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The great American composer George Gershwin once said, “… true music … must repeat the thought and aspirations of the people and the time. My people are Americans. My time is today….”[1] During his prolific career, Gershwin drew inspiration from the varied faces of American life: black culture for Porgy and Bess, the turmoil of American politics for the satire Of Thee I Sing and wild sophistication of the 1920s for the comedy Funny Face. Along with his brother Ira, George Gershwin not only reached his audience, but also exemplified American culture and values through his songs. Despite Gershwin’s far-reaching appeal to the American masses, songwriters, musicians and folk singers within a smaller community were equally, if not more, revered by their listening public. No matter the type of music, the culture or the time period, music helps form cultural identity and strengthens communal bonds by the proliferation of “true music” within a community. It is important to examine the bonds between music and community on a local level in order to understand the music’s significance and how a community accepted or rejected music’s sound, lyrical message and production can illustrate just how this happens.
Author William Van Deburg examines the significance of black popular music within 1960s and 70s African-American culture. In New Day in Babylon, Van Deburg describes the importance of soul music to the Black Power movement and the culture of black America. Van Deburg views soul music as the “repository of racial experience,” an indigenous expression of important symbols and messages through music that blacks could identify with. He argues that popular music, especially soul music, is “cultural glue,” a common ground where community identity can be found and held together. In both its production and consumption, popular music provides a sense of belonging, roots, unity, and identification that other forms of communication cannot. [2]
Van Deburg examines this relationship between community and 1960s and 70s black popular music on a national level. In Indianapolis, black citizens were dealing with similar problems that nationally released music by James Brown, Curtis Mayfield, Aretha Franklin, Marvin Gaye and other artists discussed, yet they had their own specific issues to deal with as well. Interstate construction, loss of housing due to the construction of the downtown university, poverty and a large-scale move of residents to new parts of the area all affected Indianapolis’ black community. Although blacks consumed records by Brown, Mayfield, Franklin, Gaye and others, they also purchased recordings by local artists such as the Highlighters, the Rhythm Machine, Billy Wooten and Billy Ball. This locally produced music reflected characteristics of Indianapolis’ black community between 1968 and 1974 and acted as the kind of cultural glue Van Deburg identified on a national level. Locally produced music served as cultural glue for the city’s younger black population, including those who regularly attended Indianapolis nightclubs, purchased soul 45s at local stores, and listened to their favorite soul hits on WTLC and WGEE radio. Most Indianapolis blacks enjoyed this brand of music, but some, especially elderly and older middle class blacks did not fully embrace the message or sound of soul. Local musicians were relatives, friends and neighbors of the people in the audience and could relate to the songs and the music. This was a time of great stress and change in the city and soul music was a key component in bringing many blacks together, both in the physical sense at club and live concerts, and in an emotional sense, as the music portrayed many of the same issues blacks within the community dealt with everyday.
The city of Indianapolis underwent great change during the 1960s and 70s, and the black community felt the brunt of these changes. Interstate 65 ran directly through a predominantly black neighborhood. The construction of the IUPUI campus took place adjacent to Indiana Avenue, the central district for African Americans and the heart and soul of the city’s rich jazz heritage. Lastly Unigov, a unified city-county government, added nearly 250,000 more whites to the voting base, further weakening the already tenuous political power of the city’s African Americans. Throughout these events, the city’s African-American community remained moderate despite citizens losing their homes, jobs and political power. Although many black residents were involved with civic organizations and occasionally protested perceived social injustices, they rarely grew violent. Calls to action by political radicals and militants usually fell on deaf ears as Indianapolis blacks preferred a policy of non-violence over upheaval and revolution, and sought to improve their community instead of harming it. Further evidence of this moderation is the locally produced soul and funk music made during this era. Songs focused on individual emotions, community improvement, and other themes pertinent to local consumers that bought the records at Arlene’s and Ayr-Way and heard the songs live at nightclubs throughout the city. With these moderate sounds, the music still unified the black community, bringing people together and helping them through a troubling time in Indianapolis’ history.
A Definition of Soul
Although most people can roughly define soul music by its sound, message, or lyrics, the music is perhaps most identifiable through its personalities. At the forefront of soul music, and perhaps the most important man in black America during the late 1960s, was the “Godfather of Soul” James Brown.[3] Brown did not create soul music, but he was the most visible purveyor of soul during the 1960s and 70s. When Brown’s music changed, other artists soon followed because they knew in order to keep making money they had to keep up with Brown. In many ways Brown was a role model, not just to other soul men, but to black America as well. He was talented, rich, and powerful, and he controlled his own destiny in the music world. Perhaps most important to his success, though, was that Brown’s audience could relate to him. Born in Augusta, Georgia, Brown grew up poor and did not graduate from high school. He also knew what it was like to be behind bars, serving time in the 1950s for breaking into parked cars.[4] Music saved him from a life of crime. He first started in gospel groups with his longtime friend Bobby Byrd, and eventually moved into popular rhythm and blues music with his band the Famous Flames during the late 1950s and early 60s. By 1968 Brown had become a legendary performer, but his greatest accomplishment was yet to come.
Brown had always been somewhat reserved when it came to supporting the Civil Rights Movement, or any black cause for that matter, afraid that he might offend a large portion of his record-buying audience.[5] After the death of Dr. King, however, Brown performed at the Boston Garden and had the concert broadcast on live television. Brown’s hope was to keep the people of Boston at home to honor the memory of Dr. King respectfully rather than venting their frustration through burning and looting. Brown fixated the predominantly black audience with an outstanding show that paid tribute to Dr. King. Brown stressed the importance of community, of working, living and playing together peacefully, and how reacting violently or destroying buildings, storefronts and houses would go against everything Dr. King fought for. Remarkably, the ploy worked and Boston remained relatively peaceful. The next day, Brown flew to Washington, D.C. at the request of the mayor of Washington to try and do the same thing there. Brown was one day too late, though, as downtown Washington was already in ruins. Dismayed by what he saw, Brown took to the airwaves upon arriving in the city and remarked,
I know how everybody feels, I feel the same way. But, you can’t
accomplish anything by blowing up, burning up, stealing and looting. Don’t terrorize. Organize. Don’t burn. Give the kids a chance to learn. Go home. Look at TV. Listen to the radio. Listen to some James Brown records. The real answer to the race problems in this country is education. Not burning and killing. Be qualified. Own something. Be Somebody. That’s Black Power.[6]
With his performance in Boston and his speech to the citizens of Washington, Brown firmly established himself as the most important man in soul music. Later in 1968 Brown further connected with the black community with his release of “Say It Loud (I’m Black and I’m Proud).” “Say It Loud” was the first popular song to contain overt messages of black pride and unity. Although most Top 40 stations ignored the song, black radio stations across the country played it incessantly. Brown’s critical view on blackness in America continued in later recordings such as “I Don’t Want Nobody To Give Me Nothing (Open Up The Door, I’ll Get It Myself)” in which he demanded equal opportunity in education and employment for blacks. Songs like these made Brown the foremost spokesman for black America in the late 1960s, and his visibility and role as a community leader placed soul music on the American political and cultural map.
Brown did not create soul, nor did he bring black music to a national spotlight. For centuries, music has been at the center of African-American culture, playing a vital role in work, play and religion. Since the first African set foot on American soil, the only distinctive form of expression consistently available to black culture was song and music. During the years of slavery, slave songs and spirituals communicated pain, sorrow, anger and joy in a manner that could not be controlled by their white masters. The music kept them fortified during their struggle for respect, and gave them hope in the bleakest of times. Nearly a century later, when African-Americans faced another great struggle for civil rights in the 1960s, gospel spirituals and freedom songs based on the slave songs of their ancestors gave activists the motivation to keep on pushing and the encouragement that change would most certainly come. Soul became the voice of blacks searching for respect on their own terms in the late sixties.
At the heart of black music is the ability it has to form bonds between members of the community. Standing in opposition to European forms that “divorce life from art,” black music follows in the practice of African and tribal societies where music is integrated with other activities in the community.[7] The music reflects attitudes of work and play, religion and struggle, common life experiences and communal pride. It brings communities together, and gives black artists the chance to utilize the possibilities of musical art to orally transmit ideas and attitudes. No other music, past or present, communicated fully the experiences and emotions of the black community as soul music did in the sixties and seventies. The sound of soul music is not as simple as it appears. Soul is rooted in the black experience of the Deep South, beginning with the spirituals of the slave era, developing through rural and folk blues, progressive gospel songs and the evolution of rhythm and blues. Commonly linked with the blues, soul often examines issues that are identifiable in the community as a whole. While the blues is more individual and self-lamenting, soul is uplifting and can be extremely positive, encouraging the listener to get up, get into it and get involved within their community.
The rise of soul
coincided with the meteoric rise of rock and roll, but unlike rock and roll,
soul began as a strictly black genre of music, made by blacks, for blacks. Certainly there were some white
listeners. But although white producers
and white-owned media conglomerates dominated it in later years, by the late
1960s it is clear that soul, and its later offshoots such as funk, were
directed towards a predominantly black audience. Soul music reached a larger black public than any other cultural
medium and gave blacks an opportunity to define themselves through music created
on their own terms. Michael Haralambos calls soul, “uniquely black property,”
contending “Soul symbolizes the re-evaluation and re-definition of black
identity, experience, behavior and culture.
Soul associates those aspects considered essentially black and stamps
them with a seal of approval. Black is
no longer inferior, no longer a poor copy of white. It is distinct and different and glossed with the term ‘soul’ is
worth having and worth being.”[8] With soul, young black audiences did not
have to settle for the lyrically sanitized, bubble gum pop songs any longer.[9] By 1968, blacks had the opportunity to hear
the raw, desperate and soulful sounds of James Brown and Wilson Pickett. With the rise of the Civil Rights Movement
and a more open environment for political expression in the mid-1960s, soul
songs had an increased role as cultural texts that carried important messages
about black life, black politics and black hopes and dreams. By the late 1960s, lyrics reflected black
unity, community pride and the goals of a common cause: freedom and equality.
Despite soul’s many stylistic and geographic variations, the music has several key unifying factors that set the genre apart from all others. One of soul music’s most unique features is the connection between the performer and the audience, a characteristic that stems from the genre’s gospel roots. Soul performers used the stage and even the recording studio as a “bully pulpit of empowerment” to uplift and rejuvenate the black audience. Performers used gospel idioms like call and response, involving the audience in the performance and making their participation as important as the music itself. In a way, soul concerts were similar to church. The performer was the preacher, whose duty it was to raise the audience’s spirits, make them feel good about themselves and to deliver a message that they could take home, learn from, and use to improve their lives.
The fans viewed soul performers as natural and close to the people; audiences knew their roots were similar to the entertainers.[10] During performances, artists never let the audience forget that they too, despite their position of power, were one of them.[11] Listeners could relate to James Brown’s incarceration in a Georgia penitentiary or Aretha Franklin’s life as a minister’s daughter. The painless preaching of soul artists could transform lives by making the audience believe they could become somebody. James Brown was a proponent of economic self-determinism for African-American communities. He owned several large radio stations and a chain of Golden Platter soul food restaurants. He knew the power of the almighty dollar and how advertising the positive aspects of economic rejuvenation could spark a community into action. At the same time Brown served as a role model for black capitalism he made it clear that he started at the bottom, which gave hope to an audience looking for guidance.
Performers used the connection between him or herself and the audience to unite and empower the audience, to give them a message to believe in. In churches, when times are tough and the congregation’s spirits are low, it is the role of the preacher to raise spirits and to emphasize the positive. Soul artists performed a similar role in the secular arena, uplifting African Americans through song. Whether they related blackness to beauty, ability, or determination, or promoted black unity and pride, soul songs contained powerful messages. Although the sound and beat of a song drew people in, the message was equally important. Curtis Mayfield once said, “If you’re going to come away from a party singing the lyrics of a song, it is better that you sing of self-pride like ‘We’re A Winner’ instead of ‘Do The Boogaloo.’”[12] In the late 1960s, soul was one of the few things that African Americans could call their own. Oftentimes written, performed and produced by African Americans, soul was distinct and different from other forms of music. Soul set itself apart from white contemporary music by emphasizing black issues and perspectives and drawing blacks into its performance. Soul was not inferior, it was not a copy of something white, it was worth having, and blacks not only owned it, they identified with it.
Soul songs had the ability to not only make the listener feel good about themselves but also to reflect social issues of the time and direct the audience to improve their lives and their community. Most performers realized that it was their purpose not only to entertain, but also to bring to light pertinent social issues. Performers often spoke of politics, race relations, and the struggles of daily life in between songs to let the audience know they had someone on their side. At a time when it seemed white America and the government was against them, hearing someone with as much notoriety and money as Aretha Franklin say “everything is going to be alright” meant a great deal. The audience forged a deep connection with the performer, one that lasted longer than two hours in a smoky nightclub or a packed stadium. People took home a message, whether it be “We’re A Winner,” “I’m Black and I’m Proud,” or “Think” about personal decisions before acting and “Respect Yourself” as a proud individual and member of the black community.
Although a song can be “soulful” and not have any overt political or social message, Ian Hoare notes that all soul songs mean something. The lyrics, when understood, play an integral role creating that meaning for listeners.[13] Since soul’s inception in the mid-1960s, the black religious tradition and southern gospel music have been at the core of its lyrical meaning. Spirituals such as “We Shall Overcome” and “Keep Your Eyes on the Prize” contained positive messages aimed at keeping the listener’s mind and soul strong during times of great struggle.[14] Protestors sang freedom songs in Greensboro, Nashville, Birmingham, Selma, and Mississippi to keep spirits and motivation high in the fight against Jim Crow, illegal voting practices, and violence towards blacks. Musicians, many with southern roots or a history of involvement with gospel music, took these uplifting messages and turned them into soul songs for mass consumption. Soul artists Wilson Pickett, Solomon Burke, Aretha Franklin, and many others all recorded spirituals and hymns during the 1960s, some of which, including Pickett’s “Ninety-Nine-and-a-Half Won’t Do,” received great popular acclaim. This song, as well as Curtis Mayfield’s “Keep on Pushing,” were not-so-subtle references to the freedom struggle that made their way onto mainstream radio stations that rarely played “message songs.”
While freedom songs served a great purpose, soul songs became the new generation of freedom songs for young African Americans everywhere. Although the message was equally uplifting, soul music was more accessible to a growing audience that demanded more secularism in their popular music. In an interview with Michael Haralambos, WCHB (Detroit) music director Bill Williams said, “I have found as music director that the audience looks for more of a message in soul tunes than they look for in other kinds of music. And this is where we get the gospel thing, the roots of soul music, for gospel songs always carried a message of some sort.”[15] Audiences wanted songs that not only dealt with tough social issues and black pride, but also lifted their spirits and gave them hope. This, according to Portia K. Maultsby, resulted in the birth of soul music. Maultsby contends the “Era of Soul” began in 1965, coinciding with the Civil Rights Movement moving out of the South and working its way north to Chicago, Detroit, Newark and Harlem and west to Los Angeles. The year 1965 saw the release of Sam Cooke’s “A Change Is Gonna Come” and The Impressions’ “People Get Ready.” For Maultsby, this was the first sign that prominent black artists were entering into mainstream society as spokesmen of “black pride.”[16]
Although the “Era of Soul” began in 1965, 1968 is considered by many scholars to be the bombshell year not only in black music but also in the lives of millions of African Americans. The death of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. on April 4, 1968 signified a stark and violent end to the Civil Rights Movement that set off a wave of anger and hostility in black communities. Cities erupted in flames and cries for a more militant stand against discrimination, supported by the Black Panthers and others, became more acceptable to a popular black audience. Cynicism increased when the brightest hope in the presidential election of 1968, Robert Kennedy, was gunned down in a Los Angeles hotel kitchen in June. Kennedy championed civil rights and appeared to be the leader that black America needed to turn the corner socially, culturally and economically through political empowerment. Hope after Kennedy’s death faded fast and living conditions declined steadily, despite the promises of Lyndon Johnson’s Great Society programs. All the while, crime, drug abuse and alcoholism raged in black urban centers. Residents sought to escape the troubles of everyday life; some found the bottle, some a syringe. Others found a new brand of music filled with messages of black pride, black unity, and hope of a bright future that sustained much of black America during a time of great need.
After 1968, the soul music scene changed drastically in many ways. Although lyrics still maintained their communicative power, the rhythm of a song now assumed an equally important role. Songs featured African percussion and the electric bass to construct the groove, a repetitive beat ideal for dancing. This emphasis on the groove placed artists such as bassists Larry Graham, Bootsy Collins and James Jamerson in the spotlight. The appearance of artists greatly changed as well. Bands who traditionally wore matching suits or tuxedos and styled their hair in a coiffure traded this now outdated look for dashikis and Afros almost overnight. Songs contained political discourse with an emphasis on black identity and the positive aspects of being black Artists preached standing up for what you believed, respecting yourself and your community, and taking pride in being black. Perhaps the greatest change took place on the production end of soul music. Curtis Mayfield and Marvin Gaye finally gained the ability to control their music, a right which very few of their predecessors enjoyed. Mayfield created his own label, Curtom, and featured songs pertinent to black life. Many of his recordings dealt with drug addiction (Stone Junkie), racial paranoia [Mighty, Mighty (Spade and Whitey)] and the perils of street life (Freddie’s Dead).[17] Even Motown Records, which intentionally removed the “blackness” from many of its early recordings hoping to appeal to white middle class America, released several records that dealt with timely black issues, such as The Undisputed Truth’s “Smiling Faces Sometimes,” The Temptations’ “Ball of Confusion” and the seminal “What’s Going On” by Marvin Gaye.
Soul was not the only popular black music during the late 60s and early 70s. Funk was an offshoot of soul and many soul artists began to explore the realm of funk. James Brown created “The One,” a rhythm pattern that placed emphasis on the first beat and used all instruments, from the horns to the guitar, to construct a tight groove. Funk has always been edgy, and the meaning of the word funk – strong, offensive and eccentric - tells what this music is all about. As the Black Power Movement gained strength and the ideals of civil rights faded away, funk became the music of choice. Funk’s aggressive sound accompanied this rise in militancy and further removed black music from the specter of the Top 40 charts. Rickey Vincent defined funk as being a musical mixture of “a dance-type, rhythm and blues-style with the rhythmic interplay of instruments to a dramatic level of complexity.”[18] Funk was influenced by soul, blues, free jazz, rock and roll, and African tribal music, and mixed them into powerful music that drove people closer to their soul. Funk was the sound of the black underclass, rooted in the deepest, darkest sections of the inner city, and set itself apart from soul in that the sound, not necessarily the lyrical message, served as the glue to bring the community together, producing an irresistible groove that brought patrons to nightclubs in droves.
By the early 1970s, funk was spreading throughout the United States. Performers such as James Brown, the JBs, War, Funkadelic, Sly and the Family Stone, Kool and the Gang and the Meters released epic funk records during the early portion of the seventies. These records not only reached a large black consumer base, but also fellow musicians as well. In places like Columbia, South Carolina, Bossier City, Louisiana, Houston, Texas, and Indianapolis, Indiana, musicians tuned their ears towards funk and headed into the studio or stage to experiment with this new and aggressive brand of black music. Although the records cut in these small studios were rarely released nationally, they sold well in the local market and oftentimes received play on local radio stations. With the birth of disco and a change in radio station programming, however, funk and soul music fell in popularity.
By looking at these regionally produced soul and funk records, one can glean what the popular music trends were, what the intended audience was like and what the political scene was in a given city. Most soul and funk musicians lived and recorded in the same city, giving their records a unique, local context and significance. Indianapolis had a lively soul and funk scene during the 1970s and many of the artists still live in the city, so the case of Indianapolis can illuminate the importance of locally produced black music to the African-American community.
It was James Brown’s “Say It Loud (I’m Black and I’m Proud)” that opened the floodgates for soul songs that dealt with topics politically and culturally relevant to a black audience. No longer did artists have to hide behind allegory and euphemism; they could sing freely about social injustice, issues pertinent to black audiences, and black pride without fear of being blackballed by a record label or a radio station. These records served a solely black audience and became successful. Throughout the nation small, black-owned record labels began to produce some of the finest and purest soul music ever heard because it was attuned to real issues in the black community. In the late 1960s, performers not only changed their hair from a “coiffure to a coil,” but also changed their style from doo-wop or Motown-style R&B to heavy, danceable soul and funk with political overtones. One city that was no exception to this change in black music was Indianapolis, a city with a rich jazz history and a large black population that proved to be very accepting of this progression in musical styles.
Literature Review
Beginning in the mid-1970s, just after the demise of the Black Power Movement and subsequent deterioration of soul and funk music into watered-down pop and disco, cultural historians, cultural theorists, African-American studies scholars and musicologists began to research and publish works about the relevance of soul and funk music to the African-American community. Their work informs the assumptions behind the analytical framework of this study and helps establish its significance as a social and cultural history of the black community in Indianapolis.
1960s-70s Black Culture and Popular
Music
In recent years, no scholar has contributed more to the study of 1960s and 70s black culture than William Van Deburg. His two preeminent works, New Day In Babylon and Black Camelot, are highly regarded by critics and scholars alike. Published in 1992, New Day in Babylon argues that Black Power helped to enhance and define a “group culture of resistance to oppression” and aided in the development of positive self- worth among blacks growing up in the era. Van Deburg sees culture, from James Brown’s music and Amiri Baraka’s poetry to the Afro hairstyle and dashiki, as the glue of the Black Power movement and its defining principle.[19] The culture was evident in Indianapolis, as local soul and funk bands changed their styles from matching tuxedos and suits to African-influenced clothing. Although these styles were initially linked with the Black Power movement and militancy, they became accepted fashions throughout the African-American community and signified black pride, black unity and their own distinct sense of style.
Van Deburg’s other work, Black Camelot (1998), argues that the real and imagined personalities that dominated black entertainment throughout the 1960s and 70s became cultural heroes who helped form in-group identity and ego enhancement for African Americans. According to Van Deburg, the black cultural hero was anyone from an athlete (Jim Brown and Willie Mays), to a musician (James Brown and Marvin Gaye), to a film star (Ron O’Neal and Pam Grier) to a mythical folk hero (Dolemite and Shine) who existed only on screen or in urban folk tales. The black cultural hero had considerable impact on a national and multiracial constituency, fueling activism and sustaining an oppressed population during desperate times. During the mid-1970s, Blaxploitation superheroes like Dolemite, Youngblood Priest and John Shaft deified black males as all-powerful, wealthy and free. Although these representations were created in a film studio boardroom, they were important to a population seeking escapism and a source of pride.[20]
Perhaps the most important work to date about soul music and its role in the lives of black Americans is Brian Ward’s Just My Soul Responding. Using 1954 (Brown v. Board of Education) as his starting point, Ward traces the progression of rhythm and blues and its relationship to mass black consciousness. At first, the black music of the 1950s was gentle enough to bring in a large white audience, but the as 1960s came to a close, black music became more race-conscious and reflected the rise of the Black Power movement in both soul and funk. Ward contends that during the heyday of the Civil Rights Movement, soul was the soundtrack of an entire people fighting for one cause: freedom. However, as the “dream” began to die, soul music began to reflect the growing frustration among black males.[21]
Ward, along with Nelson George, takes a look at the fall of black music not only in content and quality, but also in its popularity and relevance to black culture.[22] To Ward and George, the late 1960s marked the high point in rhythm and blues music as well as Black Power and both fell apart at the same time. Greil Marcus believes that black music “drifted into accommodation” and separated from politics when in 1972, the Black Panthers entered the mainstream through their involvement in electoral politics.[23] The hard edge of soul and funk, a by-product of political protest, was disintegrating and “glossy black pop” reigned supreme as it became separated from politics.[24] Music was no longer political, and the unifying messages of songs by Curtis Mayfield, Sam Cooke and James Brown gave way to the shallow, soulless and electronic beats of disco, which George believes killed soul and funk. Although some soul artists were still very popular, the music became merely a commodity, a money making tool for major record labels like Atlantic and Motown and the conglomerates that bought out once independent record companies, rather than a black cultural or political voice.
In the mid-seventies, at the outset of the switch from soul to disco, Michael Haralambos wrote a tremendously influential piece regarding the changes in black music in America. In Soul Music: The Birth of a Black Sound in America, Haralambos states that there has been a decline in the popularity of the blues, while the popularity of soul has increased steadily. From this, Haralambos assumes that there is a direct link between black society, culture, and music. According to Haralambos, the audience determines what music suits their needs. Like Ward, Haralambos feels music changes along with people’s opinions, making it a dependent variable: it reflects the opinions, feelings and experiences of black America, more so than it directs the masses to action.[25]
The writings of Michael Haralambos indicate that the cultural significance of soul music was evident during the 1970s, shortly after the era of soul faded away. Much of what they argue coincides with William McClendon, a Black Studies scholar and contemporary of Haralambos and Ian Hoare. McClendon argues that black music is an “amalgam of black life,” conveying everything from anger to sadness through artists that play a dynamic role in the process. They create the music, improvise over it, write the lyrics and inflect the words with meanings. Most importantly, however, is that artists are the role models that black culture looks up to. Soul artists realized that great freedom can be found in music and they let their art do the talking for them. During the Civil Rights movement, when an artist expressed his or her own sense of freedom, their music in turn spoke to the freedom-seeking black populace, enriching the lives of the listener and encouraging them to soldier on. McClendon, like those who would write about this subject twenty years later, argued for the significance of music as an active force in the black community, a conclusion that has not dissipated since the mid-70s and modern scholars have developed even further.[26]
Like McClendon, Portia Maultsby sees soul music not as a reflection of black society, but rather a “vehicle for self-awareness, protest and social change,” and a derivative of the Black Power Movement. She argues that prior to 1965, black performers were not involved in the Civil Rights Movement, preferring more benign topics for their songs, whereas soul performers addressed the social and economic problems in black communities more directly. Not only did soul performers discuss these topics, they issued calls for change and involvement in community improvement. Maultsby uses the life and career of James Brown as her example of a soul artist involved in community activism. Unlike Brian Ward and Nelson George, Maultsby does not discuss the “other side” to James Brown, the mean-spirited, greed driven black capitalist who abandoned his roots by supporting Richard Nixon in the 1972 presidential election. She feels that what Brown did for his community, both in his music and his role as leader, far outweigh his personal shortcomings.[27]
Where McClendon and Maultsby leave off, Mark Anthony Neal picks up, carrying the idea of the influence of soul music and performers even further. In What the Music Said: Black Popular Music and Black Public Culture, Neal argues that the major concepts and narratives expressed in soul music were derived from the wants and needs of the black community. Moreover, the music helped form resistance within a community, and helped African-Americans address major problems and issues by bringing them into mainstream culture. Growing up in an apartment in South Bronx during the Civil Rights era, Neal witnessed the effects of soul firsthand on his family, friends, and neighbors. He saw how it brought them together in nightclubs and each other’s homes, and how it helped the community deal with issues such as racism, violence, and poverty. Unlike the other authors, Neal provides an explicitly political context for the music, discussing the goings on in the Civil Rights and Black Power movements and using them to interpret the music’s relevance. Neal incorporates his discussion of soul with the impact of jazz and blues on the black community, music which was previously held in high regard as far as communicating the wants and needs of the black community. Lastly, Neal does not dissect the personal lives of the artists, but rather chooses to discuss their works and the relevance to the black community.[28]
In 2002, Neal published a follow up to What the Music Said, entitled Soul Babies: Black Popular Culture and the Post-Soul Aesthetic. Soul Babies discusses African-American culture in the “post-soul” world (late 1970s-2000), and focuses on the impact of post-soul artists, musicians and actors on black culture. Neal’s examination of the Blaxploitaiton genre and its impact on black culture are especially interesting. Films often portrayed black female sexuality as insatiable and deviant, and only able to be quenched by a strong, powerful and authoritative black male. This assertion is similar to that of Michele Wallace, who also feels that the empowerment of the black male during the 70s came at the expense of women, who were reduced to nothing more than objects of desire.[29] Although Neal is discussing black film, Ward and Van Deburg believe the same problem also occurred in black music.
Despite the large body of work on the cultural, social and musical significance of soul, very little was written about funk music until 1996 when Rickey Vincent’s Funk: The Music, the People, and the Rhythm of the One was published. Vincent argues that funk placated a mass of people disillusioned with their limited power and poor standing in the United States. Vincent notes that perhaps the most important aspect of funk is its role as the “sound of unity,” containing an intimacy, intensity and meaning for common African Americans played by musicians who had much in common with the audience, whether they be from the same community or economic class. At the height of the Black Power Movement, when black pride and black resentment towards the white establishment were also at their peak, artists created angrier, heavier music that truly represented the feelings of the time. Vincent’s belief is that funk succeeded soul music as the popular representation of black America’s social, spiritual and political values. Funk stayed rooted in the community, increased black unity and maintained its ties through not only its sound, but also its lyrical message.
Along those same lines, a chapter in Alice Echols’ Shaky Ground: The Sixties and its Aftershocks, argues that music that seemed apolitical was in fact politically significant. Like Nelson George, Echols contends that the commodification of soul and black music eventually evolved into disco. Disco spoke to a much larger audience, and in turn empowered women, minorities and homosexuals, many of whom now found “political utility and message in upbeat songs.” Fans of disco did not want to be bothered with heavy political conversation or serious societal issues in their music; they did not want the overly didactic music of the 1960s, just something that made them happy. Echols provides further evidence to show that music does not have to be outwardly political in message or lyrics to be politically significant.[30] Some Indianapolis recordings support this theory, as their political messages often derive from their production and consumption rather than their lyrics.
Cultural Studies
Cultural studies theorists such as John Storey, George Lipsitz and Simon Frith believe cultural texts such as music do not reflect history, but rather make it, and need to be examined for the work they do, not merely what they reflect. [31] Popular music, Lipsitz argues, is the “product of ongoing historical conversation in which no one has the first or last word.”[32] The majority of cultural theorists agree that the consumption of texts such as popular music is an active process that creates cultural identity and textual meaning. Consumers strive to find meaning in these texts, hoping to find a way to connect them to their own lives, experiences, needs, and desires. Consumption, not production, according to Iain Chambers, is the key to understanding the usage of music. Chambers believes that although production of popular music is ruled by the commercial power of record companies and radio stations, “it is finally those who buy the records, dance to the rhythms and live to the beat who demonstrate, despite the determined conditions of its production, the wider potential of pop.”[33] This wider potential is the potential for popular music to play a fundamental role in forming a unique community identity. According to David Riesman, consumption in its simplest form is an act of community creation. Music provides a sense of community because the act of consumption establishes a connection with others.[34] Van Deburg’s theory of “cultural glue” is very similar to the ideas of the cultural studies theorists, and provides a common ground where these two forms of scholarship agree.
Music and Community
Although no scholar has researched or written about Indianapolis’ music scene during the 1960s and 70s, there are some who approach similar issues through the study of music and community. Amy Wilson wrote extensively about Indianapolis’ jazz scene during the years 1933 to 1950. Her thesis, “The Swing Era on Indiana Avenue,” explains the roots of Indianapolis’ music scene and argues that race played a significant role in the development of Indiana Avenue as one of the hot spots for jazz in the Midwest. Wilson believes that Indiana Avenue’s jazz scene developed against a backdrop of racial prejudice, which kept the black entertainment district in an isolated area and denied it any benefits for the cultural contributions black musicians and club owners made in different areas.[35] In recent years, several music historians have undertaken in-depth studies on music and community. Rob Bowman’s Soulsville, U.S.A., an account of the rise and fall of Memphis’ Stax Records, focuses on the music and the racial dynamics within the studio itself. Although not totally without incident, Stax’ mix of black and white musicians usually worked harmoniously until the death of Martin Luther King. After that, black musicians began to distrust the white owners of the company, and black gangs that frequented the studio and the surrounding area occasionally threatened the white musicians. Whereas the music once brought everyone together, changes in attitudes eventually tore the company apart.[36] Both of these works, along with Governar and Brakefield’s work on the Dallas, Texas music scene of the 1920s, indicate the pride communities take in the music made in their cities. Not only did residents go to the clubs and listen to live performances, but they also bought their records and requested them on the radio, both at home and when they moved or traveled to other locales.[37]
George Sanchez’s Becoming Mexican American and James Gregory’s American Exodus also examine the relationship between indigenous music and the formation of an ethnic community. In Becoming Mexican American, Sanchez argues that the Mexican folk tradition of the corrido, an “integral part of Mexican life,” made its way into Mexico’s urban centers and was transformed from an expression of a rural folk tale of heroism into a popular song. Singers used the corrido to “interpret, celebrate, and ultimately dignify events… familiar to the corrido audience.”[38] Like Van Deburg, Sanchez sees this form of music as cultural glue that brought together the immigrant population in the new and foreign world of 1920s Los Angeles.
As Sanchez sees the corrido as the authentic voice of the Mexican immigrant, Gregory believes that country music became a part of Okie migrants’ way of thinking and melded people together within an Okie subculture in California during the 1930s and ‘40s.[39] Seeking group legitimacy, the Okies drew upon country music because it seemed to provide the resources for a sense of independence and pride. Calling it the “most didactic form of twentieth century popular music,” Gregory argues that country music not only espoused meanings relevant to the migrant’s sense of self and group, but also reinforced the Okies’ commitment to rural life, and what Gregory calls “plain-folk Americanism.”[40] Some scholars believe the production of popular music is where the meaning is created while others contend that the consumption of music by the buying public produces the unified significance. Nevertheless, all scholars argue that music is culturally important to communities, whether it be the significance of the corrido to Los Angeles’ Mexican-American population or soul and funk music to the urban black community.
Ethnomusicologists
Another perspective on music and identity comes from ethnomusicologists, who are as interested in the people making the music as they are in the music itself. They consider the entire process of music making and the context in which it is made, and draw as much from the humanities as they do from musicology. “Ethnomusicologists,” according to one source, “seek to understand the human processes in which music is imagined, discussed and made, and to relate specific musical sounds, behaviors and ideas to their broader social, cultural and political contexts.”[41] The regional roots of music, namely where the artists come from, their traditions, and the uniqueness of their sound are also important. Whereas cultural studies tends to focus more on the consumption of popular music, ethnomusicologists are more concerned with music production, the motivation to record certain music, and how the different sounds are made.
Although cultural theorists contend that the public consumption of music determines the true meaning of a text, an examination of how the text itself was produced and the motivations behind writing it is helpful for several reasons. If a white musician or songwriter penned “Say It Loud (I’m Black and I’m Proud)” instead of James Brown, the positive reaction to the song by African Americans would not have been as great. Historically, the black listening public has held songs written, produced and performed by African Americans for African Americans in a much higher regard than those written or produced by whites, no matter what kind of music it is. Despite the mass appeal of Atlanta’s Commodores and Chicago’s Earth, Wind and Fire during the 1970s, the fact that each group came from the inner city and wrote and produced their own songs was a great source of pride within the black community.[42]
Indianapolis
The vast majority of scholarly works on the significance of soul and funk examine the music on a national level and rarely look at individual communities, their problems and how music related to them. Although there were very few politically oriented songs produced in Indianapolis, many songs reflected common values and beliefs of the black community. Songs like “Drugs Ain’t Cool” and “The Kick,” indicate that the Rhythm Machine, a band rooted in Indianapolis’ black community, saw a significant drug problem in the city and felt the need to comment on it. However, as ethnomusicologists and William McClendon argue, it is impossible to separate the text from the performer; the performer was the prophet who carried the message to the masses, and the message always meant something more when the audience knew they were feeling and experiencing the same things. He/she gave it relevance, gave it soul and made it real for the audience, who took it all in, processed it, and applied it to their own lives and well-being. So an ethnomusicological approach, combined with history and cultural theory, all help illuminate the study of soul music in Indianapolis.
Not only does this study find a niche among more general, national works on the significance of soul music to African Americans, it also fills an important gap in the history of Indianapolis’ African Americans. Despite the large African-American population in Indianapolis and the growing interest in local and community history among historians and scholars, little scholarship exists chronicling the 1960s and 70s in Indianapolis’ black community. The majority of scholarship focuses on Indiana Avenue during the jazz age, considered by most to be the glory years of African-American life in Indianapolis. Emma Lou Thornbrough’s Indiana Blacks in the Twentieth Century is one of the exceptions to this lack of scholarship. She contends that Indianapolis’ black community took a moderate political stance during the 1960s, noting that although developments in civil rights in Indiana reflected national trends, there was little violence as compared to other large metropolitan areas. Thornbrough also observes that although the Black Muslims and Black Panthers were present in Indianapolis, their radical politics never caught on because of the black community’s penchant for peaceful protest and moderate politics.[43] Several other works also discuss this turbulent era in Indianapolis’ history, including Rachael Drenovsky’s thesis on housing practices in Indianapolis and how many African Americans were kept out of certain neighborhoods until the 1960s when housing desegregation finally occurred in the city.[44] Richard B. Pierce’s dissertation on African-American life from 1945 to 1970 indicates ardent political action within the black community, yet the politically moderate attitudes of the city’s African-American population prevented widespread radicalism, while C. James Owen’s work examines the impact of Unigov on Indianapolis and the local black community.[45] The 1960s and 70s were an important era in Indianapolis’ black community. The Indiana Avenue business and entertainment district, once central to the black community, withered away during that period as businesses and nightclubs left the deteriorating neighborhood for newer buildings and nicer neighborhoods. Lockefield Gardens, formerly the gem of the city’s African-American housing, closed in 1973 and displaced hundreds of residents. Although times were tough and nothing in life was certain, Indianapolis nightclubs were still packed every Friday and Saturday night for live soul and funk music, many times produced by local artists from within the community. It is this connection, between local musicians, their music and the Indianapolis African-American community, that is the focal point of this thesis.
By looking at Indianapolis soul music from a varied perspective, taking into account political, social, cultural and demographic changes, this study argues that Indianapolis soul music functioned as cultural glue, and has the ability to bring African Americans together physically, emotionally and spiritually. Furthermore, it functioned in both an active and passive sense through consumption as well as production. The music was important to the community because soul oftentimes reflected the thoughts, desires and opinions of its intended audience. Despite the presence of the Black Panthers, the June 1969 uprising, and the great stresses the African-American community faced during the late sixties and early seventies, Indianapolis’ African-American community was very moderate. Locally produced soul and funk music reflected this moderation, with only a handful songs containing overt messages of black pride and solidarity and none calling for violence or protest. Scholars such as Ward, Van Deburg, and others have proved this on a national level, but by looking at one city and one style of music, one can see how soul was not only a reflection of the black community during this time of stress, but also a response to events in the city.
Chapter Two discusses the state of Indianapolis’ black community from 1968 to 1974 from a political and social perspective. After a brief review of the impact of the Civil Rights and Black Power movements (including the Black Panthers), I argue that local soul music was modest in message because of the moderation of Indianapolis’ black community. Demographic changes due to the construction of IUPUI and I-65, housing desegregation, and changes in city government that affected the black community during these years create the context for soul music’s performance in Indianapolis.
Chapter Three focuses on the soul and funk music produced in Indianapolis from 1968 to 1974. The musicians, disc jockeys, and record producers in Indianapolis were from the city’s black community and understood the values and desires of their neighbors. The music they created, produced, and played on the radio reflected and supported Indianapolis’ black community with messages of black pride, black unity, and community awareness. Although they were out to make money, musicians were concerned about their community and sought to uplift it and increase community awareness through their songs. Through an examination of locally owned record labels such as Knaptown, Lulu, 3 Diamonds and Lamp, we can get a sense of how production and consumption influenced the messages of individual songs. Disc jockeys served an important role in the black community because they decided what was played on the radio and assumed an involved role in the community.
The fourth and final chapter focuses on the role of nightclubs and live music in the black community. In Indianapolis, soul and funk music served as “cultural glue,” as it brought people together physically, spiritually and emotionally in the city’s many nightclubs, further reflecting and supporting the black community. Nightclubs frequently hosted fundraisers and charity events that hoped to improve the quality of life in the black community. Social clubs’ dances and events that featured live music were regularly held at nightclubs as well. Despite the loss of Indiana Avenue as the traditional black entertainment district, nightclubs in other areas of the city featured soul and funk music on a nightly basis. Local bands catered to the audience by playing not only covers of popular songs by James Brown, Curtis Mayfield and others, but also their own original songs that garnered a great following in the city. The songs heard in the nightclubs reflected the moderation of Indianapolis’ African-American population. Indianapolis’ African-American population, although not fully accepting of the mantra of Black Power, was quite comfortable with one by-product of Black Power and black machismo, the objectification of women.
The story of Indianapolis’ African-American community and its relationship to locally produced soul and funk music is an important one that has yet to be told. Right now, record collectors and DJs in London, Los Angeles, and Chicago know more about the local Indianapolis music scene in the sixties and seventies than most residents of the city do. Locally produced records can be heard in clubs from coast to coast and found on soul and funk compilation CDs at your local music store, yet there is little known about the musicians, the music, or its context. While the majority of musicians and citizens who experienced the Jazz Age on Indiana Avenue are gone, there is another generation of musicians and club-goers that remember their own glory days on Indiana Avenue, at the 20 Grand Ballroom, and at the Soul City club. This paper is their story, the story of an African-American community that held together through difficult times and the music they listened to, danced to, partied to and cried to. This music is true music, not only a reflection of a community’s values, morals and feelings, but a driving force behind the community and living document of Indianapolis’ recent African-American history.