After the Music Fades, Where do Black Souls Reside?
‘Shadow/Land’ written by Erika Dickerson-Despenza (@blkplaywright), directed by Candis C. Jones (@missccjones) begins a few hours before Hurricane Katrina (2005) makes landfall in New Orleans, Louisiana. Ruth arrives to pick up her mother Magalee to transport her to safety at the super dome. Magalee exclaims, “Where’s my purse!” Inside are scores of memories that are the chords to her heart; the notes to her legacy.
Sunni Patterson (The Griot) extends her indigo voice with the sound of jazz playing, welcoming me inside Shadow Land to experience the memories of her-story and to dance one last time in N’awlins. The language is music. It brought me back to my roots, I imagined the voices of Lizan Mitchell (Magalee) and Michelle Wilson (Ruth) as musicians playing a jazz set.
Ruth comes with papers for her mother to sign over the deeds to Shadow Land for “the New Louisiana Purchase!,” says Magalee. As Katrina makes landfall, we begin to submerge in colorful melodies of the past.
Shadow Land was a home where the shadows surviving in white supremacy could live in full color — listen to live music, dance, sing, enjoy a café brûlet, fall in love; they lived their dreams. The property has been in the family since 1831. “i can’t sell it/ it aint mine to give away,” says Magalee.
Ruth has no interest in keeping the house. A mother and wife, she is on a journey of self discovery, “i want a bottomless, sweepin joy dat bleeds through/ colors ev’rything.” Dementia is taking its toll on her mother, and she’s not fit to take care of her self alone. ‘i aint losing my mind ruth/ just some of my mem’ries.” Katrina isn’t the only storm.
Listening to the story, all I had to rely on was my imagination to see the world that was playing in my ears. I felt it deeper than I expected, saw the colors, danced to the music. The intimacy of the sound design shook my bones. I was there in the room, in the water, witnessing the memories and Magalee.
I’m inspired by Erika Dickerson-Despenza’s use of poetry as lyrics in a spell-song transporting me through lifetimes from 1831–2005. The nuanced uses of poetry both enveloped me in pastime memories and let me recite a benediction for myself to dream harder — live something new.
My thoughts after the music fades: It’s 2021. Where do we go from here? What will we do? Can we move forward without turning our back on Black Legacy. What remains of Black Legacy in America? A legacy that has been appropriated, outlined in red, burned to the ground, separated, and displaced. Are we stranded in space — or a loop in time? How does Black America resist being white-washed away? Can we live in color? Where will the souls of Black folk reside?!
Many questions arose for me in regards to where we are. One thing I miss about theater are the talkbacks after a show about the work. They often provided an opportunity to have honest dialogue about our present-past and how we can strive forward together.
I am grateful for Erika’s work as an artistic precursor to expanding discussion and develop action to inspect and reconstruct the future of Our American legacy.
I’m also anxious for Erika to put the pen on the record so I can play the next nine albums! I dare to dream a new song with old notes. A song of Black Folk. Let the band play!
You can listen learn more about the artistic team that composed this wonderful world at the following links:
The Public Theatre: ‘shadow/land’ at The Public
Spotify: ‘shadow/land’ on Spotify
Apple Music Podcast: ‘shadow/land’ on Apple Music
‘shadowland’ is the first in a 10-play cycle about the Hurricane Katrina diaspora, examining the ongoing effects of disaster, evacuation, displacement, and urban renewal rippling in and beyond New Orleans.
