I once heard a story about an American who was peppered with questions about Joe Carter — in, of all places, Siberia. Joe had made one of his riveting educational presentations about the African-American spiritual there, and had indelibly impressed his audience. His would forever be the generous, glorious face they put on all people and things American. Joe's presence — his voice, his spirit, and his life — made the world a larger place.
This program was special from the first. We recorded it in Minnesota Public Radio's Maud Moon Weyerhauser Music Studio — a spacious chamber where orchestras record. It was just Joe and his pianist and I. And as we talked about the spirituals, Joe periodically stood up and sang them to illustrate his points. It was a delightful experience. We all enjoyed ourselves immensely, and I think that enjoyment is audible in the final production.
And our conversation was a revelation. It was so interesting to take a staple of American culture, as the spiritual has become — music that we all seem to know and can sing without thinking — and ask questions of it. It was painful to be reminded, foundationally, that this music had its genesis in slavery. What distinguishes the spiritual from its later offspring, like gospel music, is in part the fact that it springs from a body of work of collective, anonymous authorship. Nameless bards bequeathed us a remarkable inheritance out of a cruel period in our nation's history.
There is also, as Joe helped me understand, a sophisticated theology of suffering contained in these melodies and words. It is a theology that leans into suffering — and, in surrender, transforms and rises above it, if only in moments. Still, such moments are nurturing and sustaining, and many of us have experienced this directly through hearing and singing the spirituals, generations later and in radically different contexts.
"The thing we find," Joe said, "is that in the midst of all of the most horrible pain, some of these powerful individuals lived transcendent, shining lives. They were able to be loving and forgiving in the midst of it all. Mammy was taking care of master's baby. She could have smothered that child. But she loved the child like it was her own child, because there was something in her faith that said, 'You're supposed to be loving, you're supposed to be kind, you're supposed to be forgiving — and there's no excuse if you're not…' The ancestors knew that the worst kind of bondage is that which takes place on the inside. And when we look back to the slavery days we were bound, but it was the master who was really the slave. And I think some of us understand that now."
I asked Joe whether someone like him couldn't reasonably begrudge the way in which white Americans have appropriated the spiritual, embraced it as their own genre. But that question was mine, not his. In Siberia and Africa and Wales, he says, these songs speak directly to the recurrent human struggle to survive when the worst happens. They have become symbolic of a universal yearning for freedom — "that part of us all which says, 'I will not be defeated.'" We rebroadcast this hour in celebration of Joe Carter's gifts of wisdom and music that echo vibrantly beyond his death.
I Recommend Reading:
The Books of American Negro Spirituals
by James Weldon Johnson
Joe Carter brought a battered, treasured early volume of this work with him to our interview. There is a 2002 combined volume of the two seminal collections of sheet music, history, and commentary that Johnson published in 1925 and 1926. They remain among the most significant reference resources ever compiled on this musical genre. Johnson's prefaces are elegant and moving. Chapters are devoted to the most significant known spirituals. "As the years go by and I understand more about this music and its origin," Johnson writes, "the miracle of its production strikes me with increasing wonder."
Also, the Listening Room on our companion site features full-length tracks of Joe Carter's live performances in our studio, and recordings of these spirituals by other renowned artists such as Mahalia Jackson and the Fisk Jubilee Singers.
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by
Krista Tippett
Member since:
August 31, 2005 A Sophisticated Theology Behind the Musical Tradition
June 16, 2007 11:09 PM EDT
(Updated: June 18, 2007 10:02 AM EDT)
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Comments: 17
It also reminds me that American Negro spirituals influenced the Czech composer Antonin Dvorak, taking the sound and spirit even further afield into Classical compositions and performances that we don't often associate them with.
And thank you for the book recommendation.
simple and powerful!
there's hope!
greetings from antwerp
nothing is nothing
very powerful program.
But there's — it's almost like there's healing in that moment, even though it doesn't take the pain away, you know? something to remembered about music in a time when its power is often overlooked. have you heard Rani Arbo's new CD, Big Old Life? relevant to this conversation, and there's a song learned from Joe Carter on it, Oil in My Vessel.
I write about music for a living, and I've spoken with Rani a number of times over the years. but -- sigh-- I got this one wrong. It was Joe Thompson, not Joe Carter, she learned Oil in My Vessel from. My error on that aside, I do think you'd find the album of interest. It opens with I Want to Be Ready (when joy comes back to me) and a line in the closing song is I wil give you hope, 'cause I'm learning as I go. Not a gospel album, but there are several sorts of faith in it.
The first time that I heard the Men's Chorus sing it was at a practice in preparation for their Anniversary concert. I was a member of a white Scandinavian-heritage Lutheran church across the street from the Baptist Church and we had made our church available for their practice, as they were rebuilding their own church. When I heard them sing "The battle is not yours, but mine, said the Lord," it struck deep inside of me. That line goes to the heart of gospel and spirituals. We'll be singing that song this Friday night in concert, and it still gives me the chills.
Over the years, my quartet has done many programs of spirituals in schools for Black History month. I find that children are able to cut through to the message of the songs, and they find strength in them. They can relate to feeling powerless only in the way that children can.
My group is called the Gospel Messengers. That pretty much says it all. The message in spirituals will always be contemporary.
Jerry R