Tragic Consequences of Black Noise in White Spaces
By Erin May
The 1989 film Do The Right Thing by acclaimed African American director Spike Lee portrayed the life and conflicts of a multi-racial and multi-ethnic community in Brooklyn. In the final segment, a young black man named Radio Raheem walks into an Italian-owned pizzeria playing his boombox loudly. When he refuses to turn down the music, a fight breaks out. The altercation ends in Radio Raheem being killed by police officers, who then try to cover up the murder. Do the Right Thing was a commentary about its time, we see race and music coming together with fatal consequences. This film pushes uncomfortable questions upon audiences: Why is what scholars have called “black noise” so troubling to some, and is there a way to prevent these types of conflicts?
This phenomenon of black noise creating tension in white spaces is not new, originating with segregation. White and black spaces had been separated for so long that people didn’t know how to deal with noise in shared spaces. Overall “white noise” has always acted as the norm; other noises are considered disturbing. One example is the sound of language. In her article White Noise and African American Linguistic Discrimination in the American Soundscape, the anthropologist Skylar Clark uses linguistics to describe this relationship. She writes that “[w]hite speech variation is viewed as being geographically distributed, while oftentimes Black speech is perceived as a universal racial marker, since people are reported as “sounding black.” […] Sounding white as a white individual is unlikely to result in linguistic discrimination, since sounding white is often equated with standard speech. […] the racialization of the Black voice stems from the disappearing quality of whiteness, as it fades into the standard of normality like background static”. Black noise, in this case, vernacular, has a uniqueness to it that is frequently left unacknowledged in white spaces. The ethnomusicoclogist Ronald Radano notes in his article Black Noise/White Mastery that “noise owes its power not to difference, as such but rather to the fear of what difference brings.” If people in white spaces feel that black noise poses a threat to them, they are often scared of transgression.
One historically significant and complex example of such a transgression is Elvis Presley, whose music was deeply influenced by black musical styles, and whose success was famously ascribed to having “a black voice in a white body.” Some felt that he was exploiting Black artistry, while others saw him as someone who brought Black music to the forefront of American society. The latter is an example of the transgression of bringing Black noise into white spaces. For many critics, Elvis had the rhythm and blues reminiscent of African American music, and at the same time was appreciative of Black artists and considered them as equals. Invoking a columnist for the Michigan Chronicle , Michael Bertrand writes in his essay Elvis Presley and the Politics of Popular Memory” that the hip-swiveling rockabilly came under the influence of rhythm and blues as a teenage consumer, took it seriously, studied it arduously, perfected it diligently, applied it artfully and used it to make himself famous, rich, and highly honored in life and death.”’ Bringing Black music into white spaces, however, Elvis’s success was also enabled by his whiteness.
The 1957 film Jailhouse Rock illustrates this by telling story of Vince Everett (Presley), who serves jail time after accidentally killing a man in a brawl. Vince learns the guitar while in prison and later becomes a star following his release. In a striking scene, Vince accompanies music promoter Peggy Van Alden to a social gathering at her parents house. Learning about Vince’s interests, Peggy’s dad (a college professor) puts on a new jazz record, and a conversation ensues among among the guests how the artist has “gone overboard on the altered chords” and “reached outer space” wondering whether “atonality is just a passing phase in jazz music.” Being asked what he thinks about the song, Vince responds “Lady, I dunno what the hell you’re talkin’ about”. The satirical take of the white middle class, clearly meant to set Elvis apart as a lower-class outsider to an educated elite analyzing jazz like classical Western music. If some viewed the music as being too experimental and outlandish, Elvis is portrayed as having more intuitive affective access to black music.
This deeper affinity is borne out in a striking scene where audiences are meant to see the “real” Elvis in the penitentiary where Vince and other inmates are working in a Coal Yard, their bodies covered in black dust. This could be seen as showing the toughness and dirtiness of the penitentiary, but context is everything. The image of dirt-covered skin is a not-so-subtle way of authenticating Elvis’s black voice within a —figurative—black body. Elvis’ place within the culture of R&B music remains controversial; he is seen by some as “taking advantage of” or “appropriating” black brilliance. Tricia Rose’s book Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America details the same situation within rap music today, noting that “some rappers have equated white participation with a process of dilution and subsequent theft of black culture.” If Jailhouse Rock pushed the other side of the argument—Elvis’s authentic appreciation of Black music—he could do so safely because he was white.
Do The Right Thing was a fictional film that was a commentary on ongoing racial prejudice during the 1980s, but unfortunately, it also predicted its persistence in the future. Jordan Davis was 17 years old when he was shot and killed because his music was “too loud”. In November of 2012, Davis was just going about his day with three of his friends, Tevin Thompson, Leland Brunson, and Tommie Stornes. They went to school and planned on stopping at a gas station on the way home. While at the gas station with his friends, the man in the car next to him rolled down his window and asked them to turn down their music, saying “I hate that thug music,”. This man was Michael Dunn. He would spend his life in prison because of what he did next. When Jordan refused, Dunn got out his gun and shot him. Jordan died later that day. When Dunn was arrested the following day, he ended up claiming self-defense, Florida’s Stand Your Ground law. When asked why he shot the teenager, his response stated that he “felt threatened by the boys.” How is it that music can make people feel threatened enough to pull out a gun and kill someone? What music could be so offensive? The truth is that this incident wasn’t just about the music, it was also about how some still hear black music heard as black noise.