The Fury of Queens and Priestesses

As if such a concept were shocking, critics and longtime Beyoncé fans were reminded in 2016 that she, in actuality, is not in isolation married, woman, pop icon, nor Black, but exists as a combination of all those qualities, with no particular order nor hierarchy. Her visual album reminding us of this fact, Lemonade, was both lauded and decried as, but was nevertheless deemed, politically charged. Fifty-two years earlier, Nina Simone released an album comprised of recordings of her performances in the March and April of 1964, upon which her original piece, Mississippi Goddam, as well as her cover of Pirate Jenny, were released. This album, due to the explicit and fiery condemnation of the world known as Mississippi Goddam, is also politically charged. Four years before this, Ella Fitzgerald sang her rendition of Mack the Knife to a Berlin crowd. Despite forgetting the lyrics to this classic from The Threepenny Opera, Fitzgerald’s rendition was heavily praised, and some regard it as her last “smash hit” (Deusner). The freedom with which she was able to play with Mack the Knife is made political by the very methods which made Fitzgerald’s genre what it is known to be. Through their music, each artist – Fitzgerald, Simone, Beyoncé– was able to not only express the freedom they were fighting to have both acknowledged and maintained, but, through striving to break the restraints imposed upon them by both genre and society, brought their voices and struggles to the attentions of those who had otherwise neglected them.

“Thank you,” Ella Fitzgerald replies to the applauding audience, a smile in her voice as well as, presumably, upon her face. The First Lady of Song, the Queen of Jazz, speaking in her imperial We, utters next, “We’d like to do something for you now. We haven’t heard a girl sing it. And since it’s so popular, we’d like to try and do it for you. We hope we remember all the words.” The opening disclosure thus complete, Fitzgerald, backed by her band, goes into the rest of Mack the Knife, or, at least, her version of it. Mack the Knife is the first song from The Threepenny Opera, an opera first performed in Berlin, as was Fitzgerald’s cover of the song. Mack the Knife is about a character from the opera named Macheath, who undergoes his own transformation as a character between the first opera of which he was a part (The Beggar’s Opera) and that which Fitzgerald is referencing, The Threepenny Opera. In The Beggar’s Opera, Macheath is more agreeable. He is an escaped prisoner who enjoys prostitutes and hates violence. In The Threepenny Opera, he is a brutal seducer of teenage girls. It is fitting, then, that Macheath is referenced as a shark with “pearly teeth” and a knife that he holds “out of sight.” Sharks are renowned for their ability to hunt, to silently move through water and, with great violence and suddenness, take as they please. They are oft imagined as an unstoppable force. Macheath is known to get away with his murders, too, wearing “fancy gloves… so there’s not… a trace of red.” Thus, not only is Macheath capable of winning the hearts of those around him with his smile (“pearly teeth”); he is able to commit as much murder as he pleases, without the threat of imprisonment.

Although The Threepenny Opera premiered in 1928, Fitzgerald’s revival of the song, playing it in 1960 Berlin, in post-World War II Berlin, invites speculation regarding the nature of the performance. In 1960, Berlin was in the middle of a situation which would end with the Berlin Wall being constructed a year later. That said, Berlin was the epicenter of a cold, frigid, restrictive contest, and yet a prominent jazz musician debuted her largely improvised cover of, as Fitzgerald herself mentions, “a hit tune,” and to great applause. It was well understood that authentic jazz was an art of improvisation. However, Fitzgerald was covering an operatic song, a well-known song part of her audience’s cultural history. How is it that she could fail so completely at covering the song and yet receive critical acclaim and a raucous, sincere applause from the audience? Is it because she was able to push through her failure that they cheered so vehemently? Did her authenticity in the realm of jazz override the need or desire the audience may have had to hear a true cover of Mack the Knife? Perhaps it was not the fact that the Queen of Jazz did such a marvelous job using her genre’s values to overtake that of another; perhaps it was the freedom insinuated by such a performance that galvanized such an appreciation for her – for it was, by the end of her performance, hers – Mack the Knife.

When jazz is broken into its psychological components, we can observe that it stands for freedom and mobility, as well as creativity. It is a genre which foremost requires the artist to give up their tight reins on their music, and to let it naturally flow forth, as if a dam has been destroyed and pure, unmitigated water may pour out. And sure, the force of gravity coerces the water to flow down a certain path, much in the way a song, once written, has its course that, for the song to remain itself, must be followed. However, the moment in which the musician may get upswept should determine how the river follows its course, so to speak. There is a surrender to the freedom and liberties of the music. To engage in jazz, then, whether by playing or listening to it, is to engage in a kind of freedom and liberty that is creative in nature. The audience of Berliners, whose world was rapidly shrinking as boundaries and fences and laws were put into place to keep one side of Berlin from entering or interacting with the other, would certainly engage with jazz and enjoy the freedoms and liberties and creativity expressed through such a genre.

However, it must be considered that Mack the Knife was covered by other jazz musicians, such as Louis Armstrong and Bobby Darin. As Lady Ella mentioned, before her it was had not been covered by a girl (“we haven’t heard a girl sing it”). It is thus significant that she, a woman, would cover a song previously unsung by women. It is further important to note that in her improvisation, Fitzgerald mentions Bobby Darin and Louis Armstrong, and then performs a flawless imitation of the latter before resuming her own improvisation of Mack the Knife. Not only, then, is the First Lady of Song making a point about her capability as a jazz singer to not only cover but improve upon an established work, but that she can do just as well as any male jazz singer. Fitzgerald takes any claim that Mack the Knife is a man’s song and makes “a wreck, what a wreck” of it. She snatches any authority men had over the song and, in what Fitzgerald calls “a surprise hit,” claims it for herself. And, in a teasing tone, as the clincher, aware that she has proved herself more than capable of owning the song for herself, the Queen of Jazz renders herself and her band “Old Macheath,” the shark-like murderer who appears with “pearly teeth” and a hidden knife. It is this stunning revelation which takes the performance further; it is the ultimate reversal of power. Where Mack the Knife had previously been a man who terrorised women, Fitzgerald takes the mantle and places it upon herself, taking from any man capable of being the womanising murderer any claim to being as charming and unsuspecting as she. Louis Armstrong and Bobby Darin are, by association, rendered lesser than Fitzgerald, for they are without the agency to retaliate without breaking the rules of improvisation imposed by their tenure in their genre. In this way, Ella Fitzgerald so completely claims for herself the agency she would otherwise be without.

Nina Simone, four years later, performs a similar feat with her execution of Pirate Jenny. Originally, the song was sung by a character named Polly Peachum, who is seduced by Macheath. Although Polly loves Macheath, she is young and impressionable and in no way ready to be mixing with the likes of the murderous Macheath. However, the audience realises, after Polly sings the song of Pirate Jenny at a dinner party when none of Macheath’s gang can think of something entertaining, that Polly might have a side to her that is as bloodthirsty and powerful as Macheath himself. The song itself is about a hotel maid who seeks her vengeance against those patrons who have slighted her. Like Fitzgerald, though not to the same degree, Simone alters a bit of the song. Where Fitzgerald’s changes are obvious and explicit, Simone’s are subtle, though equally poignant. In the original, Polly sings, “And they’ll catch any man who steps out the door, and put them before me in chains, and they’ll ask me ‘Which ones should we kill?’…You’ll hear me say ‘All of them!’ And when the heads fall I’ll say ‘Whoops!’” Simone changes this part, and with it the power invoked by such a statement. Simone sings instead, “And they’re chainin’ up people and they’re bringin’ ‘em to me, askin’ me, ‘Kill them now, or later?’ Askin’ me! ‘Kill them now, or later?’”

Polly’s version invokes an aspect of jest, as if the patrons being chained up and slaughtered was an accident. She is asked to select as many as she desires slain, as if she would spare some and slaughter others. Simone’s rendition is more sinister, showing that her Jenny intends to eliminate all those who have slighted her. There is no need to ask Simone’s Jenny how many she intends to slay; only all of them will sate her bloodthirst. There is only the matter of time to consider. And brutally, with a harsh and terrifying whisper, implying that the world is held in her sway, transfixed by her power and thus capable of hearing her hissed command, Simone’s Jenny commands, “Right now.”

Another alteration Simone makes to the song is changing the qualities attributed to the ship Pirate Jenny commands. Polly sings of the power and speed of the ship, that it has “eight sails and… fifty cannons,” implying that she is backed by a powerful and highly threatening ship. Simone, however, speaks of the colour and type of “the ship, the black freighter.” Simone’s version is more elusive due to its universality. Any freighter could be painted black; it could be any ship that struck the patrons and eliminated a town. In this way, due to its nondescript nature, the ship upon which Pirate Jenny sails is more terrifying, much in the same way Mack the Knife was. Capable of blending in with everyone else, and thus unsuspected.

Simone has claimed agency for herself by making her Pirate Jenny much more universally dangerous than Polly’s version. Simone’s Jenny is more bloodthirsty and cutthroat than Polly’s; Simone is more serious. With Polly’s rendition, the audience feels that this was a single incident, that the vengeance was directed only at the particular patrons her Jenny felt maltreated by. Simone’s Jenny will strike again, with vehemence; Simone’s Jenny is upset at the world rather than merely one town. The focus of Polly’s Jenny is the actions she performs, and the power the ship gives her. Simone wrests from the ship its power, reducing it to an object of colour and type, and refocuses the song on Jenny. Whilst Polly closes the song with, “And the ship with eight sails, and fifty cannons, will disappear with me,” Simone closes with the offered knowledge that the “ship, the black freighter, disappears out to sea, and on it is me.” Rather than vanish in the passive way Polly’s Pirate Jenny does, Simone’s Pirate Jenny is the first and final subject of the song. Polly’s Jenny is apologetic in a way that Simone’s Jenny, who hisses over the bodies of the slaughtered town, “That’ll learn ya!”

During the same series of concerts, Simone debuted her original piece, Mississippi Goddam, which was written in response to the bombing of the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church, which killed four African American girls (Feldstein 1349). In this song, Simone laments the slow pace at which those who march with her for civil rights push for social justice. She sings, “Don’t tell me, I tell you: me and my people just about due. I’ve been there so I know. They keep on saying, ‘Go slow!’” Those who say to push for things slowly are, to Simone, denying her and everyone else who has suffered from discrimination their freedom. Going slow implies gradual progress is okay; it implies that the opposition has the right to fight back, and that some kind of compromise must be founded. Simone, thinking of those four little girls and countless others, murdered by a system that claims to see them as equal but treats them as separate, cannot stand for the slow progress others might be comfortable with. And Simone does not understand how those who have observed and experienced the horrors of slow progress, and the terrors that still occur despite progress, can wait so patiently. She asks, “Why don’t you see it?! Why don’t you feel it?!” She demands, pleads, infuriated with the state of things, “Just give me my equality!”

Although Pirate Jenny might, as a cover, appear to be merely a reinvention of a standard and thus involve little to no social commentary, that Simone chose to cover it amongst a set list including such works as Mississippi Goddam thrusts Simone’s Pirate Jenny into a political light. Mississippi Goddam is Simone’s explicit cry to arms, a summoning song from the High Priestess of Soul implicating as equally guilty bystanders those who elect not to rally and push for radical and drastic change. That Simone performs both a song detailing the revenge of a slighted and abused woman in a role socially predetermined as minor and a song demanding equality and social justice is no coincidence. Simone is forecasting the looming threat (“the ship, the black freighter”) that will inevitably claim society should society not recognise all its constituents as equal and valuable.

Most recently, we have Beyoncé, whose Lemonade album includes such songs as Hold Up. Lemonade was an album that was very personal for Beyoncé, as it “touches on betrayals in black marriages,” including those which occurred in her own and her parents’ (Okeowo). Throughout the album, both singer and audience experience the stages of grief accompanying a betrayal of some kind. Collectively, we experience rage, sorrow, worry, hurt, and, towards the end, forgiveness and healing. Despite all the animosity and negative feelings, by acknowledging the feelings one has after betrayal, after experiencing and going through the strife, we arrive at peace. As this album is a discussion of black relationships, it is impossible to relegate Lemonade as merely a commentary on Beyoncé’s personal struggles.Lemonade, as a discussion of black relationships, is a comment on an aspect of social justice that has largely been unaddressed. Although the Queen of Jazz sang about gender inequality, and the High Priestess of Soul about the maltreatment to both her sex, as hotel maids were and have been generally women, and race, as evidenced by Lemonade, there were still issues to be resolved.

Hold Up is the second track of Lemonade, and in it Beyoncé repeatedly mentions that no one can love the Betrayer, who in the song is referred to as ‘you,’ as she does.Her face, in the accompanying video, is nothing but sweet and flirtatious, with a hint of playful infuriation that comes across initially as just feistiness. Coupled with the beautiful, flowing, teasingly exposing gold dress, and the heels in which Beyoncé skips and struts through the streets, the repeated phrase, “they don’t love you like I love you,” seems adoring and full of love. However, this image of a loving and sweet beautiful woman is at first skewed as she plucks a baseball bat from a young boy’s unsuspecting grip. Despite his dismayed reaction, she smiles like a satisfied cat and continues on, playfully swinging the bat until she, after passing Cain’s Butchery, spies a muscle car and, in what is perceivably a passionate fit of unbridled and sudden rage, smashes the window and side of the car with her the bat she stole. The image itself is riddled with references and implications.

Stealing a bat from a boy seems a vindictive thing to do, particularly when that same boy is wearing a baseball mitt, implying that his objective was to play baseball later on. His game is thus crippled, for he can no longer send the ball and score; he can only receive the ball sent from another’s bat. As Beyoncé holds the bat, the implication here is that the boy can only catch what Queen B deems fit to send. Watching the rest of the video, and seeing all the violence she unleashes, it is understood that she will be sending her fury towards the boy, and that his part in the scheme is merely to accept and catch it until she deems fit to return him to a role in which he can also send his own messages.

Cain’s Butchery might not have had as much significance if the video did not open with a sequence in which Beyoncé is baptised and, after an epiphany, erupts from a church, water rushing after and beneath her as she walks barefoot down the church stairs. The church invokes Catholicism with its architecture, and thus Christianity, in which a man named Cain plays a large role. Cain is the brother and murderer of Abel. After Cain murders his brother, God comes down and asks Cain where Abel is, to which Cain responds, “I don’t know. Am I my brother’s keeper?” (Genesis 4:9) Cain was cursed by God, and marked, so that none would kill him, and he would be forced to wander the earth for the rest of his days. Cain was frightened of having what he did done upon him, of being murdered, but God assured him that this would not be the case (Genesis 4:10-15). Cain did not know that what he had done was wrong until God informed him of his sin, and thus he could not have been held responsible for his actions unless judged by God itself. God thus absolves him of the threat of retribution and sends Cain on his way.

It is understood in this context, then, why Beyoncé, after passing by a butchery named after the first human to commit fratricide, is incensed to the breaking point, and thus smashes a muscle car, a traditional symbol of masculinity. That a man could commit one of the worst transgressions of all time and still get away free, that the institution – in Cain’s case, God; in Beyoncé’s, the ego and confederation of men, and the patriarchal society which was built to feed both – could so easily forgive that man… Beyoncé, her wrath at its most explosive, swings the symbol of boyishness (the baseball bat) and deals a serious blow to a symbol of manhood (the muscle car). This exemplifies the emotions felt and invoked by the refrain, “What’s worse, lookin’ jealous or crazy? Jealous or crazy? Or like being walked all over lately, walked all over lately,” a dilemma which Beyoncé answers, smiling, “I’d rather be crazy.” Respect, then, is to be obtained at all costs.

This appears to be the narrative of all social justice movements. First, a claim is made that the oppressed are, in fact, equal to the oppressors, and that to believe and act otherwise is a great error. The speed with which this fact is recognised by both groups is called into question, and, finally, a militant solution, one that is swift and decisive, arises. In this case, the oppressed are not merely one particular race nor culture, but a specific intersection. The oppressed are Black women, or women of colour, hereafter identified as WOC. As Barnett articulates, “social movement scholarship has focused almost exclusively on great men and elites as movement leaders,” yielding the understanding in academia that no women-led social justice movements could be found in connection with the civil rights movement (Barnett 163). And the research published about women leading these efforts have been about white, not Black women (Barnett 163-164). It was not merely academia which failed to see the value in WOC.

Albeit progress made in the music industry, sexism still runs rampant (Cameron 913). Women have been pushed to retire once they bear children, as if their creative energies were snatched from them by the efforts of birthing (Cameron 910). Through exploring the contents of music encyclopaedias and guides, Cameron found that women were less likely to be composers of classical and jazz music, were likely to have their songs written by men and to have their genre dominated by men, and, as a result, experience marketing that objectifies them rather than appreciates them for what they are (907-909). Women, Cameron notes, were more expected to be singers than musicians. And whilst this study was published in 2003, evidence exists that supports the conclusion that things have not changed all that much since then.

Examine the presented lineage of artists, from Fitzgerald to Simone to Beyoncé. The Queen of Jazz, Ella Fitzgerald, was active from 1934 to 1994. She arose during the insurgence of jazz music into popular culture. There is a story that Marilyn Monroe played a part in Ella receiving her initial attention as a solo artist, for Monroe refused to enter a club unless Fitzgerald could perform in it, and, afterwards, Monroe would visit Fitzgerald’s performances often afterwards, partaking in the breath-taking performance of she who would become Lady Ella, the Queen of Jazz, the First Lady of Song. Fitzgerald, while in adolescence, was first noted after winning a talent show. Chick Webb, a jazz band leader, hired Fitzgerald on, and from there her career did nothing but blossom (Deusner). Fitzgerald largely reinvented other artists’ works; she covered Cole Porter, Duke Ellington, the Gershwins; she, without distorting the message, turned some of the saddest and most melancholic music ever made into something cheery, if not at least positively wistful, as if optimism cannot help but bubble up from beneath the veneer of woe (Deusner). Fitzgerald, then, is noted more for her reclaiming of works largely composed by men, rather than her own creative ability. There is a song she co-wrote regarding cocaine use and its dangers, a song named Wacky Dust. The song itself is excluded from canon Fitzgerald hits, for it never received the acclaim her other songs did (Gustafson). And whilst the song was more than likely suppressed by the rise of anti-drug rhetoric sponsored by the government, considering that the song itself argues that drugs like cocaine are dangerous, it must be understood that something else was at work in the stifling of the song.

The High Priestess of Soul, Nina Simone, started gaining notoriety around 1954; her career spanned to 2003. Her origins, however, contrast with the apparent dependency of Fitzgerald. Simone was a child prodigy and classically trained. She applied to and was rejected from a prestigious music school, which sent Simone to the club circuit, in which she made her name (Brooks 177-178). Rather than smile and appease her audience in the way of Fitzgerald, Simone expected, commanded, and received respect from her audience (Brooks 180-181). She was, after all, classically trained, and instrumentalists as herself expected an audience to be respectful and listen to her work. This led to confrontation only when her audience did not fit the decorum a performer of her calibre mandated. Where Fitzgerald may have been pleasing and the epitome of the ’killing with kindness’ mentality, Simone was belligerent and imperative.

1997, as a part of Destiny’s Child, Beyoncé comes onto the scene, one of the last girl groups arising from the boy/girl-band era of the nineties. Within a few years, Beyoncé comes into her own with a solo career, and in 2013, she is found capable of dropping an unadvertised album and breaking various sale records. She is found relatable universally; the entire planet loves her, a feature which does not distinguish Beyoncé from the likes of Ella and Nina. Queen B is a global pop icon. What makes her different is that, through the marketing of her work, and through the influence of record companies and labels, Beyoncé surprised the world, or at least some of America, in 2016 by reminding it that she is, in fact, a Black woman, a WOC. Beyoncé outperforms in a genre recently noted for its ostentatiousness. Choreographed dances, modelling, and even fine art have coalesced into the genre-monster that is modern pop music; Beyoncé utilises all of these in her work, consistently blowing away her fans with what she is capable of designing and pulling off. However, she has largely done this with Eurocentric-American cultural values. With Lemonade, much in the way Simone’s art evolved, Beyoncé dived into Afro-centric cultural values, referencing the traditions of African and African-American art and lifestyles. However, the means with which Beyoncé seized control of her artistic voice are largely different from her predecessors. She has created her own entertainment company, Parkwood Entertainment, which employs artists she herself empowers with her own financial means. Beyoncé is taking her success and using it to spawn a new generation of female artists; she is cultivating artists she knows and helping them surpass the limits of a largely patriarchal and thus oppressive industry.

Beyoncé, then, in the twenty-first century has the agency to claim that respect is to be obtained at all costs. She has carved, with the help of her musical ancestors, from the marble of a centuries old industry a place for herself, and works to ease others like herself into the work. Fitzgerald could turn the plot on its head, taking men’s work and making it her own; Simone could threaten and coerce the world into listening to her. But Beyoncé, in the progressing tradition of her predecessors, blows a gash into the framework itself, all whilst heralding the work done before and alongside her, and promoting that which will come after. InLemonadewe see Serena Williams, the encapsulation of WOC’s struggle in sports; we see young artists like Zendaya and Janelle Monae; we see the mothers of those whose sons have been killed by the police; we see the religions of both Africans and their American descendants. We see an appreciation for all that is Black. And we hear the laments of that which threatens to destroy it. Betrayal, inequality, callousness, gender disparity; themes that Fitzgerald and Simone lament, sneer at, laugh at, and rally against. But we also see that, through coming together, through listening to each other, particularly the most marginalised (WOC), we can build something beautiful and powerful. We can allow everyone to be heard, and acknowledged, and, through work and trial and error and reparation, have the wounds dealt by social injustice be healed.

Works Cited

"Die Dreigroschenoper Song Text." Seeräuberjenny (Pirate Jenny). N.p., n.d. Web. 25 Apr. 2017.

"The Berlin Crisis, 1958–1961." U.S. Department of State. U.S. Department of State, n.d. Web. 25 Apr. 2017.

Barnett, Bernice McNair. "Invisible Southern Black Women Leaders in the Civil Rights Movement: The Triple Constraints of Gender, Race, and Class." Gender and Society 7.2 (1993): 162-82. Sage Publications, Inc. Web.

Beyoncé, Jack White, Weeknd, James Blake, Kendrick Lamar, Warsan Shire, MeLo-X, Kahlil Joseph, and Onye Anyanwu. Lemonade. 2016. Tidal. Web.

Brooks, Daphne A. “Nina Simone's Triple Play.” Callaloo, vol. 34, no. 1, 2011, pp. 176–197., doi:10.1353/cal.2011.0036.

Cameron, S. "The Political Economy of Gender Disparity in Musical Markets." Cambridge Journal of Economics 27.6 (2003): 905-17. Web.

Deusner, Stephen. "Ella Fitzgerald – 100 Songs For A Centennial." Uncut. Time, Inc. (UK), 21 Apr. 2017. Web.

Feldstein, Ruth. “‘I Don't Trust You Anymore’: Nina Simone, Culture, and Black Activism in the 1960s.” Journal of American History, vol. 91, no. 4, Mar. 2005, pp. 1349–1379., doi:10.2307/3660176.

Fitzgerald, Ella. Mack the Knife. 1960. MP3.

Gustafson, Adam. "Ella Fitzgerald's Flirtation with Reefer Songs." The Conversation. N.p., 28 Apr. 2017. Web. 28 Apr. 2017.

Okeowo, Alexis. "The Provocateur Behind Beyoncé, Rihanna, and Issa Rae." The New Yorker. N.p., 6 Mar. 2017. Web.

Plattner, Seth. "Introducing...Beyoncé's New Musical Protégés."ELLE. N.p., 14 Oct. 2016. Web. 27 Apr. 2017.

Salaam, Kalamu Ya. "It Didn't Jes Grew: The Social and Aesthetic Significance of African American Music." African American Review 29.2 (1995): 351-75. Web.

Simone, Nina. Mississippi Goddam. 1964. MP3.

Simone, Nina. Pirate Jenny. 1964. MP3.