In preparation for an
up-coming trip to New Orleans (or Nola, as American friends call it) I have
been listening to some of the musical genres spawned by the city – such as
jazz, zydeco, cajun and bounce. Bounce? I took a look on YouTube to find out
more and, to be honest, got a bit of a fright. Video evidence emerges of
scary-looking, black gangster-styled young men rapping unintelligible lyrics to
monotonous tunes and repetitive rhythms, while enthusiastic female followers
shake booty with immodest and joyful abandon. Perhaps too many armchair
sessions at the Heatons Jazz Appreciation Society have lulled me into equating
black Nola music with Louis Armstrong. Things have moved on, obviously.
Of course, I know that ‘alien’
musical cultures such as bounce exist, but I don’t come into contact with them
– through both circumstance and choice (which, on reflection, may boil down to
the same thing). Inevitably, my cultural activities have become focussed and
defined by the circumstances of my birth and upbringing, and much of my social
time is spent in the company of people from my own ‘tribe’. I ponder this
ruefully sometimes, as when I find myself out with a pal, trying not to be
‘those old blokes in the corner of the pub’. Casual observers are not to know that
our reminiscences are balanced by talk of future plans – and I don’t mean
healthcare and retirement homes. Our ambitions persist, however oblivious to
the fact the online social media algorithms trained on us are – as evidenced by
the advertising targeted at me. The slippers that have, for some time now, been
deemed appropriate to my profile have been joined recently by comfortable but
unstylish shoes. The algorithm has concluded, apparently, that I am in the ‘about
to give up category’. Statistically, it may have a point, but it does not take
into account the fact that some of us are not yet done with rock ’n’ roll.
I do make some effort
to diversify my social acquaintances (despite Twitter, Instagram and Facebook
all insisting that I should link up with more of the same sorts of people I
already know) but it’s neither easy nor necessary to admire or embrace someone
else’s ways just because they are different.
After years of trial and error, one does end up with preferences – jazz
rather than blues, real food rather than junk, Nordic-style democracy rather
than neo-liberal capitalism, rational argument rather than uninformed ranting. Time
is precious and the pursuit of diversity is an endless task. In the search to
find better ways to think and act, it is necessary to avoid dead-ends – such as
bounce music. Further, being childless, I am at a disadvantage when it comes to
exposure to diversity: being one step removed from youthful activities means
that I have to make more effort to bridge generational gaps in behaviours,
attitudes and acquaintances. For example, I have no personal contact with
anyone who is in their thirties, of mixed-race, wears a beanie on top of their
dreadlocks and whose profession is “rapper”. I was, however, introduced to such
a person recently – albeit remotely – via a news broadcast.
He is called Akala and his
contribution was to a debate on what is to be done about juvenile knife-crime. He
may belong to a different tribe but that is, partly, his strength: he has the
advantage of being closer to the problem. His other strengths are considerable,
however. He delivers a rational and evidence-based argument with calm,
steadfast composure. If there are people like him in his tribe, then I believe we
should make an alliance with them. I have begun to follow him on Twitter – even
though I expect now to be cajoled into following lots of rappers I don’t have time for.
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