33 of 40 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Be there...., October 16, 2004
Clearly, those who say don't know and those who know don't
say; if you gotta ask, you ain't never gonna know; you might
as well be loading mercury with a pitchfork. And yet there
is something called hip, and it seems to have a story.
_Hip:_The_History_, by John Leland, takes a shot at it, even
if it can't be told.
Right at the beginning, then, Leland has this fairly serious
problem which is yet part of his story, and maybe even an
assistant; and that is finding the definition of _hip_. (You
can't tell the players without a program.) He earnestly
derives the word from Wolof etymons meaning "to know" or "to
open one's eyes"; but clearly it's not ordinary knowledge of
the sort which comes from experience, or the traditions conveyed
by elders, or from assiduous study. "Hep" or "hip" was at
first a word used by Negro slaves to denote knowledge of things
the White man didn't know about, and it came by whispers and
signs and subtle gestures.
The centrality of the African experience to hip is something
Leland doesn't forget about as he traces the history of hip
from slavery days. As the still-oppressed descendants of the
slaves moved to the big industrial cities of America after
the Civil War and especially in early the 20th century, they
ran into many other un-Whites: the Irish, the Jews, the
Italians, the "Spanish" (we say "Hispanics"). The confluence
of slavery, racism, oppression, exile, rampant industrialism,
crime, drugs, unspeakable loss, linguistic and cultural Babel,
the junkpile of abandoned cultures, all the great melting pot
on the fires of Hell's Kitchen: this was where hip got started
because it was what people _needed_ to know. It was know,
and know fast, or die.
These people were all, to some extent, at odds with the dominant
culture, which was (and is) White, Protestant, conservative,
complacent, sentimental and studiously simple-minded about
cultural matters, locally rational and globally insane -- in
short, corny.
While the dominant took care to keep their distance, they did
peer through the windows of negritude from time to time --
mostly through odd agency of the minstrel show. It is now
hard to believe, but in the 19th century mostly White men
wearing Negro makeup and cavorting in vaudevillian manner on
stage were as central an experience of popular culture as the
movies or television would later become. There is a bridge
between the two, of which can see one end pretty clearly,
however: the _The Jazz Singer_, that astonishing filmic
monument where, framed by two uncompromising renditions of
_Kol_Nidre_ (a later film would give us five or ten seconds
and turn away) Al Jolson makes his way to pop stardom and,
getting ready to perform in incredible blackface, talks about
his _race_ and the nexus between the slave calls and songs
that had been woven into popular music and the ancient cries
of the Jews' liturgy. Correctly, Leland explores the movie
in detail. There are other icons further up and down the
genealogical tree of hip, of course, from Mark Twain and Herman
Melville above to bebop and the Beat Generation below, but
everything goes through _The_Jazz_ _Singer_ -- in its time.
But hip, being the underknowledge of the underground, like
water and the Tao flows everywhere and stays nowhere. For
one generation it's popular music, for another it's the
studiously unpopular Modern Jazz or Harry Partch. Sometimes
it's being aware, at least of where to score, and sometimes
it's being totally on the nod, turned on, tuned it, and dropped
utterly out. For awhile it's the artists who are "ahead of
their time", but of course, the notion of an avant-garde, the
idea that some artists are ahead of their time, requires that
Art be going somewhere, so that these artists can get there
first; that is, it requires Art to be progressive in an
old-time, optimistic, 19th-century, bourgeois sense. It turns
out to be one of the squarest ideas imaginable.
The idea began to be seriously weakened after the fractures
of the Sixties left Modernism and Bebop (as two examples) out
on an evolutionary limb. We are in the realm of the Postmodern,
where progress vanishes into a maze of twisty paths. And
after progress vanishes, we have only the random strut of
fashion; and as hip becomes fashionable, so fashion becomes
hip. Its sign is reversed; now, instead of being special
knowledge held by a few, it becomes what everybody knows all
the time, if they want to. Giant shiny corporate machines
run hot to pour out glossy magazines, television programs,
clothes and shows to tell you how to be hip. Hip sells things
to the masses. Maybe this is the death of hip: what is
everything is nothing. If so, its span was not long, a bit
over a hundred years.
At the beginning of the book, Leland tells the reader to check
the index to see if his name is there, and apologizes if it's
missing: "Somehow," he says, "it fell through one of the many
holes in this book." He's not being so ironic; after the
Sixties, there must have been millions of people who thought
they were cool, and the sort of people who are likely to pick
up this book will be mostly from their ranks, like you and
me, dear reader, even if we now have to buy our jeans in the
Relaxed Fit style.
Of course there are as many holes in the book as in the rusty
remains of your old microbus. Yet the book covers a lot of
ground in a small space and hits many of the greater phenoms
and icons. It is made of heavy metal. Maybe Leland could
have spent a bit less time trying to explain what hip is,
philosophically and logically, and just showed it happening,
but, as I said, part of the story is this very trying to come
to grips with its elusive and now perhaps vanishing nature
before it completely disappears. Or is it to be secretly
reborn under the present rising sign of violent, triumphant
fundamentalist corniness? Is this part of the story which is
yet to be told, indeed, yet to be lived?
"Be there or be square."
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