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The black screen explodes into a montage of black punkers, fans and musicians alike, rocking out -- screaming, dancing, diving and flailing -- with characteristic abandon. Then, a break for the chorus: "Growing up, I was the only black person…"
There it is. A reference to white feminist-punker Patti Smith's "Rock 'N' Roll Nigger" floats onscreen -- unexpectedly, however, her embrace of exiled culture is presented to crystallize the sentiment of James Spooner's important and thoughtful examination of racial identity within the modern punk scene: Unless you're black, you really can't know.
Afro-Punk, a documentary by James Spooner, pulses with authenticity and passion, and is driven by the intellect and insight of black participants in the punk-rock scene. From the black origins of rock music, to the punkish reactionary dress and attitude of early rappers (a parallel unfortunately only glossed), the film proves black and punk are inextricably linked, not only as fringe sects, but historically, and as "states of mind" and "ways of life."
Through it's gripping 66-minutes, the film engages in discussions about unique problems: black punks confronting both the relief and tension generated between the few black fans at most punk shows; bands with black power messages struggling to find a black audience, considering if (and how) their lyrics are interpreted by white audiences, and playing black power music in a mostly white band (an issue embodied and eloquently addressed by one featured band, Cipher, and black lead singer, Moe); the (typically interracial) dating scene for black punks, and concerns over novelty versus authentic relationships; and the alienation of black punks, both within the whitewashed punk scene and from black culture. The latter, exile, is a recurring theme, and particularly poignant. That black punks must fight "token" stereotypes and treatment reveals ignorance that isn't surprising, but that confident, culturally aware and identifying African-Americans have to combat notions that they've sold out to white culture -- from black peers, no less -- is especially troubling. As main interviewee Tamar-Kali (who also provides the fine music played behind the opening montage) laments, "Sometimes I'll be on some ultra black-nationalist shit, and the average person interprets it as white." Indeed, narrow, "tunnel-vision" interpretations of blackdom emerge as the most vicious detriment to the cultural valuing of the black punk.
Through its entirety, the integrity of Spooner's project is never compromised. Perfectly punk rock, Afro-Punk screams DIY. Spooner ran up credit card debts galore on the project, and drove cross-country conducting interviews and watching shows. The DVD, filled with natural divisions, is one long chapter – maybe that's purposeful, however, since documentaries lose impact and context with scene skipping. Best of all, the responses feel real, not staged or rehearsed. The interviewees rant and reflect, navigating anecdotes of disenchantment, frustration, and triumph with delicate humor and stark anger. When the audio crackles because excitement or anger overpowers the camera's microphone, it's not an imperfection, but the brand of integrity.
The content of the interviews seems entirely spontaneous, which lends itself to brilliance and absurdity -- thankfully, a testament to the diverse and intelligent subjects Spooner found, the ratio greatly favors the former. Often, interviewee's responses resonate with the impact of discovery and personal growth -- Tamar-Kali finding "cultural validity" in the punk rock aesthetic, her piercings and garb reflecting African and Native American tribalism; Moe discussing his leadership of a black cultural group at Howard University, and how his identity extends well beyond simply "black punk" -- but sometimes with the silliness of radicalism gone wrong, punk rock misinterpreted; one man, probably in a moment of oversimplification, says what amounts to, "I permanently augmented my appearance only so I'd never be able to get certain kinds of jobs."
Afro-Punk is engaging, and more importantly, unflinching. It asks controversial questions and generates necessary debate, opening a critical dialogue that most people are too sensitive and politically correct to acknowledge. The documentary is filled with credible contributors; members of bands like Fishbone, TV On The Radio, Orange 9mm, Candiria, and Dead Kennedys are interviewed, yet, impressively, the most valuable and powerful footage comes from the relative unknowns. And if some topics get less treatment than deserved, Afro-Punk is still a remarkable accomplishment from a first-time filmmaker. For audiences of all racial compositions, punk or not, this is an important film -- a must-watch, even -- especially so for black audiences; as one young man notes memorably, succinctly, "Being black and being punk are really pretty similar." It's almost an afterthought, but the music's great, too.
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