the beauty, the isolation, the erasure" from Kelela to Martha Wash
Kelela announced that she was working on new music after releasing a jazz live album of her most prized hits, In The Blue Light, which was filmed at Blue Note in NYC. Admittedly, I am still chewing on her 2023 release Raven. This potent work came when I was really struggling. My health, mental and physical, was completely in the gutter. It was all a result of self-neglect and decades of a lack of self-love. In the midst of all this, here comes Kelela with “truth-telling” stories.
For those who don’t know, Kelela is an Ethiopian American artist from the DMV who composes amazing electronic dance tracks with various musicians, producers, and songwriters. Sticking to preconceived notions of genre is not a major concern to her. However, she amplifies the music-making of Black folks, especially trans and queer Black folks in her music. She shared in her documentary for In The Blue Light,
“I wrote my last album, Raven, thinking about my journey in dance music [...] the beauty, the isolation, and the erasure that Black femmes experience. It’s also about reclaiming space, and what it feels like to experience extraction and rejection at the same time. I just want to pay homage and respect to the people who have suffered in order for this music to exist.”
This quote made me think about “The Queen of Clubland,” Martha Wash who was repeatedly not given proper credit for her singing. Group after group, song after song would feature her vocals without proper credit or payment. Italian House group, Black Box’s “Everybody Everybody” video featured thin, model-esque women who lip synched to Martha’s voice in music videos. Same with C + C Music Factory’s “Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now).” Fatphobia from these producers and execs, in my opinion, was a large part of why Martha was treated poorly. Below is a newspaper clipping where Martha is interviewed by the author concerning the Black Box’s exploitator ways.
During an interview with Arsenio Hall, Martha mentioned her theory on the reason why Black Box didn’t acknowledge and pay her properly: “What you see here does not fit the image [in reference to the music industry’s commitment to fatphobia].” As mentioned in the news clipping above, Martha is not the only person who was exploited during this era. There’s a throughline here concerning the politics of desirability that I wish I had the range to speak on more, but there’s more work for me to do. I'm currently reading DaShaun L. Harrison’s Belly of the Beast: The Politics of Anti-Fatness as Anti-Blackness.
Martha fought for her credit and impacted everyone who came after her, though. In 1990 and 1991, in a series of lawsuits, she sued Black Box, C + C Music Factory Producers, David Coles and Robert Clivilles, A&M Records, and Sony Music. These cases led to seminal legislation to protect other artists from being exploited in similar ways. Wash’s voice was the ignition to these artists’ production. They desired to use her and not allow her to be seen or paid well, but she’d come out with her first solo album Martha Wash in 1993 which was a part of her lawsuit settlement with RCA Records. This album is a hit to me. I just know club goers were cuttin’ up to this.
One of my other favorite tracks from this album is a remix of a song by The Weather Girls/Two Tons O’ Fun (a duo Martha was a part of with the late Izora Armstead-Rhodes): “Just Us (singin’). The original version of “Just Us” (1980) was lost in my listening. Admittedly, outside of “It’s Raining Men”and their background singing for Sylvester, I never listened to Two Tons O’ Fun, at least that I know of. The lyrics sound like a fever dream of an equally magical and dangerous love that vocalizes fantasies coming to life. While the original is slower and less buzzy than the remix, there’s such a dramatic quality to the vocals and instrumentation that carries over well to the 93 version. The violins sound so “sweet and tender.” Martha didn’t have to steal Izora’s voice to create this song. This remix, I imagine, emerged from a place of remembrance and admiration. The duo split in the late 80s to pursue solo careers.
Like Kelela’s songs, Martha’s cuts are filled with narratives on love. What it means to have it, lose it, and carry on life with or without it. You follow their voices to the dance floor and “freedom” could be found. And, what happens when we leave the dance floor? Whose voice and body is provided the privilege to be heard, seen, and paid off the floor? These answers are clear when one considers how EDM, created by the most marginalized in societies, became white-washed and centered cishet men. The music industry does as the world does.
We know execs and producers eclipsed and attempted to erase artists due to their hatred of those who are not “the norm”1 and their commitment to the current system. That’s why I found the In the Blue Light documentary so necessary. We need to hear even more stories from the mouths of those experiencing “the beauty, the erasure, and the isolation.”
In three short stanzas, Kelela’s song, “Raven” shares a common tale shaped by the distinct perspective of a Black femme working in the EDM music scene. The nearly ubiquitous multi-toned low synth sliding hum found throughout the album plays here until more vocal tracks and sounds are added after the 2:20 mark so that you might really listen to what she is declaring. The first stanza addresses exploitation. A raven is used as a metaphor for going through the fires of life and emerging stronger. In the second part, Kelela is speaking directly to the exploiters. The final stanza is foretelling. Exploiters can only survive but so long off of someone else’s labor, and those who are harmed will absolutely move on.
Again, In the Blue Light is a live performance album. Live performances and their recordings always have a way of bringing to life the relationship(s) between an artist and their audience. Also, Kelela just has a way of telling the truth. A little after the 24-minute mark, Kelela wraps up a cover of Betty Carter’s “30 Years,” and decides to read off some “church announcements”:
Kelela- “Reparations now!” *Crowd cheers*
“Free Palestine!” *Crowd cheers louder*
“But also, reparations now. Let’s get the same level of applause on that.”
This simple interaction between Kelela and her audience made me wonder who all was in the crowd. I say this because a call for reparations in the U.S. is a common and well-known demand amongst Black folks (i.e. 40 acres and a mule).2 Reparations are defined as a pathway to repair wrongdoing; primarily referenced in the form of monetary payment to those who were wronged. The history of reparations in the U.S. shows us that those most afflicted by this country’s colonizing nature are rarely impacted by reparations. This is evident in the case of Native American tribes who were given a little over a billion dollars by the U.S. government from the 1940s through the 1970s which ultimately amounted to barely $1,000 for each individual.3
In an article outlining a reparations bill introduced by Cori Bush, the author explains the gargantuan metrics for how many hours slaves worked, and the subsequent money owed to descendants of slaves.
The U.S. benefited from over 222 million hours of forced slave labor, or the equivalent of roughly $97 trillion worth of work, between 1619 and 1865 during the end of slavery, the resolution estimates. But unlike the white enslavers, Bush notes, “those who were stripped of their dignity and made to work without compensation, they weren’t repaid.”4
Considering how underpaid Black people are across the WORLD, I’m sure if those metrics were combined with any call for reparations throughout the African diaspora those forced slave labor hours would be far higher.5 I want to be clear… I am not sharing any of this to push aside Palestinian suffering. In fact, the suffering of Palestinians is tied up in Black folks suffering across the globe and vice versa. There are various sources that demonstrate how our oppression is interconnected: [From Black Atlanta to Palestine: A statement of connection, solidarity, and survival: The deadly connections between Atlanta’s police department, Israel’s occupation of Palestine, and the global struggle for liberation.]
There’s much isolation, exploitation, and rejection in the process of receiving and fighting for reparations. In the case of music, Martha Wash’s experience with exploitation is one of many examples of how the music industry upholds anti-Black racism and fatphobia. A long issue that various writers and scholars have addressed is how the music industry is shaped by slavery and the practice of blackface.6 Scholar, Alexander Ghedi Weheliye considered how Techno in Berlin was divorced from the genres Black, queer, trans, and feminine roots in the article “Don’t Take It Away: BlackFem Voices in Electronic Dance Music.”7 This was accomplished through not including the voices foundational to the creation of the original music. In an acid house song example, he references EDM DJs in particular, asserting that they often do not give proper credit or value to what he calls the “BlackFem voice” (inclusive of various minoritized voices, genders, bodies, sexualities).8 Basically, they will often mix in a Black person’s voice and not credit who is singing, speaking, or contributing. Accordingly, this divorcing practice hides (intentional or not) the contributions of those central to the creation of this music: Black trans, queer, fat, feminine… people.
Essentially, the least music producers, creators,
and record labels can do is recognize and pay those who are contributing to their sound. That is a basic requirement of a decent citational practice and business. Otherwise, in my opinion, EDM artists, white ones especially, should not be engaging in making the music or utilizing BlackFem voices if this baseline isn’t met. This isn’t a complicated concept nor request. However, I do not believe the people making the most money want much of anything to change about the music industry. The world affirms exploiters, rewards them, and gives them permission to exploit the labor of Black musicians. Obviously, this is how anti-Blackness functions. I don’t know if anything will significantly improve until all the systems built from it/ tied to it are destroyed. It gotta go!
I can’t tell us what to do, but we should know and learn more about the music platforms we decide to engage with. I am making more informed decisions regarding how I engage with music. One thing I personally knew I had to cut back on was my use of Spotify. I don’t have Spotify premium anymore and I do not use the platform as much as I used to. YouTube is another platform I am realizing I need to cut back on.9 Now, I am making efforts to actually purchase the music I enjoy. This can include supporting artists at their concerts, purchasing their merch items, and showing up for them in ways they desire.10 If you are interested in transferring your playlists from one platform to other platforms, there is a site/app called www.songshift.com. I heard good things about it but let me know what y’all think.
Change is a guarantee. Whether that change will be positive or negative is pending. I’m just grateful for the people that are doing work that leads towards getting artists’ needs met for the time being (from the past to the present): The Music Maker Foundation, The Black Artist Database, Black Techno Matters, the independent labels that treat their artists right, and all the organizations/foundations that I don’t know of.
Share with me- Where are other documentaries that touch on “the beauty, the erasure, the isolation” of Black LGBTQIA+, fat, and “othered” artists? I want to hear directly from them. I would like to hear about the resources, money, recognition, and care that they need. If you are an artist reading this, what kind of engagement do you want from your audience? How might we act as co-conspirators in pursuit of your needs as artists?
Originally published in Black Music Be Everywhere. Reprinted with permission from the author.
