In a previous post I wrote a bit about WHAT-AM in Philadelphia. I fell down an interesting research rabbit hole yesterday and wanted to post some thoughts.
I was re-reading parts of Jennifer Lynn Stoever’s book The Sonic Color Line because I’m thinking about the “sound” of Philadelphia (about which, more later). The basic idea underlying the book is that race is typically thought of as a visual phenomenon, but it has sonic dimensions as well. She explores what it means to “sound black” and how “sounding white” is understood to be the norm, and rendered “invisible,” as whiteness often is. In chapter 4, she write about how after World War II, radio helped to promote an ideology of colorblind racism, a way of dismissing the experiences of people of color by claiming that race is not a factor in social interactions. Stover writes:
The rise of standardized radio speech and state-sponsored color blindness subjected radicalized groups to new forms of aural body discipline because as technology and pedagogy increasingly considered vocal tones and speech patterns to be changeable traits—unlike skin color, for example, which can only be “overlooked”—those the would not (or could not) conform to white sonic norms risked not only increased discrimination but the blame for it too (Stoever 231).
In short, to succeed on the radio, one had to at the very least sound white, if not be white (Stoever provides ample evidence that black performers and other artists of color were generally excluded from radio during this period).
WHAT-AM went on the air in 1922. It changed hands a few times before being purchased by William Banks in 1944. Banks made his sister, Dolly, the program director. The station was important because it was one of the first in the country to hire black on-air talent, and to discuss issues relevant to the black community. As I said in my earlier post, a number of important Philadelphia voices got their start at WHAT, including Jocko Henderson, Mumia Abu-Jamal, and Lady B. I happened upon another name—one that was new to me—Sonny Hopson.
Hopson was a DJ at WHAT in the late 1960s. He wrote a book about his experiences, and I found the following passage about his entry into radio of interest (I don’t have the book, but was grateful that the Google books preview had this snippet!):
I got help from white guys. Sid Mark, Joel Dorn, Stu Chase and all the guys from WHAT-FM (WWDB) and Bob Hoy, John Heil, and of course, Jerry Blavat, the Geator, who helped me real good. Until I learned and it didn’t take me long and I learned well. I couldn’t pronounce words or articulate that well good [sic] because I wasn’t listening in school when I should have. So I had to learn over again, thanks to Gus Lacy, who put me with his friend, Police Captain Chester Gethers and Dick Edwards, Deputy Commissioner of the Philadelphia Police. Every night, Chester used to sit me in front of a tap recorder at his and Gladys’ home on Pine or Osage and teach me. He was my good friend and I will never forget one of the nicest people I have ever met and one of the most giving. Thanks, Chester. Whatever they say about all the police is wrong. From his house I was able to become an accomplished newsman. He taught me what I didn’t know about speaking (23).
From this passage, it’s clear that Hopson had to "sound white,” even at a radio station whose programming was geared toward a predominantly black audience. This, of course, was at the peak of the Civil Rights movement, where approaches to black freedom and liberation ranged from the seemingly radical ideas of the Black Panther Party and the Black Arts movement to the more conservative steps toward assimilation taken by Berry Gordy and his Motown artists.
Douglas “Jocko” Henderson hosted a show on WHAT (and several other stations) and was an important figure in the early history of rock and roll on the radio. Filmmaker Robert Woodard recalled that “Jocko was in the schools in the '50s, telling the students the importance of speaking properly," again, pointing to the importance of sounding white. What is significant here is that Henderson became known for his on-air rhymes, and eventually went on to record two tracks for Philadelphia Records in 1979, and one for Sugar Hill Records in 1981.
“Rhythm Talk” was one of the first rap records released in Philadelphia, on one of the country’s preeminent soul labels, and would influence many early rappers. In short, despite encouraging others to “sound white,” Henderson was not afraid to experiment with “sounding black” on the airwaves.
Here’s the most interesting part of my adventures yesterday. Mumia Abu-Jamal was a well-known journalist in Philadelphia, and he got his start at WHAT-AM. He was a member of the Black Panther Party in Philadelphia, serving as its Minister of Information, was sympathetic to the MOVE organization (I’ll have lots more to say about them later); and was President of the Philadelphia Association of Black Journalists. He was often called “a voice for the voiceless,” and Philadelphia Magazine named him one of “18 people to watch in 1981.”
In 1982, Abu-Jamal was convicted of murder and sentenced to death for the shooting of Philadelphia Police Officer Daniel Faulkner. I came across this article, published by The Philadelphia Inquirer the day after the incident took place. What’s interesting to me is how much emphasis is placed on the sound of Abu-Jamal’s voice:
“There was something about Mumia Abu-Jamal’s voice that was due to make him ‘hot’ in 1981.
Perhaps—as Philadelphia Magazine suggested when it selected him in January as one of the city’s personalities to watch this year—it was Jamal’s passion and eloquence in turning out incisive stories that made him a hot product.
[…]
Jamal’s friends described him as a gentle man, a good reporter with an excellent radio voice.
[…]
“Mumia, whom I have known professionally for several years and as a news source because of his activities since 1970, was a gentle man who I would not consider capable of a violent act,” Moore said. “He was a great talent, fine writer, and had a natural radio voice.”
[…]
“If you ever heard his reports it was incredible. People would hear his reports and always wanted to know more about the subject.”
[…]
Jamal who has spent eight of his 27 years as a broadcaster, was a gadfly among journalists and easily recognizable because of his dreadlock hair style, revolutionary politics, and deep baritone voice.”
The appeals to the sound of his voice—certainly a component of his “gentle” nature—seem to represent an effort to mitigate his radical politics. The statements of his peers (and then general tone of the article) also remind me of Roland Barthes’ ideas about the “grain” of the voice: it’s not just Abu-Jamal’s message, but the way he delivers it. But in addition to the “grain” of the voice, in this case, we need also to take into account its placement on one side or the other of the sonic color line. The article continues, and talks about his dreadlocks, how they were immediately recognizable and connected him with the radical MOVE organization.
The article about Abu-Jamal, I think, neatly exemplifies many of the claims that Stoever makes in her book: race is typically associated with the visual (i.e., Abu-Jamal’s dreadlocks and the responses to them) but is equally a sonic phenomenon. It is important to reflect on the role that radio stations like WHAT played in the struggle for black freedom as well as the way they laid the groundwork for the early days of hip hop culture.