CONCLUSION

            At the outset of the sixties, popular songs by black performers rarely dealt with heavy issues such as black pride, unity, or Civil Rights, yet as the Civil Rights Movement gained momentum, popular song messages began to reflect the goals of the Movement.  Songs such as Sam Cooke’s “A Change Is Gonna Come” and the Impressions’ “Keep on Pushing” hit the airwaves in 1964 at a time when demonstrators and supporters of the Movement needed to be uplifted and supported.  While freedom songs sustained demonstrators and marchers, pop songs on the radio had a much wider impact, reaching audiences throughout the country and alerting them to the efforts and trials of Movement organizers and participants.   

            During the late sixties and early seventies, the development of soul and funk music paralleled the changes in attitudes and values of many black Americans.  As the era progressed, the music became heavier, funkier, and more aggressive, mimicking the dissent and frustration felt by many blacks during these years.  The optimism and promises of the Civil Rights Movement seen at the outset of the sixties began to fade as many African Americans saw few changes in their own lives.  Despite all his efforts, the peaceful preaching of Dr. Martin Luther King began to reach fewer and fewer people, as the militant ideologies of Malcolm X, Stokley Carmichael, and the Black Panthers found a culture looking for direction and answers.  Blacks grew angrier about their position in American life as their economic, social, and political status saw little improvement as the sixties progressed.  Violence began to erupt in urban areas like Watts, Newark, Chicago, and Washington, D.C., destroying property and lives. Divisions began to form in the African-American community among old and young, moderate and radical, and later, men and women.  Through it all, black popular music, especially R&B, soul, and funk, consistently reflected and supported the values, beliefs, and emotions of millions of African Americans.

            At the forefront of the response to social and cultural changes was James Brown.  Although Brown did not invent soul music, he was certainly the first to expand upon what already existed, create new sounds, and discuss previously untouchable topics such as black pride and unity in his songs.  Brown was an innovator and his influence is visible in the recordings of many black performers on a national and regional level. Beginning in 1968 with “Say It Loud (I’m Black and I’m Proud),” Brown’s music reflected the opinion of the majority of young African Americans who wanted to stand up for themselves.  Brown’s music sustained and influenced a black population looking for direction after the deaths of King and Robert Kennedy, and as their emotions and views changed, so did Brown’s music.  As Black Power grew in popularity, Brown’s music began to reflect a growing anger and frustration in the black community.  Songs like “Get Up, Get Into It, Get Involved,” “Soul Power,” “Talkin’ Loud and Saying Nothing,” and “I Don’t Want Nobody To Give Me Nothing (Open Up the Door, I’ll Get It Myself)” spoke to an audience full of black pride and reinforced the belief that Black Power and self-determination could further enrich and enhance the black community. 

Although Brown’s music still reflected the values and desires of a large number of young African Americans, by 1970-71 his sound had changed greatly.  In early 1970, Brown fired his longtime band featuring Maceo Parker and Fred Wesley and hired a group of young and fiery musicians from the Cincinnati area.  Known as the JBs, the group featured, among others, bassist Bootsy Collins.  The marriage of Brown, Collins, and the JBs ushered in funk, an offshoot of soul but with a raw, nasty edge that further reflected the growing dissension within the black community.  Ever the businessman, Brown changed his sound to reflect this growing cynicism. The music of James Brown is a prime example of how music changes as tastes do.  In 1968, listeners demanded a song like “Say it Loud,” the first song to explicitly champion black pride and receive significant radio play.  By 1971-72, Brown began to play heavy funk that expressed the anger that so many African Americans felt after the promises of Civil Rights and Black Power had failed.  Songs no longer sought to uplift the black community through positive messages but rather to give blacks an escape from the tensions of rising violence, drug abuse, and joblessness.  Brown responded and provided listeners with five minute escapes such as “Hot Pants,” “Escape-ism,” “Papa Don’t Take No Mess,” and “Think.”  Songs like these accompanied the growing popularity of Blaxploitation films and other entertainments that put blacks in positions of power and showed them “getting ahead” by any means necessary.

            This progression in attitudes within the national black community and the coinciding changes in soul and funk music were also seen on a local, individual community level.  While nightclubs and radio stations in Oakland or Los Angeles featured radical acts like the Last Poets or the Lumpen, local musicians, deejays, and club owners in Indianapolis provided entertainment that reflected and supported the moderate attitudes of the local black community. 

            Despite all the turmoil and tension present in Indianapolis during the late sixties and early seventies, the black community remained remarkably moderate in its political stance.  The construction of I-65 and the IUPUI campus near the Indiana Avenue neighborhood signaled a great change in the makeup of Indianapolis’ black community.  For nearly a century, the west side of Indianapolis had been home to the majority of the city’s black community.  The area was a commercial and cultural center, where African Americans went to purchase goods and services from black-owned businesses, meet their friends and neighbors, dine out, and hear live music.  As the campus and the highway infringed on the neighborhood, thousands of African Americans moved out, or were forced out of the area.  By the mid seventies, all that was left of the Indiana Avenue neighborhood were abandoned buildings, dilapidated homes, and a shattered legacy of what used to be.  At the same time, the formation of Unigov, the linked city-county government, sapped African Americans of the political power that they had worked for so long to obtain.  Unigov added nearly 250,000 new white voters, which grossly outnumbered the number of new black voters that came into the community.  Blacks felt misrepresented and uncared for as the white-run city government focused on issues that did not address the immediate concerns of the black community.   

As a whole, the black community was accepting of a wide variety of political beliefs, yet they never stood for violence, especially against those within the community.  While other cities rioted, Indianapolis’ black community practiced political moderation.  After dealing with de facto segregation for nearly one hundred years, African Americans finally had obtained the freedom to live anywhere within the city of Indianapolis.  Jobs were available and industries regularly hired African Americans with good wages and benefits.  Perhaps most importantly, African Americans had room to spread out in Indianapolis.  They were not stacked on top of one another in high-rise government housing, nor were they living in a downtrodden, inner city ghetto.  Lockefield Gardens was the biggest housing project in the city, yet the buildings were spread over several city blocks and there were trees, grassy fields, and playgrounds interspersed between them.  Since unemployment rates were low, there were very few vagrants or loiterers seeking to cause trouble because most African Americans did not want to jeopardize their status and success within the city.

A constant in the black community during this era of tension and change was the many local soul and funk bands that played live in nightclubs throughout the city and released dozens of records.  They reflected and supported the community’s moderate political stance. The music uplifted listeners, made them dance, and helped them forget about their problems if only for a brief moment.  Songs also contained positive messages that sought to improve the well being of the community and improve community pride and unity.  Songs such as “Soul City,” “Tightening Your Popcorn,” and “Funky 16 Corners,” all made listeners feel proud of being from “Naptown U.S.A.,” a place where there is good music, good dancing, and most importantly, great people.  Songs such as “Born Black” enlightened listeners to the struggles of being African American in this society yet made them feel proud for all they had accomplished.  Songs like “Drugs Ain’t Cool” and “The Kick” alerted the black community to a growing national and local drug epidemic.  The songs not only helped listeners become aware of the problem, but also warned about the dangers of drug addiction.  There were no songs released by Indianapolis musicians that threatened or alienated any section of the black population.  Musicians sought “to do better by people,” and wanted to improve life in Indianapolis rather than foment violence or anything could damage the well being of the black community.

In a variety of ways, locally produced soul and funk music served as the “cultural glue” that held much of Indianapolis’ black community together during the late sixties and early seventies.  Records produced in Indianapolis were recorded by Indianapolis bands and released on Indianapolis record labels.  Because the musicians, the producers, and the record company executives were from the local black community they understood the desires of the listeners.  They knew what issues were important to the community and what types of songs were popular, and they geared their releases to cater to local record buyers.  Local musicians were just “everyday people making records” and the messages in their songs resonated with an audience made up of family, friends, and neighbors.[1] 

As the hosts of live performances by local soul and funk bands, Indianapolis nightclubs achieved great importance during the late sixties and early seventies.  Although the local nightclub scene had prospered during the thirties and forties when Indianapolis was nationally known for its jazz clubs and artists, by the mid-sixties the scene began to dwindle as club goers became disinterested in local music.  National artists rarely passed through Indianapolis with the exception of a one-off date at the Walker Theatre, Bush Stadium, or the State Fair Coliseum.  Beginning in 1967-68, as more talented bands took to the stage and local companies began to release records, interest in the local soul and funk scene increased dramatically.  Local nightclubs resumed their role as cultural meeting places, where friends and neighbors met for live music and dancing.  Nightclub programming, from live soul and funk music to exotic dancers, reflected and supported the entertainment desires of the local black community.  Social clubs resumed booking meetings, dances, fundraisers, and matinees at nightclubs, most of which featured live music from a local soul outfit.  Many social clubs held charitable events at nightclubs that brought the local community together to help their own and generally improve life for all African Americans in the city.

Along with nightclubs, Indianapolis radio stations WTLC and WGEE supported the black community to a great extent by not only lending their airwaves to local political and spiritual leaders, but also by frequently playing locally produced soul and funk music on their airwaves.  Local disc jockeys were the “gatekeepers” who decided what reached the ears of Indianapolis listeners, and more often than not, it was the music of local bands.  Deejays were sincere about their roles in the community and, like many deejays of the late sixties and early seventies, felt it was their duty to encourage and uplift their listeners as well as local musicians.  Many had a close relationship with the musicians and sought to help them in any way.  By playing locally produced soul and funk music, WTLC and WGEE promoted local artists and brought black listeners together.  The lyrics and messages in these songs hit home, whether they were heard in a car, at home, or in a nightclub. 

Listeners could rely on deejays like Spider Harrison, Paul Major, Rickie Clark, and Ralph Stone to tell like it was.  Along with the printed word of the Indianapolis Recorder, WTLC and WGEE were the main sources of news that directly affected Indianapolis’ black community.  If a deejay, news anchor, or talk show host learned of a malfeasance by local police or the city government, listeners could rely on the stations to tell them about it truthfully and honestly.  Deejays were heavily involved in the community, not just because station management required them to be, but also because they truly cared for the local black community.  Their mere presence for a remote broadcast at a local business or apartment complex gave instant credibility to that business.  

            The topic of how Indianapolis’ black community and soul music coexisted is significant for several reasons.  Using soul music to examine the political and cultural views of a specific metropolitan area has, to this point, never been done before.  While some texts may examine the role of music in the history of Memphis, Detroit, or Chicago, rarely do they use the music produced, the backgrounds of the musicians and record producers, and the role of local radio to show how music both reflected and supported a community’s politics.  The music held even greater significance to Indianapolis listeners because musicians from their own community recorded it for the local audience.  Indianapolis musicians wrote songs based on their knowledge of the local black community, their political and cultural values, and their desires and tastes.  Songs like “Soul City” and “Tightening Your Popcorn,” which explicitly champion Indianapolis residents’ prowess as partiers and dancers, would have not gone over well in Atlanta or Dallas.  The local, regional flair in many of these songs, combined with the notion that the musicians were an important part of the community, are what made the Indianapolis soul and funk scene so important to the black community.  It spoke directly to and for them.

            Another reason why this examination of the Indianapolis soul and funk scene is significant is because it shows how the theories of William Van Deburg and Brian Ward, among others, play out on a local level.  While these authors clearly indicate the importance of soul and funk music in sustaining the national black population through an era of tension and change, they do not delve into analysis on a community-by-community level.  Van Deburg’s idea of how soul and funk music were “cultural glue,” how the music brought African Americans together in a physical and spiritual sense, is the jumping off point for this paper.  In Indianapolis, where there were a number of popular local musicians and an abundance of locally produced soul and funk recordings, soul and funk music did a tremendous amount for the local black community.  Not only did the music bring people together at nightclubs and dances, but also when they purchased records at the Ayr-Way Soul Browser Center and listened to WTLC and WGEE at home or in their car.

While Van Deburg champions the ability of soul and funk music to bring people together, Brian Ward has a slightly different perspective.  Ward contends that early on, the Civil Rights Movement was making significant gains, most African Americans were on the same page, and soul provided the demonstrators with a unifying message of freedom.  However, as Black Power emerged and the promises of Civil Rights failed, soul and funk music changed to suit the growing frustrations and macho desires of black males.  Indianapolis provides an excellent illustration of Ward’s theory as nightclub programming began to suit the machismo and sexual desires of Indianapolis’ black male population.  Nightclub contests and matinees frequently featured “Hot Pants” contests, “Loose Booty” competitions, or the infamous “Braless Ball and Dance” put on by the 20 Grand Ballroom in 1973.  Although women received cash or prizes for their efforts, these contests were solely for the enjoyment of black men, most of who felt frustrated about their position in life.  Unemployment rates began to rise in Indianapolis by 1973-74, putting many more people out of work.  Unigov had sapped the black populace of significant political power and it became difficult for black men to achieve upward mobility.  They took their frustrations to the local nightclubs, which, as they had always done, reflected and supported the majority opinions and taste of the black community. 

Perhaps the most important aspect of this work is the significance it lends to soul and funk music as an important and vital part of Civil Rights era black culture.  Scholars such as Ward, Van Deburg, Peter Guralnick, Michael Haralambos, Nelson George, and Mark Anthony Neal have all argued for the significance of soul music and its role during the Civil Rights and Black Power movements.  All agree that soul music played an important role in uplifting the spirits of not just demonstrators but millions of AfricanAmericans who felt oppressed, unappreciated, and neglected.  Soul performers played a key role in this as well, as James Brown, Aretha Franklin, and Curtis Mayfield, among others, became vital spokespeople for the black community.  Performers encouraged listeners to express pride in their blackness, to be successful, give back to their community, and stand up for what they believed.  Audiences could look at the success of James Brown, and be proud of him for what he accomplished.  In return, Brown hoped that his success would inspire others to do well in their lives, maybe not as soul and funk performers, but as businessmen, teachers, or politicians.  Soul meant something to African Americans.  It was their music, made for black people by black people, or as disc jockey Jeffrey Troy noted, “Soul music maintains a hell of a lot of importance because it is one of the very few things in this country that the black man can says is his.”[2]     

The sentiments expressed above were not lost on Indianapolis audiences.  Indianapolis’ black community understood the importance of soul music and relished in its blackness.  Local black musicians played soul and funk music for an overwhelmingly black audience at nightclubs in predominantly black neighborhoods.  WTLC and WGEE were the only stations in Indianapolis that played their music.  Stores such as the Ayr-Way Soul Browser Center, Daphne’s, and Arlene’s House of Music, all located in heavily black areas, sold their records.  The lyrics and music catered to their desires and tastes as listeners.  The messages in the songs were relevant to their lives.  The songs uplifted their spirits and increased pride in their community, but most importantly, the music helped ease the tensions in the black community. 

            Eventually, all the nightclubs along Indiana Avenue closed down.  The few nightclubs that remained in Indianapolis were spread throughout the city.  Storefronts were boarded up and the last few residents left or were forced out as the IUPUI campus continued to expand.  Even Arlene’s House of Music, one of the stalwart businesses on the Avenue and one of few record stores that catered to an exclusively African-American customer base, closed in the late eighties after nearly thirty years of service.  All that was left of the legacy of Indiana Avenue was the Walker Theatre, which itself went through an extensive renovation project.  The last nightclub remaining on the Avenue is at 361 Indiana Avenue, where the J&J Lounge formerly sat.  Currently, it is home to a nightclub that features weekly jazz concerts, a small but important homage to the rich history of the area.  Despite the parking lots, apartment buildings, and strip malls that now line the Avenue, a live music bar can still survive.

            As clubs along Indiana Avenue began to close, so did nightclubs in other areas of the city as well.  By 1974, the 20 Grand, the Demonstrators, and other nightclubs had closed.  The Inn Crowd Lounge on Commerce was one of the few nightclubs to advertise in the Recorder and regularly feature live music.  Live bands began to fall out of favor with Indianapolis audiences, who began to prefer deejays who played disco or dance records, which club owners loved because deejays cost much less than a band.  Musical tastes also changed.  No longer did Indianapolis want to hear classic soul music, but rather preferred the full band sounds of Earth, Wind, and Fire and Kool and the Gang. 

Local bands could not compete simply because club owners did not have the money to pay eight or ten piece bands for regular gigs.  As a result, many musicians stopped performing altogether or moved to where they were able to make a living. Clint Jones moved to Los Angeles to pursue his music career and ended up traveling to and making a living in Australia and Japan as a musician.  Rodney Stepp became the musical director for the Spinners, a job he held until the eighties.  James Bell continued his work as a master plumber and occasionally performed with a new band, the Naptown Players.   Bell and his group, along with several other bands from Indianapolis, regularly toured in the northeastern United States and the maritime provinces of Canada in 1972 and 1973.  The Rhythm Machine left town completely in the mid-seventies and made Des Moines, Iowa their new home.  Manchild, one of the best young bands in Indianapolis, left the city in the mid-seventies for Los Angeles, and eventually earned a record contract.  The band featured a young guitarist named Kenneth Edmonds, who later made his name and fortune as a songwriter for some of the biggest names in pop and R&B.  Although these musicians left the city, they helped turn Indianapolis into a hotbed of soul and funk music during the late sixties and early seventies.  While “Naptown” never reached the level of national prominence or influence of Memphis or Detroit, the city’s music scene sustained and enriched the local black community, and local musicians played an instrumental role in that.

     The activity surrounding the African-American soul and funk scene in Indianapolis during the late sixties and early seventies exemplified what was happening on a national level.  Soul and funk music sustained the black population during an era of great turmoil and tension.  While national conflicts and issues affected the Indianapolis black community, local issues affected them to an even greater extent, as the construction of I-65, the infringement of the IUPUI campus, the formation of Unigov, and housing desegregation all directly affected the lives of thousands of African Americans.  Indianapolis’ black community remained moderate and non-violent throughout these conflicts, preferring to improve their community through social club involvement and charitable actions with the positive messages of locally produced soul and funk as the soundtrack. 

  Advertisements encouraged men to come to the club and check out the “foxes” for their viewing pleasure, reducing these women to mere objects. Club programming became geared towards a largely male audience and was a reflection of the changing face of the local black community.  Boosting the egos of black men was of the utmost importance even if it happened at the expense of black women.  By the early seventies, the promises of Civil Rights and Black Power had fallen short and many black men felt cheated or angry that they were unable to find their rightful seat at the table as jobs and opportunities dried up.  In turn, many black men felt it necessary to put down black women.  They became distrustful of women, and wanted to solidify their own superiority, which they did through degrading women’s roles and objectifying their bodies.[36]

Brian Ward, like William Van Deburg, sees the increased chauvinism of soul music during the 1970s as a result of an increasingly intense, male-driven black pride that found its way into mainstream black culture and black life.  Black culture, soul included, began to take on an air of vicious chauvinism and sexism beginning as early 1969 or 1970.  James Brown, once the paean of sensitive and romantic soul, recorded songs driven by sexual potency and black male ego.  The music that once brought a message of hope and promise deteriorated into raps about how women should please and be subservient to men.[37]  “It’s A New Day,” recorded by Brown in 1969, was in essence a list of instructions for a woman to follow to keep her man satisfied.  She was told to “never get too confident” and “take care of business” when the black man’s sexual needs demanded service.[38]  This view of black women was common in advertisements for Indianapolis nightclubs.  Even the Recorder, a well-respected middle class newspaper, consistently referred to women as “sexy,” “attractive” or “foxy,” indicating that the impact of intense, male-oriented black pride was seen not only at a mainstream, national level.[39]

One of the dominant images from this era was “the mack,” which made its way into the black community in Indianapolis.  An article about the opening of the blaxploitation classic The Mack described a mack as a “highly successful street pimp who attracts the sexiest girls, rides in the biggest cars, wears the best clothes and says ‘I’m in control.’”[40]  During the 1970s, music and movies glorified this image to the extreme, portraying the mack as a black superhero.  At the center of the mack’s fictional world were violence, virulent misogyny, and crime.  He was in control of his own fate and did not let “The Man” bring him down.  The mack took what he wanted when he wanted and did not let anyone get in the way of his success.[41]  This image proved appealing at a time when Civil Rights and Black Power seemed to have stalled out.

In Indianapolis, blaxploitation movies played throughout the city.  The Walker Theatre, Tibbs Drive-in and other theaters in black neighborhoods featured movies such as Superfly, Dolemite, The Mack and Black Caesar, all of which starred strong, powerful and womanizing black men in the leading role.  The popularity of this phenomenon also influenced Indianapolis’ nightclub scene.  Beginning in 1971, the Recorder featured more advertisements for movie houses than it did for nightclubs and musicians.  By 1973, the paper regularly featured advertisements for nightclubs using the image or the language of the mack.  Whereas nightclubs once sought to disassociate themselves from suspicious characters to keep customers safe, they now seized the opportunity provided by mass culture and geared their advertising towards the glorification of the mack, the gangster and the ghetto.  At the forefront of this change was the Inn Crowd Lounge at 1435 Commerce, the former home of Jimmy Guilford’s Soul City club.  In its advertising, the Inn Crowd featured slogans like “Doin’ it to the macks” and proclaimed that the club was in the heart of the “ghetto.” This was an attempt at forming in-group identity by bringing back the pride in being part of a black “ghetto.”[42] Nightclub programming was geared towards a predominantly male audience in response to mass culture’s glorification of the strong black male.  Clubs now featured “Sexy Mama,” “Hot Pants,” and X-rated “Loose Body” contests at their matinees in lieu of traditional dance and amateur talent contests.  On certain nights, clubs regularly lowered drink prices and cover charges for women, hoping to bring a large female contingent.  Social clubs got into the act by sponsoring such events as the “Mack of the Year Contest” and the “Gangsters Ball,” which was held at the ISTA Building downtown.[43] 

Despite its popularity among club-goers, the image of the mack was highly criticized by the Recorder staff.  The connotation of the mack and the baggage it carried was not suitable to many in the black community.  By 1974, two new entertainment columns were featured on semi-regular basis in the Recorder.  “Nightlife with O.J.” and “Party People” by Eunice McLayea discussed goings-on at clubs and highlighted photographs of club interiors.  Of the two, “Party People” was printed more often and contained a sometimes-critical view of Indianapolis nightlife.  McLayea was especially disparaging towards the idea of the mack.  In November 1974, Cousin’s Lounge at 654 Fairfield Avenue opened and McLayea was there to cover it, noting the club’s carefree and mellow atmosphere and that there were no “superflies, romeos or Casanovas” present to interrupt the good times.[44]  Similar articles, including a 1973 article by The Saint that criticized the “intelligentsia” of the black community for wearing “Superfly garments,” were common during 1974 and later years.[45]  Just as the Recorder had criticized the Afro in 1968, the paper again was criticizing the fashion and style of Indianapolis’ young African-American community.  The notion of the mack ultimately created problems for nightclubs, bringing in crooked characters and shady dealings that drove away the backbone of their patronage.  By 1974, club owners and newspaper columnists like McLayea attempted to bring back patrons who feared going out because of the suspicious characters that clubs catered to.[46]

            Despite the rejuvenation efforts of Eunice McLayea and other staff at the Recorder, the death knell had sounded for the Indianapolis nightclub scene by 1974.  The onset of the Blaxploitation culture and departure of several prominent black musicians greatly changed the scene.  Nightclubs began to close; the Avenue became deserted, more so than it was in 1970.  By 1974, most of the clubs on the north side had also closed.  About this same time, disco music began to sweep the country.  When disco became popular in Indianapolis, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back, ending the era of soul in the city.  People now went to clubs to hear songs as heard on the radio or at home.  They no longer wanted live music, but rather deejays that spun hit records all night long.  The clubs that still brought in live music demanded large bands with horn sections that could play the latest disco hits of the day by the Commodores, K.C. and the Sunshine Band, and Cameo.  Guitarist Clint Jones remembered that disco put many Indianapolis musicians out of work because it was nearly impossible to get a well-paying gig.  As a response, many musicians, including Jones, left Indianapolis to pursue their music career elsewhere.[47]   

Disco was a response to soul and funk in more than one way.  As a more commercial sound, disco “bleached” soul and R&B and made black music more acceptable to middle class, white America.  Growing out of the gay club scene, disco’s mindless, formulaic sound put a priority on dancing; songs with a message no longer had a place in popular music.  Disco also “feminized” soul and R&B and gave women, their perspectives, and their experiences a stronger voice. [48] Women now had control over their own musical and cultural destiny.  With an emphasis on dancing, love, and female desire, disco divas such as Donna Summer, Gloria Gaynor, and Evelyn Champagne King recorded songs that spoke to female listeners who had been turned off by the overwhelming machismo that dominated early seventies black music and Blaxploitation films.[49]  Disco spoke to women and homosexuals and then became a national phenomenon.  It had roots in the black community’s soul and funk music and in the gay club scene, but grew well beyond both.  Disco had an open door policy that let everyone in; everyone, black or white, male or female, gay or straight, now had a place at the table.  The soul and funk community had limited itself to a predominantly young, black audience that eventually turned into a young, black, male audience that oftentimes excluded women. 

Throughout the late sixties and early seventies, from the tensions that tore at the seams of the black community, to the rise of Blaxploitation chic and eventually disco, Indianapolis nightclubs supported and promoted the black community.  Early on, the nightclub scene reflected the moderation of the black community; later, it reflected the growing macho desires of Indianapolis black men and then the growing popularity of deejays and disco music.  Although some clubs like the 20 Grand, Demonstrators Club, and most along Indiana Avenue eventually folded, new clubs took their place and gave patrons what they wanted, whether it be live soul and funk or a deejay that played Donna Summer records.   The nightclub scene was the “cultural glue” that brought Indianapolis’ black community together throughout the late sixties and early seventies.  The reinforcement of the values and beliefs of the black community was an important part of the nightclub experience.  Club programming did not have to be overtly political or radical to mean something: it merely had to sustain the population.