Memory, Appropriation, and Gratitude

Listening to the Carolina Chocolate Drops, I've heard this band cover songs ranging from traditional Haitian  folks songs to Gaelic ballads.  They're primarily known as an African American Old Time string band, but their musical reach is far more expansive.  There are a few things happening with them that make me super excited.

Old Time musicians seem to always be historians.  I love that they are so invested in lineage.  It reminds me of yoga-- you can identify various practitioners by their teachers & trace everyone back to the same source.  Two of the Chocolate Drops identify Joe Thompson as a primary teacher, educating not just on traditional songs and styles of performance, but on each song's lineage and history.  Through oral telling and scholarship, the banjo relates its long voyage from Africa to the Americas.

Another piece that sets me alight-- the music they play encompasses the whole of their heritage.  As Americans of mixed descent-- African, Irish, and Caribbean ancestry (though I'm sure that's not a complete list)-- the musical strains are a composite of their background.  The last time I heard such a complete telling of lineage was studying abroad in Cuba.  I went to a ballet folklorico performance in Havana.  The performers danced ballet, acknowledging Western European influence, Flamenco nodding to Spanish heritage, West African dance forms, traditional Indigenous movement, and culminating in exploratory modern pieces.  It was so lovely to encounter such an embracing remembrance.

There has been a lot of controversy over white musicians appropriating Black music.  Elvis Presley garnered attention for taking Blues songs and bringing them to white audiences, often without acknowledgment of the source.  White hip hop artists are often asked for accountability in working within a traditionally Black musical realm.  The issue is often one of recognition for the musical trajectory as well as disproportionate access.  In the United States, white people have access to most neighborhoods, physical spaces, as well as artistic mediums.  There is still institutional racism, meaning people of color often do not share that same movement between physical and cultural spheres.  For white people to also adopt traditionally Black music can feel assuming, at the most innocent characterization.  (My friend Kieu used to term appropriators "culture vultures.")

These musicians, primarily identifying as African American, are playing a range of music encompassed within their own heritage.  Within that primary identifier as African American, they also play traditional Gaelic songs.  I can't think of another African American group or artist playing traditionally white-identified music.  The music is beautiful & the Carolina Chocolate Drops perform it masterfully.  It's so beautiful to hear the resonance of these performers sharing music that is a part of their heritage alongside strains from their other forebearers as far south as Haiti.  The music feels powerful and grounded because it's offered with historical knowledge, musical expertise, & creative feeling.

The Carolina Chocolate Drops know and study the history of the music they share.  They share minstrel music and offer what it meant to various communities and how it allowed Black artists to perform when they were otherwise excluded from public art.

As much as their music moves me, it also excites me to understand how we can respectfully honor and exult cultural tradition.  I think the key piece is they acknowledge lineage.  They acknowledge history.  They tell the stories of who could perform what music at what time.  What type of personal cost some of these musicians suffered.  The Carolina Chocolate Drops offer music in full context, with full story, and then add the flavor and swagger of today's experience.  The end result isn't a melting pot where identities are blurred or lost.  Rather, a full-bodied acknowledgment and passionate reply to generations and regions of sound.

Their music is helping me acknowledge Thanksgiving.  I often struggle with this holiday.  I love sharing gratitude and a meal with family.  I love tradition-- when it binds together.  However, I have a hard time embracing a tradition that white-washes the historical encounter between Indigenous and European colonizers.  The romantic story of sharing obscures the larger historical reality of a genocide of Indigenous people in the Americas.  The music of the Carolina Chocolate Drops reminds me to both acknowledge history, to recognize the experience of Indigenous people today, and to hold onto the gratitude and community of a Thanksgiving gathering.  Rather than allowing the nostalgia of the day wipe away historical memory, let that knowledge mingle with the positive pieces of building family, connection, & awareness.

Water

Another friend has emerged with limited power and stories to tell of an experiment with fractured infrastructure.  Mike is near New York City.  We all acknowledge how different these experiences are from those affected in the Caribbean, or living in an impoverished community before Sandy hit.  For him, and many like him, he described this experience as a little taste and a type of academic sampling of how to live when there's no gas, power, or water.  He's smartly rationing water for himself and his animals.  He asked himself and me how we would get water if a weather event, or any event for that matter, was more long-term?

The million dollar question.

Kevin and I are slowly trying to live more sustainably.  We grow more food, don't own a clothes dryer (though I've yet to cede other appliances; like the washer or oven), go to bed early (less electricity), and generally are trying to simplify our consumption.  Water is tricky.  We actually do live up against a dry creek bed.  In Sandy's wake, it's no longer dry.  In fact, years ago when I first moved in there was usually about three feet of water.

Mike knows of creeks near his house.  He's hypothesizing how long he could treat the water to make it potable.  What about when you run out of tablets?  What about when you run out of propane to boil water? It's really hard to bring water to a boil with a wood-burning fire.

This conversation is reminding me of Octavia Butler's Parable of the Sower.  This novel is one of the most realistic dystopias I've encountered.  Infrastructure has imploded and those surviving are living communally off land.  They're studying Indigenous recipes to make flour from acorns and seed-saving.  The novel is dark, but also hopeful and beautiful.

The beautiful irony-- when there's so much water-- but can you drink it?

My hope is that none of us are asked to answer these questions.  However, so many people in the world have no choice but to answer them.  In communities already devastated from decades of colonial exploitation and resource devastation, like Haiti, severe weather is quickly brutal.  Creative solutions are emerging-- or maybe more accurately resurfacing.  Implementing sustainability before we have to helps us build muscle and capacity.  Paying attention to how people to cope might be most instructive.