A recent episode entitled Pause—which explores the problematic entanglement of Hollywood, the black church, black sexuality and insistent, pejorative stereotypes that incessantly haunt black identity politics—recently became the catalyst for a whirlwind of criticisms and litigation as McGruder fixed his satirical gaze upon American darling and Hollywood mogul, Tyler Perry. My article specifically responds to a critique levied by this month’s Blackademics interview feature, Dr. Mark Anthony Neal.   

After viewing Pause (click link to watch episode), I found Dr. Neal’s critique, “McGruder Goes in Hard on Tyler Perry? Not Really” (click link to read article) to be a poor analysis at best and tantamount to reactionary propaganda in its functionality. While there are moments of astute political commentary—like Neal’s macro considerations of Perry as a cog in the great wheel of imperialist cultural production—it primarily resonates as bourgeois identity politics shrouded in a trendy liberalism that purports to rail against racist, sexist and homophobic rhetoric, but actually obscures oppression and exploitation as it privileges identity over radical resistance and revolutionary art.

This is demonstrated in Neal’s inept critique of McGruder. Neal is more concerned with what he perceives as McGruder’s “virulent homophobia” and “demeaning depictions” of homosexuality and gender and the baneful “tethering” of the two, rather than how McGruder subversively (and comically) explores the loaded concourse of class, race, sexuality and gender and how all of these misnomers and socially constructed identities meld together for the nefarious reproduction of capital and capitalism.

Neal’s fetish with McGruder’s employment of homophobic and homoerotic imaginings discounts and ignores the satirical panoply of radical material that McGruder actualizes in Pause. McGruder calls a series of racial, sexual, gender, class and religious assumptions into question to demonstrate capitalism’s pervasiveness in perverting various (“black”) identity formations for the sole purpose of commodifying black bodies. McGruder’s fictional antagonist, Winston Jerome, rests at the intersection of these overdetermined and overlapping identity formations within Pause’s narrative scheme, and as a result, must embody key attributes of them all. This explains Winston Jerome’s code-switching, his gender-bending and homoerotic performance as Ma Dukes as well as his effeminate disposition that Neal narrowly scorns as “demeaning and homophobic”.

The complexity of Winston Jerome becomes more apparent once we endeavor to view him with lenses not limited to homosexual and homoerotic readings. As a heterosexual Christian member of the black bourgeoisie, McGruder really finds a nuanced complexity to envelop Winston Jerome in; and it is within this identity makeup that Winston Jerome becomes the most dangerous and susceptible to capitalism’s agenda of commodifying black bodies.  

For instance, when Winston Jerome calls Robert into his office to confront him with the video of Robert gazing at the breasts of a female actress (which certainly implies the elite’s ability to conduct surveillance on black bodies), Winston Jerome tells Robert that it’s “okay if he loves women more than he loves Jesus”, because if women is what Robert desires, then he and Jesus will deliver them by the thousands. He goes on to add that Robert can have any kind of woman that he wants. This certainly underscores the patriarchal, Christian impetus of objectifying women (especially women of color) that the American capitalist and white supremacist hegemonic social order mandates. This scene resonates with an acute profundity as it directly follows the scene where a scantily-clad and curvaceous black woman, who used to be a porn star, admits that Winston Jerome “saved her”. She further states, “I used to give up the ass for me, but now I give up the ass for Jesus…and his homeboys.” This telling statement not only reveals her loss of sexual agency but also reveals Jesus (a white man in the imagination of Winston Jerome and no doubt in all of his followers) as a pimp and trafficker of black bodies.

This is compounded by Winston Jerome’s entourage of topless, shiny black men who appear as silent bodies throughout the episode. Besides the homoerotic implications of their presence relative to Winston’s sexual longings, their oily, overexposed and well-defined bodies are meant to conjure images of black bucks on auction blocks. Like the ex-porn star who now “gives up the ass for Jesus and his homeboys”, these bodies are openly objectified and staged for immediate consumption. So in all actuality, in Winston Jerome’s dramas (like Tyler Perry’s retrograde works), it is the black heterosexual performance that publicly objectifies and commodifies black bodies… black bodies that are served up to meet the overwhelming demands of the sexually repressed black church and black bourgeoisie as well as white America’s insatiable appetite for black flesh.

Through Pause’s hilarious satire of Tyler Perry, McGruder brilliantly constructs a narrative space that reveals the poisonous conflation of the (black) church and capitalist state where a variety of black stereotypes and tropes are policed and mass produced for mass consumption… and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Moreover, within this schema of misnaming, marginalization and exploitation, of which Tyler Perry is a significant player, his role and works cannot be discounted as “innocuous” as Neal recklessly suggests. While I agree with Neal’s point to focus on the structural maladies that create a need for the works of Tyler Perry in the first place, we must also be committed to identifying the dealers of oppression that walk freely amongst us, what Amiri Baraka refers to as “imperialism ruling through native agents”.       

In the end, contrary to Neal’s narrow misreading of Pause, we are left with more than a “brilliantly funny episode” that offers plenty “with regards to meaningful cultural criticism”. And unfortunately, the only thing that prevents Neal from seeing that is his homo-friendly identity politics.  

[Ringing]

Yo.

Hip Hop?
What’s up?

You’re alive!
Can’t stop, won’t stop.

Thanks for letting me interview you, I know you’re busy.
It’s cool. I got to take advantage of this opportunity to represent myself.

You’re breaking up a little. Can you hear me okay?
Yeah. I’m on a cordless house phone and I stepped out of range for a moment, but I’m back. The reception will be clear as long as I stay close to the base.

[beep]

What was that? I heard a beep?
I don’t know. Probably the Patriot Act. You know they’re listenin’.

Everytime I look around, somebody lyin’ on me
Mr. Cheney, Mr. Ridge, steady spyin’ on me
-Jay Electronica, “Dealing”

I’m joking, the beep was just me putting on some music.

Cool, but speaking of the Patriot Act, why don’t you rhyme about stuff like that anymore? Politics and social issues? Chuck D used to call you “the black CNN” but now you’re just the–
Hold up, hold up, hold up. Let me tell you something:

Ok…
And listen good. My very existence, my whole being, is not just being aware of politics and social issues–ranging from the White House to the block–but engaged and active. Take my first name, for example?

Hip?
Yeah, it’s from Africa. It’s Wolof and comes from “hipi,” which means “to open one’s eyes and see.” So, hipi is a term of enlightenment. My first name means “to see or to be enlightened,” ya dig.

Definitely, definitely, I can dig it.
That’s Wolof, too.

What, ‘dig’?
Un-huh, it comes from the Wolof word “dega,” which means “to understand.” This is all coming out of Africa. That’s why my pops, Afrika Bambaataa, called his crew the Zulu Nation.

Anyway, back to the point: when you combine hip, or enlightenment, with hop–hop coming from the Old English hoppian meaning to spring forward into action–the result is enlightened action. So when KRS-ONE says “I Am Hip-Hop” he’s also saying I Am an enlightened actor.

In America, this enlightened action has often meant resisting and rebelling against the status quo. And just so you know, I’m not the creator of this, I’m the keeper of this. My family has been doing this for centuries.

Doing what?
Opposing what needs to be opposed, supposing what needs to be supposed. My family has always used its gifts to uplift. My bad, I’m not trying to rhyme, just can’t help it.

Anyway, My great grandparents Blues and Field Songs opposed slavery; My cousin from Harlem, Renaissance, opposed Jim Crow and lynching; my Movement uncles and aunts, Black Arts, opposed urban oppression and taught me that black is beautiful; and I’ve tried to be a custodian of this tradition using my five elements.

Five elements?
Yessir.

I know Djing, Emceeing, Graffiti, and B-Boying, but what’s the fifth?
The fifth is the most important element. It’s knowledge. It actually informs all the other elements. The idea is without ‘knowledge, wisdom, and understanding,’ you can’t properly use the other elements.

I wonder how many of today’s rappers know that?
Each one, teach one.

Look, all that sounds real, real good, but I don’t hear that enlightened action, five elements stuff when I turn on the radio.
That’s why Ice Cube said “Turn off the radio!”

Turning on the radio, expectin to hear the real
Is like going to McDonalds expectin a healthy meal
-Stic.Man (Dead Prez)

Look, let me ask you something?

Yeah?
If a microphone falls in a ghetto and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?

I don’t know, what’s that suppose to mean?
It means that I told you who I was, about my lineage and I haven’t changed. At my core, I’m the same cat who was born November 12, 1974 in the Boogie Down.

Like anything, I can be used for positive or negative. Religions are distorted all the time for negative purposes, however, there is nothing fundamentally negative or wrong with those religions. The problem isn’t the religion, but the distortion of the religion. That’s how it is with me. My name is attached to a lot of things that are not me.

The key these days is just knowing where to find me because I’m just as political as ever. I’m always speaking out and acting on issues.

Like…?
Like The Wars, for example.

How can they go to war with terror
When it’s war that’s terrorizing?
-K’naan, “Hoobaale”

Not only did my artists and groups respond, but a my organizers and community merged for the nationwide Make Hip Hop Not War concert which made stops in over 40 US cities. At these shows, my people were able to hear uncompromising emcees along with commentary, first-hand, from activists, soldiers, and organizers. At the tour in DC, Hip Hop Caucus’ Rev told the audience:

We held events, rallies and roundtables in each city and educated audiences on the costs of the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq and motivated young people to take action and have their voices heard. Those voices promoted the closing of Guantanamo Bay and the restoration of Habeas Corpus. Those voices were heard.

He added that, “Hip hop heads are all too aware that war is never the answer, because they’re the ones sent off to fight, not the silver-spoons from the suburbs.”

And musically? What about in your music?
I’ve been involved in thousands of anti-war songs by emcees like Dead Prez, Immortal Technique, The Beast, Nas, Lauryn Hill, Styles P, Common, A-Alikes, Comrade, Mos Def, Talib Kweli, Lupe Fiasco, Janelle Monae, Labtekwon, The Roots…

[beep]

Yo, that’s my other line. I gotta get this. It’s Mama’ [Africa].

Okay, but can I ask one more quick question?
Hurry up.

You say you’re alive now, but many think you’re on the verge of death. How’s your health?
I’m like the bird.

What bird?
There was this blind woman in my neighborhood named Ms. Lulu. Ms. Lulu couldn’t see but she had vision. One day a group of kids came to her with a bird buried in their hand. They asked her, ‘is the bird dead or alive?’ She responded, ‘I don’t know if the bird is dead or alive. The only thing I know is that it’s in your hands.’

Just like those kids could either crush the bird or let it fly, I too am in your hands!

[click]

I will never forget Earth Day weekend 2010. It was an action-packed, music-filled, family affair where I went from being center stage at a music festival in rural North Carolina to being backstage at a Roots concert on the National Mall.

It all started Friday at the Shakori Hills Grassroots Festival of Music and Dance outside Pittsboro. Shakori is always a great time. You can’t go wrong with four consecutive days of listening to more than 50 bands on 75 acres of rolling hills and grassy meadows.

This year’s festival was particularly special for me because my wife, Kathryn, brought our son, Justice, and our 15-day-old daughter, Stella, to see my band, The Beast, perform. After an exhilarating (and exhausting) one and a half hour performance, I devoured a plate of delicious organic vegetarian lasagna and a Nutella-and-strawberry crepe before heading over to the dance tent, where 12-piece salsa super-group Orquesta Gardel was entertaining a crowd of hundreds of hippy salsa dancers.

Six songs into their set, lead singer Nelson Delgado invited me on stage to debut a new arrangement of our bilingual hip-hop/salsa anthem, “Translation.” Composer Eric Hirsh (who is the pianist for both The Beast and Orquesta Gardel) had written a high-octane extended arrangement of “Translation” specifically for Shakori, which allowed for more interplay between me and the Gardel vocalists. It was a remarkable performance and easily one of the best Shakori Hills experiences I’ve ever had. After Gardel’s set I headed home for some much-needed rest. The weekend hadn’t even started yet.

On Saturday, I joined The Beast again for an incredible performance at the North Carolina Museum of Art. It was their grand reopening and there were a ton of people who came out. We played a fun 45-minute set in front of friends and family. My dad brought Justice to come see the show. It was great to see him dancing to my music among a diverse, multi-generational crowd of enthusiastic North Carolinians.

I had intended to return to Shakori Hills on Saturday night to catch some amazing bands including Durham’s Hammer No More The Fingers, Raleigh’s Inflowential and Bela Fleck, but fate had other plans for me. You see, earlier that day I had received a text message from a cool old-soul named Richard. Rich is the manager of my favorite band, The Roots. He informed me that I would be joining him on the steps of the White House in Washington, D.C., to celebrate the 40th Anniversary of Earth Day with the legendary Roots crew. So I left the North Carolina Museum of Art, ran home, showered, changed, packed, kissed the wife and kids and jumped on 85 North.

I arrived in Baltimore at my sister, Maya Freelon Asante, and her husband MK Asante Jr.’s house just before midnight, crashed, and hit the National Mall around 9:30 a.m. the following morning. I linked up with Rich around 11 a.m., at which point he hit me with the look of a lifetime: a backstage pass. Yeeeeees!

Rich walked me to the Roots’ lavish tour bus where we talked black music, culture and politics, and he introduced me to the band. I spent the entire day hanging out with The Roots while they rehearsed with Joss Stone, John Legend and Sting. I was eating cheese burgers two feet away from Jesse Jackson and James Cameron. And I got to stand on stage and watch in awe as the legendary Roots crew captivated a crowd of thousands of Earth Day fanatics. Over the course of the day, I ran into several friends that I hadn’t seen in years and established new friendships, most notably with Rich and with Ahmir - the drummer/co-founder of Roots, better known as ?uestlove.

The excitement continued after the concert, as I returned to Baltimore to kick it with my beloved siblings. There was much to celebrate in the Asante household. Maya had been in Madagascar for the previous two weeks, installing her brilliant artwork in the U.S. embassy there. That week, MK received word that he, at 28 years old, had earned tenure from Morgan State University. Meanwhile, I hadn’t seen either of them since their niece Stella was born. So we exchanged stories and congratulations over take-out Vietnamese and a bottle of drank.

Monday morning MK and I hit the basketball court before I jumped on the road back to North Carolina. It was the perfect end to one incredible weekend.

Look out for Freedom Suite this fall. We just tracked rhythm section last week. It’s going to be an incredible project.

Back in May of 2007, I interviewed Olympic Gold medalist and revolutionary activist, Tommie Smith (click to listen to interview).

In 2008, I dropped the original human beat box, Doug E. Fresh off at the airport. Check it out:


Last May, I had the honor of sitting down with journalist, activist and distinguished professor Chuck Stone (click to listen to interview) at the Chapel Hill restaurant, Four Eleven. Enjoy!

As I was brainstorming, I was reminded of a poem written by my brother from another mother, D. Noble. D, born Demetrius Noble, is a Greensboro-based poet and father who recently changed his name to Olokun Shangol Olugbala. His poem “Remember the Names” explains why:

“…I forgot how to pronounce the divinity of my name. I lost the birthright of my father. Never knew the name of my mother. I was forced to discover false tongue that created a language that kept me in bondage. And I responded with silence. A mute voice that led to a mainstream cute choice. Robert Arnold or Richard Christopher. Not Bakrai Shangol, or Zayid Olugbala. With false hopes of a better day and a second look at a resume, I denied my identity and named my son William Timothy. Spirits. Forefathers. Ancestors. Forgive me … the cost of assimilation is depraved insanity. Only a crazed man would reject himself and don the title of someone else. I have prostituted myself for psuedo-acceptance and marginal wealth.”

I play the poem “Remember the Names” for the students in my Music and Political Movements class at N.C. Central University. It captures the revolutionary spirit of the Blacks Arts Movement, as D explains the sacred significance of naming. He also reveals a tremendous crisis for the descendants of Africans who were (and still are) violently stripped of their heritage in this country.

Several of my students, many of whom are parents themselves, admitted experiencing pressure to choose “safe” or “mainstream” names for their children for the purposes of getting ahead in society (whatever that means). Courageous scholars and artists such as D. Noble help remind us how dangerous that assimilationist attitude can be. His beautiful daughter is named Kimani Oshun.

While my parents did not have the same convictions and methodology as D. Noble, I think they did a wonderful job naming me and my siblings. They had a formula that they stuck with for each of us and the results were original, endearing and accurate. There were three ingredients to their recipe: 1. Pick a strong, original name to reflect individuality and character. 2. Pair that original name with a family name, which roots the child in their heritage and ancestors. 3. Slap “Freelon” at the end for name-recognition and nepotistic capital (joking, of course).

My older brother, Deen, took the middle name Goodwin from his great uncle on our father’s side. Eighteen months later, my sister inherited our grandmother Elizabeth’s name and became the charming Maya Beth Freelon. I was fortunate enough to be blessed with two family names: Pierce and Randall; my mother’s maiden name and my great grandfather’s middle name, respectively. My wife and I decided to use my parent’s formula to name our first child, Justice Proctor Freelon.

The name Justice is strong, dynamic and flat-out [awesome]; he sounds like a superhero (and, indeed, he is one). We had other potential candidates including Proctor (as a first name), Randall and Bishop but on the day he was born, at the moment I first looked into his eyes, I knew what time it was. His middle name, Proctor, is my wife’s maiden name - a name that is endowed with incredible strength and proud legacy. If only naming this girl were so easy.

We have some ideas. We like the family names: Stella, Cuyjet, Billie and Tate. We like the creative original/historical figure names: Zora, Naomi and Kenna. However, we have yet to stumble upon that gem that renders all other candidates obsolete. And I don’t think we will know what her name is until we meet her. How could I possibly know my daughter’s name before I get to experience her presence? I am confident that when I look into her eyes for the first time, hear her voice, feel her touch, smell her poopy butt, I’ll know.

Note/update: this article is a re-post from the News and Observer (and the baby was eventually named, Stella).

Guru passed away Monday after a lengthy battle with Cancer. He was 43 years old. The influential emcee was half of the legendary band Gangstarr and founder of the visionary jazz/Hip-Hop fusion experiment, Jazzmatazz. The best way to cherish Guru is to celebrate his life’s work and passion. Below, you will find a gem from the mind of one of the most original, intellectual and progressive cats who ever did it. This Gangstarr track Full Clip celebrates the life of another seminal emcee, Big L. Enjoy.