Composition and Cornel West: Notes toward a Deep Democracy

5. Tragicomic Hope in Democracy

77 } L;AC=IGC=IJ?CH?GI=L;=S CORNEL WEST defines the tragicomic as “the ability to laugh and retain a sense of life’s joy—to preserve hope even while staring in the face of hate and hypocrisy—as against falling into the nihilism of paralyzing despair” (Democracy Matters 16). In an American context, this psychic technique is anchored to a blues sensibility and blues vision that afford a clear and unflinching gaze at our nation’s historical failures. For West, this psychological posture is fundamental, not transient, and is a stance from which he habitually engages society. As George Yancy notes, “Not only is West a blues man in the world of ideas, but he also adopts, through his emphasis on affirming life in the midst of tragedy, a blues ontology, a mode of being which is af- firmative in the face of existential and social adversity” (8). Crucial to this experiment in living are the inspiring notes and chords of African American music, that brilliant joyful noise and pain-tinged expression of black humanity. Such cultural outpouring, as Rosemary Cowan points out and West knows, “performs a vital preservative function by helping to maintain human vitality of life in the face of storms of oppression, and by emphasizing creativity and dignity rather than self-pity” (26). Tragicomic hope, therefore, as a discursive strategy 78 TRAGICOMIC HOPE IN DEMOCRACY derived from a basic spiritual-blues framework necessarily evokes the indomitable, keep-on-pushing sensibility reflected in the high plateaus of African American music and its organic connection to the black freedom struggle.1 On the track “The Journey,” from his 2001 CD, Sketches of My Culture, West pays tribute to this music, hailing, in sequence, the achievements of the spirituals, the blues, jazz, soul, and hip-hop. In this chapter, I link a relatively late development on this tragicomic continuum, namely, a strand of the sublime 1960s and early 1970s soul and funk of my youth, back to one of its lyrical wellsprings, the spirituals, and then forward to an energetic, occasionally brilliant, and sometimes wayward offspring in need of the guidance of tradition, hip-hop. I then aim to indicate the relevance of this exploration to current pedagogical efforts related to criticallanguage awareness. Poets of Soul Among the numerous soul artists one could have mentioned on a track like “The Journey,” West selected Aretha Franklin, Luther Vandross, Marvin Gaye, and Curtis Mayfield. Vandross is a decade or so younger than the other three and, in any event, never reached any phase of the socially conscious song making that concerns me here. Mayfield, on the other hand, with tunes like “Keep on Pushing,” “People Get Ready,” which was also recorded by Franklin, and “We’re a Winner,” combined with Franklin (“Respect”),Sam Cooke (“A Change Is Gonna Come,” another song Franklin covered), James Brown (“Say It Loud, I’m Black and I’m Proud”), and Gaye (“What’s Going On,” “Mercy, Mercy Me,” and “Inner City Blues”) to provide the key highlights of the soundtrack of the modern Civil Rights Movement and, to some extent, the Black Power/Black Arts era. Mayfield, in particular, stands out as the prototypical writer and performer who articulated 1960s and 1970s black pain, struggle, and aspirations. I am not arguing that attending to political struggle was all consuming for Mayfield. When the 1960s began, he was seventeen years old. He had other business to handle. He had to talk about pure enchantment with women, as in “Gypsy Woman” (1961) and the hormonally attuned “Never Let Me Go” (1962). You know the spiel, something along the lines of, “Love me right now, tonight. Gotta be tonight, can’t wait.” Mayfield was popping high-tenor game to the coy and not-so-coy mistresses. He was a soulful version of an Andrew Marvell persona, making the sun run while the Impressions backed 79 TRAGICOMIC HOPE IN DEMOCRACY him up in neo–doo wop. Then, of course, came the recordings vowing unreserved love. Sterling examples are “I’m the One Who Loves You” (1963) and the truly masterful “I’m So Proud” (1964). Then came the adamant denial of any cheating: “You Must Believe Me” (1964). You know, he just happened to be at the party with that other woman. That’s all it could be. Him cheat? Impossible. Then the recording about indeed cheating and being sorry about it and seeking forgiveness , if the...