Author Archives: Maria Panora

Paul Robeson and Ol’ Man River

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Ol’ Man River is a song that has been performed many times, analyzed, and critiqued for its lyrical depth and cultural significance. While exploring archives of the Chicago Defender, I came across a 1936 article about the film Showboat, titled: Paul Robeson Makes Film ‘Showboat’ One of Finest1.

August 8th, 1936

The article offers a broad summary of the film, highlighting a few of the actors and key scenes. Notably, it praises Robeson’s vocal performance, describing his voice as:

“His deep vibrant voice ringing above the din of noise, the blare of music, the harmony of voices, fills the listener’s ears and hearts with gladness.”

The description of his vocal quality is vivid and reverent, capturing the power of Robeson’s performance. However, it glosses over the song’s lyrical content and deeper implications. Given that the article was published just three months after the film’s premiere, one might expect some discussion of the song’s meaning, especially in the context of race and labor. It simultaneously reminds us of its perceivedness during a different time. 

The article does briefly touch on the presence of Black characters in the film, stating:

“Pictures portraying the South are incomplete without the richness and colorful figure of the Negro. He is an integral part of the land of toil, deeply and firmly entrenched.”

Yet this framing reduces the portrayal of Black characters to a scenic element rather than addressing their narratives or the systemic struggles they represent. The lack of critique is understandable, as the article is descriptive rather than analytical, but it shows how the significance of Ol’ Man River, a song central to the film, was overshadowed.

In following performances, Robeson himself addressed this oversight by altering the lyrics of Ol’ Man River to reflect his evolving understanding of Black identity and resistance2. In 1938, for example, Robeson made changes that transformed the song’s tone:

Instead of the original: “Dere’s an ol’ man called de Mississippi, / Dat’s de ol’ man that I’d like to be…”

Robeson sang: “There’s an ol’ man called the Mississippi, / That’s the ol’ man I don’t like to be…”

Similarly, he replaced: “Ah gits weary / An’ sick of tryin’; / Ah’m tired of livin’ / An’ skeered of dyin’; / But Ol’ Man River, / He jes’ keeps rolling along!”

with: “But I keeps laffin’ / Instead of cryin’; / I must keep fightin’; / Until I’m dyin’; / And Ol’ Man River, / He’ll just keep rollin’ along!”

Through these changes, Robeson reimagined the song as a declaration of perseverance and resistance.

1 Berry, Tommy. “Paul Robeson Makes Film ‘Showboat’ One of Finest.” The Chicago Defender (National Edition) (1921-1967), Aug 08, 1936. https://www.proquest.com/historical-newspapers/paul-robeson-makes-film-showboat-one-finest/docview/492501551/se-2.

2  Lennox, Sara. “Reading Transnationally: The GDR and American Black Writers.” In Art Outside the Lines: New Perspectives on GDR Art Culture, edited by Elaine Kelly and Amy Wlodarski, 111–30. Brill, 2011. http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1163/j.ctv2gjwvkc.10.

 

Still’s Innovations and Contradictions

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William Grant Still is widely recognized as the first African American composer to conduct a professional symphony orchestra in the United States, and for his work Symphony No. 1, “Afro-American” (1930)1. As we’ve discussed in this course, understanding musicians’ journeys often involves tracing back through their experiences and influences to see what shaped them musically. I was first introduced to Still’s work in high school through Danzas de Panama, which sparked an interest that led me into the archives. There, I discovered the correspondence between Still and music critic/pianist Irving Schwerke, offering a glimpse into his planning and creative process2.

Below is a letter from Still to Schwerke, written in 19313. 

July 29, 1931.
William Grant Still to Irving Schwerké

Just a few months before this letter, Still had written to Schwerké with specific requests for an upcoming performance of Africa, detailing instructions like executing fingernail pizzicato on the piano and using certain mutes for the brass instruments. Their correspondence went back and forth, especially concerning the availability of these particular mutes. While these details may seem minor, they are crucial in recognizing how rare it was at that time for composers of color to receive such performance opportunities. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WAZByrG1dE0

In exploring more about Still’s exchanges with Schwerké, I came across a class blog post from 2019 by Siri Mellem, which highlights how composers’ statements and experiences, particularly looking at those of Still, are often complex and layered4. As the first African American composer to have works performed, an opera produced by a major American company, and even televised, Still’s achievements as a person of color were highly significant. I could see what Mellem meant by complex when reading the letter above, and reading: “I agree with you as to the origin of American Music. As I see it, the music of the American Negro has resulted from the union of the religious songs you mentioned and the primitive songs of Africa.”  The idea of the melting pot is present here, though it makes me wonder how much thought Still must have put to the idea of American music and how his identity as one of the first prominent conductors of color may have influenced this view.

I was also reminded of the challenges Still faced as an artist of color while working with large networks and companies. For instance, when Deep River moved to NBC, he was not allowed to conduct because network policy prohibited Black conductors from leading predominantly white orchestras. However, when the program eventually moved to CBS, Still was given the opportunity to conduct. He later recalled, “There were many surprised faces as I mounted the podium, but at the end of the rehearsal, we were friends5.” This experience illustrates both the barriers he encountered and his skillful navigation of them.

This aspect of Still’s approach to his career, his careful wording and strategic positioning, seems similar to the approach of Eileen Southern, who also balanced careful self-presentation to fit within the established system. Both exemplify how artists of color have historically had to make thoughtful choices in how they communicate and operate within predominantly white institutions to have their voices heard and their contributions recognized.

1 Thomas, Mike. “Decades after his death, William Grant Still receives his moment in the sun,” Chicago Symphony Orchestra, Jan 4, 2019, https://cso.org/experience/article/2899/decades-after-his-death-william-grant-still-r#:~:text=Still%2C%20the%20first%20African%20American,in%20late%2018th%2Dcentury%20Haiti.

2 Mellem, Siri. “The Complex Contradictions of William Grant Still.” Music 345: Race, Identity, and Representation in American Music (blog). WordPress. Oct 24, 2019. https://pages.stolaf.edu/americanmusic/2019/10/24/the-complex-contradictions-of-william-grant-still/

3 Still, William Grant. Letter to Irving Schwerké. “The Bad Homburg Festival of American Music ,” July 29, 1931. https://publishing.cdlib.org/ucpressebooks/view?docId=ft1h4nb0g0&chunk.id=d0e8217&toc.depth=1&toc.id=d0e7410&brand=ucpress.

4 William Grant Still and Judith Anne Still, My Life, My Words: The Autobiography of William Grant Still, American Master Composer (Flagstaff, AZ: The Master-Player Library, 2011).

5 William Grant Still and Judith Anne Still, My Life, My Words: The Autobiography of William Grant Still, American Master Composer (Flagstaff, AZ: The Master-Player Library, 2011), 213.

Music in Response and Remembrance

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The exhibition piece, Prayer for Peace, describes Kurt Westerberg’s ‘72 De Profundis, and the images reflect a powerful response from St. Olaf students to the tragic events at Kent State and Jackson State Universities in 1970. De Profundis, which translates to “out of the depths,” was composed by Westerberg as a sophomore in the wake of these violent events, where students lost their lives amidst the turmoil of Vietnam War protests1.

St. Olaf students at Capital Hill in Washington D.C., 1972

The images above capture the performance of De Profundis on Capitol Hill in May 1972. This twenty-minute, three-movement composition combines vocals, instrumentals, and dance to express grief, reflection, and a longing for peace. In the program introduction, Westerberg wrote, “De Profundis is not meant to be entertaining listening nor is it a ‘hip’ version of a Biblical Psalm2.” This is important to note, given the importance of the piece’s expression. 

Image of Dell Grant ‘73 – St. Olaf’s First African American art major, who choreographed the sequence and performed alongside 18 others at the Capital Hill performance in 1972

Westerberg based the piece on Psalm 130, a text he encountered during a memorial service honoring the victims of the protests. The Psalm’s lines,

“If you, Lord, kept a record of sins, Lord, who could stand? But with you there is forgiveness, so that we can, with reverence, serve you3.”

form an emotional heart of De Profundis. By setting these words to music, it seems Westerberg aimed to transform sorrow and lament into a communal prayer for reconciliation, contrasting the bitterness of violence with a desire for forgiveness and healing. 

 

While looking more into De Profundis, I came across a transcript of an interview with Westerberg in 2013. In response to his recalling of the Washington D.C. experience, he reflected on the growth of the piece and its communal contribution, stating the following: 

“It was a very humbling experience to have my sophomoric work used to express a significant desire for peace and reconciliation. It was really not just my work anymore – I knew that it had grown beyond my creative input, and had impact because of the result of so many other efforts, including the [singers], musicians, and dancers4.”

As I reflect on this composition and the images, I am reminded of Nina Simone’s Mississippi Goddam, written in response to the bombing that killed four Black girls in Birmingham5. While both Westerberg and Simone address violence, their approaches differ. Simone confronts institutional racism with urgency, her music demanding justice. In contrast, Westerberg seeks solace, inviting spiritual introspection as a response to tragedy.

De Profundis, therefore, stands as a testament to music’s power to respond to violence in varied ways, whether by seeking peace, demanding change, or gathering a community in shared reflection.

1 Sauve, Jeff. “A Musical Prayer for Peace.” St. Olaf Magazine no. Winter, 2013.

2 Sauve, Jeff. “A Musical Prayer for Peace.” St. Olaf Magazine no. Winter, 2013.

4 Sauve, Jeff. “A Musical Prayer for Peace.” St. Olaf Magazine no. Winter, 2013.

5 Fields, Liz. “The Story behind Nina Simone’s Protest Song, ‘Mississippi Goddam.’” PBS, June 30, 2023. https://www.pbs.org/wnet/americanmasters/the-story-behind-nina-simones-protest-song-mississippi-goddam/16651/.

The Cakewalk: A Predeccesor

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William A. Pratt’s Following Up The Band: An African Sonata for Piano, published in 1900, presents an example of how African American influences were making their way into notated music 1.

Following Up The Band: Cake Walk Characteristic Two Step March

 

 

The piece, written as a piano sonata, mimics the sound of a marching band parading through the streets, taking on the style of a characteristic two-step march. The cover of the score, showing men in tailcoats and a woman in Victorian dress, shows imagery associated with the cakewalk, a dance that played a role in shaping early American music. This imagery, along with the music itself, suggests a blend of the social and cultural practices of the time.

 

 

The cakewalk, a dance that was originally created to mock the European minuet, was adopted by Minstrel shows in the late 19th century. As John Jeremiah Sullivan points out, it began as a satire but was adopted by white performers as part of a caricature in their shows, creating a layered and looped irony: African Americans making fun of the minuet, and white people, in turn, making fun of the cakewalk2.

This irony, noted by writers like Amiri Baraka, reflects the complex relationship between African American culture and how mainstream society consumed it, particularly within minstrelsy3. Pratt’s African Sonata for Piano can be seen as part of this broader context. It combines the structure of a European sonata with a two-step rhythm that characterizes marching band music. I can not point to much syncopation or polyrhythms that would have been characteristic of a cakewalk, in the score, which makes me wonder about the performance practice for a sonata with the subtitle An African Sonata for Piano. 

Following up the band : an African sonata for piano

As we learn about the evolution of jazz, ragtime, and blues, the connection of the cakewalk becomes more apparent. Its influence on later musical forms is evident in works like Pratt’s, which, though written for piano, paints a picture of a marching band and the energy of a parade. The imagery on the score’s cover reinforces the connection to the cakewalk, reflecting the cultural dynamics of the time, both celebratory and ironic. This sonata serves as an example of how African American culture, despite being appropriated and caricatured in many contexts, was central to shaping later forms of American music as we know it.

 

1 William A. Pratt, Following up the band : cake walk characteristic two step march (New York, NY: K. Dehnhoff, 1900), accessed October 22 2024, https://dc.lib.unc.edu/cdm/compoundobject/collection/sheetmusic/id/35013/rec/1

2 Sullivan, John Jeremiah. “‘Shuffle Along’ and the Lost History of Black Performance in America” New York Times. March 24, 2016. https://www.nytimes.com/2016/03/27/magazine/shuffle-along-and-the-painful-history-of-black-performance-in-america.html

3 Baraka, Amiri. Blues People: The Negro Experience in White America and the Music that Developed from it. New York, NY: William Morrow and Company. https://search.alexanderstreet.com/view/work/bibliographic_entity|bibliographic_details|452295.

“A New Race”: Theater and Societal Values

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In a 1982 advertisement in The Chicago Metro News (Issue 13, Volume 16, June 12, 1982), I came across this intriguing summary of a play:

“The play tells about a sterility bomb that has been dropped on the whole wide world, sterilizing all but one male human being, and he is a Black man, and has to repopulate the entire world.1”

The Chicago Metro News (Issue 13, Volume 16, June 12, 1982)

This play, titled A New Race, was written by Alice C. Browning and presented at the 12th annual International Black Writers’ Conference. I was curious to learn more about the play’s plot and reception, and to my surprise, I found little to no information about it beyond that newspaper mention. However, I did learn more about Alice C. Browning and her important contributions to African American literature and the arts.

In 1970, nearing retirement from teaching, Browning met with fellow leaders in the African American community, including Judge Sidney Jones and Leo Sparks, at the Washington Park Community Fieldhouse to plan the first annual International Black Writers Conference.

Alice C. Browning (1907–1985) was an educator, writer, and publisher. While studying at Columbia University, she developed an interest in writing short stories but faced rejection when submitting her work to magazines. This experience led her to create an outlet for African Americans to publish their stories, which resulted in the founding of Negro Story magazine, a publication that ran for nine issues. She continued exploring new ventures in publishing and eventually became one of the founding organizers of the International Black Writers’ Conference, established in 1970, around the time of her retirement.2

With so little information available about A New Race, I started thinking about how theater and performance spaces had changed by 1982. Theaters were no longer exclusively for white audiences, yet the fact that the play’s advertisement mentioned an interracial cast of actors and actresses feels significant. The fact that this detail needed to be highlighted suggests it was still uncommon. Additionally, the play itself, a science fiction comedy that critiqued nuclear warfare, seems bold for its time. The 1980s were marked by Cold War tensions, which makes me wonder how audiences received a play with themes like this at the time.

As we’ve discussed with minstrelsy, comedy on stage has often been used to mask deeper issues, sometimes as a way to caricature Black people for white audiences.3 This makes me wonder about Browning’s intent in casting a Black man as the last fertile male left to repopulate the world, in a satirical play. She was clearly passionate about getting African American voices out there, and I think there is something to say about the name of the theater that was going to be presenting this play, the Sankofa Inc. Theate. The play’s use of comedy to touch on Cold War anxieties, alongside an interracial cast and a Black lead, could easily have made some audiences uncomfortable. This  discomfort may have contributed to the lack of information about the play today. Perhaps it was underattended or underreported, which is why information on it is limited.

It’s interesting to think about how all these elements, nuclear warfare satire, race, and comedy, came together on stage in A New Race. And while I wasn’t able to uncover more about the play itself, it leaves me wondering about its impact and how it might have been received at the time.

1 “A New Race of People.” Chicago Metro News (Chicago, Illinois) 16, no. 31, June 12, 1982: PAGE 16. Readex: African American Newspapers. https://infoweb.newsbank.com/apps/readex/doc?p=EANAAA&docref=image/v2%3A12912DF42BF1884F%40EANAAA-12B78B1955820310%402445133-12B78B1A38C0B790%4031-12B78B1CB1DD51E0%40A%2BNew%2BRace%2Bof%2BPeople.

2 Browning, Alice Papers, Chicago Public Library, Carter G. Woodson Regional Library, Vivian G. Harsh Research Collection of Afro-American History and Literature

3 Sullivan, John Jeremiah. “‘Shuffle Along’ and the Lost History of Black Performance in America.” The New York Times Magazine, March 24, 2016. https://www.nytimes.com/2016/03/27/magazine/shuffle-along-and-the-painful-history-of-black-performance-in-america.html.

 

 

 

Fiddles, Rhythm, and American Integration

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“His ability to simplify the intricate rhythms of rumba, tango, and samba made him popular with American audiences.1”

My initial curiosity about violinists and fiddlers during the era of slavery led me to explore more about the violin’s role in different cultural contexts, including its place in Latin music, as documented in The Latino American Experience database. I wanted to learn more about its presence over the past few centuries. Below is an image of violinist Xavier Cugat, to whom the quote above is referencing, also known as the “Rumba King.”

The musician Xavier Cugat was born in Spain but lived in America for most of his life. He played classical violin from a young age and later became known as the “Rumba King,” a name closely identified with all Latin American music. His ability to simplify the intricate rhythms of the rumba, tango, and samba made him popular with American audiences, and by the 1940s he and his band had achieved a national reputation because of their radio appearances.

Playing an instrument can open doors, as we see in Cugat’s case, where his ability to simplify Latin rhythms allowed his career to flourish. This also exposed people to music that they might not have otherwise experienced. In contrast, those who simply appreciated Latin music but couldn’t create it may have been more limited in their engagement. Going back a bit, Eileen Southern (1997) writes about instrumentalists, particularly fiddlers, as entertainers during slavery, noting, “A good violinist found that his fiddle gained him entry into places otherwise closed to slaves and exempted him of many a day of hard work in the fields2.” While still enslaved, musicians like these gained temporary relief from field labor, performing in less physically demanding roles. Southern (1997) also notes that these musicians were expected to play minuets and cotillions, not just reels and jigs, reminding us that their performances were still dictated by the commands of the “masters.” Similarly, Cugat had to simplify Latin rhythms to meet the tastes of American audiences.

Below are two recordings of “Aquarela do Brasil” for comparison: one performed by a traditional big band with Cugat on violin, and another recorded in 1980 by Brazilian singer Gal Costa. The difference between these versions highlights what is meant by the “simplification” of Latin songs. Cugat’s arrangement has more “structured” rhythms, even subdivisions within a beat, that fit together in a way that is more familiar to American audiences.

Cugat, Xavier. “Rumba Rumba.” Future Noise Music Ltd, 2008.

Critics like Virgil Thomson often dismissed non-European influences in music. Thomson (1971) wrote, “And if their work bore traces of a non-European accent, these were no source of pride. Every effort was made indeed to perform German, French, or Italian music as it was performed in the country of its own origin 3.” Although his critique was aimed at what could be considered American music, it also suggests that many people might not have appreciated Latin American styles. As Cugat noted in a 1978 interview, this made it particularly challenging to bring the full complexity of Latin music to an unfamiliar audience4.

1 “Xavier Cugat.” In The American Mosaic: The Latino American Experience, ABC-CLIO, 2024. Image. Accessed October 1, 2024. https://latinoamerican2.abc-clio.com/Search/Display/2179761.</

2 Southern, Eileen. The Music of Black Americans: A History. Vol. 3. New York, NY: W. W. Norton & Company, 1997.

3 Thomson, Virgil. American music since 1910. New York, NY: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1971.

4 “Xavier Cugat – Composer Insights.” YouTube. Accessed October 1, 2024. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DR5Mys21CA8.

Music and Assimilation in a 19th-Century Indian Boarding School

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In the late 19th century, the U.S. government established Native American Boarding Schools, also known as Indian Boarding Schools, as a means of assimilating Indigenous youth into American culture.1

This extract is titled In a Government Indian School, written by Bertha S. Wilkins and published in 1897. The article describes Wilkins’s experiences as a teacher at a Government boarding school on the Pima Indian Reservation in Arizona. Wilkins begins by categorizing various “types” of students, stating, “Better conditions for studying the Indian child can hardly be imagined”.2 As a government employee and teacher, her role in the boarding school allowed her the freedom to write openly in this manner. She touches on topics ranging from social standing to academics, often with vivid descriptions, particularly regarding music. The tone suggests the article was written for those interested in the boarding school and in understanding what the students from the reservations were like as they went through the process of assimilation. For example, she writes, “Little Alice, under exactly the same conditions, has little power of concentration, but sings so sweetly and enjoys life so much that one is tempted to let her go her own smiling little way.”3 This shows a lack of objectivity in her observations, as there is no detailed analysis of the singing beyond the word “sweetly,” which reduces the individuality of the girl described. Browner highlights the importance of recognizing regional differences in singing styles, something Wilkins overlooks here.4

Wilkins describes this particular tribe of students as being highly musical but writes, “Their voices do not have the silvery quality of the white child’s voice, nor the rich resonance of the young Negro’s; yet under training they develop a quality of tone which is distinctive and charming.”5 This echoes similar descriptions found in Tick’s (2008) documentary collections, where Native voices were often characterized as “miserable” or “shrieking,” even when not referring specifically to singing.6
Wilkins’s portrayal carries a tone of undervaluing Native American voices, through comparison and by suggesting they require training, at least in singing.

This text reflects the cultural attitudes of the late 19th century when boarding schools were established on reservations for the purpose of assimilation and the study of Native cultures, seen at the time as “sub-cultures.” The narrative reinforces the idea of Native Americans being in the early stages of cultural evolution, with the classroom serving as a kind of laboratory where children were observed while being taught Western ways of life, including the refinement of their singing voices to produce a more desirable tone. Wilkins’s account fails to mention important aspects such as classroom management, discipline, or the children’s personal experiences, and it does not address how this education impacted their family dynamics. Instead, her tone remains light, offering little insight into the children’s emotional or psychological experiences within this system.

1 Mejia, Melissa. “The U.S. History of Native American Boarding Schools.” The Indigenous Foundation, July 26, 2022. https://www.theindigenousfoundation.org/articles/us-residential-schools.

2 Bertha Wilkins, “In a Government Indian School,” Land of Sunshine, June-November 1897, 242-247, Indigenous Histories and Cultures in North America.

3  Wilkins, “In a Government Indian School,” 243.

5 Wilkins, “In a Government Indian School,” 245.

6 Tick, Judith, and Beaudoin, Paul, eds. Music in the USA : A Documentary Companion. Oxford: Oxford University Press, Incorporated, 2008. Accessed September 20, 2024. ProQuest Ebook Central.