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Posthuman Rap

2024; University of Illinois Press; Volume: 68; Issue: 1 Linguagem: Inglês

10.5406/21567417.68.1.09

2156-7417

Paúl Schaüert,

Music History and Culture

As one might expect from a book with “posthuman” in its title, this is a deeply theoretical text. While its somewhat esoteric angle may not make it accessible to an average music lover or even many undergrads, on an academic level it succeeds in showing how musical examination combined with social and cultural analysis can uncover an important sonic dimension of its titular concept. That is, this study encourages the reader to consider and hear both rap and posthumanism in new ways. Following Jamaican novelist Sylvia Wynter, rather than define posthuman in terms of a technological-human hybridity (the eradication, extension, and/or diminishment of the human via technology), Burton highlights the posthuman's social and cultural potential, positioning it as a way for artists (and others) to exist “completely outside our present conception of what it is to be human” (9). But who is the “our” here? Whose conception of humanity is his posthumanism working against? The answer, Burton says, is a type of neo/liberal humanism born of the Enlightenment that deems anything outside of the white “cisheteronormative” capitalist patriarchy as “illegible”—unrecognizable/inaudible (10). Injecting the posthuman with a heavy dose of critical race theory, queer theory, Black feminist theory, and Afrofuturism, Burton seeks to reveal the ways in which rap subgenres (namely, trap and crunk) and their artists exploit a liminal/“vestibular” posthuman space to express their humanity in new ways that push the very boundaries of humanness.While at first the use of the term “posthuman” (a term that often connotes a world without humans) might seem an odd choice for arguing for a more inclusive definition of who or what counts as human, Burton stands firm in his use of it, convincingly rooting his work in certain scholarly interpretations of it. Namely, he relies heavily on theorists such as Sylvia Wynter, African American studies scholar Alexander Weheliye, political scientist Lester Spence, African American literature professor L. H. Stallings, and Black feminist literature critic Hortense Spillers. It is appropriate that the author employs the work of these noted scholars of color, and doing so seems to help mitigate the author's own whiteness and the dangers of saviorism. In a book that acutely focuses on the meanings and expressions of Blackness, it is important to acknowledge the author's identity, which he does at the outset. However, more reflexive work on positionality and personal subjectivity throughout the chapters could have made for a more sensitive volume overall, especially as his hearings/listenings/interpretations of Black music dominate large portions of the text. Perhaps the most interesting theoretical thinking comes as Burton synthesizes the work of Spillers, Weheliye, and a few others to develop his conception of “vestibular flesh,” arguing that the body, the skin, and music itself can simultaneously occupy multiple liminal spaces that hold strategic potentialities for moving, sounding, and existing both inside and outside of the dominant paradigms of humanness (33–42).After laying out this theoretical terrain, Burton presents an innovative analysis of Kendrick Lamar, offering a metacritique of popular critics and academics. Analyzing album reviews, he deftly shows that Lamar is often perceived as the “paragon” of political hip-hop precisely because he fits neatly into preconceived notions of Black masculinity, urban poverty, violence, and other stereotypes (45–68). As the author notes, this does not diminish the value of Lamar's work but rather illustrates ways in which audiences and critics tend to dismiss the political import of other artists and forms of hip-hop because they do not easily fall into such frames. This discussion sets up the author's primary argument: listeners should pay closer attention to trap, crunk, and other subgenres of rap by boosting their abilities to hear humanness. Subsequently, this is where the book shines and resonates on multiple wavelengths. Amplifying the signals of trap and crunk music, the author offers insightful cultural, musical, and visual analyses of these often discounted rap subgenres. For instance, Burton skillfully shows that detuned vocals, irregular flows, flat/mumbled delivery, “messy” arrangements, and so forth, which are often inaudible (or, at best, considered questionable or laughable) to the mainstream, are instead deliberate aesthetic choices that serve as potent political discourse and expressions of Blackness and/or queerness.Since this book is being reviewed within the flagship journal of ethnomusicology, I feel obliged to comment on it within this disciplinary context. If we understand ethnomusicology as musicology plus ethnography, this book seems to hardly qualify as such; there is little evidence of fieldwork in the conventional sense of interviews or time spent in “the field”—in dance clubs or talking to fans, audiences, artists, and so forth. The author never claims this book to be ethnomusicology (or an ethnography), and his musicological training is most evident. Thus, the volume underscores ongoing divisions between ethnomusicology and some forms of musicology. In this regard, however, Burton's arguments about listening to aesthetics and hearing the humanity of others (the central point of this work) could have been strengthened by ethnographic methods. Instead, although the author has a keen ear, we are left largely with his own perceptions and interpretations of this music juxtaposed against those of a few cultural critics. Ironically, for a book that argues for increased inclusivity, it does little to include the voices of participants (artists, audiences, and producers). At just over 130 pages, this volume certainly had room to account for a more diverse set of perspectives.Criticism aside, the book makes a convincing case that trap and crunk music possess just as much political power, depth, and humanity as their more mainstream, legible/audible counterparts. Humanity may not always sound in ways that we are accustomed to or expect, and Burton's work helps us tune—and continually retune—our ears/flesh to new frequencies that better receive its ever-expanding transmissions.