Picturing the Black Dada Nihilismus
I warn you, brave soldier/citizen of Western Civilization, you servant of corporate officers, you potential ward of the state, right-brain activity is about to go on here. What you may see are two apparently unrelated thangs getting mixed together to make a new whole (not another bomb crater). The purpose of this exercise is to help free your mind so your ass will follow a complete thought. Respect the complete thought and you can fly… So the two apparently unrelated thangs are Amiri Baraka, his poem, “Black Dada Nihilismus” and George Clinton, his album cover for Up for the Down Stroke. Keep in mind that I am more than prepared to watch you regard this as a bunch of bullshit. Even George Clinton himself would not surprise me saying that he commissioned that album cover under the influence of at least three hard drugs and not a single conscious thought. And Amiri Baraka would not waste his time telling me that I have no idea what I am talking about… Nevertheless, my ‘stupor’ persists… I’ve seen you since you I was little child because I have been watching and playing close attention. So when you say, “whatever” I say, ‘No, look closer: see the structure.’
Pretend you went to college and took an art history class and you never fell asleep during the lecture in the darkened room with the slide projector. I’m going to pretend with you. Now look at the picture above as if your art history professor regards it as the most refined European classic painting in powdered wigs and high heel shoes. Are you respectful now? Good, docile Negro… (Just kidding.) So we see three figures in the picture. All of them are of African descent. The ceremonial braids and the earth-tone, patterned dress of the light-complexion woman at the far right clearly permits me to use the word “African” in this context. In spite of the Lady-Day-style flowers ‘hiding’ the “natural” hairstyle of the dark-complexion woman in the bottom of the frame, I am even more comfortable in describing these women as African. But what is the male of clearly African features doing? Foremost, let us look at his action. Clearly he is holding some kind of blunt instrument and appears to be about to strike the women. To be more daring, I say that I see this African-like male about to strike the dark-complexion woman at the bottom of the frame.
All of this male violence, however, is countered by the expressions of dramatic ecstasy, flushed through the women’s faces. This sensual rush is immediately followed by a sense of ridiculous comedy—most of the comedy comes with the image of this dark male. He dons a Hollywood-Dracula cape; he wears flashy, bikini-Conquistador armor and huge, ostentatious chains (later perfected by Isaac Hayes). What the hell is going on here? Is this like, you know, “whatever”—or is there something more?