Mark Anthony Neal's Blog, page 988

Illegal: A Compassionate Look at Undocumented Youth in the US

illegalmovieproject:

A compassionate look at undocumented youth in the United States.

Executive Producer: Curry Glassell
Producer: Diana Espitia and Luis Velez
Director/Editor: John X. Carey | johnxcarey.com | twitter.com/#!/Johnxcarey | http://www.facebook.com/john.x.carey
Directors of Photography: Chris Saul, Mike Mitchell
Music composed and produced by: Bill Francis

More info: http://www.illegalmovie.org
Friend us: http://www.facebook.com/IllegalMovie
Follow us: https://twitter.com/#!/illegalmovie

Through a series of interviews with undocumented kids, activists, policymakers, non-profit leaders, educators and members of the clergy Illegal seeks to raise the consciousness level of the American public regarding the importance of full immigration reform. Illegal is an independent documentary film financed by Houston philanthropist Curry Glassell.

Sampling Motown: 9th Wonder and Universal Music's Harry Weinger

Harry Weinger, vice president of A&R for Universal Music Enterprises and a 30-year veteran of the entertainment industry and Grammy Award winning producer 9th Wonder discuss sampling and the Motown catalogue; Moderated by Mark Anthony Neal.  
Recorded at the Nasher Museum at Duke University in February of 2010.

i am OTHER: Stereotypes: "No Homo"

iamOTHER 
Did the white man bring homosexuality to Africa? Who is "the gay rapper"? Would homophobes prefer to be around lesbians or gay men? We dig deep for answers to these pressing questions.

Season 2.0 Trailer: Black Folk Don't...

National Black Programming Consortium  We're back!! Thanks to you this entire season is made up of audience suggestions of even more things black folk don't do like swim, go camping, have eating disorders, get married, do atheism, and commit suicide. And this time we took the whole crew down to the "big easy" for blackness with some cajun spice to it. Thanks to MSNBC host Melissa Harris Perry and Toure for chatting with us and bringing some fresh insights to the topics in this season. Check it out now and catch FRESH NEW EPISODES STARTING TUESDAY, JUNE 26th!

Kevin Durant and the Myth of Michael Jordan’s America

Kevin Durant and the Myth of Michael Jordan’s Americaby David J. Leonard | NewBlackMan
With game #3 in the NBA finals set for tonight, and the series in question, one thing not in question is that the league has finally found its Michael Jordan for the twenty-first century.  While others have fallen short for a number of reasons, it seems that Kevin Durant is on the precipice of following in Air Jordan’s footsteps.
Although the NBA lockout marked the end of this search, given the league’s focus on team rivalries over superstars, it now clear that Kevin Durant has taken the mantle.   Irrespective of who ultimately wins the series, Kevin Durant has already been declared the winner of America’s next best commodifiable baller.  His reign is not so much about basketball but the narrative, the embedded racial meaning, his appeal in “red state America,” and the representational possibilities available with Durant.  Clearly LeBron James’ basketball resume is on the same level; in fact, with multiple MVP awards, endless skill, and an ability to dominate each and every game at both ends of the floor, LB6 has game that is once in generation.  The same cannot be said for KD35, whose skills are unimpeachable yet his power and resonance rests with the story and ideological confirmation he provides the league and countless fans.
Since MJ’s retirement, the league, its marketing partners, and fans alike have pinned for someone to fill his AIR Jordans.  Each anointed as the next Michael Jordan, Penny Hardaway, Grant Hill, Vince Carter, and Harold Miner (“Baby Jordan”) all failed to deliver because of injuries, limited production, or a combination of both.  Each in their own right was imagined as a player who could fill the shoes, whose talents, charisma, and athleticism would propel the NBA during its post-Jordan era.  None of them met these expectations resulting in an NBA in continued search for a twenty-first century basketball God.    
Kobe Bryant and LeBron James each took the mantle of the next Jordan to places none of the other NMJ (next Michael Jordan) had reached.  Kobe, because of his talents, the ways in which he patterned his game and demeanor after Jordan, his quest for rings, and most importantly his competitiveness, all elevated the comparisons, leading many to argue that he was the NMJ.  Yet because of Eagle County, Colorado, because of his conflicts with Shaquille O’Neal and the ultimate demise of the Lakers Dynasty, and because he is said to have demanded to get out of Los Angeles, Kobe has fallen short in other’s quest to find the next Michael Jordan.  Like Kobe, LeBron James has delivered on the court, dazzling fans with his passing skills, his athleticism, and his ability to make his teammates better.  Worse than struggling to secure a title, LeBron James fell short in the MJ sweepstakes when he decided to take his talents to South Beach.  Simply exercising his rights of free agency meant that James was no longer eligible for Jordan status within the national imagination.
While possessing the skills, charisma, and baller potential, the two most promising players to lead the NBA, to build upon the global popularity established by Jordan, have fallen short not because of any basketball deficiency, but their inability (or our inability) to fill some mythical shoes.  The quest to find the Next Michael Jordan, thus, has nothing to do with basketball but rather is part of an effort to find a player who reinforces popular narratives about the American Dream, the protestant work ethnic, and post-racialness. 
When players of color become stars they are no longer perceived as being of color.  The color sort of vanishes.  I don’t think people look at Michael Jordan anymore and say he’s a black superstar.  They say he’s a superstar.  They totally accepted him into the mainstream.  Before he got there he might have been African American, but once he arrived, he had such a high level of acceptance that I think that description goes away (Quoted in Rhoden, 2006 , p. 204). 
Amid the 1980s and 1990s, amid Reagan’s dismantling of America’s safety net and his elevation of the War on Drugs, Jordan provided more than a wicked jump shot, playing a lead role in the Republican Revolution.  He was “cast as a spectacular talent, midsized, well-spoken, attractive, accessible, old-time values, wholesome, clean, natural, not too goody-two shoes, without a bit of deviltry in him” (Falk quoted in Andrews 2001, p. 125).  
Imagined as emblematic of the power and importance of  “personal drive, responsibility, integrity, and success,” as opposed to “the stereotypical representations of deviant, promiscuous, and irresponsible black males,” Jordan’s racially transcendent, colorblind-driven, raceless image was always tied to racial language.  He represented the possibility of acceptance by whites (racial transcendence), which meant he was able to “transcend his own race” (Rhoden 2006, p. 204), or better said, constraints of the “facts of blackness.” 
The longstanding struggle for the next Jordan has been a journey in search of the next the  “Africanized Horatio Alger” (Patton quoted in McDonald, 2001, p. 157) to lead the NBA.  The search has failed in part because of the inability of the next generation of players to fulfill the imagined narrative and qualities associated with Jordan.  Michael Jordan was the leader of an “army of athletes who possess the (new) right stuff with modest beginnings, skill, and personal determination” (McDonald 2001, p.157).  In the dominant imagination, several players have had the game and even the success on the court yet failed to deliver the story and image.  Kevin Durant, with his decision to stay in OKC, his “nerd chic” clothing, his globetrotting from flag football games to the Rucker during the NBA lockout, and his overall image, possesses the right stuff.     The anointing of Kevin Durant illustrates how the search for America’s next Michael Jordan has less to do with basketball and is all about the narrative, the ideology, and the overall mythical representation embodied by Jordan.  David Heeb, in “NBA Lockout 2011: Searching for the Next Michael Jordan,” encapsulates the narrative and ideological elements central to the proverbial MJ Search:
So after all these years, we are still looking for "The Next Jordan."  Will we ever see another player that great?  Maybe not, but the first thing we have to understand is, when looking for "The Next Jordan," we have to stop looking for guys that look like Jordan.  Instead, we have to look at what made Jordan tick.  What made him burn to be great?  We all know the story of how he was cut from his high school basketball team, and how he couldn't beat his older brother Larry in the backyard one-one games they would play.  We all heard the Hall of Fame speech, where Jordan recalled how he remembered even the slightest challenges to his greatness.  Michael Jordan was the kind of guy that got out of bed every morning looking for a challenge.  He looked for hurdles to jump over.  He searched for mountains to climb.  If there were no worthy opponents, he just invented insults, so he could say he had to prove himself all over again . . . . That doesn't change the fact that Kevin Durant might be "Next." Jordan had a "love of the game" clause in his contract, permitting him to play pickup basketball whenever he wanted to.  Durant, like Jordan, loves the game.  He will play anytime, anyplace, and against anybody.  We have seen him this summer playing pickup basketball all across the country.
Durant’s rise as the NMJ was almost derailed over when fans and the media wondered if he was more AI than MJ. Over the summer, controversy erupted when Kevin Durant revealed that his back and stomach were covered in tats.  The sight of Durant, often celebrated as “one of the good ones” (in this article he is noted to be “likable” and “humble”) covered in tats brought into question his acceptance into the “good black athlete” club.  Could the next MJ have tats?  Given the response then and his anointing, the answer appears to be yes, as long as they aren’t visible. Eric Freemen reflects on the meaning of his tattoos, their placement, and the changing level of acceptance of NBA tats.  Yet, he concludes by arguing that Durant’s tats should cause little to his marketing potential and fan popularity in part because he is different.
It's tempting to say that Durant is trying to hide his tattoos to appeal to a larger market of fans, but it's possible that he just prefers to put tattoos on his torso and not his extremities. Plus, we've reached a point as basketball fans where tattoos are not an automatic sign of a thug. They're perfectly normal and a common feature of the league's most popular players. LeBron James is covered in tattoos, but any marketing issues he has are tied to his lack of a championship, not the belief that he's a gang member. That point of view is thankfully a thing of the past.
Whatever the case, Durant's tattoos prove that he's not the squeaky clean figure many people make him out to be. As I've said before, he has an edgy streak. He has a lot more in common with the rest of the NBA than many people are willing to admit.
The constant references to his doing it the right way, his humility, his team orientation, and his lack of ego speaks to his power not only as a marketable commodity but as a vehicle of ideological meaning.  Basketball is almost secondary, a fact that has been quite clear throughout the finals with the constant juxtaposition of Durant and James as a battle between good and evil.  Berry Trammel describes the series as one straight out of Hollywood
But Good vs. Evil makes an appearance, too. Dwight Howard, back when he wore a white hat, and the starless Pistons, both against the Kobe Lakers. But in this Star Wars Finals that comes to Oklahoma City, it’s not just Good vs. Evil. It’s Lovable vs. Evil. It’s America’s sweethearts against the Galactic Empire.  It’s the Thunder skywalkers — these barely grown guys who let out war whoops after big buckets and grow funky beards and wear shirts straight out of Urkel’s garage sale – against the Darth Vaders. Miami Heat? Miami Hate is more like it. The Thunder is the team America loves to love. The Heat is the team America loves to see lose.
Likewise, Nicholas Schwartz, with “The Heat-Thunder Series Reveals One Troubling Truth About How We Think About Sports,” notes how the media has gone to great lengths to narrate the 2012 finals as a competition between two different ways of life: “The 2012 NBA Finals have been cast as a battle between good and evil. The Oklahoma City Thunder represent the hard-working team that evolves organically and ‘does things the right way,’ And the Miami Heat represent all that is wrong with the NBA.” 
While pundits have constructed the matchup as one between the lovable Thunder and the hateable Heat, the true meaning comes from the attached narratives assigned to Durant and James.  According to CBS sports, “Durant has never been about glitz and glamour. His winning combination has been humility and hard work, and it may soon pay off. The Thunder need four more wins to win a championship in only their fourth season in Oklahoma City and fulfill Durant's ultimate goal.“  Melissa Rohlin concurs, making clear that Durant’s appeal rests not just with his silky 3 or his timely buckets but the image and narrative surrounding him, all of which is wrapped up in the meanings of race within the dominant white imagination: “Despite Durant's ascension, he has remained humble. He is one of the few superstars in the league who speaks to reporters before games. Most of the league's other stars avoid the media until after the game.”  Humility appears to be as important as post moves for NBA commentators, making clear how race fits into this discussion; do we see the same demands of and celebration for humility in others sports, not too mention in Hollywood, on Wall Street, or in the halls of Congress?    
The inability of LeBron, Kobe and Carmelo to attract Jordan level fan support prompted systemic change with the 2011 lockout. The fears that Dwight Howard, Chris Paul, Blake Griffin, and Derrick Rose might follow in their footsteps not only contributed to the lockout but changed the ways in which the NBA and its partners sought after the next Jordan.  In the end, the presumed failures of the players to deliver off the court contributed to this shift.  The low q-ratings of these players, and claims about player betrayals of fans mandated a system change that has traded a league organized around superstars to one more focused on parity and competitiveness. 
Yet amid all of these changes, KD35 emerged as a superstar on the court (scoring championship + winning) and the media, league, and fans took from there, refashioning Durant as the next Jordan.  He has become the next Jordan not just in game but also as a free-floating racial signifier.  Just as the MJ emanated from dominant representations of blackness, Durant’s ascendance is wrapped up in the Palace Brawl, hip-hop, white racial framing, and the meaning of blackness in the twenty-first century.  Whereas Kobe or LeBron embody an aesthetic, a swagger, and a demeanor that is continually pathologized and demonized (yes, Skip Bayless I am talking to you), Kevin Durant and Blake Griffin function as points of comparison; depicted as humble, team oriented, and likable, they are able to become Jordan-esque.   
Yes, KD35 has game, but what is celebrated is neither the game or the man but his perceived meaning within the dominant white imagination.  It ain’t about lovin the player, but loving their game.***
David J. Leonard is Associate Professor in the Department of Critical Culture, Gender and Race Studies at Washington State University, Pullman. He has written on sport, video games, film, and social movements, appearing in both popular and academic mediums. His work explores the political economy of popular culture, examining the interplay between racism, state violence, and popular representations through contextual, textual, and subtextual analysis.  Leonard’s latest book After Artest: Race and the Assault on Blackness was just published by SUNY Press.

Trayvon's Father Tracy Martin Talks Father's Day and 'Shoot First' Laws

From the Digital Diaspora Family Reunion: A Harlem Family Story

Digital Diaspora Family Reunion :

With just a few photographs within his collection, Marc Polite relays the rich history of his family with intimate glimpses into his family circle including images of this mother and father when they were young. Marc Polite lives and works in New York City and is passionate about African American history and culture.  Marc’s popular Blog “Polite On Society” won the Best Black Blog of 2011.
Digital Diaspora Family Reunion is a touring Roadshow that travels across the African Diaspora to uncover the hidden treasures in family photographic archive. Individuals are invited to explore the rich and revealing historical narratives found within their own family photograph albums and share their stories with the world.

What Would Tupac Do? Revamping 21st Century Education

What Would Tupac Do? Revamping 21stCentury Educationby Adia “Dr. Dia” Winfrey, Psy.D. | special to NewBlackMan
There’s a war being waged on education across America, as budgets are slashed and schools are closed. These unprecedented actions must be a rallying cry for our communities. As we celebrate Tupac Shakur’ 41st birthday, I am reminded of his brazen ability to use his voice, while inspiring others to do the same. These qualities made him legendary, and like Tupac, we must use our voices and influence to navigate through these educational challenges. This starts with classifying education as a broad experience not limited to a classroom. The term “educator” must include those formally trained, as well as community members, parents, local entrepreneurs, professionals, and area businesses. As Tupac stated in countless interviews, schools aren’t preparing youth for life.  In his deeds and lyrics, Tupac recognized our individual stories and experiences as resources, which too often go untapped. We can no longer afford to ignore the “educators” in our communities. Broadening our conceptualization of education also means redefining the student to include children under 5 and their parents. By expanding our pool of educators, and recognizing the presence of “classrooms” throughout our communities, such action is feasible. But expanding the definition of educator and student is not enough. A 21stcentury education must place special emphasis on student engagement. In the song “Me Against the World,” Tupac highlights the importance of acknowledging our youth and their voices stating, “what’s the use, unless we shootin’ no one notices the youth.” In this line, Tupac reminds us acknowledgement of our youth is a necessity, and will lead to our demise if ignored. In the classroom, acknowledgment occurs when youth are engaged and encouraged to share their thoughts. As Tupac declared in lyrics, interviews, and poems, silencing the youth voice is criminal, and hurts us all. In this war on education, emboldening students is of the utmost importance. Throughout his life, Tupac challenged those in power to engage with the community. As we debate, dialogue, and refine public education through conferences, town halls, and web chats, the inclusion of community action in 21st century education is crucial. As the school to prison pipeline grows, it’s imperative we embrace Tupac’s spirit of activism.
On June 16th we celebrate Tupac’s 41st birthday, but let us also follow the path he charted by boldly using our voices, and inspiring others to do the same. 
***
Adia “Dr.Dia” Winfrey, Psy.D, is the author of H.Y.P.E.: Healing Young People thru Empowerment (African-American Images, 2009) and has been featured on NPR, in JET Magazine, and endorsed by syndicated radio personalities Tom Joyner and Michael Baisden. 

Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl - The Sleepover (S. 2, Ep. 1)

iAmOTHER

J and White Jay attempt to get more intimate as J deals with the insecurity of her ex hook-ups becoming friends.

On Blackness, Humanity, and The Art of Rap

On Blackness, Humanity, and The Art of Rap by Gaye Theresa Johnson | HuffPost BlackVoices
Blackness -- in style and sensibility -- has been one of the most admired, most reviled, most circulated, and least credited set of characteristics in the history of commodification. And there can be no better example of this than hip hop. When rap music first gained mainstream traction in the late seventies, its artists were dismissed and disrespected by politicians, pundits, and the music business itself. But by the late eighties, the same corporate bodies who had previously shunned it were making millions of dollars selling it. By 1990, label executives had created a "gangsta formula," a business hook that repackaged rap's depictions of black urban realities into a titillating buffet of hypermasculinity and glorified violence, relegating women artists to the margins and creating a new outlet of expression for what became its largest consumer demographic: young white men. 
Increasingly rejected at the industry door were records penned with good-natured depictions of everyday black life, incisive critiques of urban renewal, or songs that illustrated lyrical or beat boxing genius, such as those by the Sugar Hill Gang, Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five, or Doug E. Fresh. Women -- as artists, anyway -- were rendered nearly extinct under this formula, rarely allowed onscreen or on-air for any other reason than a sexual one. And somewhere in the sordid history of mainstream rap's promotion and production, the pairing of rap music and black humanity was, for all intents and purposes, lost. 
Black artists were complicit in this in many ways, but there was nothing more powerful in or more capable of guiding the direction of rap music than record executives, who weren't artists. Or black, for that matter, with few exceptions. It's been a very long time since we've seen consistent depictions of black humanity in mainstream hip hop, and a longer time since we've been invited to appreciate black rap artists as artists, not just as caricatures of conspicuous consumerism, or consequences of trickle-down economics. This is why Something From Nothing: The Art Of Rap , the new documentary directed by Ice-T, is so significant. In some very important ways, it has recuperated hip hop from the decades-long damage done to the art form. Interspersed among the 42 interviews of rap musicians is Ice-T's narration of hip hop's history and significance in American life, intended to demonstrate the power that rap music has had to "change the world." The subtitle of the film, Something From Nothing, derives from the commentary by Lord Jamar, who recounts how federal budget cuts in the seventies and eighties dismantled art and music programs in public schools, forcing aspiring rap artists to create "something out of nothing." We learn from the legendary Grandmaster Casanova Fly that in listening to the records of their parents' generation, aspiring emcees and DJs, hamstringed with narrowing musical outlets in schools, turned the record player into its own instrument. And that soul music's indelible mark on rap made it into a genre that didn't invent anything, but "reinvented everything."

Broadly, The Art of Rap examines the origins and development of hip hop in New York, Detroit, and Los Angeles. Discussions and demonstrations of the artistry, craft, and mutual influence among rap musicians, told from the perspectives of the artists themselves, make this film different from anything we have seen on rap music and black men in decades. Incisive critiques by Lord Jamar, Kanye West, and Ras Kass about how rap music is both used and abused make the film an important commentary on race in America. Marley Marl admonishes his contemporaries for the disunity found in hip hop, holding artists accountable for the lack of compassion and reverence shown to musicians from previous generations who made rap music possible. Nas offers a scathing explanation for why the success of a black art form is so reviled, and his stripped-down description of what people in power think of black artists ("I don't like you") is one of the most memorable lines in the film. Among the many demonstrations of the verbal genius and incomparable mental recall of rap artists, Doug E. Fresh, Joe Budden, Eminem, Grandmaster Cas, KRS-1, and Kanye West shine, and in this vein, Ice-T reminds audiences of his incredible value as a lyricist.

Far removed from overabundant depictions of rap rivalries, one of the most distinctive themes of the film is the way artists credit each other for inspiration. B-Real tells us how Public Enemy influenced the tone and style of Cypress Hill, Eminem names Treach as one of the most significant inspirations of his early career, Snoop Doggy Dogg pays tribute to Ice-T, Chuck D reminds audiences of the power and skill of Melle Mel's voice, and Doug E. Fresh reminds us why Kool Mo Dee is one of the greatest emcees of all time.

Critics will rightfully wonder if The Art of Rap re-marginalizes women, since only two -- Salt and MC Lyte -- appear in the film, and because explicit discussions of the elephants in the room (masculinity and sexism) are nowhere to be found. Both Salt and Lyte offer brilliant descriptions of what it meant to be female rappers creating a voice and lyrical style that was distinctive among both men and women, and it is because of this brilliance that the silence of other women's perspectives rings loudly. This is an issue that filmmakers like Ava Duvernay (My Mic Sounds Nice) has tried to remedy, and the development of this film into other projects promises a more balanced incorporation of female rap legends.

The high-definition cinematography emphasizes the importance of place in the hip hop imaginary, punctuated by Yasiin Bey's (formerly Mos Def) assertion that rap is a folk art whose sound is shaped by geography. The shots of the bodies of water around New York, Detroit, and Los Angeles are breathtaking and provide a seamlessness to the visual narrative that will be noted by audiences.

The artists interviewed in The Art of Rap are products of very significant (if varying) historical moments, from Melle Mel to Immortal Technique. We learn from the artists themselves how rap has recreated itself to become an important space for black collective commentary on contemporary social issues.

The Art of Rap writes humanity back into rap music in a moment when black people are more popular than ever in mainstream society, but in some incredibly damaging ways. We've mistaken the proliferation of black images in the media for the notion that there is some kind of equality of positive representation of black humanity. The death of Trayvon Martin and the commentary surrounding it (most notably Geraldo Rivera's stupefyingly racist comment that Martin's choice as a black male to wear a hoodie was the reason he was perceived as a threat) reveals that America is not post-racial, it is constantly creating racial problems anew.

In its revelation of the artistry and humanity that hip hop is at its best, this film places rap music in its rightful place: as one of the most powerful art forms in the history of cultural production. It's not a game. It's The Art of Rap.

***
Gaye Theresa Johnson  is a faculty member in the Department of Black Studies with affiliations in the Departments of History and Chicana/o Studies at the University of California at Santa Barbara.  Her new book, The Future Has a Past: Politics, Music and Memory in Black and Brown Los Angeles, is a cultural history of and civil rights and spatial struggles among Black and Brown people in LA, and is forthcoming from University of California Press.