by Mick Reed (I Thought I Heard A Sound)
Blacker Face may be one of the punkest bands active in the United States right now. This is readily apparent not only from the brash way they blend styles into a recondite arch of rock and rebellion, but also from the deliberately confrontational approach they bring to music, its performance, and the conversations it generates. Their most recent album Distinctive Juju is likely the fullest realization of their message and sound to date, and believe me when I say that it is essential listening as we embark on our collective voyage into 2020 and beyond.
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit at this point that the name of this band made me a little wary when I first encountered it. I found Blacker Face while on a late-night Bandcamp crawl (as I am want to do), and the name leaped out at me like a terribly incentive jack-in-the-box from the fan page of a fellow Chicagoan. I did not have high hopes. I was convinced the band might be some 4Chan edge-lord run-off seeping up through the cracks in the sidewalk of the normie-friendly corridors of the internet that I frequent. However, what I heard after hitting play was not some memetic tom-foolery, but a woman of color starkly recounting the death of Laquan McDonald, a black teenager who was tragically shot and murdered by the Chicago Police in 2014, and reflecting on how the event caused her to reflect on her own life and relative autonomy. A harsh dose of reality streaming through my headphones and jutting into my brain like an ice pick forged in terror and sound.
Distinctive Juju begins with “My Life Matters,” and the track sets the tone for the remainder of the album with its stabbing groove, sardonic flourishes, and progressive jazz structure, accompanying concerted, conscious statements by vocalist Jolene Whatevr, delivered through often heart-wrenchingly soulful performances. Blacker Face’s sound is reminiscent, in spirit at least, to Chicago’s seminal and experimental mainstays Ono, but adheres with greater fidelity to the tried and true conventions of punk and American southern folk traditions, bringing them closer stylistically to the phenomenal Philadelphia hardcore band Soul Glo, a fusion intertwined with loving overtures to Nina Simone, King Crimson, Zach Hill, and countless other forward-thinking pioneers. The next track, “Metalocalypse,” is a consciousness-raising dirge that lands like a hammer between the eyes. A thesis statement for the band’s live performances and imminent invocation of one of many truths the band attempts to force their audience to confront, namely, the politics, distortions, and power relationships that become apparent within DIY or other artist privileged spaces when a person of color enter them as both participant and performer. Not every track carries a specific political message to its white audience, though. The personal also takes precedent, such as on the prickly, weaving caress of the R&B infused “Tantric Suicide” and the dyspeptic feast of fire that is “Christmas Dinner.” More systemic critics appear on the flowing soulful croon, and contemplative ‘90s gospel revival of “Parade,” which examines our relationship to the worlds more precious, and fastest depleting resource, fresh potable water, and “I Know More Things Than You Do” which tackles the insidious and atomizing aspects of the capital colonized modern command to perform self-care. There are very few stones that are left unturned on Distinctive Juju.
I’m still processing this album as I write this review, and I am sure that I will uncover new invectives directed towards contemporary living with each repeat listen. Blacker Face and their music are like a flower in perpetual bloom, and their many folds are not all appreciable upon first inspection. To really get a handle on the band you need to see them live. There is no substitute for this. But if you find yourself reaching for context while listening to Distinctive Juju, I would recommend that you listen to the interview they did with CHIRP Radio last October, or read the interviews that they did with the Chicago Tribune, and this very site. They’re all fantastic resources for information on the band, and provide opportunities for you to hear them talk about themselves and their art in their own voices.
Distinctive Juju was made possible in part by grants from the City of Chicago Department of Cultural Affairs & Special Events, as well as the Illinois Arts Council Agency through the National Endowment for the Arts (yes, really) and it is definitely more than what these venerated institutions bargained for in terms of both an organic eruption of American contemporary art and substantive incisive criticism of the places that art comes from. In other words, had the man known what he was buying here, he might have scrutinized the invoice more. Whether due to either a lack of foresight, or an abundance of hubris, these intuitions footed the bill, and we are all the better for it.