A Sound Archive Alex Lichtenstein (bio) Steven P. Garabedian, A Sound History: Lawrence Gellert, Black Musical Protest, and White Denial. Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 2020. xii + 240 pp. Figures, notes, index. $27.95. Steven P. Garabedian, A Sound History: Lawrence Gellert, Black Musical Protest, and White Denial. Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 2020. xii + 240 pp. Figures, notes, index. $27.95. Those of us who have done research on the history of the Communist left in the United States, on the culture of the 1930s, or on the history of southern chain gangs, have almost certainly come across a small 1936 songbook of two dozen "Negro Songs of Protest" compiled by Lawrence Gellert. Graced with a striking cover illustration by Lawrence's more famous brother, the Communist artist Hugo Gellert, Negro Songs of Protest remains a quintessential example of Popular Front culture and a radical complement to the much-better-known material collected by Alan Lomax across the South during the same period and deposited at the Library of Congress. But, as Steven Garabedian's book A Sound History proposes, the Gellert story is even far more complicated—and interesting—than it might seem at first glance. Gellert and his fieldwork, Garabedian shows, experienced a "trajectory of celebration to defamation" (p. ix). During the 1930s, the African American protest songs Gellert collected across the South made a signal contribution to what Michael Denning has called "the cultural front," exposing radicals to a taste of Black vernacular culture aligned with the politics of the moment.1 During the Cold War years, however, Gellert's association with the Communist Party (CP) and its publications—his brother Hugo was an editor at the New Masses, and some of Gellert's material initially appeared in its pages—made his work suspect. Now what had been lauded as an amazing feat of recovery of a buried folk expression was derided as "an example of white leftwing propaganda…rather than Black vernacular creativity and resistance" (p. 9). The CP, once the alleged champion of African American rights, most famously in its global campaign to free the "Scottsboro Boys," came to be regarded during the Cold War as preying on Black discontent for its own nefarious ends. Gellert's once-laudable efforts to collect and disseminate an authentic protest culture located among the most oppressed group of African Americans living under Jim Crow was now dismissed as manipulative, at best, and outright fakery at worst. [End Page 583] So, Garabedian's book asks, was the material unearthed by Gellert merely a "product of white propaganda" or rather an authentic expression of "Black vernacular creativity" (p. ix)? Astutely, Garabedian frames his discussion of the early reception of Gellert's work within the trope of "romantic racialism."2 Dating to the nineteenth century, this tradition served equally well the celebrators and the detractors of African American culture. "The romantic racialist mindset," Garabedian observes, made it possible to "favor Black music while still denying Black intellect or agency" (p. 6). As Garabedian puts it, in the romantic racialist tradition, "People of color have been expected [by whites] to sing with open hearts, but not openly speak their minds" (p. 6). Though associated primarily with nineteenth-century abolitionism, the cultural left of the 1930s was not immune to this outlook, and indeed could be said in some quarters to have revived it. Nevertheless, Garabedian resists placing Gellert himself in this camp. Instead, he regards the left-wing amateur ethnomusicologist, "audodidact[,] and self-styled bohemian radical" (p. 21) as "a sincere broker in the cause of racial justice and radical change" (p. 14). Following in the footsteps of southern white collectors of "Negro songs" like Howard Odum, Guy Johnson, and John A. Lomax, Sr. (Alan's father), Gellert's ear seemed attuned to something quite different. "Where they heard primitivism, plantation nostalgia, [or] racial nostalgia," Garabedian notes, "Gellert heard Black resistance" (p. 54). John Lomax in particular had established a template that allowed white collectors to treat Black folksong as an inexplicable expression of "Black self-pity." "Why this should be true," Lomax had written in 1917, "is difficult to say." To this astoundingly obtuse remark in the "romantic racialist" vein...
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Jul 20, 2024
Bernisa Puriš 
