams termed the mouthpiece of Afro-Trinidadian political
sentiments.20
With the end of British rule over the island, Trinidadians found themselves
at a crossroads, having to undertake the formidable task of forming a new national identity. Keith Warner documents extensively the calypsonians continued role as social critics during the formative years of the Peoples National
Movement. But he also demonstrates calypsos ideological shift toward goals
stated in 1962 by Williams, then prime minister: that there could be no Mother
Africa for those of African origin . . . no Mother England, and no dual loyalties,
for the only Mother we recognise is Mother Trinidad and Tobago.21
Then, as now, this newly independent country was fundamentally biracial.
Trinidadians of African and East Indian descent make up nearly equal percentages of the population; together, they form the countrys majority.22 Cowley
documents the long-standing practice of the British to use divide-and-rule
tactics on the Afro-Trinidadians and the East Indians who had been brought to
Trinidad as indentured servants following emancipation.23 Thus, working out
new power relations in the absence of the British became of utmost importance. Lord Shortys experimental fusion of calypso and Indian music is an
artistic reection and extension of this project. The drums that talk to one another in soca are polyrhythmic not only in the number of distinct beats being
played but in the synthesis of African and Indian culture into one Trinidad.
Today, soca music makes frequent reference to the need for multiethnic
unity among Trinidadians. Here, the technique of repetition nds its strength.
These appeals crop up in song after song, as if to drum the concept into the
minds of listeners. In Soca or Die, Destra Garcia, one of Trinidads most popular soca artists, sings, It could be so easy if we were divided / all together as
one, but yet we so damn divided, calling attention to the unnished nature of
Trinidadian unity and, by implication, the need to keep it in the forefront of the
peoples minds. Calls for unity permeate Destras catalog, but she is far from the
only artist to employ this technique. Tribe, one of Trinidads largest mas bands
(as in a posse of revelers rather than a musical ensemble), bills itself as all-inclusive.24 Iwer George, the 2007 Soca Monarch (champion of the annual Carnival soca competition), titled one of his songs Time to Unite. In one performance during 2006 mas, Machel Montano called for everyone to jump: black,
white, Indian, or Chinese.25
Talking Drums / 205
This so-called festival soca has been widely criticized for its lack of socially
conscious lyrics and its emphasis on jumping, wining, and waving rag and ag.
In the documentary Calypso at Dirty Jims, the famous calypso pioneer Calypso
Rose accuses the modern soca singers of assassinating calypso, due to the
highly repetitive nature of many soca tunes. (Soca is not without its message
songs, however, although they are less common and often less direct than those
found in traditional calypso.)
However, these seemingly redundant instructions use call-and-response to
reinforce the message of unity. Singer after singer instructs the audience to
move together as a unitto jump up, wave, get on bad. In the performance of
shared activityparticularly within a context of funthe identity project
strives to make the sung unity real, even if only while playing mas. In this way,
Trinidadians are once again redening Carnival. Just as the jamettes overtook
the celebration from the French upper classes a century ago, using it to critique
their enslavers and, when merged with Canboulay, to celebrate their freedom
from bondage,26 todays Trinidadians are reinterpreting Carnival as a celebration open to all Trinidadians.
go-go music and the washingtonian identity

Like soca, go-go music emerged in the wake of Washington, DCs, acquisition
of limited political home rule. Article 1, Section 8, Clause 17 of the U. S. Constitution effectively made Washington a colony of the United States. Until 1961,
residents of the capital city did not even have the right to select delegates for the
electoral college that elects the president and vice president of the United
States.27 Two years before Chuck Brown and the Soul Searchers developed gogos seminal sound, the situation changed somewhat when Congress passed the
District of Columbia Home Rule Act of 1973, granting Washingtons residents
(eight hundred thousand at the time) the right to elect a mayor and city council representatives.28
To this day, however, DC residents do not have a voting member of Congress, nor do they enjoy the same level of self-governance taken for granted by
residents in any of the fty states. Congress must approve the citys budget and
legislation passed by its elected ofcials; it also has the power to revoke home
rule, as it proved in 1995 when it appointed a nancial control board to assume
responsibility for major decisions that were formerly the province of elected
city ofcials.29
This federal-local schism extends beyond governance into the daily lives of
206
Washingtons residents. As noted in the go-go documentary The Pocket, there

is, on the one hand, Washington the federal city, which is powerful, wealthy,
controlled by whites, and extremely visible around the globe. On the other
hand, there is DC, which is politically powerless, economically deprived, predominately black, and utterly invisible to the millions of tourists who ock to
the city to see the government buildings, monuments, Smithsonian museums,
and cherry blossomsinvisible except, that is, during televised reports of drug
trafcking, violence, or other social mayhem.
This aspect of Washingtons history and social conditions played an important role in the rise of go-go music. The liner notes of the early go-go compilation album Go-Go Crankin: Paint the White House Black demonstrate the selfawareness of go-go in this regard.
Cut through the razzmatazzthe White House, Lincoln Memorial, a thriving
tourist industryand outside the golden mile the heritage is one of mass unemployment and widespread unrest creating a tension that must be channeled
before it explodes. Go Go is the creative force born to absorb the anger. Go Go
music is functional. It is a hard-hitting percussion-led punch that reects the
audiences say it loud and say it proud stance.
Thus, the fundamental identity project of go-go music is to afrm the presence
of Washingtons invisible black community. Washington Post journalist Jill Nelson calls go-go Washingtons most unique personality . . . the African American communitys, musically, way of saying this is something that is intrinsically
ours.30 Like soca, go-go employs the techniques of polyrhythmic drumming,
call-and-response, repetitive themes, and shout-outs to achieve its purpose.
A go-go song can last anywhere from ve to fteen minutes and is generally
structured in one of three ways: as an original composition, a go-goized cover
of an existing song, or a suite in which the band combines verses and choruses from two or three songs that are similar in theme or genre. Go-go bands
reliance on popular music subjects them to intense criticism by those in the
Washington metropolitan area (and beyond) who consider the majority of gogo bands to lack originality and musicianship. (Like the critiques of soca, this
point often overlooks the numerous original compositions performed each
year by go-go bands. However, in both cases, repetition and covers tend to
dominate the popular play lists.)
The tradition of covering mainstream hits stems from go-gos origins as Top
40 cabaret music and from Chuck Browns own self-described limitations as a
Talking Drums / 207
songwriter.31 As the genres pioneer, his focus on writing hooks rather than narrative-driven lyrics has undoubtedly inuenced later bands. Nevertheless, gogos heavy use of popular music does not automatically indicate a lack of creativity among band members. Wilson and Alroys Record Reviews calls go-go
an extraordinarily supple form: you can play anything from an MOR ballad to
a car commercial over a go-go beat and make it danceable.32 In setting popular
music to a go-go beat, the polyrhythmstimbales, congas, rollatoms, trap set,
and hand percussion in the form of cowbells and tambourinesnot only speak
to one another but create a space for black Washingtonians within the wider
American culture of which they are a part (but not a part, at least politically).
Brown also developed the strategy of revising the lyrics of an existing song
to give them a hometown avor, as demonstrated in his signature renditions of
a Duke Ellington classic as It Dont Mean a Thing, If It Dont Have the Go-Go
Swing and of Harry Belafontes Day-O, which removes listeners from the setting of a banana boat and places them in the nightclub, where daylight come,
we dont wanna go home.33 Go-go bands have followed suit, reinterpreting
songs from nearly every American genre: rap, funk, classic R&B, reggae, jazz,
rock, alternative, gospel, even TV theme shows and commercials. In 2006,
L!ssen Band used this strategy to adapt a Boost Mobile television commercial
into a boast of citywide support: Northeast, Northwest, Southeast, Southwest,
Where they at, the whole city behind us.34 This is an example of the display
aspect of go-go music, which will be discussed shortly. Todays fans come to the
go-go expecting to hear their favorite band give popular songs a DC sound.
From the beginning, go-go was a participatory form of music. Between sets,
Chuck Brown began greeting audience members by name. Soon this became a
cornerstone of the go-go experience, and as the music spread through Washingtons black neighborhoods, it came to be known as the display. Contemporary go-go songs commonly start or nish with a lead talker greeting members
of the audience, often calling out neighborhood crews (mostly males) and
honnie cliques (groups of females who may or may not be afliated with the
male crews) or interacting with the crowd over a pocket beat. Steven Bugs
Herrion, the lead talker of Junkyard Band states,
We can live without the call and response, but sooner or later, the crowds going
get into it, and want to say something. Thats just the energy that comes from
them. They wanna say, Oh say my name. Say my name. Put me on display.
People love to, you know, be known, you see. Let the crowd know they in the
house, you know. Im over here. So, thats going automatically come.35
208
The display strategy is fundamental to go-gos soaring popularity. The practice

places the dispossessed and invisible members of DCs poorer communities on
the map, if only among themselves. Go-go songs are full of names that are intelligible only to people who are knowledgeable about DC street life: Nu Projects, Third World Honeys, E Street Bangers, 14th and Up (short for Uphsur
Street), KDY (an abbreviation for Kennedy Street) and 640the address of a
housing project on northwest Hobart Street where the bad boys of go-go,
Backyard Band, grew up. Eventually, these displays grew to include neighborhoods and crews from bordering Prince Georges County in Maryland as well.
Like soca, go-go music features certain repetitive themes that function as
both call-and-response and an in-group script. If you are part of the go-go
community, you know that you are supposed to say, Wind me up, Chuck, to
bring the Godfather on stage. When a band says, Where yall from? you are
supposed to scream your sector of the cityNortheast, Northwest, Southeast,
or Southwestor your specic neighborhood or crew. If a band member sings,
Ive got that feelin, that funky feelin, and sticks a mike in your face, you know
to say, [insert band name] is in the house and theyre ready to roll. These and
other scripts are recycled from band to band and from generation to generation; they serve to unify and preserve the traditions that have emerged out of
go-gos history of more than thirty years.
conclusion: is ah we ting . . . you

wouldnt understand
In closing, the Trinidadian identity project as expressed through soca can best
be summed up with the common West Indian phrase Is Ah We Ting. Soca
musics open-arms stance is a by-product of Afro-Trinidadian security and
strength, relatively speaking, as co-creators of a new, independent national
identity with a culture worthy of exportation. By contrast, the defensive, selfafrming posture of go-go music can be summarized by a similar African
American slogan from the early 1990s: Its a Black Thingin this case, a black
DC thingYou Wouldnt Understand.
Both genres have a long way to go in gaining respectability, both among the
upper classes of Trinidad and Washington and in the larger music cultures beyond their regions. Socaand Carnivalhas spread throughout the Lesser
Antilles, a fact that makes Trinidadians extremely proud. Carnival, pan, and calypso represent what several writers refer to as the trinity of Trinidadian cultural achievements.36 As Trinidadians and other eastern Caribbean natives have
Talking Drums / 209
immigrated to the United States, the United Kingdom, and Canada, they have
exported Carnival beyond the Caribbean, albeit in a somewhat diluted, PanCaribbean fashion. But this, too, is part of the Trinidadian project, stretching
back to the days of the West Indian Federation on up to CARICOM and attempts to forge a Pan-Caribbean identity.37 Soca is at the forefront of this
movement, with Destras appeals to Caribbean massive, Nadia Batsons tune
One Island, Patrice Robertss Come to the Islands, and Barbadian Alison
Hindss song Wine Meh.
Yet Trinidads soca artists still struggle for regular airplay after Carnival,
leading many to tour extensively in the months between the end of Carnival
and the beginning of the next season. Critics such as Bukka Rennie accuse fete
soca of being one more instance of the commercialization and mass marketing
of Carnival as well as a takeover by middle-class interests. In 2005, for example,
the Trinidad and Tobago government invested ten million U.S. dollars into
Carnival celebrations. This reaped a benet of $150 million for the economy as
a whole, which was estimated at $1318 billion in 2005.38 The government naturally seeks to capitalize on Carnival in order to drive tourism to the island and
raise its prole among nations. Socas golden child status is temporary, however, and closely connected to the annual inux of Carnival dollars from December to February into the national income.39
Unlike Trinidad, Washington has a natural tourism draw and does not need
the go-go economy. Initially, the citys most popular stations would not play gogo at all. While a few record labelsSugar Hill, Island, and Def Jamirted
with the DC sound in the early 1980s, go-go has yet to break out of the Washington area in any substantial way.40 Additionally, as DC leaders seek to eliminate the citys old murder capital image and attract more afuent development and residents, go-gos close relationship with DCs ghettoes and projects
has made the genre an easy target for the news, city administrators who want to
appear tough on crime, and the white and black middle class who make up
their primary audience and constituent base. Certain fans have made it harder
for go-go music to survive by starting ghts or worsewounding or killing
people in or near go-go clubs. Lornell and Stephenson and many other defenders of go-go emphatically point out that this violence usually does not take
place inside the clubs. But when a police ofcer was killed inside the IBEX
nightclub in 1997, the city shut the club down, starting a trend that has pitted
city ofcials against the go-go community.
Two grassroots organizations, the Go-Go Coalition and Peaceoholics, have
successfully mobilized band members, industry staff, and go-go supporters to
210
protest club closings. They have also organized community conferences on

public safety at go-go clubs and pro-peace go-go concerts and have advocated
special security measures, including ID cards, to track attendees and remove
troublemakers from the premises.41 As go-go music matures, it is slowly breaking out of the local hood avor box it has been trapped in. Go-go bands have
been used at health fairs, HIV awareness events, and fund-raisers for Hurricane
Katrina victims. Gospel go-go has also begun to grow in popularity. In the last
ve years, Chuck Brown has been embraced as a hometown hero by local leaders, and mainstream urban-format radio stations have created evening go-go
programming. True to its name, DCs homegrown music keeps going and going and going.
Pressing notes, Once musical effects attain a certain currency, they form
part of a cultural evolution, which proceeds nongenomically from generation
to generation.42 Through the use of polyrhythmic drumming, call-and-response, repetition, and display, both soca and go-go seek to make this evolution
real in the lives of its listeners and the cultures to which they belong. In this respect, soca and go-go are included in what Pressing calls relatively complex
creative adaptations of traditional African and African diasporic rhythmic
techniques [which] are a natural consequence of a culture of questioning and
reection that encompasses maintenance of historical reference and accommodation to innovation.43 Using this framework, I have sought to rescue both
genres from their stigmatization as mindless party music or uninspired bucket
beating.
Notes
1. Warner, Kaiso! The Trinidad Calypso, 21.
2. National Library, Calypso: Subject Guide.
3. Dudley, Judging by The Beat, 287.
4. Ibid., 294.
5. Lornell and Stephenson, The Beat, 23.
6. Ibid., 12.
7. Ibid.
8. Ibid.
9. Ibid.
10. Cowley, Carnival, Canboulay, and Calypso, 14.
11. Inside Trinidad and Tobago Carnival.
12. Wilson, It Dont Mean a Thing, 154.
14. Ibid., 12.
Talking Drums / 211

15. Ibid.
16. Ibid.
17. Pressing, Black Atlantic Rhythm, 304.
18. Quoted in ibid., 290.
20. Quoted in Warner, Kaiso! The Trinidad Calypso, 59.
21. Quoted in ibid., 82.
22. Dudley, Judging by The Beat, 286.
24. Inside Trinidad and Tobago Carnival.
25. Ibid.
26. Cowley, Carnival, Canboulay, and Calypso, 20, 33.
27. DC Voting Rights Historical Timeline.
28. Ibid.
29. Martin, Q & A: The Financial Control Board.
30. Straight Up Go-Go.
31. Chuck Brown, interview on Kato and the TMOTTGoGo Morning Show.
33. Chuck Brown, Go-Go Live at the Capital Centre.
34. Ibid.
35. The Music District.
36. Kitch the Legend; Montano and Garcia, Carnival.
37. Warner, Kaiso! The Trinidad Calypso, 70.
38. Meschino, Soca Battles Pirates, 25.
39. Ibid.
41. Go-Go Coalition, http://www.gogocoalition.org; Pierre and Williams, Pulse of
Go-Go, A1.
42. Pressing, Black Atlantic Rhythm, 298.
43. Ibid., 285.
Bibliography
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fEbcJk. Streaming video of 1987 performance.
Brown, Chuck. Interview on Kato and the TMOTTGoGo Morning Show, WEIT (Washington, DC), May 21, 2007. http://www.gogoradio.com.
Calypso at Dirty Jims. Directed by Pascale Obolo. Performers: Bomber, Mighty Sparrow,
Calypso Rose. Maturity Music, Ltd., 2005. DVD.
Cowley, John. Carnival, Canboulay and Calypso: Traditions in the Making. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1996.
Dan, Maximus. Order. 2005.
DC Voting Rights Historical Timeline. DC Vote, 2003. http://www.dcvote.org/trellis/
denial/dcvotingrightshistoricaltimeline.cfm.
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Garlin, Bunji. Blaze De Fire. 2005.
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Junkyard Band. The Word/Sardines. 12 in. Def Jam Recordings, 1986.
Kitch the Legend . . . Region Mourns. Trinidad Guardian, February 12, 2000.
http://www.tntisland.com/kitch05.html.
L!ssen Band. The Whole City Behind Us. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=II
WKPxj9mhw. Streaming video.
Lornell, Kip, and Charles C. Stephenson, Jr. The Beat: Go-Gos Fusion of Funk and HipHop. New York: Billboard Books, 2001.
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The Pocket: The DC Go-Go Movement. Directed by Nick Shumaker and Michael Cahill.
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Rennie, Bukka. Jamette Doh Play Jamette. March 1, 2003. http://www.trinisoca
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Talking Drums / 213

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Warriors of the Word: Rapso in Trinidads

Festival Culture
patricia van leeuwaarde moonsammy
Rapso, de power of de word in de riddim1 of de word, is a genre of lyrically

oriented rhythmic performance and music from Trinidad. It is deeply rooted in
the traditions of oral culture and resistance associated with Carnival, Trinidad
and Tobagos pre-Lenten festival. Yet this genre nds itself positioned precipitously on the edge of Carnival, which, in the popular imagination, constitutes
the performances that embody Trinbagonian2 identity and nationhood.3 In this
essay, I explore the ways in which rapso performance and rapso artists exist
within the cultural, social, and economic politics of identity and performance
in Trinidad and Tobagopolitics that are located within and shaped by the
aesthetics and business of Carnival. Additionally, attention to rapso performance reveals how an alternative politics of activism can create spaces for reenvisioning individual agency and nation within the sphere of globalized political economies of cultural production.
In Trinidad and Tobago, music is a highly politicized cultural product. It is
the subject of debates about foreign cultural imperialism, morality, freedom of
expression and censorship, and individual and national identity. It has been a
central feature of the nationalist project that, in postindependence Trinidad
and Tobago, sought to construct an indigenous identity independent of the cultural hegemony of its former British colonial authority. Calypso was positioned
as the musical form most suited to that project.4 Although rapso practitioners
view their craft as a lyrically foregrounded, activist-oriented variant of calypso,
describing it as the poetry of calypso and the consciousness of soca, some have
resisted its inclusion under the umbrella of the calypso art form. This serves to
214
Warriors of the Word
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delegitimize this genre with respect to national culture. Through the following
close reading of a rapso performance, I will discuss how rapso artists position
themselves in relation to aspects of national culture and create spaces for an alternative vision for the nation and the place of its citizens in the contemporary
context of local and global ows of capital and power.
warrior chants and songs of revolution

The vibe at the Pelican Inn that night was unfamiliar to me. Unlike the many
Carnival ftes and concerts that I had attended in Trinidad, this felt more intimate, as though the people present were part of a close-knit community. The
patrons at the Pelican Inn that night were truly representative of the ethnic
mlange that is Trinidad. There were people of African, Indian, Chinese, and
European ancestry of all ages, from young children to the elderly. In the crowd
could be seen members of Trinidads artistic elite and representatives from the
media, as well as a solid core of intellectual and creative young adults. A stage
was set up in the corner of the patio area, and the venue was lled to capacity,
outside, inside, and even on the second-oor balcony overlooking the patio.
Those who had arrived early were lucky to nd seating in the white plastic armchairs set up in rows in front of the stage or at the wooden picnic tables scattered along the periphery of the patio. Others were standing about or sitting on
the ground. Self-consciously, I set up my tripod and video camera, positioning
myself next to the cameraman from Gayelle, Trinidad and Tobagos new television station, whose commitment to programming with 100 percent local content was revolutionary. I sought to capture on lm that which Edward Schieffelin notes is so elusive: the creation of presence in the performance moment
through the interaction between the performer and the audience.5 I hoped,
somewhat in vain, to record the emotion and spirit of the evening, but settled
for what I could accomplish with one cameraone ethnographic gaze.
The night air, though much cooler than it had been even a few hours earlier, was still quite warm, but very comfortable as it enshrouded us under the
open Caribbean sky. Sheldon Blackman was in concert to launch his new CD,
Re-Loaded. Sheldons father, the late Ras Shorty I, had been a prolic calypsonian and is recognized as the man who blended elements from classical and
devotional Indian music in Trinidad with calypso, a musical genre tracing its
roots to Africa, thereby creating soca, which has evolved to become the musical
energy that drives and sustains Carnival. But that particular evening was not
about soca music or about Carnival. It was about Sheldons particular brand of
216
rapso, Jamoo6 rapso, and, more expansively, about alternative music in

Trinidad. His music reected the inuences in his life, being indigenous, with a
calypso rhythm, but simultaneously international, folksy, and jazzy, with smatterings of rhythm and blues and rock. Sheldon, backed by his multitalented
family, sang songs of revolution, songs honoring the beauty of African women,
songs of love and spirituality, and songs evoking the Trinidadian land- and
seascapes. His music was conscious music, Trinidad-style, with a message of
love and transformation.
It was April 28, 2004, a date celebrated in Trinidad and Tobago as the National Day of Rapso. Sheldons concert was part of a larger program celebrating
Rapso History Month. How tting, then, that Sheldon would acknowledge and
respectfully call to the stage the man who embodies the spirit of rapso: the poet,
social activist, and educator, Brother Resistance.
In the tradition of the chantuelle,7 Sheldon drew Brother Resistance forward through song, chanting a verse and chorus from Resistances song Ring
de Bell and priming the audience for an engagement with the charismatic
rapso leaders call and response performance style.
Cmon, cmon brother leader
Its high time that we summon up de power
This time we ring it in de earbell
Look, ah have a story to tell
Well its a long, long time that we ghting for freedom
Victory bound to come
Assemble de people with sight of de mission
Leh we rock de rapso riddum
The chorus was sung in call and response fashion.

(Call) Ring de bell, ring de bell (Response) Ring de Bell
De bell down dey . . . Ring de bell
De bell for culture . . . Ring de bell
De bell for freedom . . . Ring de bell
De bell for de rapso riddum . . . Ring de bell
De bell down dey . . .
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Looking toward the rear of the audience, once could see Brother Resistances signature tall leather hat that contained his oor-length dreadlocks
emerge as he made his way through the densely packed crowd to the stage. After embracing Sheldon and greeting the other musicians on stage, he began to
sing Ring de Bell. Midway through the song, he signaled for the volume of the
music to be lowered and addressed the audience.
Dis is de spirit of rebellion
De re dat blaze in de heart of de youth
De sound of pride and determination
In de heartical 8 search for de truth . . . Rapso
Rapso is de attitude as we rock against de colonial order
To create a new vibration for us all in de region . . . Rapso
Rapso is de signal dat de struggle ent done, Trinidad and Tobago
You know why?
You know you love jamoo so much and you cyar 9 hear yuh music on de radio
You cyar see yuh picture on a TV show (well except Gayelle)
So how you want de world to know dat all this beautiful music comin outta
Trinidad and Tobago?
So you see, as Lancelot Kebu Layne would always say
Dont believe what foreigners do
Is better than you, because that ent true
Is ah mental block dat hard to unlock
It hard like ah rock and with it you dont work
Yuh go live with illusion . . . tryin to be anodda man
So dont believe what foreigners do
Is better than you, because that ent true
And if a man want to set false standards for you to follow
To he, what you say?
(Audience responds) Blow Way
What you say
(Audience responds) Blow Way
Blow Way
So I tell you, we all have to come together to ght for our music on de radio
Pick up yuh pen an write. Pick up yuh telephone an call.
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Let us rally together, Trinidad and Tobago, so we could hear our music on de
radio
So your artists and dem could live, and feed dey family, and make more music
By de grace of de most high God, you all have a responsibility
I didnt come here to preach to you all tonight, but Im telling you
Sheldon Blackman and all these musicians here is anodda generation again!
We cyar wait no more Trinidad and Tobago
Make it your personal pledge
You must ght to get your music on de radio
You will ght against piracy 10 in dis country? Eh? Yuh sure?
Returning to song, Resistance sang,

And ah ring it and ah ring it and ah ring it and ah ring it
Ring de bell for Marcus Garvey, Malcolm X and Buzz Butler 11
Ring de bell . . .
He concluded,
Because we make a music to build bridges across humanity
We make a music to break down de walls dat divide we
May God bless each and every one of you
Stand rm for yuh culture
I want de call and response vibration
De poet and de people
De chantuelle and de band
As he exited the stage, the audience joined him in singing,

When Sheldon Blackman began his introduction of Brother Resistance by

singing one of the signature rapso songs, Brother Resistances Ring de Bell, he
foregrounded the spiritual aspect of a performance environment that already
combined artistic, progressive politics with Afro-Caribbean, Rastafarian-in-
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formed Christianity. Ring de Bell, with its call and response repetition, invoked the spirit of the Spiritual Baptist12 preacher, ringing her bell between the
rhythmic phrases of her prayers. Brother Resistance extended this performance
by picking up the song where Sheldon Blackman had stopped, continuing the
singing-chanting of the verses and chorus for several minutes, then shifting the
tone of the performance from repetition and chanting to rapso poetry. In the
tradition of the rapso artist, he honored the elder, the ancestor Lancelot Kebu
Layne,13 by reciting from his stridently anticolonial song Blow Way.
After honoring the ancestors and calling forth performances of worship
and rebellion, Brother Resistance shifted the performance yet again to rapso dialogue, exhorting the audience to be social activists, demand local images in the
media, and support local artists. He expressed Pan-Africanist consciousness
through references to Marcus Garvey, Malcolm X, and Uriah Buzz Butler
and simultaneously expressed the nationalist sentiment to Stand rm for yuh
culture. Embodying rapso authenticity, Brother Resistance had the audience
on their feet, with arms raised, dancing to the rhythm of his music and the
rhythm of his words. This performance was passionately executed, displaying
several of the styles and themes of rapso performance: chants, songs, poetry, dialogue, call and response, and themes of resistance, spiritual independence,
self-determination, and activism.
Brother Resistances activist-oriented rapso dialogue illuminated several aspects of the current state of Trinbagonian cultural politics. That the era of anticolonial/anti-imperial struggle has not come to a close in Trinidad and Tobago is evident, and although the struggle is no longer for independence from
direct colonial administrative governance, it continues to take place in the
arena of culture, identity, and political economy. The phrase its a long, long
time that we ghting for freedom references various historical struggles for
freedom in Trinidad and Tobagofreedom from slavery; freedom from colonial domination, from neocolonial (Afro-Saxon) bias for white and/or Western
social and cultural forms; freedom from U.S. imperialist control and occupationas well as contemporary struggles for equality, respect, and social and
economic justice. Brother Resistance invoked the spirit of the chantuelle, one of
a complex of Trinidadian Carnival gures of resistance, and called the audience
to action with his exhortation that de struggle ent done. This conscious association with local, historical symbols of indigenous strength and warriorhood
is an expression of the politics of resistance inherent in rapso performance and
activism.
People mistakenly assume that the term rapso is a combination of the words
220
rap and soca, but both rapso and soca were evolving from calypso in the 1970s.
Soca evolved from Ras Shorty Is experimental blendings of calypso and
Trinidadian versions of the traditional music of India. Rapso evolved from calypso also but traces its roots to the oral traditions and masquerade characters
of Trinidad and Tobago: the chantuelle, the Midnight Robber and the Pierrot
Grenade. The chantuelle sang the praises of a particular stickghter as he battled against a foe in the gayelle.14 The Midnight Robber sang his own praises,
weaving long tales of conquest together with descriptions of his fearsome
countenance and character. The Pierrot Grenade broke large words down into
syllables and told a story about each syllable, bringing the stories to conclusion
in an artful and comedic fashion to inscribe in the memory of those present an
appreciation for play with words.
All of these traditions and characters express rebellion and assertion of self
in the face of cultural, social, economic, or political domination. The
chantuelles boasts of prowess in the stickghting arena in an era of slavery and
European domination were acts of rebellion not only against the institution of
slavery, with its laws banning public gathering among slaves, but also against
the idea that to be black was to be inferior and powerless. The Midnight Robbers speeches deed not only man but also the forces of nature to dare challenge him in a war of words or might. Indeed, his badness was outright rebellion against any form of containment or limitation, man-made or otherwise,
and symbolized the physical and metaphysical power that could be summoned
by the oppressed. The Pierrot Grenade attacked the distinction made between
Standard English and creolized English by infusing words with new associations that are rooted in local experiences and ways of speaking.
In addition to the legacy of these classic performances of the oral tradition
in Trinidad, rapso built on the work of the calypsonian Lancelot Kebu Layne.
Layne disrupted the musical ow of sung calypso by speaking verses that he
felt were especially signicant, so that the message would not be lost on the audience, who may be more attuned to the music rather than the words of sung
calypso. Blow Way was written during the turbulent early period of the
1970s Black Power Revolution in Trinidad, when Black15 people demanded a
revolutionary change in the social and economic order that had been inscribed during colonial rule and that continued to exist after national independence. Rapso was a vehicle of protest, and Lancelot Kebu Layne, Brother
Resistance, and Brother Book16 were some of the rapso chantuelles that were
chanting for freedom in the frontlines of the wars for Black rights and workers rights.
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Cheryl Byron, considered the Mother of Rapso, was also an important

gure in the history of the genre. She took the stylistic practice of Lancelot
Kebu Layne a step further and broke tradition by performing poetry, rather
than singing calypso, within the calypso tent.17 An ordained Reverend Mother
in the Spiritual Baptist religion, Byron brought African diasporic spiritual consciousness to the calypso tent, a performance arena noted for sexual double entendre and humor, as well as social and political commentary. In contrast to the
typically male-performed masquerade characters that signify resistance practice within the Carnival context and that are historical symbols of an ethic of
empowering stances in opposition to domination, Cheryl Byrons poetic performances made visible the female acts of anticolonial resistance that were carried out in spiritual and religious practice.
The cultivation of Black consciousness, the inscribing of absent histories,
and the ght against social injustice were fundamental aspects of early rapso
ideology. It was into this sociopolitical climate that the rst wave of rapso
artists emerged. Carnival spaces and traditions were reclaimed and reinterpreted as conscious and deliberate acts of self-representation and postcolonial
agency. The rhythm of indigenous language, wedded with the emotions of
everyday life experiences and the politics and performances of resistance, gave
rise to rapso, a unique poetic and musical form. The rapso artist was a warrior
of the word, ghting for equality, for consciousness, and for the downpressed.18
When rapso artists acknowledge that there is a relationship between rapso
and rap and dancehall but assert that rapso did not evolve from those forms,
they are rejecting a global ordering of Black performance practices that locate
American forms (such as rap and hip-hop) at the center and presume that
African diasporic forms such as dancehall and rapso are Jamaican and Trinidadian versions of American rap. They argue that rapso is a musically poetic expression of the Trinidad experience, brought forward in a Trinidadian voice.
The self-pride that comes from using ones own voice, of stamping artistic expression indelibly with ones own identity, is a fundamental tenet of the rapso
practice. Rapso is de power of de word in de rhythm of de word and afrms
Trinidadianness.
Stephanie Sadre-Orafai writes that language is the ultimate site of authenticity for rapso,19 yet as I have argued, rapso authenticity is equally dened by
tracing particular lineages and through strategic associations with select local
cultural forms. Rapso must also be discussed in terms of ideology and practice.
A socially conscious message and social activism are integral aspects of rapso
practice. One without the other renders the rapso practitioner insincere.
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rapso ideology
Rapso performance makes a statement about national identity but also speaks
to spirituality and respect. By claiming a rapso identity, one is making a commitment to create music of a higher standard or ideal: conscious music, positive messages, and social commentary. Rapso music educates, recounts or
rewrites history, challenges authority to right historical wrongs, celebrates life,
and validates the emotions and experiences of its community. Brother Resistances Ring de Bell is a song of spirituality and of rebellion. In his words,
Ring de Bell is celebrating the power of African religion in the Caribbean
and how that religion has, to a great extent, embraced a people and taken them
from that period of slavery and bring them to emancipation. He explained,
Its one of those things . . . Usually religion is a thing that does really . . . lock
down people in a way, mentally and spiritually, but in terms of the Baptist and
in terms of the Orisha and even Rasta, these are religions that release people,
that push people forward and empower them in a certain kind of way. So Ring
de Bell celebrates that, and the bell is depicted as a symbol of resistance, as a
symbol of liberation, because you know at one time when Baptist people ring
their bell on a street corner and police come in, they had to run. We used to get
lockup for worshiping God! Ah mean, thats how dread the colonial system was.
So Ring de Bell celebrates all of that in a people, and it calls on the leaders to
gather the people who have the same vision, who have the same mission, an leh
we move forward for justice, for culture and for freedom, and of course for de
rapso riddum.20
Rapso artist Karega Mandela locates his motivation for creating rapso in his
desire to uplift the oppressed and dispossessed.21 His most celebrated rapso
song, Never Surrender, recounts the achievements of the African people and
observes, Weve been oppressed for a very long time, but we never surrender.
Acknowledging that the colonial mind-set still exists in Trinidad, his mission is
to instill a sense of self-pride in the youth who may feel inferior due to their
racial or economic status.
Rastafarianism is also a signicant thread that weaves through much of
rapso performance practice and ideology. Subscribing to the teachings of Marcus Garvey, the Rastafarian ethos of Black pride and self-determination, anticolonialism, and rejection of Babylon is mirrored in rapso artists politics and
activism and is demonstrated by Brother Resistances performance and call to
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action during Sheldon Blackmans Re-loaded concert. Brother Resistance, himself a Rastafarian, brought Rasta consciousness to the performance through its
embodiment in his person and as it was invoked in song via the reference to
Marcus Garvey.22
Rapso is a performance genre and an ideology, but rapso occupies a dual
position within Trinbagonian society. Trinidad, the womb out of which rapso
was born, can be a hostile environment for artists whose work deals with serious themes and who assume strong positions in the interest of self-determination. Brother Book elaborates on this reality when discussing the reception of
local audiences to rapso music.
Appreciation? Mild, lukewarm. It have to be worked upon. And its not by accident. I dont expect it to be blooming and ourishing, because people who run
the society do not appreciate anything local. The steelband movement is a ght
down. The kaiso (calypso) movement is a ght down. Everything we produce,
the people here who in authority does ght it down . . . They dont want nothing positive . . . Wine and jam, nani and totie,23 penis and vagina . . . that is the
music they pushing, and if you playing that on the radio constantly, the weak
minds must go along that line, so Im not surprised at the reception. The rapso
artists know that they must keep persevering. They have to keep persevering.
And when the work is necessary, they must put down the work.24
Rapso artists have a history of social activism that continues to this day.
Early rapso involvement in trade union activism, labor strikes, and grassroots
community development is now augmented by work in arts advocacy, education, prison reform, and regional crisis response efforts, such as assisting with
relief efforts in Grenada after the destruction of Hurricane Ivan in 2004. As social conditions in the nation deteriorate, the activist work of the rapso artist becomes more crucial.
Trinidad and Tobago is facing growing concerns from its citizens about violent crime, kidnapping, racial intolerance and discrimination, corruption,
poverty, and declining morality. What is perceived by Trinbagonians to be a society in crisis is the daily subject of radio talk shows, television news, and print
and online newspaper headlines. An article in the Los Angeles Times brought
news of the escalating rate of abductions in Trinidad to an international readership, noting that an ugly social ill threatens the perpetual party atmosphere:
[it is] kidnapping, a crime so epidemic that Trinidad ranks second in the world
behind Colombia for its rate of abductions.25
224
Yet despite these negative trends, Trinidad and Tobago is a nation whose
distinctiveness lies in its festival aesthetic. Although Carnival is the nations
most widely recognized festival, it is important to note that festivals are used to
celebrate and commemorate a host of holidays and signicant occasions.26
Sheldon Blackman views this festival aesthetic as both a strength and a weakness for the nation of Trinidad and Tobago. Speaking about Trinidadian cultural politics, he contends,
We have a carnival mentality. It is productive yet still destructive . . . We live for
that time. And even our music industry is structured that way. Three months of
Carnival and love it [local music]. And after that, its foreign music, nine
months of the year. And the artist that produces [local] music during that time
struggles because you cant hear your music on the radio. During carnival time
the music that is being focused upon is jump and wave.27 Its beautiful, its festival music. But we live our life in that festival. We dont even protest seriously.
We protest like were dancing and singing, which is good, which is part of us,
but we need to consider our way seriously because there are too many things
falling apart around us.28
Roger Roberts of 3canal expressed similar sentiments when he noted,

We live in a crucial time, not only in Trinidad, but globally, and if you have special gifts or talents and you have a microphone in your hand, that comes with
responsibility. Thats why I choose to do it in a positive way or in a way that
might uplift or agitate someone to explore deeper or to think rather than just
have a good time all the time. Thats important too, but we do a lot of that in
Trinidad. We celebrate a lot and we party a lot, but we dont think and plan and
consider and research and develop and protect ourselves enough.29
For the rapso artists, the message of their work is of the greatest signicance. Their music and performances provide a platform for their words. Yet
the extent to which their words are heard is mediated by the political economy
of cultural production in Trinidad and Tobago.
the politics of the music industry

The local music industry revolves around Carnival, and the popular music of
Carnival is soca, which emphasizes pace (a fast beat), movement (jump and
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wave), and release from concerns of the mind to gratication of the body.30 For
the majority of the festivals and holidays celebrated in Trinidad and Tobago,
party music/soca music is the musical expression of choice that reects festivity as it is internalized in the Trinbagonian psyche.
Rapso music, due to its association with social rebellion and Afro-Trinbagonian political and spiritual identity, nds its way easily into the festivities celebrating Afro-Trinbagonian experiences, such as Emancipation Day or Spiritual Shouter Baptist Liberation Day. However, popular perceptions of the
politics of rapso have also served to distance the art form from other festival environments linked to non-African cultural traditions or that are, in effect,
mini-carnivals that take place in individual villages or to celebrate landmark
events in the nation. Politics of ethnicity and culture in Trinidad serve to circumscribe the use of particular musical genres to particular contexts and occasions. Chutney and chutney soca music is prominently aired on the radio and
performed in concerts around the national holiday of Indian Arrival Day, in the
same way that rapso, as well as traditional calypso, receives heavy rotation and
attention during Emancipation Day and Spiritual Shouter Baptist Liberation
Day.
In addition to the ethnic politics of music, local music practitioners struggle to establish their art form in the face of foreign cultural imperialism and the
sociopolitics of culture in Trinidad and Tobago, in which local images and music are underrepresented in the media. In an economic system where the livelihood of musicians is dependent on airplay, competitions, and live performance
contracts, limitations on the circulation of music have serious consequences for
the survival of the artist, of the artistic product, and ultimately of the genre and
its ability to shape national culture.
Performing artists whose popularity has secured work for them on the international concert circuit return to Trinidad by the end of October and head
into the studio to record their song, or songs, for Carnival. If they have a working relationship with the right studio, their songs may get adequate rotation on
the radio and in the ftes. This rotation in the media cultivates demand for
these artists, who then are hired to perform at Carnival ftes. If their music is
very popular and they secure lucrative gigs during the carnival season, they may
have enough money to fund an elaborate display of dance, drama, reworks, or
pyrotechnics during their competition for the Calypso Monarch, Soca
Monarch, or Chutney Soca Monarch titles. If they are fortunate enough to win
one of these major competitions, they are likely to be offered jobs performing
at the various carnivals throughout the Caribbean, North America, and En-
226
gland, nancially sustaining them until the following years Carnival, when the
cycle begins again.
While in Trinidad engaging in eldwork, I repeatedly heard from insiders in
the music industry that the business of soca music in Trinidad and Tobago is
dominated by a few individuals, locally referred to as the music maa, who control the most popular radio conglomerates and who also own recording studios. Through aggressively promoting the music of the artists who record on
their label, they shape market demand for music. As a result of strained relationships between the music maa and rapso artists who refused recording
contracts with these studios, the music maa in Trinidad had blacklisted rapso,
to the extent that its deejays were expressly forbidden to play rapso music on
their radio stations.31
Rapso has also suffered from a decline in its nancial support base. Kisskidee
and Rituals, the recording companies that were most actively involved with the
production and promotion of rapso music, have closed down or been severely
downsized due to nancial pressures. Given these circumstances, it has become
increasingly important to advocate for local content in media programming and
for the enforcement of copyright laws that prohibit the pirating of artists music.
Brother Resistances call for action during Sheldon Blackmans launch of his ReLoaded CD was an impassioned response to the political economy of music production and promotion in Trinidad and Tobago.
agency and survival

Rapso artists have been ghting for survival for over thirty years and continue to
do so today. They create alternative spaces for performances and alternative
ways of performing. During the carnival season, Brother Resistance and the
Rapso Coordinating Committee produce Rapso Explosion, held at the National
Librarys outdoor amphitheater. Rapso Explosion is a free concert of practitioners of the oral tradition, from the Pierrot Grenade and Midnight Robber to
rapso elders and calypso veterans, and culminates with performances by some of
the most dynamic rapso and lyrically oriented soca artists in Trinidad.32 The
group 3canal has created The 3canal Show, an alternative to the traditional calypso tent; in their show, rapso takes center stage in an avant-garde production
of music, dance, theater, and masquerade. Sheldon Blackman hosts the Alternative Dimensions Concert on the Friday after Carnival, where alternative music,
including but not limited to, rapso, claims a space in the national landscape.
All year long, spaces are created for rapso to be heard. Brother Resistance
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and Karega Mandela host Word, Sound, Power, an hour-long rapso radio program. One of Trinidads newest and most successful radio stations, Trini Bashment,33 also has made space for the promotion of rapso music through its
Monday morning show hosted by Homefront rapso artist OzyMajic.34
Through Internet technology, these programs are broadcast not only in
Trinidad and Tobago but also throughout the world, via live feeds available online at the Web sites of these radio stations.
Through the activism of rapso artists, April was designated as Rapso History Month. During April, rapso artists travel throughout the nation, working
in schools to teach children about their history and oral traditions. Workshops
are held for those wishing to begin the journey of self-expression through
rapso, culminating in a concert called Breaking New Ground. There are also two
other concerts, one honoring women of the oral tradition, where women poets,
storytellers, and rapso singers perform, and the other, RapsoFest, showcasing
the work of a multitude of rapso artists. Throughout the year, 3canal hosts parties at their headquarters in Woodbrook or at the Callaloo Company mas camp,
in celebration of various holidays (Emancipation Day, Independence Day, Divali, and Eid-ul-Fitr). In so doing, they expand the contexts in which rapso music can be appreciated as a festival music. Rapso artists also create a presence for
themselves at other alternative performance spaces, such as the monthly underground open-mic gatherings known as The Speakeasy and Songshine, at
steelband concerts throughout the year, and at folk festivals, such as those under the rubric of the Prime Ministers Best Village Trophy Competition.
Rapso is rooted in the local experience, but its messages and references
move beyond the shores of Trinidad and Tobago. As demonstrated at Sheldon
Blackmans CD launch, Brother Resistance is as comfortable at chanting out the
names of Marcus Garvey and Malcolm X, thereby invoking the histories of
counterhegemonic struggles in Jamaica, the United States, and Africa, as he is at
chanting out praises to Uriah Buzz Butler.
Performance, identity, and political ideology are linked in the collective
imagination. Rapso is linked to blackness and to revolutionary Afrocentric politics, even though the work of newer-generation rapso artists attracts a broad
spectrum of supporters and employs themes that are more universal in their
content. Rapso has a historical connection to Black Nationalism, but rapso
artists have also established professional relationships and recorded music in
collaboration with Trinbagonian musicians of South Asian Indian ancestry, such
as Mungal Patasar and Rikki Jai. Further, rapso artists host celebrations of
Hindu and Muslim holidays. What emerged as an art form shaped by 1970s an-
228
ticolonial politics and Afrocentric sentiments now embraces, in the contemporary moment, an activism that reects equally important but different struggles.
The contemporary battles to be won by the warriors of the word are to see
local images and hear local sounds in the media, to afrm local identities, and
to have the world know that music from Trinidad and Tobago is more than soca
and calypso. In this postcolonial era, a new imperialism exists in this twin-island nationone that nods to the colonialism of the past, with its Eurocentric
bias and dearth of local icons, and supports the cultural and capitalist-driven
imperialism of American hegemony. Simultaneously, another layer of hegemony existsa locally based, Carnival-driven cycle of music circulation. So the
contemporary politics of media is about not only national identity in a transnational global setting but also the reproduction of Trinbagonian culture and,
ultimately, of Trinbagonian bodies. Brother Resistance implores the audience
to join in the battle to legislate for more local content in the media, so that the
artists and dem could live, and feed dey family, and make more music. The
politics of music is also the politics of survival.
Rapso has evolved over the years, and its visibility and popularity have
shifted in relation to the premier performance event in the nation, Carnival.
While rapso performance has evolved from the same oral traditions that are
integral features of Trinidad and Tobagos Carnival, an analysis of the history
of rapso and its positionality vis--vis national culture must consider the nuances of national culture. In this essay, I have discussed the purposeful claiming of traditional Carnival characters, such as the Midnight Robber and Pierrot Grenade. In so doing, rapso artists have symbolically moved these
characters from the realm of salvage/heritage state-sponsored pageants and
performances that support the hegemonic, nationalist agenda back to the
downpressed segments of society from which they historically emerged. By
consciously tracing their artistic lineage to the chantuelle, rapso artists negate
assumptions about dominant ows of cultural production that would locate
the roots of rapso in American rap and hip-hop, thereby erasing a signicant
portion of Trinbagonian cultural history and rendering their performances as
nothing more than imitations of foreign forms. By claiming these local historical characters as ancestors of their craft, they imbue their practice with indigenous power and warriorhood.
Through rapso performance events that take place throughout the year,
such as the performance at Sheldon Blackmans CD launch at the Pelican Inn
with which this essay began, the spirit of rebellion that erupts occasionally and
unexpectedly when the forces of oppression become intolerable is invoked in
/ 229
pursuit of social justice and a strong sense of identity. Richard Schechner argues, One must never forget that Trinidad Carnival is played out on the world
stage as well as on the island. Far from being an eruption of the people, it is the
signature happening of an entire nation, the most prominent mark of its culture.35 However, an analysis of rapsos signicance as it relates to the construction of Trinbagonian national identity must move beyond what can be ascertained through an analysis of Carnival. One must also seriously consider how
local politics of capitalism impede the ow and distribution of artistic production and how new technologies in the transfer of culture, such as the role of the
Internet in broadcasting local radio programs throughout the world, contribute to the dissemination of ideas about identity and subjecthood. In a festival nation that is working through the process of dening itself, rapso artists
engage in a multiplicity of strategies and temporal frameworks that employ
words, music, theater, and performance to advocate for social justice and their
place within the boundaries that dene the nation. In Trinidad and Tobago,
where performance has always been a signicant medium for struggles against
oppression, the concept of warriorhood is positively equated with passion, determination, and defense of indigenous rights and identity. Warriorhood is a
thread that continues to run through the work of rapso artists to the present.
Notes
1. Rhythm. The use of Trinidadian Creole language by rapso artists is both an act of
active resistance against the legacy of colonial Eurocentric hegemony and an unconscious organic expression of an identity shaped by the Trinidadian experience.
2. The nation is comprised of the islands of Trinidad and Tobago. Trinbago and
Trinbagonian are contemporary terms used to refer to the nation and the people of the
nation, thereby avoiding the Trinidad-centered orientation of the term Trinidadian.
When discussing the genre of rapso, I privilege the use of the term Trinidadian, as the
overwhelming majority of rapso artists are from Trinidad, and their art and performance reects the Trinidadian experience. Further, since my analysis of rapso discusses
the sound of the language, my use of Trinidadian acknowledges that the sound and
structure of Creole speech differs on the two islands.
3. For analyses of the role of Carnival in Trinidad and Tobago, see Cowley, Carnival,
Canboulay and Calypso; Dudley, Carnival Music in Trinidad; Green and Scher, Trinidad
Carnival: The Cultural Politics of a Transnational Festival; Donald R. Hill, Calypso
Calaloo: Early Carnival Musin in Trinidad; Errol Hill, The Trinidad Carnival: Mandate
for a National Theatre; Koningsbruggen Trinidad Carnival: A Question of National Identity; Liverpool, Rituals of Power and Rebellion; Riggio, Carnival: Culture in ActionThe
Trinidad Experience; Riggio, Trinidad and Tobago Carnival.
4. Jocelyne Guilbault notes in her discussion of music as nationalist discourse, Seen
230
as central in the promotion of national culture, calypso was thought of as bringing the
kind of new consciousness needed to eliminate the false sense of self that people experienced under the colonial regime (On Redening the Nation through Party Music,
231).
5. Schieffelin, Problematizing Performance, 194207.
6. Jamoo is a category of music established by Ras Shorty I (Gareld Blackman) after he became disillusioned with the way in which soca music had evolved, with its emphasis on electronically synthesized fast rhythms, simplistic lyrics, and the jam and
wine party environment with which it was indelibly linked. Further, Jamoo was the
musical reection of Ras Shorty Is radical change in lifestyle as he disassociated himself
from the womanizing, drinking, and partying typical of many top calypsonians in the
1960s and 1970s. The term Jamoo is derived from Jahs Music, and the music is spiritual
in lyrical content, while still integrating Shorty Is love for a range of indigenous Trinidadian musical inuences, styles, and rhythms. Ras Shorty I and his family formed a band
called The Love Circle, and on this particular night, that band was performing with
Sheldon Blackman.
7. The chantuelle is a historic gure in Trinidadian performance. Associated with
the gayelle, the stickghting arena, the chantuelle was a singer who issued forth the
praises of a particular stickghter. The chantuelle is considered an early practitioner of
what was to become the calypso form.
8. Heartfelt.
9. Cant.
10. Piracy is the unauthorized and illegal reproducing, distributing, and selling of an
artists music. This informal economy is widespread in Trinidad and Tobago, and legal
efforts to control, stem, and prosecute offenders are irregular, at best.
11. Tubal Uriah Buzz Butler was an important trade union leader in Trinidad in the
1930s.
12. The Spiritual Baptist religion is an Afro-Christian New World religion that combines Protestant Christianity and African doctrines and ritual observances.
13. Lancelot Kebu Layne was a calypsonian credited with being the rst artist to
perform in a calypso tent using a performance style that was to become known as rapso.
The rapso community has conferred upon Lancelot Kebu Layne the title Father of the
Rapso Movement.
14. A gayelle is an informal arena in which stickghting competitions occur.
15. In 1970s Trinidad and Tobago, Black was a descriptive term that was embraced
not only by people of African ancestry but also by people of other ethnicities who felt
politically aligned with the struggle to radically change social and economic institutions
and ideologies that continued to privilege people of European ancestry or those whose
skin color and hair texture associated them with whiteness in what was still a very rigidly
hierarchical and color-stratied society. Even though Trinidad and Tobago had been an
independent nation for almost a decade, having gained its independence from Britain in
1962, and was governed by what was popularly understood to be a Black political party,
the Peoples National Movement headed by Dr. Eric Williams, darker-skinned people
still faced institutionalized racism and discrimination.
16. Brother Book (Hollis Peters), also known as the Optician because his work en-
/ 231
ables people to see the reality of the social environment in which they live, is an elder in
the rapso movement who, along with Brother Resistance, established the National Day
of Rapso in Trinidad.
17. The calypso tent is the main venue where calypso is performed nightly during the carnival season. Early on, calypso was performed in an outdoor venue covered
by a tent, but in the contemporary era, it is performed indoors in public halls and theaters.
18. Downpressed is a Rastafarian version of the word oppressed and emphasizes the
extent to which people are kept down by institutions of inequality and discrimination.
In my interviews with Brother Resistance, he used the term downpressed to indicate the
community for whom his activism is primarily targeted to benet.
19. Sadre-Orafai, Hypernationalist Discourse in the Rapso Movement of Trinidad
and Tobago, 235.
20. Interview with Brother Resistance, Port of Spain, Trinidad, March 19, 2004.
21. Interview with Karega Mandela, Port of Spain, Trinidad, November 17, 2004.
22. There is a strong link between rapso and Rastafarianism. Several rapso practitioners are Rastafarians, and many performances are preceded by offstage prayers and
the invocation of God through ritualized, call and response exchanges (e.g., Greetings
in the name of the most high God, Jah! Rastafari), which are often offered as rapso
artists walk on stage. Not all rapso artists, however, are Rastafarians. In Trinidad, spirituality is often a uid, multidimensional experience, with people relating to, participating in, and expressing various aspects of multiple religious forms. There is an extensive
body of literature that addresses the subjects of religion, syncretism, and creolization in
Trinidad, beginning with the work of Melville Herskovits (1947). For some contemporary treatments of this subject, see Henry, Reclaiming African Religions in Trinidad;
Houk, Spirits, Blood, and Drums; Khan Callaloo Nation; Korom, Hosay Trinidad; Miller,
Modernity.
23. Nani and totie are colloquialisms for the female and male genitalia.
24. Interview with Brother Book (Hollis Peters), Woodbrook, Trinidad, November
9, 2004.
25. Williams, Kidnappings Send a Chill through Sunny Trinidad, 9.
26. There are thirteen public holidays throughout the year, not including Carnival.
To those thirteen days, Carnival, in all its manifestations, adds approximately two
months of ftes, calypso competitions, steelband competitions, masquerade band
launchings, traditional masquerade parades and historical re-creations, chutney soca
competitions, brass band concerts and festivals, liming at the pan yards, liming at rum
shops, and going to concerts. Throughout the year, there are festivals celebrating communities (We Beat in St. James, Borough Day in Point Fortin, Tobago Heritage Festival) and festivals celebrating culture and religion (Best Village, numerous pan festivals,
Tobagos Buccoo Goat Race Festival, the Music Festival, RapsoFest, the Hindu Ganga
Dhaara River Festival, and the Orisha Osun).
27. Jump and wave refers to soca music.
28. Interview with Sheldon Blackman, Mt. Lambert, Trinidad, May 18, 2004.
29. Interview with Roger Roberts, Woodbrook, Trinidad, September 23, 2004.
30. See Balliger, Popular Music and the Cultural Politics of Globalisation; Dudley,
232
Carnival Music in Trinidad; Guilbault, Governing Sound; and Rohlehr, Scufing of Islands.
31. Ataklan (Mark Jimenez) expressly addresses music industry politics in his song I
Am Me from his Atavival CD (Taj Records, 2001).
32. Soca performers that emphasize lyrics and have performed at Rapso Explosion in
the past include David Rudder, Maximus Dan, and Bunji Garlin.
33. Trini Bashment, owned by soca performer and businessman Iwer George, is notable for its commitment to programming with 100 percent soca content. Here, the distinctions between soca and calypso and rapso are blurred, and the intent is to promote
Trinbagonian popular music. The popularity of this station, coupled with Ozzie Merriques rapso program, may have a positive impact on the widespread knowledge of and
popularity of rapso.
34. Ozzie Merriques rapso moniker.
35. Schechner, Carnival (Theory), 8.
Bibliography
Balliger, Robin. Popular Music and the Cultural Politics of Globalisation among the
Post-Oil Boom Generation in Trinidad. In Identity, Ethnicity and Culture in the
Caribbean, edited by Ralph R. Premdas, 5479. St. Augustine, Trinidad: The University of the West Indies, 2000.
Cowley, John. Carnival, Canboulay and Calypso: Traditions in the Making. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1996.
Dudley, Shannon. Carnival Music in Trinidad: Experiencing Music, Expressing Culture.
New York: Oxford University Press, 2004.
Green, Garth L., and Philip W. Scher, eds. Trinidad Carnival: The Cultural Politics of a
Transnational Festival. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2007.
Guilbault, Jocelyne. Governing Sound. The Cultural Politics of Trinidads Carnival Musics.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007.
Guilbault, Jocelyne. On Redening the Nation through Party Music. In Carnival: Culture in ActionThe Trinidad Experience, edited by Milla C. Riggio, 22838. New York:
Routledge, 2004.
Henry, Frances. Reclaiming African Religions in Trinidad: The Socio-Political Legitimation of the Orisha and Spiritual Baptist Faiths. Kingston, Jamaica: University of the
West Indies Press, 2003.
Herskovits, Melville J., and Frances S. Herskovits. Trinidad Village. New York: Knopf,
1947.
Hill, Donald R. Calypso Calaloo: Early Carnival Music in Trinidad. Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 1993.
Hill, Errol. The Trinidad Carnival; Mandate for a National Theatre. Austin: University of
Texas Press, 1972.
Houk, James T. Spirits, Blood and Drums: The Orisha Religion in Trinidad. Philadelphia:
Temple University Press, 1995.
Khan, Aisha. Callaloo Nation: Metaphors of Race and Religious Identity among South
Asians in Trinidad. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2004.
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Koningsbruggen, Petrus Hendrikus van. Trinidad Carnival: A Question of National Identity. London: Caribbean, 1997.
Korom, Frank J. Hosay Trinidad: Muharram Performances in an Indo-Caribbean Diaspora. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003.
Liverpool, Hollis. Rituals of Power and Rebellion: The Carnival Tradition in Trinidad and
Tobago, 17631962. Chicago: Research Associates School Times Publications, 2001.
Miller, Daniel. Modernity: An Ethnographic Approach. Dualism and Mass Consumption
in Trinidad. Oxford: Berg, 1994.
Ofosu, Natasha. Unsung Heroes. Trinidad Guardian, July 16, 2002.
Riggio, Milla C., ed. Carnival: Culture in ActionThe Trinidad Experience. New York:
Routledge, 2004.
Riggio, Milla C., ed. Trinidad and Tobago Carnival. Special expanded issue, TDR: The
Drama Review 42, no. 3 (1998).
Rohlehr, Gordon. A Scufing of Islands: Essays on Calypso. San Juan, Trinidad: Lexicon
Trinidad, 2004.
Sadre-Orafai, Stephanie. Hypernationalist Discourse in the Rapso Movement of
Trinidad and Tobago. In Globalisation, Diaspora and Caribbean Popular Culture,
edited by Christine G. T. Ho and Keith Nurse, 21541. Kingston, Jamaica: Ian Randle,
2005.
Schechner, Richard. Carnival (Theory) after Bakhtin. In Carnival: Culture in Action
The Trinidad Experience, edited by Milla C. Riggio, 311. New York: Routledge, 2004.
Schieffelin, Edward L. Problematizing Performance. In Ritual, Performance, Media,
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Williams, Carol J. Kidnappings Send a Chill through Sunny Trinidad. Los Angeles
Times, January 2, 2005, part A, The World.
Timba Brava: Maroon Music in Cuba

umi vaughan
Yo traigo la verdad, pa t y pa tu mam . . .
[I bring the truth, for you and your mother too . . . ]
jos luis corts el tosco (a chorus from his song Masca la cachimba)
Nowadays all acknowledge the boom of Cuban popular dance music that occurred at the opening of the 1990s and maintained itself until the closing of that
decade.1 During that period, the musical practices, instrumentation, treatments of traditional themes, and all-new thematic content based on emergent
realitiesin short, the sound that was born (having, of course, roots in previous epochs)formed a legitimate and new kind of popular music, called rst
Cuban salsa, then timba.2 This essay describes timba and argues that it is an
important phenomenon where several processes and social debates in Cuba intersect: specically, I look at economic policy, identity formation, gender roles,
and especially race struggle. Because it taps into the spirit of struggle and creativity, I have chosen to call timba maroon3 music, following Puerto Rican
historian Angel Quintero Rivera.4 What might at rst seem an odd connection
alludes to continuing systems of racial inequality and to the relationship between marginalized communities and the powers that be. Both timba and maroon life from the colonial period in the Caribbean are based on outsider identity, unique language, raiding, and the use of old principles to improvise new
styles in emergent social circumstances, which Amiri Baraka calls the changing
same.5 Maroons stress individual style and dramatic self-presentation, openness to new ideas, and value innovation and creativity.6 Quintero Rivera offers
a denition of the Tano-Caribbean root word smaran.
234
Timba Brava / 235
Stray or runaway arrow . . . From there it took on the meaning of gone, up

in arms, or mad used to describe domestic animals that took to the hills, and
to menrst indians then later negroswho rose up and sought their freedom far from the dominion of their masters.7
Both timba and maroon identity exist in conict and complicity with the
state and mainstream culture. On Cubas sister island, Puerto Rico, maroons
sought to live on the margins of the state.8 This distance was due not to any
opposition to the state per se but, rather, to their aversion to subordination under its regime. To safeguard their position, maroons sometimes fought on behalf of the colonial masters or signed treaties that pitted them against fugitive
slaves. Timba was born in the face of challenges posed by a radically changing
Cuban society in crisis throughout the decade of the 1990s. We will see how
timba is an important voice for Afro-Cuban people. Inasmuch as it creates/constitutes a space for particularly Afro-Cuban social/cultural/economic development, timba is maroon music in both dialogue and tension with Cuban society. Denitions of the term timba itself give clues to its nature as both a musical
genre and a form of social action.
definitions of timba
Fernando Ortiz suggests that the word timb is onomatopoeialike bat,
tamb, and so onreplicating the sound of drums.9 However, timba was also
an old word used in the Spanish army to designate a group of gamblersderiving from the word timbal, because they often used the kettledrum as a card
table.10 In the solares of Havana and Matanzas during the nineteenth century, it
referred to a meeting of men with drums and rum, synonymous with rumba de
solar, one of the roughest (del pueblo [of the people]) manifestations of
rumba.11 Here we see rumba or timba as a kind of esta or social activity that
would always include food, drink, song, dance, drums, invited guests from the
neighborhood, and so forth.12 Roy tells us, Timba and timbero are expressions
that appear frequently in the context of the rumba, exclamations with which
one called out to the drummers, to encourage them.13 The word timba implies
not only sound but also people (especially marginalized people) and collective
action.14
Guava paste eaten with bread as an inexpensive snack, called pan con timba,
is another common usage in Cuba. Timba also means belly (barriga)15 and
refers, some say, to the feminine energy of the drum, pregnant with sound and
236
power. It is delicious and full of possibilities. The term was rst recorded by Los
Papines: I like to hear a bolero, guaracha, or son montuno if it has timba,
bonk.16 Timba is Arsenio Rodrguez17 and Benny Mor.18 There is timba in
the swaying stride of Cuban women on any neighborhood sidewalk and even in
the desire of foreigners to imitate the way Cubans dance. References to El
Benny, Arsenio, and the swaying hips of Cuban women invoke notions of essential Afro-Cuban male and female energy. Issues of race, class, and gender are
worked out through timba.
Timba is also a jam session with percussive piano and horns, mixing in jazz,
a great deal of son,19 and, to round it all off, bass guitar that takes on the voice
and musical vocabulary of rumba.20 Many Cuban musicians, including Angel
Bonne, David Calzado, and Csar Pedroso, refer to occasions when they played
this way during breaks while studying at the Escuela Nacional de Arte (ENA) or
Instituto Superior de Arte (ISA). They agree, too, that timba is Cuban dance
music in its highest degree of development, made contemporary by incorporating popular music from around the world.21 Some identify timba with abstract values like strength,22 referring to its sound but also to the way Cubans
rely on music as sustenance (strength) to carry on under difcult circumstances. One of the best timba bands is Manolito y Su Trabucotrabuco literally refers to a rearm from the times of the independence war of 1895 and guratively refers to anything forceful or strong.23 La Timba is also a
working-class neighborhood in Havana. The phrase tener timba (to have
timba) means to become enraged.24 Timba is both a Cuban attitude toward
music and dance25 and a social movement or subculture.26 Timba is the convergence of politics and pleasure.27
Considering both journalistic and academic writings about timba, one perceives the surprise, frenzy, scandal, rejection, and passion that this movement
has aroused and also the acceptancestill contestedthat it nally seems to
have earned. The discourse on timba categorizes it as brash music, threatening
for various reasons, but at once respected for its virtuosity, daring, and success.
Like Caliban, timba appropriates language (both spoken and musical) to express its subaltern perspective.28 It is a musical performance that has created a
resistant space beyond the realm of politics in which rebelliousness of various
sorts or identications with alternate ideologies may be emphasized.29 It is
part of an unruly musical wave that exploded in Havana in the late 1980s.30
This uneasy relationship of popular music with the state has existed since colonial times and has only assumed new details after the triumph of the revolution. The tension is caused by the fact that popular music is made by individu-
Timba Brava / 237
als and groups (to some extent) independent of the state and in some cases in
opposition to it.31
Virtuosi musicians often come from and are still rooted and producing in
the marginal barrios of Havana. Few people would dare attack the skill of timba
musicians, trained as many of them are in the countrys best schools. Nevertheless, some view ambivalently the use of skills developed through study at staterun schools and still perceive the music as vulgar, shamelessly commercial, or
simply too black. (Imagine if the architects of early hip-hop were conservatory
trained!) As we explore timba and social action in Cuban dance spaces, it is important to recall Jos Marts claim that to be Cuban is more than to be black,
white, or mulato. He insisted that there is no such thing as racethat it was
merely a tool used locally to divide the anticolonial effort and globally by men
who invented textbook races in order to justify expansion and empire.32 One
aim of his work was to persuade white Cubans to discard their fear of blacks.33
Cubas mulato poet Nicols Guilln extended Marts ideas about racial unity in
Cuba, claiming, Cubas soul is mestizo, and it is from the soul, not the skin,
that we derive our denite color. Someday it will be called Cuban color.34 We
will see how timba is survival music emanating from Cubas black communities
inspired by Marts and Guillns ideal of racial equality and fusion. Timba
seeks integration, not separation, through sound.
a long tradition of mixed music

Timba is msica mulata, as Puerto Rican sociologist ngel Quintero Rivera
would saya fusion of multiple elements in which it is difcult to distinguish
and separate the ingredients, so well integrated are they in the nal product.
Musical alchemists35 blend many inuences: rumba, son, Afro-Cuban ritual
music, jazz, songo, Puerto Rican bomba, North American folk music, reggae,
Caribbean and New York salsa, hip-hop, rock, funk, samba, and European classical music.36 Cuban pianist Gonzalo Rubalcaba, who is renowned as a jazzman
but also participated in important popular dance music projects (very notably
with Issac Delgado), says, Of all the music in the world, Cuban music is among
the most capable of assimilating inuences of other cultures and sounds without losing its own authenticity, rather enriching it.37
The earliest forms of uniquely Cuban music were enriched by African and
European sources,38 which merged on the island to create totally native Creole
forms through an ongoing process of transculturation.39 For example, nourished by Yoruba, Bantu, and Spanish roots, Cuban rumba evolved by the mid-
238
1800s as a popular music/song/dance complex among poor urban blacks.

Rumba functioned as a site where oral histories were constructed, protests
raised, and diversion from lifes hardships found. Many Cubans rejected rumba
because of its African soundthe musical ensemble consisting of clave, three
drums or boxes, a lead singer (el gallo), and a chorusand the overt sexual references of the dance. It was a form created and developed primarily by black
Cubans, but because rumba took place in marginalized spaces, some poor
whites participated, too.
Though it was played before (perhaps as early as the 1800s), son came to
Havana from Eastern Cuba in the early twentieth century and emerged by the
1920s as a genre of international importance. Like earlier formsfor example,
danzn40it was criticized as too wild, barbaric, and so on. The dance step was
described as lascivious and dangerous. Robin Moore and Leonardo Acosta remind us that danzn and son were initially repudiated for being black and then
later appropriated by the same dominant, white classes that had rejected
them.41 Danzn and son were eventually used to represent Cubanness and to
defend the national culture against the inuence of jazz and tango that invaded
the island in the 1920s. In their day, when Arcao y Sus Maravillas mixed
danzn and son and when Arsenio Rodrguez developed the orchestra format
called conjunto (incorporating the conga drum), both were criticized for their
msica negra and relegated to play in marginal spaces due to the color of
their skin.42 Even still, son remains the strongest reference point for all Cuban
dance music produced since. This love-hate relationship with black music and
black people has helped shape timba, which, like any good son of son, has
grown and claimed its space despite initial rejection.
timba: a way of making music

The instrumentation of timba bands and the particular ways of executing
specic instruments in timba reveal increased timbric resources and enriched
expressive and technical arsenals for arrangers, allowing greater possibilities for
the music in general. It is important to note that there is not a xed or obligatory format to play timba. In fact, chang groups or charangas (e.g., the famous
Orquesta Aragn) play this style, using the traditional instrumentation for
their respective formats. This suggests the lasting effect timba may have on
Cuban popular dance music in general. Throughout Havana, small groups entertain at bars and restaurants performing traditional son integrated with clear
inections of timba in their arrangements. For example, at a local bar called
Timba Brava / 239
Siete Mares (the Seven Seas), a quintet with bongo, ute, guitar, violin, and a
singer played traditional Cuban music for most of the evening, including songs
by Benny Mor, Pablo Milans, and other Cuban musical legends. They would
regularly infuse these numbers with timba-style breakdowns, using the same
acoustic instrumentation in a different way.
Following Charles Kiels analysis of the blues and Deborah Pacini-Hernandezs discussion of bachata, I will here look at timba in terms of four main stylistic elements: structure, timbre and texture, content, and context.43
structure
In timba, the traditional organization and interpretation of sections of son
compositionsintroduction, exposition, and montunois altered. Challenging this conguration, arrangers often displace the introduction and begin with
a rap or a short tease of the estribillo, or chorus, to be introduced later in the
montuno of the song. At times, the presence of estribillos right from the start
and throughout compositions, separated by song verses or spoken sections by
soloists, make the entire piece sound like one extended montuno. At other
times, songs are voiced ensembles up until the montuno begins, at which time a
soloist dialogues with the chorus. Sometimes the role of soloist is passed among
the main singers of the orchestra right from the songs opening.
There are four sections in timba: la salsa, which is of moderate tempo and
performed by a soloist; el montuno, in which the tempo increases, a refrain is
introduced, and call-and-response begins; and los pedales, where a hiphop/R&B-like backbeat is brought in, tempo recedes, and tension is increased
with the bass guitar, as the soloist talks rhythmically, introducing the next
(more dynamic) refrain. During these rst sections, most people dance casino.
In the next section, el despelote (the breakdown), a rapped chorus answers the
soloist, and both dancers and musicians go into a frenzy, inspired now by the
percussive slapping and plucking of the bass guitar ( la Bootsy Collins). During this section, people dance reparto and tembleque. The band then returns to
el montuno, los pedales, and so on at will, to add new refrains44 and to change
the intensity of the performance. The image of a train climbing a hill (la salsa),
pausing at its peak (los pedales), and rushing down (el despelote) gives a rough
idea of how energy is manipulated over the course of a song. Each of the added
chorus refrains can also be called sobremontuno, as in above and beyond the
rst. Compositions often end with a cooldown, returning to the mellower salsa
style used in the opening.
240
The changes wrought by timba opened the way for an attitude of free combination of instruments and ways of playing based on patterns from other music styles from the Caribbean, (black) North America, Brazil, and so on, using
Cuban son and rumba as points of departure for experimentation.
timbre and texture

Describing timba in general, Orozco emphasizes the predominance of the clave
beat from rumba-guaguanc (23), which is at times substituted by the clave
beat of son (32) or other related patterns that appear sometimes at various
points within the same composition. Generally, there is a tendency to vary and
to fragment phrases, lyrics, and choruses, illustrated by the use of the bass guitar, which no longer marks the stable tumbao pattern associated with Cuban
son but instead attacks in a disjointed way that is still graceful in its propulsion
of the music and the dancers. The classical tumbao of son45 has been left behind,
replaced now by phrases more related to reggae and funk (by their harmonic
progression and their rhythmic attack) but nevertheless very Cuban and danceable, with steps derived from son.
Casanella and Gonzlez also refer to the extreme fragmentation of the classical tumbao, the perennial counteraccentuations, and the juxtaposition of elements and planes with hard and tense sounds. More specically, they cite the
rhythmic, percussive use of horns, their melodic execution of disjunct
phrasesperformed often in the sharpest, most strident registersthat gives
timba its aggressive sound. As regards actual percussion instruments, the authors underline the segmented polyrhythm of the different timbric layers and a
break from the timbric-expressive functions of previous eras, because now
groups incorporate trap drums, congas, timbales with bass drum (bombo), and
bongo, all improvising freely, as well as guiro, maracas, claves, chequer, and
bell. The simple enumeration of so many different elements gives an idea of the
innite combinations and effects possible rhythmically.
The variations in the patterns of the instruments mentioned cause a perceived acceleration that can be real or only suggested. When we consider the
rhythmic role of the horn section leading to climactic moments inside compositions, working in a polyphony of incredible counterpoint and polyrhythm
called mambos or champolas, we have a formula to make dancers delirious. The
horn section of NG La Banda is affectionately called los metales del terror (metals of terror). So important is the work of the horn section inside the timba format that this naming of the horn section itself has become commontake, for
Timba Brava / 241
example, los metales de la salsa of Issac Delgado, los chamacos (the boys) of El
Mdico, la zorra y el cuervo (the fox and the raven) of Aramis Galindo, los metales de la lite of Paulo F.G., and so on, responding to exhortations such as
Dle mambo! or Champola pa t! This tendency in timba is closely related
to its roots in jazz.
The vocal style, in turn, is more emphatic as a result of the direct inuence
of rap, with whole sections spoken in hip-hop style rather than sung in the way
of the traditional Cuban sonero. The song style also has characteristics from
rumba and black American R&B, especially in the phrasing and adornments
that bend and play in between written notes. Casanella and Gonzlez cite
Mario Mayito Rivera, singer of Los Van Van, as an example par excellence of
this rst tendency (as was scar Valds with Irakere in the previous generation). Singers Michel Maza (who set the vocal style still used by new members
of La Charanga Habanera) and Ricardo Amaray Macas from Manolito y Su
Trabuco are good examples of the second tendency to use vocal riffs patterned
after Luther Vandross, Keith Sweat, and other African American R&B and
gospel stars.
content
There are several general categories into which timba songs fall textually. Romantic songs, as in many other diasporic popular musics, deal with Westernstyle male-female relationships. Issac Delgadoan excellent salsero whose music exists at the frontier of timba and international salsa with inuences from
Puerto Rico, New York, and Colombiasings in Mi romntica,
Ella es muy linda por fuera pero ms bella por dentro
Donde estn los sentimientos ms sinceros del amor
Donde se resume la vida en un segundo
Donde se abre una or, donde ha crecido el mundo . . .
(Chorus)
La nia ms linda, la nia ms bonita, la nia que yo quera
Quin lo dira?
[She is very pretty, and even more beautiful within
Where the sincerest feelings of love are
Where life is summed up in a second
242
Where owers bloom and the world grows

(Chorus)
The prettiest girl, the most beautiful, the one I always wanted
Who would have thought?]
Songs of betrayal address situations in which a woman deserts her man in

favor of a rich foreigner, often depicted as Italian. Playfully, Manoln, El Mdico
de la Salsa, plans to torment a lover who has scorned him this way by making
constant collect phone calls.
Te di mi amor del alma
Te brind amor sincero
Pero ms pudo el inters
Por todo ese dinero.
Y s que me dejaste
Y s que me fallaste
Adis, que te vaya bien
Good bye, my love, te quiero
(Chorus)
Te voy a hacer
Una llamada telefnica
A pagar all
[I gave you love from my soul
I gave you sincere love
But greed was stronger because of all that money
I know you left me
I know you failed me
Adios, farewell
Goodbye, my love, I love you
(Chorus)
Im going to call you
by telephone
collect!!!]
Timba Brava / 243
There are boasting songs, which parallel hip-hop, dancehall reggae, and
soca in their references to the singers skill as a musician and a lover. In these
two veins, respectively, El Mdico toasts,
Somos lo que hay
Lo que se vende como pan caliente
Lo que preere y pide la gente
Lo que se agota en el mercado
Lo que se escucha en todos lados
Somos lo mximo
[We are it
What sells like hot bread
What people prefer and request
What sells out in the stores
Whats listened to all about
We are the most]
and La Charanga Habanera (1996) boasts,

Yo soy cabillero
Tengo mi medida
Fundo la cabilla que t necesitas
[Im an ironworker
Ive got my size
I do the pipework that you need]
More and more songs contain references to Afro-Cuban religious practices

and use pieces of ritual chants or make percussive references to ritual rhythms,
or toques. According to Adalberto lvarez, the early 1990s coincided with a
time when religious spirituality found a space within the institutional life of the
country.46 In October 1991, Communist Party membership was opened up to
revolutionary Christians and other religious believers.47 After this, Catholics,
Protestants, and Jews return to their churches and synagogues openly, and Santera practitioners no longer hide their rituals.48 In 1992, the Cuban Consitution was changed to reect that the state is now secular rather than atheist.49
244
In jest, but accurately, people say that religion was depenalized around the
same time as the dollar. As a result, to sing of the orishas became fashionable in
popular music, for good and bad, says lvarez. On one hand, one of our cultural roots was being recovered, but, on the other, many imitators appeared
on the scene with a pseudo folklore that bothers me.50
El Tosco and his NG La Banda sang often of los santos. In Santa palabra
(Holy word), they actually incorporate ritual gestures associated with a lucum
(Yoruba) cleansing ceremony called ebbo, in which negative energy is removed
and then thrown backward over ones shoulders.
Hay muchas personas que esconden los santos
Por el da y por la noche llanto
Para abrir el camino Echu Beleke busca un Elegu
Pues sin este santo todo va pa tras . . .
(Chorus)
Despjate, qutate lo malo
chalo pa tras, lmpiate mi hermano
[Many people hide the saints
Crying day and night
In order to open the road, Echu Beleke, nd an Elegua
Without that saint nothing goes right
(Chorus)
Strip away, get rid of the bad
Throw it backward, clean yourself, my brother]
Many say that when times get tough, religion becomes more important. Because it developed at the start of the 1990s, as the Soviet bloc collapsed and the
so-called special period of rationing and resource management began in Cuba,
timba has evolved during a time of intense social change. Timba is one way
Cubans have responded musically. Timba is festive and irreverent. The image it
portrays is rough and sometimes contrary to authority. For this reason, it has
been compared to hip-hop, particularly gangsta rap.51 The following, performed by Chispa y Sus Cmplices at La Casa de la Msica (April 2003), talks
about the continuing slippage of the Cuban peso in relation to the U.S. dollar.
Timba Brava / 245
A veinticinco!
A veintisis!
Cmo se ha puesto el fula?
Duro pero duro de matar!
[At twenty-ve!
Then at twenty-six [pesos to one dollar]!
Whats happened to the greenback?
Its playing hard to get!]
Like rappers, timberos defend their music (lyrics and image) as a reection of
realitywhat takes place daily in the street.52 For example, in a number entitled
No estamos locos (Were not crazy), La Charanga Habanera, infamous and
even banned by the state in 1997 for their vulgar lyrics and stage show, sing,
Pero qu loco de qu, si lo que canto es lo que es? (Why am I crazy, if what I
sing is what is?).
Controversial texts are common in timba. Casanella and Gonzlez assert
that timba expresses denite sociological messages through its lyrics and its
sound.53 In terms of lyrics and song structure, the estribillo, by its repetitive and
catchy nature, is a favorable vehicle to employ double entendre in function of
social criticism; to salute los barrios, personages, and tourist places of Havana;
or to share an anecdote or dicharacho (slang term) from everyday life. Singer Issac Delgado, in an interview with Emir Garca Meralla in the magazine Cuban
Salsa, said that an estribillo makes or breaks a tune, there is no in between, and
El Mdico adds that estribillos speak and summarize popular wisdom, that
one is obliged to add a touch of guapera, of street talk, so that you can feel the
authenticity of afrocubanness (emphasis mine).
Casanella, a philologist, discusses the linguistic exchanges between musicians and the public, in which phrases from colloquial slang are taken by musicians and used to popularize compositions (because this is the language of
many of their fans), and vice versa. In the latter case, musicians invent a
phraseor take it from a small circle of use, which makes it unknown to
mostand popularize and spread it, inserting it in popular speech momentarily or even permanently. Take, for example, tunturuntun, coined by Adalberto
lvarez, which was on everyones lips during 1999 and 2000 and meant get
outta here, and the saying No es fcil, coined in the 1980s by Juan Formell
and commonly used to this day.
246
Song texts are also related on many occasions with choreography, as happened with the steps and accompanying gestures of Masca la cachimba by NG
La Banda, El baile del toca toca by Adalberto lvarez, or Te pone la cabeza
mala by Los Van Van. Arriba de la bola by El Mdico had its own dance and
coded meaning. Penned during the special period, many say that to be on the
ball meant that one had to hustle, to survive by any means necessary. About the
dance that accompanied the song, Balbuena writes,It is characterized by the execution of very sensual, sometimes exotic movements. It is done with arms in
the air, bent, hands open, pretending to manipulate a ball or something round
[perhaps a globe]. At the same time, the hips, waist, and torso are rotated.54 Like
the texts themselves, the choreographies are submitted to the creative reinterpretation of the public, and thus the cachimba or la bola semiotically and choreographically take on meanings beyond the intention of their authors.
In a kind of intertextuality, timba compositions make reference to works
from diverse musical traditions, both Cuban and foreign. This practice serves
to dynamize the improvisations of the soloists and (when the reference is only
musical) specic passages of songs, recontextualizing borrowed licks that
momentarily evoke the experience and meanings of other works. Qu pasa
con ella from the famous 1997 album Te Pone La Cabeza Mala by Juan Formell
y Los Van Van is a good example. When the montuno begins, after the opening
argument of the song, most of the improvisations by the lead are bits and pieces
of other hits from Los Van Vans then thirty-year career. In this case, they are
used to invoke the humor or quality of whichever particular song and underline the groups staying power over such a long time. When the singer improvises on the main theme of a song, he or she creates new utterances and also
rearticulates and culls phrases from other songs of various traditions. The
singer opens up a sonorous space of freedom, improvisation, and innovation,
clinging simultaneously to tradition and reafrming collective memory.55
Timba shares this approach with international salsa and other popular music
styles of the African diaspora.
timba dance
A few styles of dance are generally used with timba. Some dance traditional
Cuban son, emphasizing the ands of the second and fourth beats with their
shoulders and feet. Most folks dance casinolike son, a partner or ballroom
dance performed in closed positionnow stressing the rst and third beats of
Timba Brava / 247
quarter time. Other dances include el reparto (the neighborhood), a kind of vibrating robot dance, and el tembleque, a hip-rolling dance similar to those
performed by Jamaican dancehall queens or Zairean dancing girls. The
complex of dances, gestures, and physical attitudes surrounding timba
reafrms the genres quality of unpredictability; it revitalizes one of the roots of
Cuban popular dance (la rueda/the wheel dance) and at the same time approaches dance styles from Africa and its diaspora (e.g., reggae and soukous),
because they emphasize community dance (in groups and in couples) but deemphasize or eliminate partner dancing in closed position.
The dances that accompany timba seem combinations of the steps and gestures that made up the dances for rhythms of the pastpachanga, collude,
piln, Mozambique, and others. History, fashion, and popular dance repeat
themselves. According to Nieves Armas Rigal, coauthor of Bailes populares
tradicionales cubanas, the dances called el despelote (the mess/explosion) and el
tembleque (which means the quake but also a coconut-avored pudding),
performed today with timba, are no less than the derived product of the aforementioned dances; besides summarizing and extending the Cuban popular
dance tradition through movement and gesture, they also emphasize the
African roots that nourished it.56 This jibes with anthropologist and dancer
Pearl Primuss assertion that the spirit . . . responsible for the dynamic
[African] dances of yesterday is merely underground and that sometimes it
will spring forth in a seemingly new form.57 About this, Csar Pupy Pedroso
says, Our idiosyncrasy as Cubans is very African. We are descendants of the
Africans. All these dances that have come and gone, what we call timba today, el
despeloteall of it is nothing more than African dance.58
Like other forms of popular dance music, the movements represent the
fundamental connection between the pleasures of the sound and their social
realization in the libidinal movement of bodies, styles, and sensual forms. The
dance, then, is a social encounter, which can be [in] a dancehall, a club, or a
party, where bodies are permitted to respond to physical rhythms that elsewhere would not be tolerated. It is the moment when romanticism brushes
against reality, and a transitory step out of the everyday can be enjoyed.59
Timba dance implies a going out of ones self, the creation of alternative space,
a state of mind that may function as therapeutic or political liberation.60 The
maroon is present here, too, in dance, as timba dance draws on the rumba,
drumming, and the merengue [that] were prohibited in the colonial [and postcolonial] societies of the Caribbean, including Cuba.61
248
context
Timba is a recent development of Afro-Cuban popular dance music. Timbas
association with Afro-Cuban culture and with shifts in the Cuban economy
and social life plays an important role in perceptions of it as rebellious music.
The genre was closely linked to the promotion of tourism in Cuba and was
aided by legislation that sought to engage Cuba, at least partly, in the capitalist
world economy. Take for example, Paulito F.G.s song Dnde estn los especuladores? from 1997 (perhaps the height of the timba boom), irresistible dance
music with a striking message. In contemporary slang, especulador (literally
speculator) means a show-off eager to accumulate, enjoy, and aunt
wealth, a polemical identity in a socialist nation. The word echoes and puns on
the older use of speculator, referring to those who, at the start of the Cuban Revolution, were too slow in embracing necessary sacrices (i.e., surrendering
businesses, properties, etc.). Whereas leaders exhort musicians to think about
their society and its values and to write pieces that reect such [socialist] values,62 works that depart from this mission or seem to question it become problematic. In the words of Jos Quiroga, this is where the vanguard of expression
collides with the vanguard that wants to preserve tradition.63 He continues,
The liberating force is music, but the beat of the music is never allowed to stray
from the beat of the state. Music and the state seem to dance around each other,
and with each other: music involves musicians and dancers, and these demand
venues, and the venues produce a collective expression that may or may not fall
into line with what government policies seek to promote.64
It seems that some, especially those that criticize timba, imagine that it has
nothing to do with authentic Cuban music, either that of yesteryear or other
contemporary forms of better taste. We have seen that what is considered
proper music is highly contested and shifting terrain. Acosta calls timba the
most important phenomenon of the 1990s and the rst [Cuban] music of international popularity and importance since the 1950s.65 He corroborates what
other writers say, noting the erce passages from horn sections; the elaborate
arrangements; the rhythmic patterns from rumba and santera; the vocals presented in hip-hop style in a context of call-and-response; the disorienting
tempo changes; the spontaneous nature of timba music and dance; the use of
street language with a festive and irreverent character; and the lyrics considered
vulgar, violent, sexist, and ghetto. But even more interesting, he asserts that
Timba Brava / 249
timba is heir to a long musico-social tradition, in which Afro-Cuban forms debut in the face of very strong opposition that was nourished by racial prejudice
and the desire that Cuba (and therefore the music that represents Cuba) not be
black.
conclusion
Many characteristics of NG La Banda and its leader, Jos Luis Corts, quoted in
the epigraph that starts this essay, are also true of timba. An anecdote about
Corts recounts a television program interview during which he was asked just
why he represents Cuban music in such a vulgar, offensive fashion. Instead of
responding, he changed the subject, offering to play a piece of classical music
for ute supposedly known by all cultured people. The host assured him that
she was familiar with the work. Corts proceeded to play a masterpiece of colors and arpeggios and afterward asked if the famous piece was well done. The
interviewer said yes, and at that, Corts declared that what he just played was
no famous composition at all but, rather, his own virtuoso improvisation,
which embarrassed the host and, surely, many who shared her perspective. The
maroon escaped. But not before landing a painful blow. Qu peligro! What
danger! As in the words of Cuban scholar Antonio Bentez-Rojo about the marginalized Caribbean identity in general, El Tosco is a consummate performer
with recourse to the most daring improvisations to keep from being trapped.66
Timba was born as a maroon music in the face of challenges posed by a radically changing Cuban society in crisis throughout the decade of the 1990s, in
which it has been necessary for certain Cubansblacks and mulatos especiallyto reafrm their identity, presence, and importance in their own terms
inside the culture and social structure of Cuba. In terms of maroon aesthetics,
timba employs the strategies of raiding (borrowing elements from diverse
musical sources) and improvisation (creating new musical language and style
for emergent social circumstances, according to old performance principles).
Like maroons of the colonial period, timberos negotiate complex relationships
with national/colonial governments and international markets, maneuvering
power and opportunity from a marginalized position.
The penetration of marginal Afro-Cuban culture into mainstream Cuban
culture in the form of aggressive sounds, marginal themes, vulgar and coded
lyrics, and eccentric or ghetto self-representations are but afrmations of
identity that intend not to destroy Cuban society but, rather, to nd a just position within it, as has been the case in the ght of blacks and mulatos in Cuba
250
since colonial times. So it is that timba and the reaction of Cubans toward it
(and similar movements) are quite signicant, complex, and impassioned.
Timba will have many repercussions, musically and in the history of Cuba and
its beautiful revolution.
Notes
1. David Calzado, director of La Charanga Habanera, says that the 1990s represent
one of several golden eras of Cuban music and that it waned due to saturation of the
public. Paulito F.G. contends that that period represents a special moment because of
the fertile production of numerous, restless, young musicians that were impelled to fuse
Cuban music with other international styles. Nevertheless, he blames disorganization
and inexperience in matters of business on the very part of the young timberos, and he
cites lack of promotion and distribution support as reasons that this golden moment
came to an end. These criteria and others will be discussed in more depth in this essay.
Ned Sublette (Cuba and Its Music, 433) also hails the late 1980s and 1990s as one of several golden ages in Cuban music.
2. Here, timba will be used. It is already the term of preference among musicians
and scholars, because it emphasizes the uniqueness of contemporary popular dance
music from Cuba.
3. The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language denes maroon as follows: a fugitive black slave in the West Indies in the 17th and 18th centuries; the descendant of such a slave; plantation slaves who had run away to live free in uncultivated
parts.
4. For Quintero Rivera, salsa is maroon music because its base (in the form of earlier styles) was set by mixed ethnic communities in opposition to colonial authority.
5. Baraka, The Changing Same.
6. Price and Price, Maroon Arts, 285.
7. Quintero Rivera, Salsa, sabor y control, 265.
8. Ibid., 276.
9. Ortiz, Los tambores bat, 8.
10. Sublette, Cuba and Its Music, 272.
11. Garca Meralla, Timba brava.
12. Acosta, Otra visin de la msica popular cubana, 40; Sublette, Cuba and Its Music.
13. Roy, Cuban Music, 180.
14. This idea of lower-class blacks being more culturally invested in music and dance
is reiterated throughout this essay, both by my informants and by many writers. It may
seem stereotypical and implausible, but there is something to it. In Cuba, popular music has long been dominated by people of color (Carpentier, La msica en Cuba, 38) because music was considered an unstable and even immoral line of work. Throughout
the colonial period, much, if not most, of the European military and religious music on
the island was performed by blacks and mulatos. By 1831, there were three times more
black musicians than whites. This strong identication of blacks with music does not
Timba Brava / 251

also imply lack of ability, interest, or achievement in other areas. See Leymarie, Cuban
Fire, 10; Carpentier, La msica en Cuba.
15. Balbuena, El casino y la salsa, 93.
16. The song cited, called Clave para un timbero, here refers to genres of Cuban
music. Bonk is an African-derived word that means friend. The chorus of the song is
salsa pa qu, timba pa ll para los rumberos (salsa over here, timba over there for all
the rumberos). I interviewed Luis Abreu Hernndez of Los Papines in 2003.
17. The singer professionally known as Arsenio Rodrguez was born in the small
town of Gira de Macurije in Matanzas Province in 1911. The grandson of a slave
brought from the Congo, his birth name was Ignacio Arsenio Travieso Scull. For years in
the 1940s, dancers would go to La Tropical to dance to his rhythm. See Sublette, Cuba
and Its Music, 442; Orovio, Diccionario de la msica cubana, 388.
19. Son is a musical and vocal style of dance music considered one of the basic, most
important genres of Cuban music. Its structure has Bantu African as well as Spanish elements mixed in a Cuban way with rhythmic turns, choruses, percussion, and guitar
tones. It is danced in closed partner position. The musical ensemble to play it classically
includes tres (a guitarlike instrument with three pairs of chords) or guitar, sometimes
accompanied by marimbula (a large wooden box with metal keys to pluck; a big thumb
piano), guiro, clave, and bongo. It was born in Eastern Cuba at the end of the nineteenth
century in towns like Guantnamo, Baracoa, Manzanillo, and Santiago de Cuba. It became the most authentic expression of the humble sectors (blacks and mulattos) of the
Cuban social, economic, and political structure. Throughout the twentieth century,
composers like Ignacio Pieiro and Arsenio Rodrguez and performers like trumpeter
Felix Chapotn and singer Benny Mor helped to establish son as music of national and
international popularity and inuence. Son was the main ingredient in New York salsa
of the 1970s and continues to be a major touchstone for contemporary musicians in
Cuba and elsewhere. See Orovio, Diccionario de la msica cubana, 45560.
20. This took place often in the context of break time for students at ENA or ISA,
who were prohibited from playing popular music but did it anyway. Csar Pupy Pedroso, interview with the author, 2003.
21. David Calzado, interview with the author, 2003.
22. Bamboleo, interview with the author, 2003.
23. Manolito Simonet, interview with the author, 2003.
25. Ibid.
26. Perna, Timba.
27. Aparicio, Listening to Salsa, 92.
28. Retamar, Todo Caliban.
29. Moore, Music and Revolution, 8.
30. Sublette, Cuba and Its Music, 272.
31. Ibid.
32. Ferrer, Insurgent Cuba, 4.
33. Brock and Castaeda, Between Race and Empire, 128.
252
34. De la Fuente, Nation for All, 182.

36. Orovio, Rumba en la salsa, pop, folk y timba.
37. Gonzalo Rubalcaba, interview with the author, 2001.
38. Carpentier, La msica en Cuba; Aln, From Afrocuban Music to Salsa.
39. Ortiz, Cuban Counterpoint; Morejn, Fundacin de la imgen, 188.
40. Danzn is a ballroom music and dance genre in 2/4 meter, derived as a Cuban interpretation of the French contredanse. Instrumenation included two violins, piano, violin, clarinet or ute, double bass, Cuban pailas (timbales), and a guiro. In the dance,
groups of several couples traced gures. The rst danzn is said to have been composed
in 1879 by Miguel Failde. The form has a clear African-Caribbean lilt, but the African element is not as pronounced as in rumba. See Aln 1999, From Afrocuban Music to Salsa,
12131.
41. Moore, Nationalizing Blackness; Acosta, Del Tambor al sintetizador.
42. In the case of Arsenio Rodrguez, this is also due to his way of playing, described
as rowdier and blacker than other styles in Cuba. For the white dancers of New York
(no doubt different from the dancers of Cuba), his rhythm was too difcult to follow:
You had to be Cuban, a good dancer, and on top of that black [to really follow his beat],
because it was very slow. The immigration to the United States of musicians Mario
Bauz in the 1930s, Chano Pozo in the 1940s, and Arsenio Rodrguez in the 1950s was due
at least partly to the limitations facing blacks in Cuba. See Roberts, Latin Tinge, 9;
DRivera, Mi vida saxual, 140.
43. Keil, Urban Blues; Pacini-Hernndez, Bachata.
44. La Charanga Forever, personal communication with the author, 1999.
45. The harmonic progression of the classic tumbao for son is IIVVIVI or, alternately, IIIVI bimolVI (Fabin 1997). Rhythmically, emphasis is placed on the
and of the second and fourth beats (Moore, Nationalizing Blackness).
46. De la Hoz, Adalberto lvarez.
47. Braun, Perspectives on Cuba, 80.
48. Behar, An Island Called Home, 274.
49. Ibid.
50. De la Hoz, Adalberto lvarez.
51. Acosta, La timba y sus antecedents.
52. Ibid.
53. Casanella and Gonzlez, Gozando y a lo cubano, 6.
56. Nieves Armas Rigal, interview with the author, 2003. In 2000, during carnival
festivities in Matanzas, a city known as an important center of Afro-Cuban culture, I observed a salsa/timba band perform an oro cantado to the principal Yoruba orishas (mixing Yoruba and Spanish, oro cantado means tradition sung, an ordered series of songs
and chants in acknowledgment and praise of the various Yoruba deities still venerated in
Cuba). During this performance, the soloist asked that children or initiates of each orisha join him on stage to dance the steps traditionally associated with them, performed
now, however, to the timba beat. The dancers always began with traditional, religious
Timba Brava / 253

Afro-Cuban movements, but as the music intensied, their style changed, evolving
quickly into timba, with its own strong African energy. This illustrates well the sacredprofane, ancient-modern continuum spanned by Cuban popular music, this time incarnated as timba.
57. Green, (Up)Staging the Primitive, 121.
58. Csar Pupy Pedroso, interview with the author, 2003. In the Cuban context, the
term African refers to manifestations of black culture informed by ancient African organizing principles that crossed the Atlantic from the Old World to the New World.
These cultural patterns are sometimes identiable as derived from specic ethnic
groups and sometimes only recognizable as a general Negro type (read Afro-Cuban)
that is the result of transculturation among original African ethnic groups, Europeans,
and Asians on Cuba. In both cases, creation is based largely on a common understanding, attitude of mind, logic and perception shared by the various African ethnic groups
introduced on the island and used by them to adapt to new circumstances. See Thompson, Flash of the Spirit, xiii; Bastide, African Civilizations in the New World, 8, 10; Ortiz,
Cuban Counterpoint; Mbiti, African Religions and Philosophy, 2; Brandon, Santera from
Africa to the New World; Herskovits, The Myth of the Negro Past; Ortiz, Los tambores bat.
59. Chambers, Popular Culture, 135.
61. Ibid.
62. Moore, Music and Revolution, 24.
63. Quiroga, Cuban Palimpsests, 147.
64. Ibid.
65. Acosta, La timba y sus antecedents.
66. Bentez-Rojo, Repeating Island, 24.
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Moore, Robin. Music and Revolution: Cultural Change in Socialist Cuba. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006.
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Orovio, Helio. Diccionario de la msica cubana. La Habana, Cuba: Editorial Letras
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Salsa Memory: Revisiting Grupo Folklrico y

Experimental Nuevayorquino
juan flores and ren lpez
Eddie Palmieri makes it a point these days to remind us that La Perfecta II is not
meant to be a revival band. Rather than reviving, he thinks of this presentday remake of his groundbreaking band from the early 1960s, Conjunto La Perfecta, as revisiting an earlier concept and context. Instead of just a rerun of an
older phenomenon, revisiting is a more creative, with-the-times way of recreating, of reenvisioning musical breakthroughs and discoveries of an earlier
era still very much alive in the minds and hearts of many listeners and dancers
today. In a way, its post-salsa revisiting pre-salsa and perhaps arriving at the
core of this thing called salsa in the process. The irony is that, whatever its intent, the recordings and concerts of La Perfecta II, which remain remarkably
faithful to the original sound, have been generating something of a revival of
salsa in its irresistible infancy, ever since Eddie birthed the new group some
forty years later.
Even more recently, there is another important and related salsa revival/revisitation afoot. The current return of Grupo Folklrico y Experimental Nuevayorquino is likewise not intended as a mere throwback to the heyday of its
predecessor in the mid-1970s, even though most of the original musicians are
still in place and though their repertoire mainly consists of the original tunes
from their two collectible LPs, Concepts in Unity (1975) and Lo Dice Todo (1976).
But in their historic concerts in Berlin in September 2007 and at the Smithsonian Folklife Festival in June 2008, the new, regrouped Grupo is moving their
bold musical concept in directions unexplored and in accord with cultural and
musical developments of the intervening years. Though the dialectic of folk-
256
Salsa Memory / 257
lore and experimentation, tradition and innovation, remains the guiding

premise, what constitutes both folklore and experiment has of course
changed with the times and with a changed Nueva York.
In both cases, revisiting Conjunto La Perfecta and the original Grupo Folklrico amounts to an exercise in musical and cultural memory. La Perfecta II
seeks to transport us back to the early 1960s in Latin music, when a new generation of young, second-generation New York Puerto Ricans began to come out
with their own style, building on, but distinct from, the prevalent sound of the
previous, mambo era of the 1940s and 1950s. They revered the giants of that formative periodMachito, Tito Rodrguez, and the rst New Yorkborn mambo
king, Tito Puentebut they had to strike out in new directions of their own
making. The Cuban pachanga was the rst new rhythm that the young Turks
picked up on, and Charlie Palmieri, Ray Barretto, Johnny Pacheco, and other
upcoming bandleaders and instrumentalists took up this Nueva Yorkinected
variant of the traditional Cuban charanga sound, with its characteristic smallband format featuring ute and violin. Eddie famously carried the innovation
even further byfollowing the lead of legendary plenero Mon Riverahighlighting a frontline of trombones. This was what his brother Charlie jokingly
called trombanga, and with a slew of unmistakable recordings featuring the
symbiotic collaboration of Eddie and trombonist Barry Rogers, Conjunto La
Perfecta contributed more than any other group to creating a new sound of the
times. Here was the initiation of the musical revolution that nearly a decade
later, around 1970, came to be called salsa.
The reunion of Grupo harkens back to a different time in the salsa story, toward the waning, rather than the dawning, of that musical heyday. By 1974,
when Andy and Jerry Gonzlez formed the Conjunto Anabacoa (the rst name
of Grupo), and 1975, when the original ensemble recorded Concepts in Unity,
New York Latin music going by the name of salsa had already reached the
peak of its commercial popularity under the aegis of Fania Records, the label
that made salsa into a known quantity. Indeed, salsa itself was by then a label,
as it were, in the existing market of musical commodities. Less clearly perhaps,
salsa was also an identiable stylistic option among the expanding repertoire
of a budding world music. What had begun a decade or so earlier as the voice
and feel of a generation and a community, as exemplied by Conjunto La Perfecta, was by the mid-1970s already degenerating into a formulaic commodity
eld characterized by a predictable and overproduced sound.
The Fania All-Stars and the labels packaged stable of in-house musicians
came to stand for that standardization in the eyes and ears of many of the most
258
creative musicians of the time, including some who had recorded with Fania.
They felt that the making and marketing of salsa involved a betrayal of treasured musical roots and, at the same time, a blunting of any experimental and
creative edge to their expressive struggle. Andy Gonzlez explained, Fania used
the Motown formula of recording music, which was to use the same group of
musicians, the same rhythm sections for almost every recording. The same
arrangers, the same producers, and the same-sounding kind of product.1 In
The Book of Salsa, Venezuela historian Csar Miguel Rondn speaks of the Fania-produced salsa of this period as supermarket music and describes the labels 1974 crossover album Latin, Soul, Rock as a new musical trend introduced by the company to represent the convergence of styles that dominated
the pop music market at the time. The new product, Latin Music, he says,
was a sort of rock with congas.2
Grupo Folklrico was the epitome of this sentiment and an epicenter of resistance to the hegemony of the industry in the doings of musical practice and
creativity.3 Drawing together a dream team of practitioners from a range of
Afro-Cuban and Puerto Rican genres, arguably the best at their respective instruments, the formation of Grupo was obviously not at odds with the allstar idea, which was widespread on the scene in those years and typied by Fania and also the Alegre All-Stars, the Tico All-Stars, and such stellar groupings
for many other labels. What was different about Grupo and what set it in polar
contrast with the Fania enterprise and the salsa-as-Fania narrative were its musical concept, practice, and product. Here was salsa that was at the same time
anti-salsa, New York Latin music designed to run directly counter to salsa as
invented, tailored, and packaged by the market, most visibly represented by Fania. Grupos guiding aesthetic of folkloric tradition and contemporary experimentation rooted in a specic social placeNueva Yorkaimed to offer a
clear, attractive, and real alternative to the deracinated, decontextualized, and
creatively stiing results of the commercializing process.
Grupos two LPs, which have enjoyed an avid international following of
salsa connoisseurs for over three decades, exhibit that aesthetic in action and
the wide range of styles and instrumental resources that intermingle and are
brought into dynamic unison in their unique repertoire. To start with the personnel and instruments, the original groups forte and binding element was of
course the rhythm section, anchored in Manny Oquendos solid timbales, Andy
Gonzlezs versatile bass, Oscar Hernndezs percussive piano, and an array of
seasoned drummers including Milton Cardona, Frankie Rodrguez, and Gene
Golden on bats and Jerry Gonzlez on tumbadora and quinto. Other instru-
Salsa Memory / 259
mental mainstays included the masters Chocolate Armenteros on trumpet,

Nelson Gonzlez on tres, Jose Rodrigues and Reinaldo Jorge on trombone, and
utist and tenor saxophonist Gonzalo Fernndez. The main vocalists were the
seasoned Cuban Virgilio Mart; Willie Garca, already a veteran Cuban salsa
singer at the age of thirty-six; and street musician par excellence Genaro
Henny Alvarez, a Puerto Rican drummer, composer, and singer. This core of
accomplished and highly regarded exponents of Cuban and Afro-Caribbean
music, plus an assortment of special guest appearances and cameos by the likes
of master bat drummer and singer Julito Collazo, violinist Alfredo de la F,
legendary vocalist and composer Marcelino Guerra, and Carlos Caito Daz,
who had been a vocalist with La Sonora Matancera since its founding in 1924,
assured a seemingly boundless resource of musical possibilities and experiments in multiple musical languages. Though they were all stars or were to become stars in subsequent years, the idea was not so much a lineup of celebrities
as a collective of players in synch, held together by their love for the music, respect for each other, and connection to community and by the guiding premise
as conceived primarily by the Gonzlez brothers (Andy and Jerry) and Manny
Oquendo and by the steady-handed and expert sensibility of producer/mastermind Ren Lpez. Lpez, a New York Puerto Rican born and raised in the
Bronx, is a ubiquitous presence in the story of New York Latin music since the
1960s and an undisputed guru of Afro-Cuban music this side of Havana. Along
with coproducer Andy Kaufmann, it is he who is mainly responsible for renaming the group Folklrico y Experimental Nuevayorquino, boldly articulating its central concept, and for reuniting and recasting the group thirty years
after its short-lived apogee in the mid-1970s.
As for the music itself, the taproot and trunk of the stylistic tree is of course
Afro-Cuban music in its wealth of variants, especially the rumba guaguanc
son montuno continuum. But the albums contain many other genres, most of
them brought into lively interaction with that basic stylistic modality:
guaracha, bolero, charanga, Puerto Rican bomba and plena, Brazilian samba
and bossa nova, calypso, Mozambique, and of course various jazz idioms are all
present in this constantly shifting and surprising pastiche. There is not a piece
in either of the collections that is not in the tradition of one or the other folkloric form, yet there is also none in which this primary style is left intact, as it
were, and not interrupted and mixed with other stylistic languages.
The rst selection on Concepts in Unity, for example, Cuba Linda, probably the best-known and most beloved song in their repertoire, is a nostalgic
hymn to the lost homeland, a beautiful, alluring guaguanc sung incomparably
260
by Virgilio Mart. Though recognized as a guaguanc, the piano, tres, ute, and
timbal parts tend to veer off from that genres usual instrumentation, and
Chocolates ever-present trumpet gives it a avor of classical son in the manner
of the septetos of the 1920s and 1930s; indeed, the lyrics even include some familiar lines from Ignacio Piero, the leader of Septeto Nacional and generally
considered the father of the traditional recorded son. In that vein, the following
track on the album, Chocos Guajira, is an unmistakable example of the son
guajira, featuring the lush trumpet of Chocolate in his inimitable style, but here
again other stylistic qualities also come through. A signature piece, Anabacoa,
for which the group is perhaps best known and which even mentions el Conjunto Anabacoa, is a powerful guaguanc recorded by Arsenio Rodrguez,
which includes an extended piano solo that shows strong jazz inuences. Two
songs from Puerto Rican folklore, Adelaida and Luz Delia, leave no doubt
that they are a plena and a mazurka, respectively; but in the Grupo context,
their traditional features are constantly interrupted and toyed with in multiple
ways, be it the unexpected trombone and cowbell in Adelaida or the complex
string and hand drum parts in the mazurka. The same kind of deliberate and
creative interference is evident in the two religious invocations to the orishas,
Canto Asoyin and Canto Ebioso, both executed with appropriate reverence
to the original musical forms, but both complicated by fascinating interventions, most notably Andy Gonzlezs bass part in Canto Ebioso.
The most characteristically Grupo-style numbers on both albums are the
street rumbas (rumbas callejeras), generally composed and/or sung by Henny
Alvarez, a veteran of the rumba scene in Central Park and composer of several
of Grupos songs (along with, interestingly, the lyrics for Larry Harlows salsa
opera, Hommy). On Concepts in Unity, those tunes are Carmen la Ronca and
A Pap y a Mam. The most prominent among these tunes on Lo Dice Todo is
the leadoff piece, Cinco en Uno Callejero, called such because of the interplay
of ve different rhythms centering on Puerto Rican bomba. Corta el Bonche,
La Mama, Agumimo, and Iya Modupu all share that quality of a very
freewheeling and open-ended experimentation with the rumba guaguanc
and guaracha.
The unquestioned mastery of the traditional forms that is demonstrated by
the musicians allows them to move in and out of any given folkloric expressive
eld and bring to bear an assortment of other idioms in fully complementary
ways. The social implication is that the densely multicultural demography and
soundscape of the home location, Nueva York, make for the ready presence of
all of these rhythms in their daily lives, and it is precisely the mixing and weav-
Salsa Memory / 261
ing that typify the musical locale in which they all nd themselves. Though
their music is fundamentally Cuban in its national origin, all but a few members of Grupo are New Yorkborn Puerto Ricans, whose diasporic urban lives
allow them familiarity with and command of a huge range of styles and
rhythms. Great Cuban masters like Chocolate, Julito Collazo, and Virgilio Mart
do help ground the performances in lifelong Afro-Cuban musical experience,
but none of them would question the chops of any of the other playerslike
Nelson Gonzlez on tres, Frankie Rodrguez, or a whole rhythm section on
their respective instruments, as idiosyncratically Cuban as those instruments
may be.
The key term for this kind of music making is descarga, the jam session. It
is informal, improvisational, and fun, as a matter of principle. Originally,
descargas often happened in after-hours clubs and private parties, or in a nonperformative mode, and without any scored arrangements whatsoever or even
much by way of a preconceived plan. There is such condence and respect
among the musicians that structures and sequences take shape during the
course of the presentation, and interactions, though challenging and emulative,
are free of the interpersonal jealousies and competitiveness that so often poison
collective endeavors. Of course, the idea of the Fania All-Stars was also based on
the descarga format and on sharing the stage among peers, most obvious in the
typical alternation of solo stretches that much Latin music shares with and perhaps borrowed from jazz performance practice. The tracks on the Fania AllStar recordings are also long, many ranging close to ten minutes in duration, as
are those of Grupo, so that in neither case was there much regard for the usual
limit on the length of singles recordings.
The difference, in my view, has to do with the relatively greater tightness of
the weave among the instrumental parts and with a sense of structural coherence that emerges from the Grupo numbers despite all their informality and
extemporaneity. The relative openness of the form and seeming randomness of
the delivery in a piece like, for instance, Iya Modup, the closing number on
Concepts of Unity and, to my taste, their crowning achievement among all the
many gems, does not preclude the distinct and pleasing feel of a coherent sequence of mood and pacing. The development is evident in the vocal line of
that song, which moves from a self-assurance in the early parts, to an unsettling
effect toward the middle section due to the periodic intervention of restless
trombone and bass parts, and then to a forceful resolution or restoration of
condence at the end with the lengthy ute solo, the interaction of coro and
trombone, and then Chocolates lyrical trumpet taking it out for the nal
262
minute. This, for me, exemplies descarga at the pinnacle of its potentialimprovisational yet deliberate, open but structured, experimental and folkloric.
Rather than necessarily the same songs or even the same musicians, it is this
realization of the descarga principle or technique that Ren Lpez and the
group seek to revisit in their new incarnation in our times. It is not quite clear
why the members of Grupo decided to go their separate ways in 1977; the band
was in fact gaining increasing acclaim, and their records were still selling well
amid many invitations to perform.4 But in the intervening years, all have gone
on to successful careers in many bands, some of them under their own leadership; those who were not already luminaries have become sothat is, those
who did not pass away (as did some core members like Virgilio Mart, Jose Rodrigues, Frankie Rodrguez, Gonzalo Fernndes, and Henny Alvarez) or cease
to be active in music (as did Willie Garca).
The most widely acknowledged sequel to and outgrowth of the Grupo of
the 1970s was no doubt Conjunto Libre, mainly because of the central formative role, once again, of the Gonzlez brothers, Manny Oquendo, Oscar
Hernndez, and Nelson Gonzlez. Renamed Libre and then Manny Oquendos
Libre (because of the anchoring role of the seasoned and tireless timbalero), the
band added Barry Rogers to join Jose Rodrigues on trombone for the rst time
since their collaborations in Conjunto La Perfecta. Relative newcomers (at the
time) who were added were soon-to-be-master Nuyoricans Papo Vzquez on
trombone and David Valentn on ute. Libre continued the energetic initiative
of Grupo in resisting the commercialization of salsa, but by comparison, they
incorporated less of the folkloric and more of the experimental (including
more Latin jazz) into their sound, which was more in line with recognizable
salsa at its best. Though lacking the name value and market backing of the Ray
Barretto, Willie Coln, or Eddie Palmieri recordings, Libre has its place of
honor in the annals of salsa. Along with the Latin jazz breakthroughs of the
Fort Apache Band under the primary tutelage of Jerry Gonzlez, the role of
these post- and anti-Fania projects in the history of New Yorks Latin music has
been consistently bold and pioneering, contributing to a strong counternarrative of that history.
Now, a full generation after the heyday of salsa, Grupo is back. The taste for
old-school salsa from the 1970s, before it was eclipsed by merengue and hiphop
and salsa romntica, is still very much alive and has been amplied by a huge
and growing international audience of listeners and dancers. For many, what
passes for modern-day salsa lacks both the folklore and the experimentation of
the good old stuff, and for a surprising number, that has meant not so much
Salsa Memory / 263
Fania but Grupo. The musicians and Ren Lpez could not help but get wind
of that continued and growing interest, and the idea for a reunion of Grupo
took hold. Lpezs project called for a new CD recording, to be promoted and
accompanied by a documentary video about the group, including proles of
some of its individual members. As mentioned, all but a few of the original performers are still playing actively, and all responded enthusiastically when rst
approached about the idea. The only question was, what would be the right occasion and venue for the reunion?
Chance has it that in those very days during 2006, the House of World Cultures (Haus der Kulturen der Welt) in Berlin, Germany, was planning a major
showcase of New York City cultures for the fall of the following year. When told
of the plans to reunite Grupo, they made a well-advised beeline for Ren Lpez,
and plans were set with no further ado: Grupo would do a single live concert in
the halls of the Haus der Kulturen in September 2007, all for video and audio
recording. Lpez gured this would be an excellent trial run, to then be followed by other cameo concerts, one at the Smithsonians Folklife Festival, the
other in the at-home setting of Hostos Community College in the South
Bronx, in July and November 2008, respectively. (It is the third of these reunion
appearances, the one at Hostos, which is being earmarked for a possible live CD
recording.) Meanwhile, a lm crew has been shooting and interviewing at all
rehearsals and appearances, as well as at a formal conversation with Ren Lpez
about the concept and history of Grupo.
The concert in Berlin came after two rehearsals in New York and one on location. The core standbysAndy and Gerry, Manny, Nelson, Oscar, Gene
Goldenwere joined by new members, some of them of huge musical presence: Oscar Puntilla Ros who replaces Julito Collazo on the santera end of
the repertoire and Virgilio Mart at the deeply traditional percussion and vocal
parts; Jorge Maldonado, longtime singer for La Sonora Matancera and now
lead vocalist in place of Henny Alvarez; Abraham Rodrguez, the versatile
young Bronx Puerto Rican percussionist and backup vocalist strongly schooled
by Puntilla, in place of Willie Garca; Eddie Zervign, musical director and
utist from Orquesta Broadway; Guido Gonzlez lling in for Chocolate, who
was not available for the trip; and Eddie Venegas, a very young, classically
trained Venezuelan multi-instrumentalist who held up well on both violin and
trombone. Under the musical direction of Andy Gonzlez, the group started off
a bit falteringly but soon started clicking. They reached impressive intensity toward the end, on Anabacoa and Se Me Olvid que Te Olvid, when the international crowd delighted in recognizing and even dancing to the beloved
264
and unique Grupo sound once again and in live performance. For the most
part, the group stayed with the original songs from the records, which they used
as a gauge and standard. At this point, they were at what we might call the revival stage of the renewal, the main goal being to do justice to the songs as they
sound on the recordings.
The concert on the mall in DC, in the huge tent facing the Smithsonian castle, was an even more energetic occasion than that at the congenial Haus der
Kulturen and had an even more synergetic audience; it also carried more personal resonance for the original members of the group, for it was in that same
context and venue, the Smithsonians annual Folklife Festival on the mall, that
they had played in 1975. Again the rehearsals were a bit edgy, and the opening
numbers were sometimes shaky. But once they got into a groove, there was the
old irresistible and inimitable Grupo doing their thing, with some interesting
and inevitable variations reecting the renovated personnel and their diverse
strengths. Though they again stayed for the most part with the known repertoire, there was more daring in veering off from the original versions as
recorded. Some of the intensity of the moment was that of the new Grupo, with
presences like those of Puntilla and Eddie Zervign having their indelible mark
and with newcomers like Venegas and Abie Rodriguez bringing new accents
and angles to the familiar songs.
On this occasion, though, they decided to add one new entry to the repertoire, a Grupo version of Arsenio Rodriguezs canonical son montuno La Gente
del Bronx, with its resounding chorus el elemento del Bronx! The idea, of
course, was not only to pay further tribute to Arsenio, the single most important overall inuence on Grupo and its members, the towering gure who
showed that modernizing the son meant not a separation from but a deepening of the musical tie to African and guaguanc roots. The newly minted selection was also meant to reemphasize the groups Nueva York location and even
to specify the centrality of that borough of the city where most of the musicians
live and grew up and where Arsenio spent some of the most productive years of
his momentous career. Here was the occasion for Grupo to celebrate the master once again and to execute in the spirit of Arsenio, if not la lettre. Beyond
the varied adjustments and reworking of the song as they knew it from the Arsenio recordings, they decided to make one change in the lyrics, so as to bring
the original up to date and in line with the times: when the coro in Arsenios
tune sings igual bailan mambo que el danzn, the singers in the new group replace the danzn reference with the dance sound of young people in the Bronx
today: igual balian mambo que reggaetn. It is in that irreverent, experimen-
Salsa Memory / 265
tal spirit in their relation to the folkloric giant Arsenio Rodrguez that the new
incarnation of Grupo Folklrico is revisiting itselfand asks to be revisited
as a cultural phenomenon.
We are writing in July 2008, and preparations are by now underway for the
concert on November 1 at Hostos Community College. It promises to continue
the revisiting process and to take the re-creation of Grupo to an even higher
level. First off, they will be rejoined by Jerry Gonzlez, who could not take part
in the DC event. There are also plans for cameo appearances by important
complementary musicians. Here, Grupo will be playing on their home turfin
the Bronx, Nueva York, of their folklore and their experimentationso the interaction and energy should be even more symbiotic than in the earlier reunion
concerts. What exactly to expect is hard to tell, of course, what with the very
special assortment of musicians, all involved in wide-ranging projects of their
own and sure to bring some of that to the session.
But the one planned feature of the program that holds my deepest interest
and curiosity is the inclusion of Eddie Palmieri making an appearance on piano
to play his signature hit of all time, a Grupo version of Mueca. What will the
masters of Grupo do with this contagious song from the La Perfecta album Lo
Que Traigo Es Sabroso from 1964. How will they and Eddie revisit that cherished number that all of them have played many times, which, perhaps more
than any other song, can be identied with salsa as a musical modality even
though it was written and popular years before the music was called by that
name.
Here, with the anticipated Grupo/Eddie version of Mueca, musical
memory comes full circle, since most of the original core members of Grupo
Folklricothe Gonzalez brothers, Nelson, Manny, Oscar Hernndez, Jose Rodrigueseither cut their teeth playing with Eddie or are a result of the revolution he wreaked on New York Latin music in the early 1960s. Ren Lpez even
refers to the original Grupo as an Eddie Palmieri Alumni Band.5 By way of explanation, Lpez states that the whole Grupo concept and experience grew out
of the musical era ushered in by Palmieris trombanga, including the dialectic
of folklore and experimentation that was their hallmark.
Revisiting La Perfecta and revisiting Grupo Folklrico are thus part of the
same process, which is in a larger sense about revisiting salsa. These two efforts
are about re-creating, respectively, the seeds and the harvest of salsa, thus critically anking its boom period from both historical directions. Call it revisiting or even revival, both reunions are about activating musical memory. They
are about continuing the unending struggle to uphold and to experiment with
266
folklorethat is, with deeply rooted Afro-Caribbean expressive traditions

and to ground creative experimentation in the fertile soil of that folklore.
postscript
Grupo did it again: they blew people away. The long-awaited November 1, 2008,
concert at Hostos Community College left the packed auditorium enthralled
and demanding more. From all appearances, the crowd was indeed comprised
of the salsa sophisticates one would expect at a Grupo reunion concert over
thirty years later: mainly New York Puerto Ricans and African Americans who
had lived and loved Grupo since way back when, in the salsa seventies, and were
in the know about the special, inimitable quality that Grupo stood for in the
Latin music rmament of those years and ever since. Call them Grupomaniacs, but they hung on every note, recognized the tunes from the rst chord,
and, while fully present before the newly constituted group, found themselves
collectively wafted back to an earlier period in their sonic lives. This must be
what Eddie Palmieri had in mind when he was talking about revisiting a great
and indelible cultural moment.
Eddie himself had other obligations that night and was unable to take part.
So though still on the agenda, the new, Grupo version of Mueca will have to
await future opportunities. There were other unexpected changes of plan as
well, the most notable of them occasioned by the passing away of the great Orlando Puntilla Ros in August. The loss was profound, throughout the AfroLatino musical and spiritual community and of course for Grupo, where his
role and sheer presence in its new incarnation have been central. But in the
Hostos concert, held in Puntillas memory, Grupo demonstrated the wisdom of
their guiding concept of improvisation: in facing this and other challenges, they
were able to replace the irreplaceable by once again adapting their format and
building on new strengths. The young Afro-Cuban drummer, singer, and
dancer Pedrito Martnez joined the group in Puntillas unexpected absence and
surpassed the hopes of all but those who already knew of his inspirational talent in all three capacities. His strong presence throughout the concert was no
doubt one of the highlights of the evening.
Another surprise was the participation of the veteran Puerto Rican vocalist
Israel Berros, who was a vocalist in Arsenios band in New York during the
1950s and 1960s and musical director of the New Yorkbased son group Son de
la Loma in subsequent years. He captivated the audience with his renditions of
a bolero and a danza and of course served as lead voice in La Gente del Bronx,
Salsa Memory / 267
which brought the proud hometown crowd to its feet. In recognition of the
largely Nuyorican audience, the group decided to bring back the plena from its
rst album, Adelaida, with its irresistible and hilarious chorus Si me pego en
el pool (yo me caso contigo) (If I hit the lottery (Ill marry you)).6 Originally
performed by the early New York plena group Victor Montaez y Sus Pleneros
de la 110, the lead was assumed in this 2008 rendition by the young Nuyorican
drummer and singer Alex Lasalle, and his vibrant energy and powerful voice
electried the hall.
As Grupo Folklrico II moves forward and aspires to a longer life span than
the rst time around, the principle of descarga continues to guide the project in
all its aspects. Even the shifting personnel and repertoire go to illustrate the
groups inherent ability to be exible, its commitment to improvisation. What
amazes and delights even the musicians themselves is performing these complex and demanding musical compositions without arrangements and without
even a set plan for any given execution. With Grupo, unlike in the other bands
they lead or play with, it is arrange as you go, within each tune and in the lineup
of songs and even musicians on any given occasion. Condent musicianship is
of course a prerequisite to such exibility and open-endedness and to such a
free hand with the musical traditions. But as Jerry Gonzlez and his startling
jazz-guaguanc rendition of two Pedro Flores standards, Obsesin and
Perdn, demonstrated perhaps more powerfully than anything else on that
already historic November 1 evening in the South Bronx, Grupo is, by its very
nature and in its founding concept, about resisting and refusing formula and
standardization. It is steeped in traditions, from bolero to rumba guaguanc,
but those traditions might be interwoven among themselves and laced
through, in this case, with Gerrys signature Miles Davissounding muted
horn. Grupo is faithfully folkloric and boldly experimental Nueva York style.
In our times, perhaps even more than the mid-1970s, when Fania Records
was taking salsa in a strongly commercial, formulaic direction, there is a need
for that alternative idea of what salsa is about and to restore it to its improvisational intentions, to that delicate balance between tradition and innovation
that Grupo stands for by denition. La Perfecta showed the way and opened the
door to this new stylistic practice back in the 1960s, at the threshold of salsa history, and the Eddie Palmieri Alumni Band, Grupo Folklrico y Experimental
Nuevayorquino, upheld and continued that alternative musical concept and
practice as salsas heyday was beginning to wane. Today, La Perfecta II and
Grupo II, as revisited by their original proponents, are once again holding the
line against the rampant standardization and dilution of that rich musical
268
legacy. Salsa memory is about tapping history and reinstating descarga to the
center of Afro-Latino musical expression.
Notes
The authors would like to thank Kwami Coleman for his contribution to this essay.
1. Gonzlez, interview, 115.
2. Rondn, Book of Salsa, 96.
3. Ren Lpez discussed the relation of the founding of Grupo to this resistance to
Fania in his June 28, 2008, interview on the Washington DC radio show Latin Flavor. In
personal conversation in September 2008, Nelson Gonzlez told me that Grupo was
sometimes referred to as el cuco de la Fania, the haunting spirit, as it were, of the powerful record label.
4. I differ here with the interpretation offered by Rondn, who claims that the salsa
boom had indirectly affected the group, poisoning its folk music and its experimentation (Book of Salsa, 248).
5. Lpez, interview.
6. The phrase me pego en el pool refers to the betting pool in bolita, based on the
horse races. This line was unfortunately improperly translated in the English version of
Rondns Book of Salsa (on p. 242, it reads, if I win at pool).
Bibliography
Gonzlez, A. Interview. In SalsaTalks, ed. Mary Kent. Altamonte Springs, FL: Digital Domain, 2005.
Rondn, C. M. The Book of Salsa. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2008.
Epilogue: Performing MemoriesThe Atlantic

Theater of Cultural Production and Exchange
carroll smith-rosenberg
Rhythms of the Afro-Atlantic World emerges out of a conference, Rhythms of

the Atlantic World: Rituals and Remembrances, held at the University of
Michigan in the spring of 2005. Conference participants explored the ways the
peoples of the Atlantic turned to music, dance, and religious rituals to express
their experiences of crossing and recrossing that ocean of tears and misremembering: not only their sorrows and fears, but also their resilience and resistance
to oppression, the joys they took from life and love, the desires that drove them.
Scholars from Brazil, West Africa, Europe, the Caribbean, and the United States
reported on the gestures, rhythms, bodily movements, and song patterns that
followed often reluctant travelers from Iberia to the Cape Verde Islands, from
Senegal and the Bight of Biafra to Bahia and Surinam, and thence across the
Caribbean to New Orleans, Charleston, and New Yorkand, at times, back
again. Sessions described how, through song and dance, Atlantic peoples performed barely remembered traditions, stories of worlds they had never known
and their hopes for unseen futures. Papers reported on conicting elements in
Trinidadian and Brazilian carnivals; the movement of Jews displaced from
Spain and Portugal to Senegal and the transformation of their musical traditions within the Afro-Jewish communities they formed there; the ow of architectural forms from Senegal to Portugal to Brazil, of ritual dances from West
Africa to Guiana to syncratic fusion churches in the Bronxor, counterclockwise, from Africa to Cuba and Brazil and down to Argentina, where they assumed the tangos many-layered forms. At all times, conference participants
asked about memories and transgurations, how distant origins surfaced as
269
270
suppressed pentimentos, unconscious vestiges embodied in muscle memories,

speech patterns, and rhythmic gestures. The conference was interdisciplinary,
transregional, and transnational. Rhythms of the Afro-Atlantic World has selected presentations that focus on contemporary music, dance, and religious
rituals, especially as they gure Afro-Atlantic interconnections and the complex ways cultural performances connect the local to the global. The volumes
underlying concern is with the ways cultural performances create sites of AfroAtlantic political agency and empowerment. In all these ways, the conference
represented the particular vision of the University of Michigan Atlanticists.
Who were the scholars who made up Michigans Atlantic community, the
individuals who imagined Rhythms of the Atlantic and brought it into existence? Some of us had long-standing connections with the Universitys Latin
American and Caribbean Studies Program, others with the Center for African
and African American Studies, still others with the American Culture Program,
which included in its commodious folds Native American, Latino, and Arab
American studies, or with the History and English Departments, with their
strong foci on African, U.S., Caribbean, and European history and literature.
We reached out, as well, to the Law School, to draw in colleagues connected
with an international research and teaching project, The Law in Slavery and
Freedom, as well as to fellow researchers at Michigan State University. Many of
us drew our inspiration from diasporic and race studies, from examining the
impact that the Middle Passage, chattel slavery, peonage, and racial discrimination had on the formation of contemporary Atlantic cultures and politics. Others focused on the impact of colonialism on indigenous and exploited peoples
around the Atlantic and on their patterns of political and cultural resistance,
still others on comparative emancipation studies. Some of us were drawn by literary historian Joseph Roachs vision of a circum-Atlantic world formed and
transformed through cultural performances as varied as jazz funerals, Mardi
Gras, and theatrical performances. The circum-Atlantic world, as Roach
imagined it, insists on the centrality of the diasporic and genocidal histories of
Africa and the Americas, North and South, in the creation of the culture of
modernity. While a great deal of the unspeakable violence instrumental to
this creation may have been ofcially forgotten, he explained, circum-Atlantic
memory retains its consequences, one of which is that the unspeakable cannot
be rendered forever inexpressible.1 Only partially-forgotten memories repeatedly resurface in circum-Atlantic music, dance, theater, and religious rituals.
Reembodiments of the past, reinventions of the unsuccessfully repressed, they
substitute present creativity for past traumas.2 Crossing national and ethnic di-
Epilogue
/ 271
visions, densely layering inherited forms with current experiences, they come
together to create an oceanic interculture.3
The object of Michigans Atlantic Studies Initiative was to interweave our
disparate perspectives; to encourage discussions and team teaching among
Latin American, Caribbean, British, and African historians, anthropologists,
and literary critics; to open the borders constraining U.S. history within landlocked connes. We offered courses on comparative indigeneities, comparative
slaveries, revolutions, and empires; the material Atlantic; and sexualities and
the discourses of modernity. Out of our discussions and interdisciplinary
courses, a multilayered vision of a circum-Atlantic world emerged, a vision
that was, at times, conicted and contradictory, but always open-ended and interdisciplinary. We insisted on positioning the South (Africa and South America) and the twin archipelagos of the Cape Verde Islands and the Caribbean at
the center of our vision of Atlantic studies. We repeatedly explored the Atlantics relation to modernity, to modernitys origins in the fteenth and sixteenth centuries as well as to the postmodern world of global capitalism. Europes exploitation of the natural resources and rich lands of the South, we
argued, its penetration of the sub-Saharan gold trade, its seizure of gold and
silver from Mexico and Peru, its trade in the addictive crops of Brazil and the
Caribbean (sugar, coffee, chocolate, and spices) and in the most revolutionary
commodity of all, human bodies from the Americas and Africa, greatly enriched European economies, stimulating the commercial and industrial revolutions. Long before textile factories fouled the air of Lancaster and Manchester, modern industrial systems developed on and across the Atlantic: on British
and Dutch trading vessels, where, as Peter Linebaugh and Marcus Rediker argue, large numbers of men, subject to harsh, industrial disciple, cooperated on
complex and synchronized tasks . . . subordinated to mechanical equipment;
on the large-scale plantations of Brazil, Surinam, and the Caribbean, where
sugar was not only grown but rened and where the bodies of eld hands constituted the systems movable parts.4 The Atlantics economic revolutions,
partnered with its political revolutions, produced the rst modern republics
(the United States and France) and the rst postcolonial independent nations
(the United States and Haiti)along with that ultimate expression of political
modernity, the afrmation of mans inalienable right to life, liberty, and happiness. This last point should not surprise us. Liberty and slavery wound around
one another in the circum-Atlantic world, for, as Toni Morrison argues, liberty
cannot be imagined except in opposition to chattel slavery.5 Inspired by eighteenth-century declarations of the rights and equality of man, new indepen-
272
dent republics took form across Latin America in the early nineteenth century.
Political modernity stepped forth upon the world stage.
To these economic and political themes, others of us of brought a cultural
studies concern with performancenot only literal performances, as in music
or dance, but also performances of the most inner sense of self. Turning to the
proliferating literatures of the early modern and modern eras, we sought evidence of the emergence of modern subjectivities, the decentered subject dependent on others for her/his sense of self. While Hegel did not formulate his
master/slave conundrum until the late eighteenth century, we found examples
far earlier, in Prosperos dependence on Calliban and Crusoes on Friday. Others of us looked at the fragmented Caribbean subject as she emerged in Jean
Rhyss novels and the rootless, centerless subject depicted so differently by
Claude McKay and Nella Larsen. At the same time, we invited Brazilian artists
to display their work, listened to Caribbean poets, watched the lms of Isaac Julian and Sembene Ousmane. In short, we sought the origins of the modern cosmopolitan subject in the ow of circum-Atlantic literature and performance.
Always, we insisted on seeing the circum-Atlantic as a whole, never ignoring the centrality of Africa to the Atlantic experience, at the same time as we refused to divide the Atlantic into a Black Atlantic and a Western Atlantic centered on struggles between indigenous Americans and European imperialists.
Such a division would inevitably marginalize African diasporic peoples and
cultures in Latin America and indigenous Americans in the Caribbean. Most
seriously, it would ignore the ways their systemic exploitation by Europeans
were interrelatedas were the oppresseds efforts at resistance. Indeed, precisely what intrigued us was the interaction of peoples and culturesand
modes of oppressionaround and across an Atlantic that was at all times
black, red, and white. Organizing conferences and exchanging and commenting on one anothers papers, we worked to rene a University of Michigan vision of the Atlantic world and Atlantic culture. Rhythms of the Afro-Atlantic
World exemplies this visionat the same time as it expands and enriches it.
Insisting on the dynamic ow of cultural forms and traditions from West
Africa to Brazil, Haiti, Cuba, New York, Paris, and back again, Rhythms of the
Afro-Atlantic World inscribes the circum-Atlantic as a theater of cultural exchange and production. In tracing these movements and transformations, it insists on the critical importance of the bodys sensuality in linking past memories to present creativity, building on a long-standing tradition in black Atlantic
studies that stretches from W. E. B. Du Bois, through Alain Locke, Langston
Hughes, Claude McKay, Aim Csaire, and Leopold Sdar Senghor, to Paul
Epilogue
/ 273
Gilroy and current musicologists. Not only does Rhythms insist on the vital interconnectedness of cultural performance and political enactments; in doing
so, it problematizes the traditional division of global and local.
Pointing to Afro-Atlantic communities active participation in the transformation of African cultural traditions into new cultural forms through the appropriation of modern technologies, Rhythms of the Afro-Atlantic World problematizes not only the local/global binary but our understandings of tradition
and hence of modernity itself. As explained by Senegalese dancer/choreographer Germaine Acogny (the subject of one of the essays in Rhythms), tradition
is not . . . a sleeping lake but a sea with waves coming and bringing new things.6
For half a millennium, African cultural forms have been dispersed and reformed across the diasporadisrupted, disempowered, and reassembled during colonization. Commodied, born aloft on radio signals and Internet connections, they have returned to Africa, where, yet again, they are being
reappropriated, transformed, and politicized. Swirling around the circum-Atlantic, Afro-Atlantic cultural forms refuse the dichotomies of local/global and
traditional/modernjust as Rhythms of the Afro-Atlantic World refuses the dichotomy of cultural/political. This is the complex, multilayered and interactive
vision Rhythms holds up to its readers. Like Afro-Atlantic cultural performances, Rhythms links traumatic and resistant memories to current creativity
and political agency. Refusing to forget, it forges new directions.
Notes
1. Joseph Roach, Cities of the Dead: Circum-Atlantic Performance (New York: Columbia University Press, 1996), 4.
2. Ibid., 2.
3. Ibid., 4.
4. Marcus Rediker and Peter Linebaugh, The Many-Headed Hydra: Sailors, Slaves,
Commoners, and the Hidden History of the Revolutionary Atlantic (Boston: Beacon,
2000), 150.
5. Toni Morrison, Playing in the Dark: Whiteness and the Literary Imagination (New
York: Vintage, 1993).
6. Interview with Ralph Lemon, April 2009, Program Notes, Fly: Five First Ladies of
Dance, May 30/31, 2009, 651 Arts, New York.
Contributors
editors:
Mamadou Diouf is Leitner Family Professor of African Studies at Columbia University, Middle East and Asian Languages and Cultures and History Departments,
and Director of the Institute of African Studies. He has taught at the University of
Michigan, Ann Arbor, and the University Cheikh Anta Diop in Dakar (Senegal) and
served as Director of the Research Program at the Council for the Development of
Social Science Research in Africa (CODESRIA). His research focuses on urban and
cultural studies; performance studies; and citizenship in West Africa, Senegal in
particular. He has published and edited numerous articles and books, including Le
Kajoor au 19me sicle: Pouvoir Ceddo et Conqute Coloniale (1990) and Une Histoire
du Senegal: Le Modle Islamo-Wolof et ses priphries (2001) and coedited (with
Mara A. Leichtman) New Perspectives on Islam in Senegal: Conversion, Migration,
Wealth, Power, and Femininity (2009).
Ifeoma Kiddoe Nwankwo is currently Associate Professor of English at Vanderbilt
University. She specializes in comparative analyses of U.S. African American and
Caribbean literature and popular culture (including that from the Hispanophone
Caribbean and the circum-Caribbean portions of Central America). She is author of
Black Cosmopolitanism: Racial Consciousness and Transnational Identity in the Nineteenth-Century Americas (2005), editor of African Routes, Caribbean Roots, Latino
Live (a special issue of the Journal of Latin American and Caribbean Ethnic Studies),
and founding director of Voices from Our America, an international public scholarship project. Nwankwos articles and reviews have appeared in American Literary
History, Radical History Review, and Callaloo, among other venues. Topics have included U.S. African AmericanLatin American/Latino relations; the mechanics of
memory in bicultural, bilingual Black communities; and the politics of intraracial
translation. For her work, Dr. Nwankwo has been awarded fellowships from the Ford
Foundation, the DeWitt Wallace Foundation, and the Woodrow Wilson National
275
276
contributors
Fellowship Foundation. She taught at the University of Michigan from 19992006

and co-directed the University of Michigan Atlantic Studies Initiative from
20042006.
contributors:
Melvin L. Butler is currently Assistant Professor of Music at the University of
Chicago. After studying performance and jazz composition at Berklee College of
Music (BM Cum Laude 1993), he pursued graduate degrees in Jazz Studies and Ethnomusicology, earning his PhD (2005) from New York University. Based on eldwork among Pentecostal Christians in African Caribbean and African American
communities, his doctoral dissertation examined the dynamics of musical experience, national identity, and religious practice in Haiti, Jamaica, and New York City.
Butler has presented his research at meetings of the Society for Ethnomusicology,
the Inter-American Conference on Black Music Research, the International Association for the Study of Popular Music, and other venues. His published articles and
reviews have appeared in Ethnomusicology, Journal of the American Academy of Religion, Black Music Research Journal, Current Musicology, Journal of Popular Music
Studies, and Current Musicology. In addition to receiving a Fulbright IIE eld research grant (2002), Butler is the recipient of a Ford Foundation Predoctoral Fellowship (19992003) and was the 20045 Thurgood Marshall Dissertation Fellowin-Residence at Dartmouth College.
Yvonne Daniel is Professor Emerita of Dance and Afro-American Studies at Smith
College and was a Rockefeller Fellow at the Center for Black Music Research,
20056. As a dance artist and musician, she has performed, choreographed, and
taught Caribbean dance for over thirty years. As a scholar, she has done eldwork in
Haiti, Cuba, Brazil, Suriname, and Martinique, and she presents her ndings both
at academic conferences and in community settings. She has published two books,
Rumba: Dance and Social Change in Contemporary Cuba (1995) and Dancing Wisdom: Embodied Knowledge in Haitian Voudou, Cuban Yorumba, and Bahian Candombl (2005), and over twenty articles, chapters, encyclopedia entries, and reviews
and has edited four documentary videos on Caribbean dance and African American religions. Dancing Wisdom won the de la Torre Bueno Prize given by the Society of Dance History Scholars.
Juan Flores is Professor of Latino Studies in the Department of Social and Cultural
Analysis at New York University. He teaches, lectures, and writes about Puerto
Rican and Latino culture, theories of culture and popular culture, diaspora studies
contributors
/ 277
and transnational community, Latino literature and music, and Afro-Latino culture
and history. His book publications include Poetry in East Germany, Divided Borders,
La venganza de Cortijo, From Bomba to Hip-Hop, The Diaspora Strikes Back, and
Bugal y otros guisos. He is the translator of Memoirs of Bernardo Vega and Cortijos
Wake (El entierro de Cortijo) by Edgardo Rodrguez Juli, and he is a coeditor of On
Edge: The Crisis of Contemporary Latin American Culture and the Blackwell Companion to Latina/o Studies. He won the Casa de las Amricas Prize in 1980 for his essay Insularismo e ideologa burguesa and in 2009 for Bugal y otros guisos, and in
2008 was honored with the Latino Legacy Award from the Latino Center at the
Smithsonian Institution. Flores serves on a range of advisory and editorial boards
and is a founding member of the Afrolatin@ Forum.
Susan Leigh Foster is Professor in the Department of World Arts and Cultures at
the University of California, Los Angeles. Choreographer, dancer, writer, Foster began presenting concerts of her own work in 1977. Since that time she has created
several solo concerts that she has toured in the United States, Canada, and Europe.
Her publications include Reading Dancing: Bodies and Subjects in Contemporary
American Dance (1986), Choreography and Narrative: Ballets Staging of Story and
Desire (1996), and Dances That Describe Themselves: The Improvised Choreography
of Richard Bull (2003).
Deidre R. Gantt is an adjunct English faculty member at Prince Georges Community College in Largo, Maryland, where she serves as the faculty adviser for Reections Literary and Arts Magazine. She holds an MFA in creative writing from Emerson College and a BA in sociology from the University of Southern California. Her
research interests focus on the communicative functions of creative arts in communities and nations throughout the African Diaspora, with an emphasis on the
interplay between shared traditions and local customs. She has been published in
several literary journals and anthologies, including Brilliant Corners: A Journal of
Jazz and Literature and Gathering Ground: A Reader Celebrating Cave Canems First
Decade. Most recently, she has been writing and performing poetry over go-go, jazz,
gospel, and Caribbean musical forms.
Ren Lpez is an internationally acclaimed authority on Afro-Cuban and U.S. Latin
music. His work as a producer, collector, and educator on the subject has resulted in
a foundational contribution to public knowledge about these inuential cultural
elds. Lopez has worked closely with such major musical innovators as Arsenio Rodriguez, Eddie Palmieri, Israel Cachao Lopez, Chucho Valdez, and many others.
278
contributors
His accomplishments have been acknowledged by the Smithsonian Institution, Jazz

at Lincoln Center, and various cultural institutions in Cuba and Puerto Rico.
Patricia van Leeuwaarde Moonsammy, Assistant Professor and Distinguished
Chair of Africana Studies at Dickinson College, received her PhD in Anthropology
from the University of Michigan in 2009. Her scholarly interests lie at the intersection of expressive culture, social activism, and the politics of representation and
subjectivity in the Caribbean and throughout the African Diaspora. With funding
from the National Science Foundation and the University of Michigans Center for
World Performance Studies, she spent two and a half years conducting eldwork in
Trinidad and Tobago, exploring the dynamic relationships that exist between
people of African and South Asian Indian ancestry and documenting how these relationships are expressed through performance. Her dissertation, Rapso Warriors:
Poetic Performance, Revolution, and Conscious Art Music in Trinidad and Tobago,
employs performance analysis and oral history to document the evolution and politics of rapso, a genre of music whose practitioners advocate for social justice.
Halifu Osumare has been involved with dance and African American culture internationally for over thirty years as a dancer, choreographer, teacher, administrator,
and scholar. She is a 20089 Fulbright Scholar for Ghana, West Africa; holds a PhD
in American Studies from the University of Hawaii at Manoa; and has a BA in
dance and an MA in the ethnology of dance. Currently, she is Associate Professor of
African American Studies at the University of California, Davis, and she was a
member of the dance faculty of Stanford University from 1981 to 1993. She has published extensively on global hip-hop, including her book The Africanist Aesthetic in
Global Hip Hop: Power Moves (2007).
Deborah Smith Pollard is Associate Professor of English Literature at the University of Michigan, Dearborn. Her research centers on contemporary issues in gospel
music like the praise and worship movement, the changing dress code, and holy hip
hop. Her publications include her book, When the Church Becomes Your Party: Contemporary Gospel Music (Wayne State University Press, 2008), which was named a
Michigan Notable Book for 2009, as well as articles in academic journals like the
Arkansas Review: A Journal of Delta Studies, Womanist Theory and Research, CEA
Critic, and the CLA Journal. Since 1994 she has been the host and producer of Strong
Inspirations on FM 98 WJLB, the Detroit areas top rated urban station. In 2005 she
was named Gospel Announcer of the Year during the 20th Annual Stellar Music
Awards, often called The Grammys of Gospel. From 1983 to 2004, she produced
contributors
/ 279
two of the countrys largest free outdoor gospel festivals, Detroits McDonalds
GospelFest and the Motor City Praisefest, and from 2002 to 2006, she was the Director of the African and African American Studies program at the University of
Michigan, Dearborn.
Millery Polyn is Assistant Professor of American Studies at New York Universitys
Gallatin School of Individualized Study. Polyn is a historian of the African Diaspora in the Americas, and his research interests and publications highlight U.S.
African American and Afro-Caribbean cultural, political, and economic initiatives
in the 19th and 20th centuries. A former Frederick Douglass Postdoctoral Fellow at
the University of Rochester, Polyn has published several peer-reviewed articles in
Caribbean journals, including Caribbean Studies and Wadabagei. He is the author
of From Douglass to Duvalier: U.S. African Americans, Haiti, and Pan Americanism,
18701964 and is working on a second project that examines the cultural politics of
race, space, and urban memory in Boston, Massachusetts.
Raquel Z. Rivera is a writer and Affiliated Scholar of the Center for Puerto Rican
Studies at Hunter College. She coedited an anthology with Deborah Pacini Hernandez and Wayne Marshall entitled Reggaeton (2009). Her book New York Ricans
from the Hip Hop Zone was published in 2003 and is already in its fth printing. Her
academic articles on popular culture have been published in various books and
journals. As a freelance journalist, she has been published in numerous magazines
and newspapers, including Vibe, One World, Urban Latino, El Diario/La Prensa,
Hoy, San Juan Star, El Nuevo Da, Claridad, and Dilogo.
Carroll Smith-Rosenberg is the Mary Frances Berry Collegiate Professor, Emeritus, University of Michigan. She is the author of This Violent Empire: The Birth of an
American National Identity; Disorderly Conduct: Visions of Gender in NineteenthCentury America; and Religion and the Rise of the American City, in addition to numerous articles. She is presently at work on a bookConstituting Atlantic Citizenship: Race and Citizenship/Universalism and Exclusion in the Age of Revolution. She
is the recipient of scholarly awards from the Guggenheim Foundation; the Institute
for Advanced Study, Princeton; the Ford Foundation; the Rockefeller Foundation;
the American Council of Learned Societies; Center for the Study of Ideas and Society, University of California. She founded and directed the Atlantic Studies program at the University of Michigan and is currently director of the Atlantic Studies
at The Graduate Center, City University of New York.
280
contributors
Luca M. Surez is Associate Professor of Spanish at Amherst College. Born in

Spain of Cuban parents in transit to their new life in the United States, she has been
shaped by, and is deeply committed to, transatlantic studies. Her research and work
have taken her around the world to places such as Brazil, Cuba, the Dominican Republic, Haiti, and France. She is the author of The Tears of Hispaniola: Haitian and
Dominican Diaspora Memory (2006) and the coeditor (with Ruth Behar) of The
Portable Island: Cubans at Home in the World (2008). Surez has written articles and
reviews on dance, human rights, and Caribbean literatures and lm, which have appeared in the Journal of Haitian Studies, World Literature Today, Callaloo, and Latin
American Literary Review, among other volumes. A Ford Foundation Fellow, she is
currently writing her book Seeking Democracy through Dance: Afro-Bahian Dance
Traditions, & Cultural Agency.
Umi Vaughan is an artist and experimental ethnographer who explores dance, creates photographs, and publishes various works about African Diasporic culture. He
has conducted extensive anthropological research in Cuba about Afrocuban music
and dance and has created numerous scholarly presentations, art exhibits, and cultural events in the United States and abroad. He holds a PhD in Cultural Anthropology from the University of Michigan, and his photographic work has been commissioned for the permanent collection of Alameda County and the City of
Oakland, California (2007, 2008). He is currently Assistant Professor of Africana
Studies at California State University, Monterey Bay. In Fall 2008 he introduced an
exciting new course called Afro Cuba Hip Hop: Music and Dance in the Black Atlantic, in which students explore the social history and actual practice of music/
dance styles from throughout the African Diaspora.
Index
Alternative Dimensions Concert, 226

lvarez, Adalberto, 24346
Alvarez, Henny, 25960, 262, 263
Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre, 115
American Negro Ballet (193739), 14648
Anan, Ko, 172
Anderson, Benedict, 100
Andrade, Mario de, 105
Andrade, Oswald de, 97, 101
anthropophagy (Brazil), 910, 97, 101, 112
Appadurai, Arjun, 95, 108
Araiz, Oscar, 100
Arar dances (Cuba), 2324
Arciniegas, Manuela, 18990, 193, 195
Argentina, 100, 1034, 118n18
Armenteros, Chocolate, 25961, 263
Ashanti, Kariamu Welsh, 122
Associated Negro Press, 148
Augustin, Papa, 145
Austin-Broos, Diane J., 52
Australia, 124
Abaku dances (Cuba), 2324

Acogny, Germaine, 10, 12227, 13033,
134n9
Acosta, Leonardo, 238, 248
Adams, Yolanda, 42
Adejunmobi, Moradewun, 169
African
dance aesthetic, 12133, 134n17, 14647
diaspora. See diaspora
hip-hop, 1213, 16176
oratory, 5960
African American
church, 55, 5965, 67, 69, 71
hip-hop, 8, 1214, 16168, 170, 17376,
221, 228
identity, 122, 127, 130, 14445
Pentecostals, 47, 51
Africanhiphop.com, 16568
Africanist aesthetic, 162, 164, 170, 17475,
176n2
Africanist Aesthetic in Global Hip-Hop:
Power Moves, The (2007), 162
African Peoples Socialist Party, 173
Afro-American Folksong: A Study in
Racial and National Music, 3
Afrolution Records, 161
AIDS, 112
Ailey, Alvin, 122, 12930
Ainsi parla loncle (So Spoke the Uncle),
143
Akan symbols, 175
Alegre All-Stars, 258
Ali, Muhammad, 68, 70
Alkire, Helen, 126
allmusic.com, 62
Alma Moy, 18592, 194
Babenco, Hector, 109

Bacardi beach, Cuba, 21
Bahamas, 23
Baker, Houston, 4
Balanchine, George, 122
Balbuena, Brbara, 246
ballet, 10, 100, 114, 12329, 14550, 187
Ballet du Vingtieme Siecle (Brussels), 125
Bal Ngre (1946), 144
Banco Popular, 182
Baraka, Amiri (Leroi Jones), 3, 234
Barnett, Claude, 14849
Barn del Cementerio (Baron of the
Cemetery), 18889
281
282
index
Barton, Halbert, 18384, 19394

bat drumming (Cuba), 30
batarumba (Cuba), 3031
Bausch, Pina, 102
Bawon Simity, 18889
Beatty, Talley, 127
Beauchamps, Pierre, 124
Beenie Man, 5051
Bjart, Maurice, 12526
Belo Horizonte, Brazil, 9899, 102, 1045,
11314
Bentez-Rojo, Antonio, 249
Benjamin, Walter, 99
Bennett, Andy, 16465
Bennett, Robert, 5
Berros, Israel, 26667
Berthoz, Alain, 132
Bethune, Mary McLeod, 144
Bezerra de Mello, Yvonne, 11011
Bible Break (album), 62
Bicentennaire Exposition Internationale,
144
Biggham, Milton, 63
Bilby, Kenneth, 41
Birth of African-American Culture, The, 6
Black Arts Movement, 130
Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double
Consciousness, The, 4
Black Entertainment Television (BET),
42
Blackman, Gareld. See Lord Shorty
Blackman, Sheldon, 21519, 22324,
22628, 230n6
Black Nationalism, 227, 231n17
Black Noise, 165
Black Pentecostalism, 60
Black Power Revolution (1970s), 220
Black Semantics, 61
Black Uhuru, 173
Blackwell, Scott, 62
Blaine, Vicki, 126
Blaxploitation lms (1970s), 174
Blood Spilla, 67
Blow Way (song), 21920
blues, 58, 167, 175
BMG 44, 16768
bomba, 12, 17895, 196n40
and Alma Moy, 18592, 194
and maroon aesthetic, 18588
nationalizing and transnationalizing,

18185
three cultures of, 182
Bonne, Angel, 236
Book of Revelation (Bible), 6869, 73n56
Borges, L, 1045
Boul Fale (song), 170
Bourdieu, Pierre, 10, 121
Boyer, Horace C., 61
Branch, William (Duce) (The Ambassador), 5657, 65, 67
Brant, Fernando, 1014
Brathwaite, Edward Kamau, 6, 170
Brazil, 2, 910, 19, 29, 37n33, 7980,
8384, 86, 8990, 95119
and artists, 11213
the body, 10815
and citizenship, 9596, 111, 11315
as colonial country, 105
and dance, 1058
and modernity, 9799, 11215
national identity, 9597, 1034, 108
national unity, 100
and violence, 9596, 102, 10910, 115
See also anthropophagy; Corpo
Cidado; Grupo Corpo
Brazilian Candombl, 8, 80, 8788
Breakaway online magazine, 62, 72n33
Breaking New Ground, 227
Brierre, Jean, 137, 145
Brother Book, 220, 223, 230n16
Brother Resistance, 21620, 22223,
22628, 231n16, 231n19
Brown, Chuck, 200202, 2057, 210
Buena Vista Social Club, 23
Buenos Aires, 100, 1034
Bureau dEthnologie, 143, 15051
Bus 174, 10, 10912
Bush, George W., 21, 230n16
Busta Rhymes, 166
Butler, Uriah (Buzz), 219, 227
Byron, Cheryl, 221
Cabrera, Lydia, 83
Cadilla, Mara, 181
Caesar, Shirley, 61
Cami, Nana, 104
Caldeira, Teresa, 109
Caldwell, Robert G., 142
index
call-and-response, 8, 13
Calvary Baptist Church (Salt Lake City),
66
calypso, 13, 200, 202, 2035, 208, 21416,
22021, 223, 22526, 228, 229n4,
230nn67, 230n13, 231n18, 231n27,
231n34
Calypso at Dirty Jims, 205
Calzado, David, 236, 250n1
Canada, 21, 25
Canclini, Nstor Garca, 96, 115
Candombl. See Brazilian Candombl
Cannon, Poppy, 153n12
Cap Prieto, 192
Caribbean, 67, 12, 21, 95
Caribbean Cultural Center (NYC),
17879
Caribbean New Yorkers, 12, 17895
Carnival (Trinidad), 200, 202, 2045,
2089, 21420, 22429, 231n27
Carpenter, Bill, 62
Carter, Paul, 124
Casanella, Liliana, 24041, 245
Cashless Society, 162
Cash Money Crew, 162
casino dancing (Cuba), 3031
Castriota, Leonardo Barci, 98
Castro, Fidel, 2223
Catholicism, 13941
Cepeda, Margarita (Tata), 18687
Cepeda, Modesto, 18384, 186
Csaire, Aim, 4
Channel O, 165, 171
chants, 8284
Chile, 1034
choreography, 12135
Christian rap music, 8, 5571. See also
holy hip-hop
Church on the Rock (Kingston, Jamaica), 4445
chutney soca music, 225
cimarron (runaway) existence, 31
Cimber, Alphonse, 145
Cinco de Mayo, 7980
cities, 9799, 10815
Cities and Citizenship (1999), 108
citizenship, 9596, 1089, 111, 11316
civil rights movement, 8, 55
clap-hand choruses, 7, 42
/ 283
cold war, 13637

Collazo, Julito, 263
Colombia, 223
colonialism, 2, 4, 15n3, 22, 82, 89, 91n10,
9798, 1025, 10910, 116n4, 12327,
129, 131, 133n6, 133n8, 13738, 143,
154n34, 163, 167, 17273, 180, 18283,
185, 201, 2045, 214, 217, 21922,
22728, 229n1, 230n4, 23437, 247,
24950, 250n4, 250n14, 27073
communism, 104, 13637, 243
Concepts in Unity (1975), 25657, 260
Conjunto Anabacoa, 257
Conjunto La Perfecta, 25657, 25962,
265
Conjunto Libre, 262
connective marginality, 12, 16365,
17476
consumerism, 96, 1078, 115, 165
contact zones, 116n4, 133n8
Contemporary Christian Music (CCM),
62
Cooder, Ry, 23
Coolio, 171
Cooper, Carolyn, 170
Corbin, Jon, 66
Corpo Cidado, 10, 96, 102, 11314
corporeal memory, 1011
Corts, Jos Luis, 249
Courlander, Harold, 89
Cross Movement (CM), 56, 6571, 73n56
Cross Movement Ministries, 65
Cross Movement Records (CMR), 65, 58,
65
Crouch, Andrae, 5859
Crystal Rose Records, 58
Cuba, 2, 68, 12, 14, 1936, 36n1, 37n33,
37n35, 7980, 8384, 86, 8890,
92n17, 181, 23450, 250n14, 251n19,
252n40, 252n42, 252n56, 253n58, 257.
See also Cuban dance; Cuban
tourism
Cuba Linda (song), 25960
Cuban dance, 1936, 88, 92n17, 24647
as cultural capital, 23
effects of, 3234
and experiential authenticity, 2930
and lm, 23
and international students, 2628, 35
284
index
Cuban dance (continued)

pachanga, 257
and religious community views, 2829
sacred dance, 1920, 2324, 2931
and Saturday rumba, 24, 3031
and secularization process, 29
and sex tourism, 2526, 32
tourist view of, 2426
types of, 2324, 3031
as vitamin for economy, 2022, 2628,
3135
See also orichas; salsa; timba dance
Cuban Ministry of Culture, 2223
Cuban Revolution (1959), 26, 30, 35, 248
Cuban rumba, 24
Cuban tourism, 1936, 36n1
and dance. See Cuban dance
and education, 2123
and international students, 2123,
2628, 35
sex tourism, 2526, 32
U.S. ban on, 2122
Cuban Yoruba, 8, 2324, 30, 36n1, 80, 83,
8689, 23738, 244, 252n56. See also
orichas
Cunningham, Merce, 102, 129
Dafora, Asadata, 142
DaMatta, Roberto, 109
Damba Yaribe (song), 181
dance, 111, 8589, 96, 1058, 12333,
134n17, 13655
African dance aesthetic, 12133, 134n17,
14647
and cultural circulation, 8
and divinity, 8586
emotion, and spectacle, 1058
and feelings of groundedness, 4,
12324
and improvisation, 12731
memory, 1011
and national identity, 96
and perceptual theorists, 132
and resistance, 12123, 13133
and rhythm, 8789
and slavery, 127
and tourism. See Cuban tourism
Western, 12425
See also danse folklorique Hatienne;
muscle memory; stored knowledge;

timba dance; unison movement
dancehall, 7, 14, 42, 46, 4951, 54n8,
14647, 170, 180
dance memory, 1011
danse folklorique Hatienne (Haitian
folkloric dance), 9, 13655
Danzn, 252n40
Davis, Carlene, 50
Davis, Gerald, 60
Debord, Guy, 107
DeFrantz, Thomas, 122
Delany, Martin, 4
Delgado, Issac, 241, 245
de Mille, Agnes, 14647
de Pradines, Emerante, 148
descarga principle, 262, 26768
Dessalines, Jean-Jacques, 144
Destin, Jean Lon, 13745, 148, 151,
154n31, 154nn3435
Destinys Child, 64
Development of Creole Society in Jamaica,
The, 6
diaspora (African), 29, 12, 14, 15n7, 41,
4445, 54n8, 55, 59, 8087, 128, 152,
16768, 176n2, 17981, 18487,
19092, 195, 210, 221, 246
and bomba, 181, 18487
and New York, 17981
Diawara, Manthia, 167, 17475
Dieul, Dieuf, 169
District of Columbia Home Rule Act of
1973, 205
Dixon-Gottschild, Brenda, 12122
Dja-Rara, 178
DJs, 46, 54n8, 62, 66, 72n28, 208
Dockett, Kymo, 66
Dominican Republic, 12, 17880, 185,
18794, 195n7
Donnie McClurkin: Live in London and
More (2000), 4449
Douglass, Frederick, 3
downpressed, 231n19
drumming, 13, 81, 8487, 125, 145
buried mathematics of, 8487
polymetric, 13
and tratao, 85
Du Bois, W. E. B., 34, 172, 272
Dudley, Shannon, 200
index
Duncan, Isadora, 128, 151
Dunham, Katherine, 115, 127, 12930, 137,
140, 14250, 155nn4647
Duprey, Awilda Sterling, 187
Ecole des Sables, 125, 130
Egypt, 167
Elegbara, 79, 90
El Mdico, 24143, 24546
El Nuevo Da newspaper, 184
Emancipation Day, 225, 227
embodied knowledgeS, 80, 8990
eschatology, 68
Escuela Nacional de Arte (ENA), 236,
251n20
Estim, Dumarsais, 136, 144
ethnology, 84
ethnomusicology, 13, 83
experiential librarians, 8189
Failde, Miguel, 252n40
Fania Records, 25758, 26263, 267, 268n3
Fantasia, 59
Favela Rising, 112
Fernndez, Ruth, 183
Ferreras, Salvador E., 183
Feuillet notation, 129, 133n6
Figueroa, Jos, 17880, 194
Finland, 25
Fischer, Sibylle, 153n10
Five Percent Nation, 55
ip the script, 162, 16465, 170
Flores, Pedro, 267
Fon-based dances, 24, 86, 89
Ford Foundation, 142
Foreman, Murray, 169
Formell, Juan, 24546
Foucault, Michel, 10, 121
France, 25, 123, 127, 130, 133n6, 143, 145,
163, 169
Franklin, Aretha, 59
Franklin, Kirk, 42, 47, 6365, 68, 72n42
Freyre, Gilberto, 105
Fun in the Son gospel festival (Jamaica), 50
Fussman-Mathon, Lina, 14041, 153
Gabao Hip-Hop Festival (Gabon), 161
Gambia, 161
/ 285
Garcia, Destra, 204

Garca, Willie, 259, 26263
Garvey, Marcus, 21819, 22223, 227
Gayelle, 215
Gelewsky, Rolfo, 100
genege music, 171
George, Iwer, 204, 232n34
George, Nelson, 202
Georgia Mass Choir and Gospel Music
Workshop of America, Inc., 63
Ghana, 175
Gibson, James, 132
Gilroy, Paul, 4, 100, 27273
Glimpses of Haiti, 150
Glissant, Edouard, 3
globalization, 2, 6, 8, 10, 1415, 114, 165
Godreau, Isar P., 182, 184
Gods Trombones, 59
Go-Go Coalition, 20910
Go-Go Crankin: Paint the White House
Black, 206
go-go music, 13, 200210
and audience participation, 2078
as the peoples music, 200203
and the Trinidadian identity, 2035
and the Washington, DC, identity,
2058
Golden, Gene, 263
Goler, Veta, 122
Gonzlez, Andy, 25860, 26263
Gonzlez, Celina, 31
Gonzlez, Guido, 263
Gonzlez, Jerry, 25859, 262, 265, 267
Gonzlez, Nelson, 26263, 265
Gonzlez, Neris, 24041, 245
Good Neighbor Policy, 136, 142
gospel blues, 5859
Gospel Gangstaz (holy hip-hop), 62
gospel music (African American), 7,
4150, 5859, 6163
and evangelism, 62
and holy hip-hop, 6163
intoned style of sermonizing, 44
notable gures in, 59
transnational spread of, and radio, 42
See also McClurkin, Donnie
gospel reggae (Jamaican), 78, 42, 4553,
54n8
Gospocentric Records, 63
286
index
Gottschild, Brenda Dixon, 169

G-Praize Music, 58
Graburn, Nelson, 27
Grace Thrillers, 50
Graham, Martha, 102, 125, 128, 142, 149
Graham technique, 125
Great Britain, 17273, 202, 2034, 214,
230n15
the Great Commission, 67
Green, Al, 59
Grenada, 223
groundedness, 4, 12324
Grupo Corpo (Brazilian dance company), 9, 9697, 99102, 1045,
1078, 11216, 117n16
Grupo Folklrico y Experimental Nuevayorquino, 25667, 268n3
Grupo Folklrico II, 26768
Guilbault, Jocelyne, 229n4
Guilln, Nicols, 237
Gutirrez, Juango, 191
Habermas, Jrgen, 98
Haiti, 89, 12, 19, 29, 79, 8384, 86, 8990,
115, 128, 13655, 18081, 18894
art, 13839, 150
as bridge, 180
and Catholicism, 13940
folkloric dance. See danse folklorique
Hatienne
and Kreyl, 181
music, 178
national identity, 13940, 15152
tourism, 13639
U.S. occupation of (191534), 137, 139
See also Haitian Vodou
Haitian Academy of Folklore and Classic
Dance (HAFCD), 14950
Haitian folkloric dance. See danse folklorique Hatienne
Haitian Revolution (1791), 87, 192
Haitian State Tourist Ofce, 145
Haitian Vodou, 89, 19, 80, 8788, 128,
13740, 14751, 181, 188, 193
and lwas, 87, 181, 193
yenvalu dance, 88
and zombie lms, 137
Haiti Dance, 149
Haiti Sun, 145, 151
Haiti Tourist Information Bureau

(HTIB), 13637
Haiti Week of New York (1951), 13637,
145
Hammond, Fred, 42
Hartman, Saidiya, 127, 134nn1113
Hawkins, Edwin, 5859
hedonism, 1213
Hernndez, Oscar, 258, 26263, 265
Herrion, Steven (Bugs), 207
hip-hop, 8, 1214, 42, 55, 16176, 176n17,
221, 228
African, 1213, 16176
African American, 8, 1214, 16168,
170, 17376, 221, 228
Kenyan, 17074
Latino, 163
Senegalese, 16870
underground of, 176n17
Hip-Hop Globe, 162
Hip Hop Parliament, 17172
Holland, 171
Holston, James, 95, 108
Holt, Grace Sims, 60
holy hip-hop (HHH), 47, 5571, 72n41
and Black preacher style, 5961
cultural and historical links, 5861
and gospel, 6163
lyrics, 6771
and the mainstream, 6365
and performance, 66
terminology, 5658
See also Cross Movement
Horst, Louis, 149
Hostos Community College (NYC),
26566
House of World Cultures (Haus der Kulturen der Welt) (Berlin), 26364
Hughes, Langston, 3, 14344, 272
Humphrey, Doris, 128
Hurricane Ivan, 223
Hurricane Katrina, 210
IBEX nightclub, 209
identity, 41, 4449, 96, 122, 203. See also
national identity
Il Ay, 193
improvisation, 12531, 164, 203, 240, 246,
249, 26162, 26667
index
In Search of Africa, 174
Indian Arrival Day, 225
Indian music, 200, 204, 2089
Instituto Superior de Arte (ISA), 236,
251n20
invisibility, 11011
I Walked With a Zombie (1943), 137
Jackson, Michael, 64
Jai, Rikki, 227
Jamaica, 2223, 4154, 173, 221, 227
Fun in the Son gospel festival, 50
identity expression through gospel
music, 4449
and Spring Breakers, 4950
See also Jamaican Pentecostals; reggae
Jamaica Gleaner, 4950
Jamaica Hotel and Tourist Association,
50
Jamaican Pentecostals, 78, 4144,
4754
and African American culture, 4244
dress code, 5152
gospel festival, 50
and gospel music, 4244
and gospel reggae, 5153
and Jamaicanness, 48
and Jamaica of yesteryear, 43
Jamaican Protestants, 42
Jamaica Tourist Board, 50
Jamoo rapso, 21516, 230n6
Japan, 21, 25, 163
Jay-Z, 56, 167
jazz, 3, 5859, 12728, 134n17, 14647, 167,
175
Jerkins, Rodney (Darkchild), 64
Jim Crow segregation, 146
Joachim, Paulin, 15n3
Johnson, James Weldon, 59
Jones, Elias, 202
Judson Church group, 122
Junkyard Band, 207
Kalamashaka (K-shaka), 12, 17071,
17376
Kalunga Neg Mawon, 191, 194
Kaos and Mystro, 57
kapuka, 171
Kenoly, Ron, 50
/ 287
Kenya, 2, 16162, 16668, 17074

hip-hop, 17074
Kenya African National Union, 173
Kenyatta, Jomo, 173
Kibaki, Mwai, 171
Kidd, Michael, 14950
Kikuyu ethnic group (Kenya), 171
Kingston, Jamaica, 42, 4445
Kisskidee, 226
Klauss, Vianna, 100
Knight, Brian, 202
Knowles, Beyonce, 59
Kongo-Angola Palo dances (Cuba),
2324, 30, 89, 91n10
Kongo-Bantu languages, 181
Krehbiel, Henry Edward, 3
Kreyl, 12, 18889, 193
KRS-One, 166
Kumina, 41
Kuti, Fela, 202
labor movements, 1314
Laboy, Niko, 193
La Casa de la Msica (April 2003), 242
La Charanga Habanera, 245, 250n1
Lafayette Theatre (Harlem, NY), 146
Laguerre, Michel, 83
Lane, Jason, 202
La Perfecta II, 25657, 265, 267
Lasalle, Alexander, 18586, 18889,
19295, 196n30, 267
Lataillade, Vickie Mack, 63
Latin America, 10, 12, 25, 95, 9899,
1034, 108
Latinidad, 12, 192
Latino, the term, 17879
Latino hip-hop, 163
Latin soul, 180
La Troupe Folklorique Nationale, 144,
148
La 21 Divisin, 191
Laurenti, Jean Noel, 133n6
Layne, Lancelot (Kebu), 13, 21921,
230n13
Lay This Body Down (song), 189
Leito, Jlio, 115
Leite, Carlos, 100
LeoGrande, William, 2122
Lescot, lie, 139
288
index
Lvi Strauss, Claude, 98

Liberia, 174
Limn, Jos, 102
Lindy, 128
Linebaugh, Peter, 271
Locke, Alain, 3, 272
Lo Dice Todo (1976), 256
London, 4445
Lpez, Ren, 14, 259, 26263, 265, 268n3
Lora, Osvaldo (Bemb), 193
Lord Shorty, 200, 204, 215, 220, 230n6
Lornell, Kip, 200201, 209
Los Pleneros de la 21, 191
Lost Boyz, 171
Los Van Van, 241, 246
Louis XIV, 12425
Love 101 FM (Jamaica), 42, 45
Lull, James, 165
Lund, Ktia, 109
Luo ethnic group, 177
Lyce des Jeune Filles, 148
Maal, Hamet, 169
Magloire, Grarde, 143, 150
Magloire, Paul E., 136, 138, 152n5
Makeba, Miriam, 168
Malawi, 161
Maldonado, Jorge, 263
Malone, Jacqui, 122
Mandela, Karega, 222, 227
Mango Island record label, 168
Manifesto antropfago (1928), 101
Manifesto da poesia Pau-Brasil (1924), 101
Manning, Susan, 129
Manolito y Su Trabuco (timba band),
236
marginalization, 108, 112, 16165
Marks, Morton, 83
Marley, Bob, 48
Maria Maria, 10, 96, 100105, 108,
118n18
maroon, 18588, 23450, 250n3
dened, 250n3
Mart, Jos, 237
Mart, Virgilio, 25963
Martin, Randy, 100, 106
Martnez, Pedrito, 266
Martins, Marilene, 100
Mary Mary, 6364
Mason, J. Alden, 181

Mason, John, 83
materialism, 1213, 55
Le Matin, 139
Mau Mau uprising (Kenya), 172
Mberam, Nickson, 172
McClendon, Lisa, 58
McClurkin, Donnie, 42, 4449, 54n4
McIntyre, Diane, 10, 12223, 12633,
134n1617
McKay, Claude, 3, 272
MC Lida, 168
MC Solaar, 168
Meirelles, Fernando, 109
Meralla, Emir Garca, 245
Merrique, Ozzie, 227, 232n34
methodology, 115, 26973
Mexico, 2123
Middle Passage, 3, 59, 103, 127, 170, 270
Midnight Robber, 220, 226, 228
Mintz, Sidney Wilfred, 6
Miranda, Wander Melo, 98
modern dance, 10, 96, 100, 108, 114, 123,
12630, 142, 145, 149, 15152, 155n41,
155n54, 187
Modernism and the Harlem Renaissance,
5
modernity, 45, 9, 1011, 9799, 11214,
149, 153n10
Montano, Machel, 204
Montego Bay, Jamaica, 44, 4951
Mont-Rosier, Rgine, 150
Moore, Robin, 238
Mor, Benny, 236, 251n19
Morrison, Ingrid, 5
Morrison, Toni, 271
Motown, 258
Moulin, Nelly, 111
Mount Olivet and Riversdale Pentecostal
Church, Jamaica, 4849, 53
Mowatt, Judy, 50
MTV Africa, 164
Mudra Afrique, 12526, 130
Mueca (song), 26566
muscle memory, 1011, 81, 122
music, 115, 15n7. See also gospel music;
gospel reggae; hip-hop; holy
hip-hop; reggae; rhythm and
blues
index
music maa (Trinidad and Tobago), 226
Mwe Ale (song), 193
Nascimento, Milton, 101, 104
Nascimento, Sandro, 10911
National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP),
142, 153n12
National Ballet of Senegal, 126
National Day of Rapso, 216
National Folk Festival in Washington,
DC, 14142
national identity
Brazilian, 9597, 1034, 108
and dance, 96
Haitian, 13940, 15152
Trinidad and Tobago, 214
Trinidadian, 2035, 208
Nation of Islam, 55
Nazareth, Ernesto, 102
Nazario, Luis Alvarez, 181
NDour, Yousou, 168
Nelson, Jill, 206
Nettleford, Rex, 149
Never Surrender (song), 222
New Negro, The, 3
News of Haiti, 137
New York bomba, 17895
New York City Opera, 144
NG La Banda, 240, 244, 246, 249
Nigeria, 167, 171
Nijinsky, Kyra, 14950
Ni Wakati, 171
Nkrumah, Kwame, 172
Noguet, Pedro (nico), 192
Nommo, 59
nongovernmental organizations
(NGOs), 11314
North African Arabs, 163
Norwood, Dorothy, 61
Le Nouvelliste, 143
Nu Nation Project, The (album), 63
Nurse Allende, Lester, 18485
Nyasuma, Mamadi, 2023
Obeah (1940), 14647
O Clube da Esquina, 1045
Odinga, Raila, 171
Ohio State University, 126
/ 289
Old Ship of Zion, 60

O Projecto Sambalel, 113
Oquendo, Manny, 25859, 26263, 265
Orange Democratic Party, 171
orichas, 7, 20, 26, 30, 36n1, 83, 85, 87,
244
Orozco, Danilo, 240
Ortiz, Fernando, 1, 84, 235
Osumare, Halifu, 122
OzyMajic, 227, 232n34
P. Diddy, 167
pachanga, 257
Padmore, George, 172
Palmieri, Eddie, 256, 262, 26567
Pa lo Monte, 179, 191
Pan-Africanism, 12526, 17273, 219
Paris, Arthur, 60
Patasar, Mungal, 227
Paul, the apostle, 67
Paulo F.G., 241, 248, 250n1
Peace, Michael, 62
Peaceoholics, 20910
Pederneiras, Miriam, 100, 11314
Pederneiras, Paulo, 100
Pederneiras, Pedro, 100
Pederneiras, Rodrigo, 100102, 105
Pedroso, Csar, 236, 247, 253n58
Pee Froiss, 167
Pelican Inn (Trinidad), 21519, 22829
Pentecostalism (Jamaican), 4154
Peoples National Movement, 204, 230n15
Pereira, Vilma, 111
Phanatik (Brady Goodwin), 65
Pierrot Grenade, 220, 226, 228
Pieiro, Ignacio, 251n19
Pinn, Anthony B., 58, 71n2
Pinochet, Augusto, 103
Pitts, Walter, 60
plena, 183, 19192
Pocket, The, 206
polyrhythm, 164, 175, 201, 2034, 2067,
210, 240
Popular Music and Youth Culture (2000),
164
Portugal, 82, 91n10
Positive Black Soul (Senegal) (PBS), 12,
167, 16871, 173, 175
poverty, 10813
290
index
Pratt, Mary Louise, 116n4, 133n8

Pressing, Jeff, 203, 210
Price, Richard, 6
Price-Mars, Jean, 140, 143, 150
Primus, Pearl, 127, 129, 142, 247
privatization, 108
proprioceptor nerve, 132
Public Enemy, 5758
Puerto Rico, 1112, 17895, 235, 257. See
also bomba
Pure Flava/Pure Gospel, 58
Purri, Carmen, 100, 118n19
Queen Afrik, 168
Queen Latifah, 168
Quiroga, Jos, 248
Q-Unique, 179
Races (2001), 18283, 193
Ramsey, Kate, 139
rapso, 1314, 21432
audience participation, 215
ideology of, 22224
and the music industry, 22426
and revolution, 21521
and survival, 22629
Rapso Explosion, 226
RapsoFest, 227
Rapso History Month, 216, 227
Ras Shorty I. See Lord Shorty
Rastafarianism (Jamaica), 41, 48, 55,
21819, 22223, 231n23
Rediker, Marcus, 271
Reed, Teresa L., 58
reggae, 78, 4549, 52, 170. See also gospel
reggae
Re-Loaded, 215, 223, 226
Rennie, Bukka, 209
repetition, 13, 107, 203
reterritorialization, 165, 169, 175
Revival, 41
The Revolution (song), 6466, 68,
73n45
rhythm, 4, 89, 7992. See also chants;
dance; drumming; polyrhythm;
unison movement
rhythm and blues (R&B), 8, 42, 46, 48,
55, 5859, 64, 73n60
Rhythms of the Atlantic World: Rituals
and Remembrances conference,

26973
Rigal, Nieves Armas, 247, 252n56
Ring de Bell, 21519, 222
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, 19, 104, 10910, 112
Ros, Oscar (Puntilla), 263, 266
Rituals (recording company), 226
ritual singing, 85
Rivera, Angel Quintero, 234, 237
Roach, Joseph, 121, 270
Roberts, Roger, 224
Robeson, Paul, 14344
Rocha, Castro, 97, 117n7
Rockefeller, Nelson, 142
Rockefeller Foundation, 142
Rock It Right (album), 62
Rodrigues, Jose, 259, 26162, 265
Rodrguez, Abraham, 26364
Rodrguez, Arsenio, 236, 251n17, 252n42,
260, 26465
Rodrguez, Ernesto, 189, 192, 194, 197n42
Rodrguez, Frankie, 258, 262
Rodrguez, Tito, 257
Roederer, J. C., 203
Rogers, Barry, 262
Rogers, J. A., 3
Rondn, Csar Miguel, 258
Roosevelt, Eleanor, 154n36
Roosevelt, Franklin D., 136, 142
Ros, Lzaro, 31
Rose, Doudou Ndiaye, 169
Roy, Maya, 235
Rubalcaba, Gonzalo, 237
rumba, 12, 24, 18688, 193, 196n40,
23538, 24041, 24748, 25960, 267
Russia, 163
S, Anderson, 112
Sadre-Orafai, Stephanie, 221
salsa, 1415, 3031, 180, 25760, 262,
26568
and descarga principle, 262, 26768
Salt-n-Pepa, 65
Salvador, Brazil, 19
samba, 97, 112
Sambo gure, 127
San, Papa, 50, 66
San Elas (Saint Elijah), 18889
Sant-Anna, Srgio, 104
index
So Paulo, 104
Savain, Roger, 145
Savoy Ballroom era, 128
Schechner, Richard, 229
Schieffelin, Edward, 215
Schwarz, Roberto, 101
Senegal, 2, 10, 12, 121, 123, 12526, 130, 162,
16770, 173
hip-hop, 16870
See also Positive Black Soul
Senghor, Leopold Sdar, 4, 125, 134n9, 272
sermonphone, 61
Sete ou oito peas para um ballet, 102, 1067
Settereld, Valda, 126
sex tourism, 2526, 32, 97
Shell, 117n16
Shiffai, 16768
Shufe Along (194546), 146
Sicam Moy, 185, 196n30
smaran, 23435
singing, 8284
Sissle, Noble, 146
ska, 7, 42, 48
Slave Dance, 14445
slavery, 1, 34, 8, 15n7, 31, 59, 82, 1023,
109, 115, 127, 164, 27072. See also
diaspora; Middle Passage
Smith, Tim, 6162
Smith, Wayne, 21
Smitherman, Geneva, 59, 61
Smithsonian Folklife Festival (2008),
256, 26364
Soares, Luiz Eduardo, 110
soca, 13, 200206, 20810, 21415, 220,
22426, 228, 230n6
Soca Monarch (2007), 2045
Sokolow, Anna, 126
Solana, Obanil Ir Allende, 190
Sommer, Doris, 116n2
son, 23640, 246, 251n19, 252n45, 264, 266
Son de la Loma, 266
songs, 3, 58, 8284
soul jerkers, 60
Soul Searchers, 202, 205
Souls of the Black Folk, The, 3
Soul II Soul, 5
Soul-to-Soul tour, 175
Sounds in Motion, 126, 130
South Africa, 16162, 165, 167, 171
/ 291
Spain, 21, 82, 91n10, 202

Spanish Town, Jamaica, 42
spectacular society, 1078
spellbinders, 60
Spiritual Baptist religion, 219, 221, 225,
230n12
Spiritual Shouter Baptist Liberation Day,
225
Stephenson, Charles C., Jr., 200201, 209
Still, William Grant, 144
Stitchie, 50
Stomp (song), 6365
stored knowledge, 89, 81
Straight Up Go-Go (1992), 202
Sublette, Ned, 3, 250n1
sub-Saharan Africa, 175
Sugar Hill Gang, 61
Sweden, 25, 171
Switzerland, 25
SWV (Sisters with Voices), 73n60
Tamaris, Helen, 14950
Tanzania, 168, 172
Taylor, Diana, 122
Tee, Doug E., 168
theater, 106
Thompson, Robert Farris, 122, 180
3canal, 224, 22627
3canal Show, The, 226
Tico All-Stars, 258
timba (maroon music) (Cuba), 13, 14,
3031, 23450
context of, 24849
dance, 24647
denitions of, 23537
lyrical content, 24146
musical style of, 23741
timba dance, 24647
Timberland boots (Timbs), 66
Tonex, 63
Tonic, The (John Wells), 65, 67
Torres, Carlos (Tato), 181
Tratao, 85
Trini Bashment, 227, 232n34
Trinidad, 2, 1213, 181, 200210, 21429,
229nn12, 230n7, 230n15, 231n23
and abductions, 223
national identity, 2035, 208
See also Carnival
292
index
Trinidad and Tobago, 1314, 204, 214,

21620, 22329, 229n2, 230n15
and music maa, 226
national identity, 214
and the term Black, 230n15
Tristes Tropiques, 98
Troubled Island, 144
Trouillot, Michel-Rolph, 140, 152n5
T.R.U.-L.I.F.E. (Virgil Byrd), 65
Truman, Harry S., 154n36
Turner, Ike, 175
Turner, Tina, 175
Turner, Victor, 112
Uhuru Movement, 173
Ukoo Fani Mau Mau, 172
ltimo Trem, 100
unison movement, 7980, 8889, 90n1
United Nations, 172
United Pentecostal Church (UPC), 5355
United States, 2, 1213, 23, 25, 164. See also
gospel music
University of Michigan, 26973
Unsung Heroes, 167, 231n17
U.S. Congress, 205
Valdez, Merceditas, 31
Varadero, Cuba, 21
Velez, eDDie, 57
Venegas, Eddie, 26364
Verger, Pierre, 83
Victor Montaez y Sus Pleneros de la,
110
Villa-Lobos, Heitor, 102
Vincent, Stnio, 139, 153n26
Virgin Islands, 12, 181
Vitier, Jose Maria, 31
vodou. See Haitian Vodou
Voeks, Robert, 83
Voices of East Harlem, 175
Von Grona, Eugene, 14647
Wald, Elijah, 5
Walker, Hezekiah, 50
Warner, Keith, 204
Washington, DC, 14042, 200210
Washington Post, 206
Weheliye, Alexander G., 3, 5
Wenders, Wim, 23
West, Kanye, 56
West Africa, 9, 15n3, 13738, 141, 143, 151,
164, 168, 170, 202
Western Mirror, The, 49
Western music, 4, 164
What a Friend We Have in Jesus
(song), 44
White, Walter, 142, 153n12
White Zombie (1932), 137
Wiley, Stephen, 62
Williams, Eric, 204, 230n15
Williams, Kimberly (Kiwi), 58, 62, 66, 70
Williams, Lavinia, 13738, 14551, 154n39,
155n47
Wilson, Danny, 57
Wilson, Jason (Maji), 5758, 66
Wilson, Olly, 202, 207
Winans, Marvin L., 47
Wolof slang, 16970
Word, Sound, Power, 227
World War II, 143
Wray, Cheryl, 65
Wright, Richard, 4
X, Malcolm, 17273, 219, 227
Yarborough, Lavinia Williams, 87
Yelvington, Kevin, 137, 150
Yuinon, The, 5758
Zervign, Eddie, 26364
Zimbabwe, 161
Zimbalist, Jeff, 112
zombie lms, 137

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Contents

part one: religion

Performing Pentecostalism: Music, Identity, and the Interplay of

part two: dance

Citizenship and Dance in Urban Brazil: Grupo Corpo, a Case Study

Muscle/Memories: How Germaine Acogny and Diane McIntyre

To Carry the Dance of the People Beyond: Jean Lon Destin,

part three: contemporary music

Talking Drums: Soca and Go-Go Music as Grassroots Identity Movements

Warriors of the Word: Rapso in Trinidads Festival Culture

Timba Brava: Maroon Music in Cuba

Salsa Memory: Revisiting Grupo Folklrico y Experimental Nuevayorquino

Epilogue: Performing MemoriesThe Atlantic Theater of Cultural

Located simultaneously inside and outside Western modernities and aesthetics,

rhythms of the afro-atlantic world

rhythms of the afro-atlantic world

as forms of communication18 to Du Boiss three gifts of music, labor, and

rhythms of the afro-atlantic world

rhythms of the afro-atlantic world

rhythms of the afro-atlantic world

tation recurring in specic strategies aimed at producing another reason,

rhythms of the afro-atlantic world

known of AfroPuerto Rican forms, one that contains numerous subgenres

and inter-Atlantic movements evident in the work of Atlanticist literary and

rhythms of the afro-atlantic world

and revise aesthetic, corporeal, aural, cultural, and political conversations

rhythms of the afro-atlantic world

15. Baker, Modernism and the Harlem Renaissance, 77.

[To view this chapter, refer to

Performing Pentecostalism: Music, Identity, and the

rhythms of the afro-atlantic world

socializing with churchgoers outside of their regular congregations. However,

rhythms of the afro-atlantic world

enced by older Jamaican churchgoers not only as more modern and

performing jamaicanness: donnie mcclurkins

a gospel concert at Church on the Rock, a Pentecostal church in Kingston, in

rhythms of the afro-atlantic world

dub-style delivery of a contemporary dancehall DJ. He cries, Born of the

He concludes the medley by returning to Ive Got My Mind Made Up.

derstated accompaniment reminiscent of the sound of African American church

rhythms of the afro-atlantic world

which many Jamaican churchgoers use it to assert their Pentecostals identities.

Near the conclusion of a service I attended at Mount Olivet, a group of

fun in the son: gospel reggae, concerts, and

rhythms of the afro-atlantic world

rendition of Gospel Time, conspicuously positioned as the rst track on his

rhythms of the afro-atlantic world

comportment, including outward appearance. Moreover, it is largely through

rhythms of the afro-atlantic world

The Women Have on All Their Clothes:

Hip-hop, a billion-dollar global phenomenon comprised of grafti art,

rhythms of the afro-atlantic world

The Women Have on All Their Clothes

rhythms of the afro-atlantic world

cultural and historical linkages

The Women Have on All Their Clothes

rhythms of the afro-atlantic world

The Women Have on All Their Clothes

the convergence of hip-hop and gospel