In a time where American media inundates us with over-bronzed twenty-somethings whose lives revolve around dragging beds onto rooftops and drinking Chardonnay in the work bathroom, it’s become increasingly difficult to find serious music.  Pop lyrics sing praise to ferocity, mediocrity, and debauchery. From Katy Perry’s “It’s [last night] a blacked out blur / but I’m pretty sure it ruled,”  to Jay-Z and Kayne West’s acronymous title equating a cut of cured meat with street toughness, it’s pretty safe to say the American Dream has evolved. Blame it on the media, economy, school system, or even Facebook, but for many youths, particularly youths of color, the American Dream has become something along the lines of a luck-cum-instant stardom that, sadly, keeps stereotypes all too alive and prevents growth towards a positive cultural experience.

“It’s the mentality: ‘why do I need to read or write or grow as an individual or human being, when all I need to do is pull down my pants, get some tattoos on my neck and gold teeth and make up a bunch of really angry lyrics,’” explains Allan Harris, an acclaimed jazz musician.  “The anger is really baseless.  They’ve never been denied access to a hotel room or a dinner table, or had a sit-in on a bus, or had white roves follow them throwing cocktails,” he continues, sitting in front of the web-cam at his apartment in Harlem.  

The discussion of hip hop’s influence on American youths strums a bluesy chord with Harris, a self-proclaimed history buff, whose music acts as a story-telling medium for the “heroic vision of American history and the African-American contribution,” praised New York Times critic Steven Holden.  Harris recently received a Chamber Music of America grant to perform his play, Cross that River, in 12 schools across Harlem.  An eclectic song-cycle, Cross that River draws upon Harris’s own diverse background and influences to tell the story of Blue, a runaway slave who escapes to Texas to become one of the first black cowboys.  Now more than ever, Harris recognizes the need for children, particularly children of color, to not only have worthwhile black role models, but have role models who exemplify unity.  “Children of color don’t really have anything to grasp except rap and the debasement of women, and really the debasement of themselves,” Harris begins.  “There was a time and period in our country right  after the Civil War when white and black worked together during the cattle drive.”

 On the other end of the web-cam, I feign disbelief at other’s ignorance, when I myself may just be the ignorant one: never, even with my seven years of liberal arts schooling, with specialty courses on the Harlem Renaissance, had I heard or read about black cowboys.  “Even the adults don’t know,” Harris claims, when I question the children’s reactions to Cross that River.  “There’s an embarrassment factor, even with older people of color.  My generation and older, we grew up with stereotypes on TV that were really negative for people of color, but there was more to what we were about besides washing dishes or picking cotton.  For about 20-25 years, we were really a part of a noble cause, which was the making of the cowboy out West.  We were written out of this when Hollywood came into play, even though about 40% of cowboys on those trails were men of color.”  

Hollywood’s writing of the negative stereotypes seen in the Mammy figure (Aunt Chloe of Gone with the Wind, Aunt Delilah of Imitation of Life) and the brown face minstrel (a figure, whom, I shared with my former 9th grade class from Riviera Beach, Florida, was behind Dave Chappelle leaving his Comedy Central show a few years ago) may have dwindled, but the gang violence, bigotry, and gross materialism of modern day hip-hop seems to further perpetuate equally embarrassing, negative stereotypes.  “I have young black kids who say, ‘You’re so smart Mr. Harris, why aren’t you rich?’ It really makes me understand where their headset is when it comes to marketing and culture.  As kids of color, they correlate success with the amount of things you collect; nothing that you read, nothing you collect spiritually,” Harris tells me.  With a history as people denied of possessions, not able to read or write and unable to own anything (since they themselves were owned,) I wonder if hip-hop’s material obsession with Cadillacs, gold chains, and magnums of champagne stems from a history of denied ownership.  Oppositely, it would then stand that by being denied possessions, relationships and spirituality were forged that were more deeply rooted and significantly powerful than the fleeting dominance felt when one is “makin’ it rain” over a woman’s clapping behind. (What this given situation boils down to is that the black woman, the most notoriously repressed figure in American history, still continue to suffer).  

 Well, who’s not suffering in this American economy?  For one, hip-hop superstars.  This past month, Jay-Z spent a quarter of a million dollars on Ace of Spades champagne at Miami’s Liv nightclub, (a marketing-publicity stunt, since he himself has ownership in Ace).  In a state where 10.7% of the population is unemployed and educator pay is one of the lowest in the country, this display of gross materialism is embarrassing, particularly when there are so many disadvantaged, misguided, and misdirected youth desperate to emulate this superficial, meaningless lifestyle. And, when American media puts a $15,000 price tag on Kim Kardashian just for showing up at a club for an hour, many are left believing that all it takes is to make a rap song or a porno.  Forget education.  Ban open-minded, outspoken books like Kurt Vonnegut’s 1969 satire Slaughterhouse Five, recently banned again in Mississippi.

“It starts out so young with black kids, the self-defeating, people telling them they can’t do so many things, it becomes a fulfilled prophecy.  It’s really so sad,” chimes in Pat Harris, who’s been sitting next to her husband.  Their Maltese, Ruby, barks in the background.  

 “And [with rap] there’s really no growth, no growth musically,” Allan Harris says, sadly shaking his head.   “The only place you can grow in rap is fame, designer clothes, and a lot of money.  There’s really nothing.  I’m with these kids a lot when I do clinics and all that and their knowledge of music and where they come from as a people, is not even on the table.  It’s zero.”

 What is on the table then?  Appropriately, Harris acknowledges that indeed, much of his own ethos went into the creation of Cross that River.  “I figured since I am American, I’d delve into what I’m truly about, my background,” he says, a background which is more indigenous to the American continent than many today can claim, with his maternal side carrying mixed Native American and African American blood.  On his father’s side, his great-grandfather was a slave, who even after Emancipation wasn’t told he was free for over two years.  “When he found out, he walked from North Carolina to Pennsylvania,” Harris details. History was always something in which he was interested, and points out his brother, who does reenactments of the Civil War. 

 

Harris’s own story is one of a boy from Crown Heights, Brooklyn who grows up to write a story of a black cowboy and compose music spanning genres from blues to bluegrass to folk. His personal bio details his first romance with the guitar, initially heard wailing from Mr. Cook’s Barbershop, as men in the back discussed the wild looking black man on the album’s front cover (Jimi Hendrixi).  It may seem surprising, how a Brooklyn boy would go on to receive a musical education in tastes so foreign to his New York City borough.   “Well, my grandfather had a 600 acre farm in Western Pennsylvania,” Harris explains, “and I spent my summers there, and moved there when I was about 13 years old.  I finished high school there, that’s where I met Pat--” he pauses to smile at his wife.  “But while I was there, outside of Pittsburgh, it was real country, you know?  I met a lot of cats playing country music, rock and roll and everything from the Allman Brothers, New Riders of the Purple Sage, to the Eagles.  It was good training for me because I got to play a lot of agrarian music, a lot of root music, along with my jazz.”  

Where hip-hop has further perpetuated negative stereotypes for African-Americans, the diverse and cultural experience of these other musical genres gave Harris more to focus on than violence, degradation, and victimization.  The jazz lifestyle, it seemed, brought about a romantic, hopeful vision of how white and blacks could co-exist in the face of adversity, exemplified in the frontier experience. “It was really a time in our country when we worked together as one, and that was a wonderful time for us.  I think it’s a good time to bring it [Cross that River] out because of what’s happening in the country right now,” Harris explains, implying the disunity of America in terms of bi-partisanship and the terrible educational divide.  

 “I’m not opposed to rap,” he says.  “I understand the individualism of it, the physical side of it where it’s empowering underprivileged kids who otherwise aren’t marketed as able to reach the American Dream, which rap has given them access to financially.  But as far as uplifting themselves, as far as human begins moving forward, actually becoming better citizens, it just doesn’t fit at all, especially when you talk about black males when it comes to black women--

“ -- or any women--” Pat interjects.

“--It’s horrible.”  

“Well self-expression,” Pat says,  “I understand the need for that, but kids don’t understand where the music came from, where the blues came from, where the sense of who they are as people of this country, where the heritage is.   It’s really sad.    And nobody is making it a point to make sure they learn it.  I want to know, what are the heads of this industry saying in order to get better or improve or have a higher level of learning, why aren’t you going back in history?”    

So, yes, perhaps the culprit of our cultural demise is not hip-hop music, but rather, lack of education.  Among the sad truths I encountered in the Florida State public school system: freshman not required to take a history class, many never hearing of, (nor caring about)  the Harlem Renaissance; poetry lines by Terrence Hayes and Yusef Komunyakaa eschewed for metaphors by Eminem and Tupac; and those pen-and-paper-less offenders refusing to relinquish their iPhones, iPods and other expensive gadgets when caught out in class.  The attempt to develop better citizens is, as Harris puts it, “mind-boggling.”   

“They are making it so you don’t need to be well-read; you just need to learn marketing, become a spin doctor, and just do some corporate thing … There’s no men of letters, nothing about the Renaissance.  Don’t need to know the classics; just show up and be part of this group,” he theorizes, touching upon the self-marketing education kids get on a daily basis through social networks like Facebook and Twitter.

It is, however, marketing, ownership and thus, finances that the current hip hop generation has run with, learning from the past mistakes of black artists before them.  Miles Davis, Dizzy Gillespie, Ella Fitzgerald, all died broke.  “They didn’t own any of their product, the record company owned everything,” Harris explains.  “Which, I have to give the rappers credit in that respect.  They’ve taken the lessons of what’s come before them and now applied it to their own genre.”  Harris too, followed in this line, owning his own record label and all the rights to his music.  His wife, Pat, does all his management work.  The relationship between the two is palpable even through the web-cam, and while some may argue “look how much Ice loves CoCo,” the relationship between Allan and Pat Harris is based around a mutual integrity and trust that works to defy not only cultural stereotypes (as an interracial couple) but stereotypes of the music business.

“It’s hard, you know, especially for guys in the music industry, as young men we’re taught to hit the club.  I’m on stage with a lot of men and it’s hard for women to break through that.  You really have to include your partner,”  Harris explains.  It becomes easier, when a woman has her own career, like Pat, who previously worked for a fitness company and traveled all over the world.  “Pat brought a lot to the table that really helped my career out in different ways,” he adds.  “She’s my friend, I keep nothing from her.  And you have to realize that that’s hard for guys, it really is, because we’re taught to just hang out with the cats and your wife is your wife and she doesn’t understand.  And... I’m ranting,” Harris laughs.  There is a dynamic working element in their relationship based around what Harris aims at in Cross that River:  unity.

Pat (and Ruby) accompany Harris on his global tours, which have spanned Switzerland to Moscow and included multiple notable jazz festivals.  His touring schedule has greatly influenced the composition of his new CD, Open up Your Mind, out digitally on September 13th, with a release party on Sunday, September 25th at New York City’s BB Kings.  Three-time winner of New York’s Nightlife Awards for Outstanding Jazz Vocalist, Harris’s new CD is a departure from his previous work, focusing more on his eclectic blend of guitar-playing than the “crooner aspect” for which he’s been compared to Nat King Cole and received the praise of Tony Bennett. “It’s a real wild blend,” he smiles, “You’ll have to come check it out.”

Harris is finally taking some time off touring the world to settle down at New York City’s Smoke for a weekly residency, which began this past Sunday, September 4th and will continue through the remainder of the year.   “You can look at it as settling down,” Allan says, “but what I’m going to do is, the first week I’ll be pushing my CD, then starting in October I’ll have different artists come in: a Latin night some bluegrass and a Soul night.”  After writing such diverse material and performing with so many different types of people, “I just want them to come and join me and make it exciting,” Harris explains.  The multi-cultural aspect, the blending of various root music on a live stage is more than just exciting-- it truly represents the melange of our American, and even global, society and reminds us that there is music out there that speaks to something deeper than different size rims on each Escalade tire.

The positivity embodied in learning about one’s own history, one’s own contributions to a global society is enough to slowly, perhaps move America forward.  “It’s turning around.  Just from what we see at schools, at Berkley, at jazz festivals around the world, there’s a movement.  Music is so powerful in all our lives.  If you get serious, you’ll find it,” Pat surmises.  I think of the few students of color who identified the likes of Rosa Parks, Oprah and Obama as role models, those who actually embody a worthy, spiritually-valuable appreciation of the American Dream, as compared with Lil Wayne and the hilariously, alliteratively-named Waka Flocka Flame.  Thus, even if the media is behind, making money off the backs of violence, sex, debauchery and foolishness, there is always the hope that through education-- educating oneself about one’s own history and the historic contribution of all groups of people--  a conscious appreciation towards cultural growth, hard work, and real equality will, eventually, flourish.  As soon, perhaps, as teenager perpetrators of domestic violence stop receiving standing ovations on public television.  

Look for a full-fledged performance of Allan Harris's Cross that River at Theatre Aspen 2012.

For more information on the CD release party on September 25th at BB Kings, click here.