Russell RockwellAfter Alton Sterling and Philando Castile were brutally murdered in what can only be described as the latest occurrences of tacit state-sanctioned killings, Atlantans took to the streets to protest the racism infecting America and the growing violence which stems from it. As you would expect, responses from local musicians were varied. Many artists marched through downtown and Buckhead, demanding political and societal change, while others chose to let their music speak for itself, believing that art is the best tool to combat racism and hate.
And then there are those who believe their music transcends present-day events, a power which allows them to eclipse the current state of the world. More than simply a music news organization, Immersive Atlanta seeks to be a mouthpiece for Atlanta musicians. These recent events, as well as Atlanta’s history as a center of the Civil Rights Movement, demand that we make space for the activism, opinions, and ideals of underrepresented musicians within our community. This feature is one attempt to do just that.
Too often I encounter individuals within Atlanta’s music community, even within the DIY scene, who believe that musicians are much too forward-thinking to succumb to the same ignorance of privilege which infects America as a whole. Yet, white supremacy is a fact to People of Color within the DIY scene, though it may not be as blatant as in most of red state America. As Ta-Nehisi Coates so deftly wrote, “Racism is not merely simplistic hatred. It is, more often, broad sympathy toward some and broader skepticism toward others.”
Most of the following artists are African American. All are People of Color. But perhaps more critically, all have unique voices and musical styles which challenge stereotypes, spiritual understanding, and political stances. We asked for their thoughts as artists, particularly regarding the connection between art and identity. We also asked them to reflect on current events, and to discuss how white musicians can be better allies. Some seek healing, others seek action, but all must be heard if our music community is going to help lead the city of Atlanta towards true equality and equity.
Jack Preston
Jack Preston prides himself on his outsider perspective. The hip-hop artist and producer finds inspiration from such disparate spheres as Dali’s surrealism to Herbie Hancock’s refreshing funk. It’s within these different universes that Preston finds commonality and weaves an inviting tapestry of enigmatic soul.
In terms of identity, much of my art is a based on my life experiences. In many ways, my art is a type of documentation of my life and growth as a person. Overall, gender and race can greatly shape one’s experience in the world. Because race and gender are intrinsically tied to many of society’s cultural practices, I’m not really able to escape my appearance as a black man and all of the associations tied to that particular identify. Ultimately, I like to celebrate my love for diversity, and it shows through the many sounds that I’ve experimented with.
As a hip-hop artist and fan, I was influenced by a lot of rappers who touch on political topics like Tupac, Public Enemy, Black Star, Dead Prez, etc. So making music about these topics is already a part of my DNA as an artist. Whenever these types of events happen, people are more in a mental space to want to listen to politically-charged music. My most political album is a project called Trouble. When big events happen, I don’t typically shift from my normal expression, but times like this validate why there’s a need for songs that cover a range of topics rather than just making party music. I do my best to offer both awareness and a chance for healing through my music. Though I didn’t participate in any of the recent protests, I’ve been a part of many protests in the past. My contributions to solutions are currently being made through educational programs rather than being in the streets.
I’ve seen a lot of healthy dialog between different cultures that have allowed for a more comprehensive illustration of what solutions look like. When white artists are open to acknowledging the experiences that black artists may be going through, it seems to be a better start than trying to intellectually explain why that person’s experience is not valid. This will usually shut off the trust that’s needed for open dialog. I’ve seen a lot of well-intentioned folks miss the mark in this area. Please stay open to trying to put yourself in that person’s shoes, even if the conversation is a little uncomfortable at times.
As a whole, I believe Atlanta has a unique opportunity to set a new model for other cities to follow. We already have a majority-minority population which allows us the chance to show others what inclusiveness looks like when it’s married with progress. I’ve seen glimpses of this over the past week through partnership with the civilians and the city. I still saw some washing over by the city as well, so I believe there’s a bit more work to do to really get the momentum going for further progress.
Yani Mo
Yani Mo is a hip-hop artist who melds jazzy beats with spitfire raps. The Lithonia native never sacrifices content for aesthetic, instead she blends sunny vibes with rapturous conviction, a fierce and fun combination.
Yani Mo
Yani Mo is a hip-hop artist who melds jazzy beats with spitfire raps. The Lithonia native never sacrifices content for aesthetic, instead she blends sunny vibes with rapturous conviction, a fierce and fun combination.
My identity is inextricably connected to my art. I navigate this world as a queer black woman every day and my creations are my truths–extensions of myself. I definitely speak to black women through my art. I incorporate our/their stories into my music because it happens organically. There’s no real formula. I just am. My art just is.
In light of current events, a certain responsibility has been revealed to me. Coming into adulthood (whatever the fuck that is) and becoming increasingly aware of the imbalances and deficits that exist in our society when it comes to love, unity, and self-care, I feel a necessity to exercise my platform in ways that make not only audiences, but myself, uncomfortable. But it’s cool, because it means I’m growing. I’m constantly learning and shaping my voice.
White people and white musicians can better allies by listening to our truths. By being open in mind and heart. By acknowledging their privileges. And by using their platforms to hold themselves and their counterparts accountable for their own prejudice and privilege.
Saira Raza
Saira Raza’s relationship to art goes far beyond music. The Decatur based multi-instrumentalist is known for her cello and vibraphone playing, but also works with print media and as a librarian. In addition to her meditative solo material, Raza also performs with the 10th Letter Ensemble.
In my particular case, music and art are outlets for me to grapple with my identity. My dad and his side of the family are immigrants to this country. Even though I was born here, there’s this sense that I’m still “from” somewhere else, but I don’t have as strong a connection to that place as I wish I did. I’d say my identity is tied to my art in that way — trying to reconnect or express my frustration with not feeling connected. Other than that, I think the experiences that inspire my art are pretty much universal — disappointment, resolve, longing for a peaceful existence, friendship, overcoming adversity and self-doubt, things like that.
To clarify a bit regarding the term “POC:” I fit this description, but I still experience a lot of privilege. Some of that is inherent in the way I look: I’m mixed, so my skin is not very dark, and I generally look “ethnically ambiguous” (and not threatening) to most people. Some of that privilege was engineered: I received a lot of support through diversity programs to get a great education, which set me up to overcome some of the challenges of growing up poor and not-all-the-way-white. Sure, I get stopped for an extra-long time at airports. I’m scared of Trump’s proposed list of all the Muslims. But I can do basic things like drive, walk, exist in this world without fearing that an officer or some crazed vigilante will shoot and kill me. I have to be mindful of the hierarchy of needs here. So I have as much work and self-reflection to do as anyone else who is not Black to be a good ally to my friends and loved ones who are targets simply because of the color of their skin. Colorism is alive and well, and there’s still so much distrust and prejudice between different groups of POCs. I mean, we’re even all grouped together as “POC” as a direct result of white supremacy – that’s really our common enemy. But it’s not all kumbaya between all POC, so there’s work to be done there, too.
Current events make me want to go harder and make more music that can bring people some relief and comfort. There are forces in this world trying to convince people they’re not worth anything. It’s exhausting to fight it off all the time. (For Black people in America, it’s been a centuries-long war to have their humanity and history and legacy acknowledged and represented. Battle fatigue plagues every generation. No people should have to endure that.)
If I can make something that inspires people to be themselves and believe in themselves relentlessly, no matter how many people hate you for it, then my work is serving its purpose. I’m really inspired by the works of Octavia Butler, and so much of her work is a forecast for what is happening today. In Parable of the Sower, the character Lauren Olamina is a young Black woman who develops into an incredible leader, driven by a truth that was revealed to her: “All that you touch you change. All that you change changes you. The only lasting truth is change. God is change.”
White people, and white musicians in particular, can be better allies to minority artists by keeping things in perspective and being mindful of when it’s probably not a good time to make things “about you.” Have those awkward conversations with your racist relatives. Hey, you know, it’s not even just about white people. As I mentioned before, lots of POCs are prejudiced towards other POCs too. So it really goes for everybody.
And stop appropriating shit. Understand what appropriation is and how it’s different from appreciation. If you see your POC homies not getting the coverage and recognition they deserve for their work, speak up about that! If you look at a bill and there are no POC or women on it, take a second and make some noise about that. Make noise when you see an injustice happening right in front of your face. I actually experience a lot more discrimination in the music scene because of my gender rather than race. For example, I was coming in for a sound check at a local venue one time, and the guy doing sound shook hands and greeted my male band mate, but not me! He didn’t even look at me! It was a white male friend that saw what was happening and said something about it right there – just by saying, “Hey, this is Saira, it’s her band.” And it was done. Maybe it’s not that simple in every scenario, but if you see something going down that just isn’t right, call it out. At the very least, let your POC friend know you saw what happened and ask if there’s anything you can do to help.
Andrew Cleveland
Andrew Cleveland, otherwise known as Mad Ace, performs and produces a wide mix of R&B and hip-hop. As a multi-instrumentalist, his music often takes on experimental qualities, but there is a linear accessibility to his songs which is evidence of his skill as a producer. When not performing solo material, Cleveland plays bass in Athens band Big Morgan.
Andrew Cleveland
Andrew Cleveland, otherwise known as Mad Ace, performs and produces a wide mix of R&B and hip-hop. As a multi-instrumentalist, his music often takes on experimental qualities, but there is a linear accessibility to his songs which is evidence of his skill as a producer. When not performing solo material, Cleveland plays bass in Athens band Big Morgan.
To be honest I’m not exactly sure how my race connects to my music, but I can tell you what I have experienced. Growing up, I played cello in orchestras and music camps, and went to music conservatory. Because of my skin color I always seemed to be compartmentalized when I told people about my passion. A black musician in their eyes could really only be a rapper or singer. The assumption was that the classical music world was for old white people. As I’ve gotten older, the music I’m playing has changed, but I can still never shake the feeling that my audience expects a certain kind of music solely based on my skin tone.
I’m filled with grief and sadness when I think of the state of our nation. Current events within the past year have shown me that our country needs art and creativity more than ever. This has not had a direct relationship with my written music, but it has changed how I present it. I have always been vocal with my bandmates regarding my opinions on issues, but more recently due to some racists we met on tour this summer, I have seen circumstantial validation of their stance on racial equality and prejudice. And I felt so strong playing our show that night. I feel as if now more than ever artists of all races are using the turmoil of our country as a canvas for powerful moving art. For example: To Pimp a Butterfly and Freetown Sound.
There are countless ways for white artists to be better allies to people of color, but the first and most important is for white artists to stop appropriating black culture as means to make a dollar. I love this city and I hope we find the light soon.
Dustin Teague
Dustin Teague, better known as DT, is the frontman and rapper extraordinaire of the Difference Machine, one of the most eclectic hip-hop acts currently performing in Atlanta. Teague’s raps are spiritually insightful and inciting, taking the psychedelia of the Difference Machine to another dimension.
My identity is all the way connected with my art. My perspective pervades my art at every level. Pertaining to our latest release, it is rife with allusions to ancient African spirituality specifically Kemet. I made it hopefully with Ausar’s eyes and Tehuti’s ears.
Honestly, the current events haven’t really shaped my art at all. I focus on making something that’s timeless — at least that’s the goal. Also, just as a black dude in America, these current events for me have been lifelong. I’ve been seeing a bullshit police force since I was an adolescent. So to me, current events are par for the course. I’ve been seeing it my whole life, so I would say I have a predisposition to a certain attitude when it comes to law enforcement. That’s definitely shaped my art but not necessarily in a current sense.
I haven’t participated in recent protests, though I think they do have their place. I just personally try to affect change in my own way. I feel like if that’s what people want to do then it’s good for them. I just don’t always think you can change a mindset based on physical actions. The problems we face, to me, are much more serious mentally and spiritually than physically but it seems we as a society get more caught up in the action than the mind frame that lead us to the action. The mind frame needs to be addressed first, then everything will fall in place, but that’s just my opinion and I could be wrong.
If we’re being completely honest I’d say white people could lose their innate sense of entitlement that they don’t even know they have, if they want to be true allies. That’s a real general statement (laughs). I don’t want to sweep all white people under the rug with that. To me, white people feel like they own everything, even sentiments about violence against black people. It’s innate for some so I don’t judge — it’s just the way it is, but they could be a little more self-aware about certain things. The best thing is to just let us be black unapologetically without inserting their cultural ideals or projecting them on to us. As an aside… I have super love for lots of the white people in my life, even when they fall into the category I’m describing.
In light of current events, Atlanta is doing fine from where I sit but it’s not governmental. Genres are mixing more than ever and that’s a beautiful thing. I feel like more and more people are accepting each other. I can do a show and white people don’t treat me like a trained monkey (which used to happen both here and back home). Down here on the ground I see a lot of love, so let’s keep that up. We are the real torchbearers, not some motherfucker in a suit. As long as we keep that in mind and don’t expect some motherfucker in a suit to save us and we choose instead to help and save ourselves, we’ll be okay in the long run.
Jeremi Johnson
Jeremi Johnson, the producer and songwriter behind 10th Letter, is a mastermind of beats. His ability to combine hip-hop, jazz, and fiery electronica in a way which doesn’t sacrifice complexity for order is almost magical, but just as impressive is his ability to collaborate and perform his tracks live with the 10th Letter Ensemble.
Jeremi Johnson
Jeremi Johnson, the producer and songwriter behind 10th Letter, is a mastermind of beats. His ability to combine hip-hop, jazz, and fiery electronica in a way which doesn’t sacrifice complexity for order is almost magical, but just as impressive is his ability to collaborate and perform his tracks live with the 10th Letter Ensemble.
My identity is fluid in my art. As a composer of African descent, a lot of the rhythms I come up with for my compositions are very much rooted in my ancestry. The idea of Afrofuturism runs through all of my work as well. For me, beyond the sci-fi aspects of it, the term “Afrofuturism” means owning our destiny. Black people were brought to this country by force and had our names and human rights stripped from us, so Afrofuturism, for me, is us being able to write the narrative for our future, however we want. Being a black musician also ties me to a lineage of creators and innovators of almost every form of American music. Studying those that came before me and what they went through gives me a lot of strength and inspiration. I’d like to think some of that inspiration finds its way into my works as well.
Current events definitely propelled me to be more vocal about the things that I’ve been seeing. My works are mainly instrumental, but I have [used], and plan to continue to use, my platform to work with activists and speak out against social injustice. For example, a few months ago students at the Clemson University campus organized a sit-in to protest racial discrimination. I was scheduled to perform for the university in the whole it was happening. I reached out to the protest organizers and used my performance to help raise awareness of the sit-in and the school’s long-standing problem. I am currently exploring possibilities of doing something similar for this current situation.
White people and other POCs can be better allies by speaking out against the racism towards black people they experience within their families, communities, and music/art circles. Use your platform to take a stand against social injustice. Join protests. Reach out to other artists and organize shows against social injustice. Just don’t be silent!