How My Music Defines Me

By Jaleesa Leslie/VOX Staff

“Are you African American?” my mother asked me one night after I’d been going on and on about the latest rock band I was in love with. The comment hit me hard, shocking me so much that I couldn’t respond. Was she joking? Did those words actually leave my mother’s lips? Wouldn’t she, out of anyone else in the world, know the obvious answer to that question?

She wasn’t joking. Her face was serious and I could see that she really didn’t understand how I could be a black girl who preferred punk rock over rap. Her words implied that I wasn’t qualified to have brown skin and naturally kinky hair if I didn’t listen to what most other black teens did. I had expected my peers to question my choices in music, but not my own mother. The truth was that as soon as I ventured off the expected path, many cast me out of the African-American tribe. And I was not allowed to come back until I learned how to gyrate to Chingy and fantasize about black boys with grills.

A Life-Long Love for Music
Music has always been a big part of my life. My mom reared me on Yolanda Adams and Anita Baker, while my dad made sure that I knew every Tupac song by age 8. By the time my double-digit years arrived, the radio played constantly and I spent my money on cassette tapes and CDs instead of nail polish and lip gloss.

At the time, my mom, sister and I lived at my grandma’s house in a single, cramped bedroom. I had no privacy and nowhere to escape. So I would choose a spot in the living room, lie down on the floor, put my headphones on and spend hours listening to my music. Doing this made my life seemed so much larger.

I tried to listen to every type of music that I could. I started with rap and R&B, but soon got turned onto pop, folk, punk & indie rock, metal, gothic industrial, Bollywood movie soundtracks and even some country. People mistook my love for all these different genres as a slap in the face to “black people’s music.” They even called me an Oreo.

One time my cousin went through my MP3 player and came to the conclusion that my collection was as white as white bread. I named the few urban artists that I had in my collection to him — Aaliyah, Nas and others — and he told me they still weren’t black enough. According to him, they weren’t current and popular. He went through my sister’s CD collection to show me what real black music was — Destiny’s Child, Ciara and all of that stuff. I still couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t black enough because I liked rock music.

Embracing My Roots?
Eventually, my mom got so upset she started complaining that the music I was listening to — a lot of dark, gothic stuff — came straight from the Devil himself. She was also just as upset because I liked to shop at Hot Topic and wear a lot of black. To her credit, I was suffering from bipolar disorder and was prone to deep periods of depression, so I understood how she thought my music and attitude were only making things worse.

I started to force myself to listen to more R&B and rap to soothe my mom’s fears, but also because I wanted to fit in and be able to talk to my peers about music. I wanted people to stop bothering me about my tastes. I felt they didn’t take me seriously because I chose to listen to music black people shouldn’t. On the flip side, many white teens didn’t approve of my love for rock music, either. They called me a poser.

So I turned to what I was supposed to listen to, and a surprising thing happened. I learned that I really like so-called black music more than I thought I did. I fell in love with artists like B5 and TI, and for awhile this was the only type of music I listened to. It made my friends and family happy that I had come to my senses.

But as time marched on, I found that I missed rock music. I wanted to be able to enjoy Christina Milian and still rock to The Distillers. I was growing unhappy being forced to listen to just one type of music. I’m glad that I decided to go back to my roots and rediscover the joys of R&B and rap, but again I was frustrated of having to follow some unwritten rules that were strictly about race and not about art.

To me there is no such thing as white or black music. Music is colorless, an art form that transcends our race lines. I don’t want to be labeled an Oreo or a poser, just a music lover. And in exploring music beyond these boundaries, I’ve opened myself up to so many other ideas and experiences. For instance, my love of Bollywood music soundtracks got me interested in other aspects of Indian culture, such as henna tattoos and some great food.

As a race, we blacks can’t be afraid to expose ourselves to things beyond what we know, whether it’s deemed too white or whatever the reason. We cannot grow and become better individuals if we don’t experience more of what the world has to offer. We need to take pride in our intelligence and praise ambition and open-mindedness. And just because we do these things doesn’t mean we forfeit our blackness.

I am an African-American — a young woman whose skin color and heritage can never be changed — and I will continue to listen to rap, R&B, rock and whatever else I want no matter what anyone says. And I am a better person for it.

Jaleesa is a freshman at Gordon College.