Make Me Wanna Holler!

To most people, Black History Month evokes thoughts of past African-American struggles, from slavery to the civil rights movement. We think of such towering figures as Frederick Douglass, Harriet Tubman, Booker T. Washington, Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Malcolm X -- and justifiably so. But there is another side to this fascinating tale, a rich musical culture that takes one through myriad mesmerizing twists and turns by way of avenues much explored and roads undeservedly ignored.

There is freedom and joy emanating from these diverse sounds, produced in an often-hostile environment that should have inspired anything but. It can be heard in a black church filled with preachin', testifyin', and the heavenly voices of Mahalia Jackson, Clara Ward, The Soul Stirrers, and The Swan Silvertones. You'll hear it in the brilliant, infectious ivory tickling of Scott Joplin, Jelly Roll Morton, Duke Ellington, Art Tatum, Teddy Wilson, Fats Waller, Fats Domino, Little Richard, Ray Charles, Thelonius Monk, and Stevie Wonder. There are unforgettable tones of unsurpassed genius pouring out of Louis Armstrong and Miles Davis' trumpet, Charlie Parker and John Coltrane's sax, Ray Brown and Charles Mingus's bass, Art Blakey and Tony Williams's drums.

You can feel it on the streets of New Orleans and Harlem as well as the back roads of the Mississippi Delta. It's about the ethereal doo wop harmonies produced on street corners by a bunch of young guys with processed 'dos and catchy monikers like the Flamingos, Drifters, and Moonglows, and the irresistible pop tunes sung by girl groups whose talent was as big as their wigs, like The Chiffons, The Shirelles, and The Supremes...the inimitable vocals of those awe-inspiring men and women whom we know by first name -- Bessie, Ella, Billie, Lena, Nat, Smokey, Otis, Marvin, Tina, and Aretha...the goosebump-inducing, "if-these-walls-could-talk" vibe wafting through the old Chess, Sun, Atlantic, Muscle Shoals, Motown, Stax, and Hi recording studios...the sweat-soaked, scuffed up stages and floors of the Cotton Club, the Savoy, Birdland, the Apollo, and the Regal as well as a plethora of smoke-filled after-hours clubs, juke joints, and dance halls, the names of which we'll never know.

It's that feeling of unbridled ecstasy conveyed in a Chuck Berry duck walk, James Brown camel walk, or Michael Jackson moonwalk; a gravity defying Cab Calloway, Sammy Davis Jr., or Jackie Wilson stop-on-a-dime spin; The Temptations' impossibly precise and eternally cool choreographed dance routines; those propulsive, get-under-your-skin-and-into-your-hips bass lines lacing the grooves of funk gods Sly Stone, George Clinton, and Prince; the thumping four-on-the-floor bass drumbeat of a Donna Summer or Chic 12-inch; or the righteous Reverend Al Green singing just about anything.

There is also understandable pathos, anger, and dissonance simmering both beneath the surface and in your face. You've got a restless aspiring blues singer/guitarist named Robert Johnson selling his soul to the devil in a dark, mysterious place in the Deep South known as the "cross roads." There's Howlin' Wolf moanin' at midnight...the feedback roaring from Jimi Hendrix's stack of Marshall amps juxtaposed with the unorthodox beauty produced by his long fingers bending the strings of a Fender Strat...the protest of Billie Holiday's "Strange Fruit," the promise of Sam Cooke's "A Change Is Gonna Come," the lament of Marvin Gaye's "Inner City Blues (Make Me Wanna Holler)," the rage of Grand Master Flash & The Furious Five's "The Message," the defiance of Public Enemy's "Fight The Power," and the frustration of 2Pac's "Brenda's Got A Baby." And then there's Curtis Mayfield soothing your soul with "I'm So Proud" one minute, challenging your conscience with "Choice Of Colors" the next, and finally lifting your spirit with "We're A Winner."

American music as we know it would be unrecognizable without the disproportionate and indispensable contributions of its citizens of African descent. It's a journey that Rhino has proudly chronicled with an endless stream of collections devoted to musical genres (Testify! The Gospel Box, Central Avenue Sounds: Jazz In Los Angeles (1921-1956), Doo Wop Boxes I, II, and III, Beg, Scream & Shout! The Big Ol' Box Of '60s Soul, The Disco Box, the multi-volume series Blues Masters, Didn't It Blow Your Mind! Soul Hits Of The '70s, In Yo' Face! The History Of Funk, Smooth Grooves, Phat Trax, Street Jams, and Kurtis Blow Presents The History Of Rap, not to mention a slew of Jazz Casual videos), cultural eras (Rhapsodies In Black: Music And Words From The Harlem Renaissance), indisputable legends (John Coltrane, Charlie Parker, Ray Charles, Aretha Franklin, Curtis Mayfield, Otis Redding, John Lee Hooker, Sammy Davis Jr.), and unsung heroes (Hank Ballard, Little Willie John, Clifton Chenier, Professor Longhair, Johnny "Guitar" Watson, T-Bone Walker). But it doesn't stop with the music -- we've also got African-American poetry (the two-CD Our Souls Have Grown Deep Like The Rivers: Black Poets Read Their Work) and comedy (Richard Pryor's nine-CD ...And It's Deep Too! The Complete Warner Bros. Recordings (1968-1992) and videos of The Flip Wilson Show). And later this year, look for us to tell the entire story, encompassing both music and historical soundbites, in one grand, sweeping, as-yet-to-be-titled six-CD box set.

In short, Black History Month spotlights the celebration of a people ... and everyone's invited.

--Reggie Collins