It's a scene any Mississippi resident would recognize. People were bustling about, eating fried catfish and pulled-pork sandwiches, or they were sipping lemonade and sweet tea while sitting on folding chairs and blankets. All of them were listening to a rotating cast of locals performing the blues and gospel music.
It was almost identical to any other late-summer festival happening in rural towns across the state. This one just happened to be where my family stopped for lunch during the seven-hour drive from Atlanta to Millsaps College after the summer break.
My mom looked around, marveling at the scene.
"I can't believe you've spent four years in Jackson, and you still don't like the blues music," she remarked.
Whoa! Hold on. Let's back up here. Blues is a great genre of music. It's earthy, powerful and sometimes humorous: a perfect soundtrack to a day eating barbecue. But I would never rip it away from its roots and cram it into the small confines of my dorm room. This music belongs outside in the summer heat and is best enjoyed from a blanket—or in a dark, smoky bar. It would be out of place on my iPod as I walk around Belhaven. It's not a good fit for the loudspeakers of clubs like the Mosquito or in stores like Swell-o-Phonic. Blues is a great rural Mississippi tradition, but my experience in Jackson and Oxford is that it's not the only genre we have to offer.
Music-heads love talking about Mississippi's rich musical tradition. Most cite Elvis as a typical example, alongside Muddy Waters and B.B. King. While the blues are great in context—and we certainly have a wealth of talent in that genre—our continuing to trot out these old tropes to define the "Mississippi music" sound is limiting the music scene's potential for growth here, as well as the state's musical reputation across the nation.
Jackson and the surrounding towns have more to offer the music scene of America. After all, this is the post-Internet age: We don't have to limit inspiration to local barbecues anymore.
Just a few examples: Spacewolf has been churning out grimy rock songs that reference '90s grunge acts such as Nirvana as well as modern acts like Yuck. Bass Drum of Death is part of a nationwide movement of indie-rock musicians playing lo-fi gravelly bursts of noise. That Scoundrel makes garage rock that draws from jazz and blues as well as punk and psychedelic music. And the baroque pop of The Da Vincis falls in line with the pristine pop of Vampire Weekend.
The Internet has also made it possible for these bands to gain exposure in scenes outside the state. Bass Drum of Death's sophomore EP got reviewed in magazines in the United Kingdom and on revered hipster music blogs such as Pitchfork. Paste Magazine did a profile on Mississippi music artists, which listed gospel and blues acts as well as rock-scene stalwarts such as The Weeks.
Even more exciting are projects that seem to spring up out of nowhere. When I first heard JTRAN, the little-known electronic freak-out project of producer Tre Pepper and artist Josh Hailey, I was floored. It sounded like nothing I've heard in Jackson before or since, with electronic squelches and hiccupping drum lines. (My roommates complained at times that my computer was broken, but later, I caught them dancing to JTRAN in the bathroom.)
Hip-hop producer Got Koke!? (aka Matthew Furdge) has received two Grammy nominations for his work on albums by 2 Chainz and Rick Ross, proving that Jackson, too, produces southern hip-hop. Artists like these, who might not sound to others as if they hail from Jackson, are the key to breaking Mississippi music's single narrative of the Delta blues musician.
At the Sept. 28 premier of the documentary "subSIPPI" at the Mississippi Museum of Art, one quote stood out for me. The narrator told the anecdote of the baby elephant: If you repeatedly chain a baby elephant, when it grows up, it will still act as if it's tethered, even though it now has more than enough strength to break free.
Mississippi's music scene is an unchained elephant. We're more than capable of breaking out and exploring new terrain when defining our music.
Editorial Intern Mo Wilson is a Millsaps College senior. He enjoys pizza, the Internet, dancing alone in his bedroom, social justice, politics and giggling. Follow him on Twitter @p_nkrocky.
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