Criticism / Black and Blue: Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man in comparison with the music of the Jazz Age
Musical expression has long been a means for the oppressed to alleviate their hardship. The Irish had their working songs, the Gypsies had their folk chants and the plantation workers had their gospel songs. Despite its Creole roots, the ultimate form of expression for the overworked black factory man in the North came in the form of jazz, a blend of African call-and-response rhythms and forms and white Creole orchestral ability. Jazz was born from the aching wanderings of the once-accepted black Creoles—part French, part African and not enough of either to be truly accepted at all. One group, however, who could truly relate to their plight, was the black Northerner, plunged into white society with no true idea of how to act. This cultural ambivalence is displayed fully in the nameless protagonist’s experiences in Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man, as well as in the lyrics of the jazz age, particularly in Andy Razaf’s “Black and Blue.” The two works share an undeniable emotional and cultural connection, evidenced through the often dejected tones of both works as well as through shared themes of cultural alienation.
Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man prominently refers to music in its beginning and end through cultural references; gospel music is referred to throughout the novel as a reference to black culture, but only jazz gives the novel’s protagonist the sympathetic solace he needs. Throughout the novel, the Invisible Man (I.M.) suffers from feelings of alienation. These feelings follow him through the journey of his life as he discovers that, essentially, the color of his skin and the strength of his intellect are at odds; he never manages to live up to anyone’s expectations until, finally, he sets them for himself, in a jazz-infused cloud of self awareness. I.M. considers himself invisible in the sense that others refuse to see him, a black man who has failed in fulfilling any comforting stereotype of black men; as a result, when listening to jazz, he can identify with—in its purest form—the music itself, the very notion of listening to music, “simply because music is heard and seldom seen, except by musicians” (13). By the novel’s end, there are very few “musicians” left in I.M.’s life—indeed, very few listeners, as “few really listen to this music”—and this alienation from human contact draws him closer to the solitary comfort of jazz (12). I.M. strongly admires the works of jazz musicians such as Louis Armstrong, who “ma[ke] poetry out of being invisible,” as they express the very feelings of cultural isolation that I.M. so often tries—and fails—to express (8). One of I.M.’s greatest struggles is his difficulty in finding people who will listen to him—not a prefabricated speech, not the listener’s filtered notion of what he is trying to say, but the words he is truly trying to express. Through jazz, I.M. finds respite in a kind of unspoken conversation, the kind of implicit understanding that comes from a cultural link, as the “familiar music” seems to speak louder to his own heart than the words of any of his peers. In contrast to his earlier relationships—the hope that I.M. placed in Mr. Norton, only to be forgotten, the pride that I.M. placed in his Brotherhood position, only to discover that he was only a pawn—I.M.’s relationship with jazz music proves to be less destructive and, surprisingly, less one-sided than anything he has ever experienced. By simply listening to the music of “Old Louie,” I.M. finally develops the kind of relationship he tries so hard to maintain throughout the novel—one where he can both devote his energy freely and receive a sense of familiarity, all without being judged or taken advantage of.
Andy Razaf’s “Black and Blue,” as the only jazz lyrics referred to at length throughout the novel, proves to be a fine example of the kind of artistic expression so needed by black Northerners of the mid-century: the lyrics present a speaker who, like I.M., struggles with the “curse” of his race and the scorn which that entails. The nameless speaker, whose voice is adopted by whichever musician chooses to adapt his words, bemoans his “mark of Ham”: through no fault of his own, he is outcast from the very white society he so dearly wishes to impress (Razaf 27). He is “white inside,” but white society, seeing only “what is on [his] face,” assume the worst of black stereotypes and, rather than accepting him, “set [him] aside” (Razaf 15, 16, 24). Throughout the lyrics, the author sets up a theme of forlorn alienation, as the racism the speaker finds in his society cause him to wonder “why [he was] born” (Razaf 18). The song contains one verse and four choruses, relying on the instrumental backing of jazz musicians to interpret the mood of the poem and thereby enhance its repetitive nature; this allows the speaker to continue his lament, as he asks himself “what [he did] to be so black and blue” (Razaf 11). The phrase itself creates an artful play on words: in one sense, the speaker is “black, and ‘cause [he is] black [he is] blue,” while, in another sense, the phrase “black and blue” conjures up images of violence and racial intolerance. By creating subtle references to the crimes of intolerance ostensibly suffered by the speaker, Razaf furthers his theme of alienation: not only is his speaker estranged from the society he longs to join, but he has been forcibly removed from it by those too bigoted to see past his “only sin”—the color of his skin (29).
The two works, in theme and tone, bear great similarities: both works present a resigned effusion of strong emotion from the perspective of men long oppressed, resigned in tone as both speakers forlornly wonder about the future. While the music itself was as important as—indeed, in many cases, more important than—the lyrics in jazz music, the lyrics to “Black and Blue” in particular prove to be especially moving to I.M., as he can implicitly relate to them. Like the speaker in Razaf’s lyrics, I.M. “can’t make the grade”; this proves to be one of the defining points of his life, as every time he fails to make the grade he brings about an upheaval in his own character in an effort to “make the grade” as a completely different person (Razaf 7). This characteristic, indeed, sets I.M. apart from Razaf’s speaker; while the speaker remains forlorn and dejected, as a representation of only a snapshot of a life, I.M. often rises in false hope, new persona in tow, only to return to the slump of dejection like a repetitive chorus. It is not surprising that I.M. eventually chooses this slump to create a life devoid of false masks, a life where he could accept “the invisible music of [his] isolation” (13). I.M. is thoroughly convinced that Louis Armstrong—and, by extension, Andy Razaf, who penned the very lyrics that I.M. admires so strongly—is unconsciously as aware of the idea of invisibility as he is—“because he’s unaware that he is invisible”—and this very conviction draws a distinct parallel between the two works as I.M. parallels his own life to Armstrong’s works (8). Invisible Man, essentially, is the tale of a young man’s coming of age and subsequent disillusionment; as I.M.’s infatuation with jazz music blossoms during this ‘disillusionment era,’ his obsession with “Black and Blue” can be seen as a snapshot of I.M. at that very point in his life, having nothing left to him but his “mark of Ham” (Razaf 27).
We as humans often find solace in the words of others, often drawing a direct parallel between our own experiences and the experiences of those fortunate enough to be capable of effectively recounting them. Indeed, a bland overview of the speaker’s plight in “Black and Blue” would certainly not have affected the Invisible Man as greatly as the repetitive melancholy of the real thing, nor would it have created such similarities in tone—without the emotion of a work, what exists to create a bond between lyric and listener? In turn, the lyrics themselves would not have consumed I.M.’s existence without Louis Armstrong’s interpretation of them. Simply finding similarities in the words of others with one’s own life may establish a strong admiration for their words, but that admiration can also influence one’s own life further, as is the case with I.M., who believes in “Old Bad Air” enough to create an entirely new persona, this one purely for himself—as a result of his deep rooted, albeit one-sided relationship with the sweet, intoxicating rhythms of Louis Armstrong. This persona is the true Invisible Man, finally at peace with his own nature. He no longer has any need to run from police, no longer any need to run from his own town—through the encouragement of jazz, I.M. defies the prophecies of his own nightmares, and, being invisible, no longer has any need to run or hide at all. Clearly, by the end of the novel, jazz changes I.M. significantly—for the better.
You need to log in to urbis or create an urbis account to review this writing.
Reviews
Sort Reviews by Newest | Oldest | Highest Quality | Lowest Quality | Newest Comments |
I thought that this was a very informative explanation of Invisible Man and the jazz motif that it uses throughout the book. I would say this is more of a comparision of the two arts more than a critism but that aside no technical problems jumped out and if I were to read this in a magazine
- add/view comments (0)
This wasnt a bad little piece of work. At first it was a bit boring, Ill give you that, but then as it moved along it became more interesting. Is this for a school project then since you mentioned a teacher in the description? If it is then Im sure it will be more then enough to satisfy the teacher. Good job.
I like this concept of the invisible man; I like the narrative of seeing the world within the body of someone else.
I think this was well written grammatically. You were very knowledgable of what you were writing about. I found it kind of hard to follow though and kind of difficult to read. Overall I think it was informative and you do have a talent worth shaping.
Your comparison’s valid, but I’d like to see more substantive references to the events of the text, characters etc to justify what you’re saying about I.M. – on many occasions you make statements [e.g. “Throughout the novel, the Invisible Man (I.M.) suffers from feelings of alienation. These feelings follow him through the journey of his life as he discovers that, essentially, the color of his skin and the strength of his intellect are at odds”] which, while to my knowledge are true, are only bolstered by quotation, not contextualisation. Perhaps bring it to a bit of a finer balance, mentioning those symbolic devices that prove your point (e.g. I.M.’s light-flooded room at the finale showing that he’s gotten to the point where clarity and truth are the most important things, even if having them means living in a harsh, inhospitable glare). I know it’s tedious, but you risk your assertions being called out as unqualified (depending how lenient your prof. is).
In terms of the quality of your writing, though, this piece is top notch material, so if you’re not too worried about setting records I’d say leave as is.
Peace.
Showing 1 - 5 of 5
Review item
Add to faves
GENERAL
REVIEW QUEUE
Ratings & Rankings
