Freedom Songs and Some Convoluted Connections: Part II

The re-opening of the Emmett Till case (particularly the exhumation of his grave this week) has me thinking about the song “In the Mississippi River:” It was written in 1964 (during Freedom Summer) by Marshall Jones and Matthew Jones, two civil rights workers working for SNCC. The Jones brothers were members of the Freedom Singers. You can hear them sing it on Let My People Go! A Jewish & African American Celebration of Freedom, among other places.

The song refers to the bodies of black men law enforcement officers discovered as they dragged rivers in search of missing civil rights workers Andrew Goodman, James Chaney and Michael Schwerner. (If anyone can find lyrics online, please comment).

“In the Mississippi River” has a haunting quality, apart from its subject matter. You hear a lone voice raise the beginning of the song, then it’s joined by another, bringing harmony but also bearing witness in a way that reminds me of the court testimony of Till’s uncle, Mose Wright, who bravely pointed at the defendants when asked who had killed Till: What he is saying is true. I have seen that too. There he is.

Then, backing vocals join for the counting, which is straightforward:

You can count them, one by one
It could be your son
Count them, two by two
It could be me or you

These counting lines have a solemn, repetitive, plodding movement to them—as sense of rolling inevitability, like slow-moving pallbearers. It's clear that the singers were acknowledging the reality: in some times and some places, a black person was only a misunderstanding, a perceived transgression, or a mere whim’s distance from a violent death. The music has a spare urgency to it, a testament in part to its rural roots, but also to the plainness of the truth. There are ad-libbed references to the Tallahatchie River. That’s a reference to Till’s murder.

The Emmett Till story is one that I’ve always felt deeply connected to. Although I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about why this might be, I’m still not completely sure. The obvious reason is that Till was killed when he was 14, and I was a child when I first encountered the story. I don’t think there’s a good age to discover things like this, but I was probably a little too young when I first read about Till—younger than 10. I’ve always been a voracious reader, and as a result I could read and understand things I didn’t necessarily have the emotional maturity to process (although I don’t think I’ll ever be able to process this).

As I got older, I saw how my handsome, quick-witted and charming brothers interacted with people of all races—and how that contrasted with my Southern-bred grandfather, and the care he took to address everyone with titles, even in informal settings and among young people. (My brother pointed out that Grandpa had called his friends “sir.”) It made me think of how precious little margin for error there was for people my grandfather’s age, when it came to interacting with White people.

Later, as a college student, I went to the site of the store where the incident began. I know people who have a very keen sense of spiritual discernment—who can perceive the presence of spiritual forces. I wouldn’t describe myself this way, but I did sense the presence of evil while I was there—and I honestly believe I would have been able to sense it even if I didn’t know the story behind this small, unmarked abandoned building with rusted metal signage. When I visited Chicago, I saw The State of Mississippi and the Face of Emmett Till, the play Till’s mother Mamie Till-Mobley wrote with David Barr III. Years later, I found myself in an unfamiliar part of Chicago and ended up crossing Emmett Till Road on my way to someplace else. For some reason, this story has never let me go. I’m fascinated with it, even as I try to keep myself from looking at the photos of Till’s mangled face.

I had hoped to interview Mrs. Till-Mobley someday, but she passed away in 2003. Her insistence that her son have an open-casket funeral forced the world to see what racism could cause people to do, even to a child. The news coverage of this story was instrumental in helping people reach the “breaking point” that led to the Civil Rights movement in the south. Her bravery in attending the murder “trial” and even giving press comments about it was striking. She continued to share her son’s story until her death. Her gravesite is next to her son’s. I can’t help but think of Mary when I think of the struggles Mrs. Till-Mobley faced and the strength she displayed. May her struggle and the story of her son Emmett Louis Till never be forgotten.


Folk singer Bob Dylan wrote and recorded a song about Emmett Till. Lyrics are posted here.
Information about Keith Beauchamp’s documentary The Untold Story of Emmett Louis Till, which has been instrumental in the reopening of the case. Here’s an interview with Beauchamp.

Freedom Songs and Convoluted Connections: Part I

A few months ago, I found myself watching public television and crying. This is not really out of the ordinary for me—I like public TV, and I am easily moved. For example, I can be counted on to weep whenever I hear the song “Rainbow Connection” from the Muppet Movie (no, I am *not * joking, but I’ll write about the Gospel According to Kermit later).

This particular lachrymal flood was brought on by A Chanukah Mitzvah, a children’s show about Chanukah. At the end of the show, a choir sang some beautiful songs with themes and musical patterns that reminded me of praise choruses. I was reminded of the Jewish roots of my faith and had a desire to learn more about Judaism.

I’ve also wanted to learn more about Judaism because I’ve always been deeply impressed by the Jewish tradition of social justice and tikkun olam. My understanding is that these traditions are what motivated many Jewish brothers and sisters (including Andrew Goodman and Michael Schwerner, who were martyred with James Cheney) to work alongside African Americans during the Civil Rights movement. I’ve continued this learning journey by reading Shared Dreams: Martin Luther King, Jr. & The Jewish Community by Rabbi Marc Schneier.

Many of the spirituals reference the Exodus story: “Go Down, Moses” and “I’m On My Way (to Canaan Land)” are a couple of these. I think it’s safe to observe that black and Jewish people have occupied similar social positions at different times in history. (Others have noted the contributions of Jewish musicians to jazz music, and I’ve occasionally heard references to similar elements of self-deprecation within African-American and Jewish approaches to humor.)

Given all of this, I started to wonder if there might be connections between our musics in some ways. Are there similarities? Is there something like the spiritual in Jewish music? Every now and then, when I’m interviewing someone who might know, I slip in a question along those lines. I’ll let you know if I ever get enough for a full post. I’m still searching.

Anyway, I was absolutely delighted to discover Let My People Go! A Jewish & African American Celebration of Freedom. The album was recorded by Kim and Reggie Harris and Rabbi Jonathan Kligler. It’s dedicated to the memories of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel.

From the liner notes:

“Jews and African Americans both draw abiding inspiration from the Exodus, the Biblical account of oppression, slavery, and the possibility of liberation. For Jews, this is the story of how they became a people, a story which they retell each year at the Passover Seder. For African Americans, this is a central story that animated their struggle for liberation from slavery and gave them strength and hope. For many Jewish and African Americans, the modern Civil Rights movement is the liberation struggle of our time and calls up the ancient images of Moses and Pharaoh and the Creator of the Universe, who insists that all God’s children be free.”

Here’s The Seder (The Order). You can see how traditional Jewish songs and songs from the Passover Haggadah meet spirituals and freedom songs. Ha Lachma Anya blends lyrics from the Haggadah with handclapping rhythms that originated in enslaved black communities. (The song “I Have a Million Nightingales” is a poem by Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish, set to music by Jewish songwriter and cantor Linda Hirschhorn.)

Bchol Dor Va’Dor (In Every Generation)/I’m On My Way
Ha Lachma Anya (This is the Bread of Opression)
Avodim Hayinu (Slaves Were We)
In the Mississippi River
Remembering Phil Ochs
What’s That I Hear
The New Colossus/Give Me Your Tired, Your Poor/Motherless Child
Democratic National Convention 1964
Mah Lecha Ha’Yam (Sea, Why Do You Flee?)
Man Come Into Egypt
Ilu Finu (Were Our Mouths Oceans of Song)
Let My People Go: Story of an Activist’s Life
Freedom Road
I Have a Million Nightingales
Venomar Lefanav (Let Us Sing a New Song)
We Shall Overcome: Evolution of a Song
Ani Ma’Amin (I Believe)/ We Shall Overcome
I Won’t Turn Back

Let My People Go! is available from Appleseed Recordings. It’s a beautiful album with informative liner notes. Parts of it left me, well, crying. A great project.

The Fashion of the Christ

With a title like that, how could you not read? Even if it's not about Christian T-Shirts (these in particular crack me up)? Another recent favorite: Rhythm and Pews. The not-so-closeted punophile in me loves it. Hey, first you groan, and then you read, right? Because the 11th commandment is Thou Shalt Be Clever. The 12th is: Get it Out of Your System Before You Title Something. The 13th is probably something about Not Being Snarky. (Sigh. That's probably why we are not supposed to add to the prophecy. . .)

In any case, here's a Businessweek article about one of the effects that mainstream success has had on the Christian music, movie and publishing industries. The deck summarizes it well: "Corporations like Sony and Time Warner are grabbing pieces of the religious music, movie and book markets. The losers: Small specialty stores."

What's your favorite independent music store? How are some ways you support independent retailers and the indie gospel scene?

Meet Chiccy Baritone

Lurkers, I'd like you to meet Charlene Evans, a friend of Gospel Gal's family. Charlene is Chiccy Baritone, a spoken-word poet who is beyond up-and-coming: She's Next In Line. That's the name of her CD, which is available at www.cdbaby.com/charleneevans. Here, she shares her piece "The Great Escape."

The Great Escape

I find my therapy from life in scores, notes, and melodies. Rhyming or flowing, if I could inject music in me I will be a never-ending story. Make room in my vessel for the most high God who speaks clearly and spiritually thru words that can be sung or read like poetry. All music creates a movement but I prefer that my movement brings me closer to you...so is your name Jesus? I can go to places unknown or rebuild the place I have always known thru the groove of the spiritual cadence sung by my ancestors of long ago. Give me a song of praise to keep me invincible to pain, hurt, wrong ways; it’s only a hum or song away. I don’t need anything to partake of the “great escape” because for me it’s in my heart like the “Word of God” and it plays a part in shaping life. I am a melting pot creating a melting pot in order to get the gospel out...use me, change me, then release within me the songs of the most high God, written like poetry.

--chiccy baritone

Hear Charlene performing more of her poetry--and buy the CD--at www.cdbaby.com/charleneevans. You'll enjoy it. Mention that Gospel Gal sent you!

Church and the Recognition of Creativity

"I don't think it's a coincidence that American blues and country-western music have their roots in gospel music. Many of our best musicians started out in church choir. In part this is because church choir was the main, sometimes the only, form of music available in poor rural communities. But church is where many of us learn to express our spirit in a creative way. It's where we first understand that the Spirit moves in poetry and song. For many of us church is the first larger audience we have for our own words, spoken or sung aloud, our knees shaking as we blink back tears and try to communicate to the world who we are on the inside."

--Vinita Hampton Wright, in The Soul Tells a Story: Engaging Creativity with Spirituality in the Writing Life