Essay: Parliament, Dre, and the effect of synthesisers on Afro-futurism

The presence of the synthesiser in the music of George Clinton and Dr. Dre represent an unprecedented development in each of their respective spaces. The former signifies afro-futurism as a cosmological utopia, whilst the latter shows the freedom of the ‘gangster’ in Los Angeles during the 1990s. The pair are defining artists in African American social development through music. Clinton was raised in the American East coastal area of Plainfield, New Jersey, a ‘predominantly African American community not far from New York City’ and formed The Parliaments in 1955, originally as a Doo-Wop band (George Clinton, n.d.). He later formed the funk collective Parliament/Funkadelic, or P-Funk as they are often referred to, a rotating group of members including Bootsy Collins and Bernie Worrell that divided into two bands – Parliament and Funkadelic – which delved into different subgenres of funk (George Clinton, n.d.). Parliament focused on the mainstream, taking influence from James Brown and using brass-heavy instrumentation, whilst Funkadelic was more guitar based, almost verging on black rock; ‘if Parliament became more associated with black music’s commercial side, including dance and disco, Funkadelic was the voice and body of the critique of the commercial’ (Royster, 2013, p. 92). Dr. Dre, on the other hand, originated in the electronic outfit World Class Wreckin’ Cru during the 1980s but found fame in the rap super-group N.W.A (AllMusic, n.d.), notable for protest songs like ‘Fuck tha Police’ from the album Straight Outta Compton that ‘evoked the frenetic atmosphere of inner-city Los Angeles’ (Kajikawa, 2015, p. 86). However, Dre’s solo work on his albums The Chronic and 2001 document chronicles of an emancipated gangster ‘less about violent struggle and more about the celebration of a certain kind of freedom and mobility’ (Kajikawa, 2015, p. 101). There are notable similarities between Clinton and Dre. The Chronic is heavily influenced by the works of P-Funk, with the single ‘Let Me Ride’ interpolating the phrase ‘swing down, sweet chariot stop and, let me ride’ from P-Funk’s ‘Mothership Connection (Star Child)’ and Dre’s prominent use of synthesisers that ‘consciously sought to engage P-Funk’s outer-space sound and imagery’ (Kajikawa, 2015, p. 106) crafted the rap subgenre ‘G-Funk’. In this essay, I will outline the similar and contrasting ways that these two artists use their music to reflect their respective spaces and how integral the synthesiser was in forming these realities, in particular from Parliament’s Mothership Connection and the aforementioned N.W.A and Dr. Dre albums.

A recurring theme in both artists work is afro-futurism – a ‘reimagining of a future filled with arts, science and technology seen through a black lens’ (Broadnax, 2018) – along with the empowerment of black people. Parliament’s Mothership Connection is a concept album in which George Clinton plays the role of Star Child, an alien who was ‘sent down from the mothership to bring Funk to earthlings’ (McLeod, 2003, p. 343). This fantasy depicts outer-space as a civilisation beyond racism, a society with an ‘empowering mixture of glib science fiction fantasy, street slang and ancient black history’ (McLeod, 2003, p. 343) that take many of the characteristics of ghetto black culture and make them empowering symbols. As his alter-ego Star Child, Clinton represented a black leader of a group of people which, in a country that would not see a black president for another 30 years, may have been seen as a futuristic and other-worldly concept. Whilst Parliament and funk itself were influenced by James Brown, ‘Brown’s most noted work, “Say It Loud,” was more than a cry of protest but also a call to action’ (Morant, 2007, p. 5), whilst Mothership Connection portrays the sci-fi society beyond racism as a ‘powerful marker of the potential for black wealth and power - a futuristic vision in which, in effect, the previously marginalised aliens assume control of the world’ (McLeod, 2003, p. 344). In this reality, Clinton makes the need for change redundant as he depicts a world in which African Americans are not marginalised in the first place. Likewise, Dr. Dre’s ‘new sense of mobility and freedom for the gangsta’ (Kajikawa, 2015, p. 115) comes as a result of distancing himself from the bases of hip-hop and establishing a new sound in G-Funk that forms a new persona of a gangster; materialistic items and acts of extravagant wealth contrast the struggle depicted in tracks such as ‘Fuck tha Police’.

If George Clinton’s ideology of emancipation revolved around outer-space, then Dr. Dre’s depiction was far closer to home. The city of Los Angeles, in particular the South-Central area Compton, is central to Dre’s music. The area was extremely violent during the 1990s, highlighted in Dre’s lyric ‘Compton is the city I’m from, can’t never leave the crib without a murder weapon’ (Dre, 1999). Dre portrays himself as a gangster in his music, but the livelihood of this character differs between N.W.A’s music and his solo work despite occupying the same space. For example, the music video for N.W.A’s single ‘Straight Outta Compton’ illustrates a constant run from police in a crime-ridden space that ‘offers ample opportunity for pleasure and celebration’ (Kajikawa, 2015, p. 106). This is a significant contrast from The Chronic’s single ‘Let Me Ride’, in which Dre lives ‘a consumable lifestyle that includes marijuana, classic cars, and compliant women’ (Kajikawa, 2015, p. 102) and as a result reclassifies the concept of a gangster. The difference in Dre’s liberty is exemplified through the use of the synthesiser. ‘Straight Outta Compton’ is heavily reliant on samples, with its drums taken from The Winstons’ famous Amen break and sound effects from The Gap Band’s ‘Burn Rubber On Me (Why You Wanna Hurt Me)’ (WhoSampled, n.d.). Whilst Dre interpolates ‘Mothership Connection (Star Child)’, he does not sample the original record but instead records live studio musicians to sing the chorus and plays the keyboard melodies using a Moog synthesiser (Williams, 2013, p. 83). Hip-hop’s foundations are built on sampling, originating in New York. DJs would play the breaks in disco tracks for MCs to rhyme over and live instrumentation was generally frowned upon by the forefathers of the genre. Grandmaster Caz recalls the hip-hop community’s reaction to ‘Rapper’s Delight’ being ‘who the fuck is that? … what are they doing to our art form?’ (Hip Hop Evolution, 2016). Dre’s rejection of sampling conformity highlights his desire to distance himself from poverty and instead ‘crafted an aesthetic that detached the image of the gangsta from its embattled origins in the ghetto and made him a symbol of unfettered mobility thanks to entrepreneurial striving’ (Kajikawa, 2015, p. 115). This form of emancipation resonates similarly with George Clinton and P-Funk, with the common denominator being the synthesiser. Whilst Clinton and Dre were far from the first to use the synthesiser, the way in which they utilised it to develop their sound was unprecedented and influenced generations after them to do the same. Dre’s concept of freedom for the gangster would not exist in ‘Let Me Ride’ without ‘Mothership Connection (Star Child)’ and as a result the subgenre of G-Funk paved the way for West coast artists such as Snoop Dogg, Nate Dogg and Warren G to use synthesisers as a means to exhibit a life of emancipation and celebration.

A symbol of autonomy that this pair share is their respective modes of transportation. As part of Clinton’s futuristic stage show, his dramatic entrance revolves around ‘a giant spaceship that descended from above’ (Kajikawa, 2015, p. 108) from which he emerges, whilst the phrase ‘swing down, sweet chariot stop and, let me ride’ repeats from the track ‘Mothership Connection (Star Child)’. Clinton’s arrival is grand but the ‘orgiastic celebration of excess’ (McLeod, 2003, p. 343) that is symbolised in his flying saucer is greater as it exhibits that his ‘freedom is imagined to be possible through the divine intervention of the Mother Plane’ (Kajikawa, 2015, p. 110). The use of the chariot refers to African American slavery, with the phrase ‘swing down, sweet chariot’ deriving from ‘19th-century African American spirituals, its forlorn lyrics invoking the darkness of slavery and the sustained oppression of a race’ (Keh, 2017). Clinton’s vessel is his connect between his audience and the outer-space society beyond racism; without it he is unable to ‘bring Funk to earthlings’ (McLeod, 2003, p. 343) and thus his afro-futuristic mode of transport ‘symbolized the African American drive for freedom through a playful evocation of space travel’ (Kajikawa, 2015, p. 109). This imagery suits Clinton’s use of the synthesiser very well, as the look of the spaceship complements the tonal characteristics of Parliament’s instrumentation. Whilst Clinton’s vessel enabled the listener to journey with the music to an afro-centric fantasy, Dr. Dre took it right back to the streets. Not only does Dre interpolate Parliament’s lyrics in ‘Let Me Ride’, his entrance to the song in his live stage show from the turn-of-the-millennium ‘Up In Smoke Tour’ (The Up In Smoke Tour, 2000) draws on his predecessor even more; Dre arrives to the chorus of ‘swing down, sweet chariot stop and, let me ride’ in a 1964 Chevy Impala, a vehicle Complex magazine named number one in its list of ‘most iconic hip-hop cars’ (Matias, 2011). The importance of Dre’s entrance in this car is similar to Clinton’s; it personifies his identity and how he uses his space. Whilst Clinton uses his spaceship to emphasise his means to emancipate a nation through science-fiction ideologies, Dre uses it to highlight the emancipation of the gangster and therefore ‘appropriated the Mothership as a symbol of mobility’ (Kajikawa, 2015, p. 112) by making the car the emblem of his persona. The car is central to Dre’s life both in and out of recording music. The G-Funk sound and philosophy is ‘created and mixed specifically for listening in car stereo systems’ (Williams, 2013, p. 74), importantly because ‘the timbres of synthesized sounds are strikingly compatible with car audio technology and the driving experience’ (Williams, 2013, p. 86). Not only does the Impala represent Dre’s portrayal of the free gangster able to travel where and when he likes, it is literally the space in which his music is meant to occur. Whilst Clinton’s synthesiser use complements the aesthetic of his vessel, Dre’s inclusion of the instrument has a much more practical relation to his vehicle. This suggests that both Clinton and Dre’s music exist as a means to break the creation of a ‘“transit apartheid” in which the ability to move through urban space remains contingent upon class and color’ (Kajikawa, 2015, p. 89). Clinton’s music colonises the realms of outer space through the empowering imagery bestowed by Star Child’s spaceship and as a result provides a home away from home for African Americans who feel rejected and isolated in their usual space. On the other hand, Dr. Dre’s 1964 Chevy Impala paints a picture reminiscent of the ‘American Dream’, a lifestyle exemplified by its transcendence to freedom through its mobility and journey that is specifically designed for the G-Funk sound. Together, their vehicles reflect a symbol of unity that desires to transcend African Americans to emancipation and mobility towards greatness.

The characters that Clinton and Dre present in their music is central to what makes their work so captivating. Clinton’s character captures two farfetched identities: an afro-futurist saviour and the ‘black hippie’. The former identity belongs to the sci-fi character Star Child that Clinton channels on stage and through his music, whilst the latter is more indicative of Clinton’s persona. In Haki R. Madhubuti’s “Move Un-Noticed to Be Noticed: A Nationhood Poem”, he describes the black male hippie as ‘one who has abandoned proper blackness – and by extension, himself’ by using lines such as ‘Why you bes dressen so funny… I mean, is that u, Clean?... Can they lift u above madness’ (Royster, 2013, p. 94). This criticism of a black man who has deviated from traditional culture and conformity is emphasised by Barbara Smith, who says ‘a blueprint was made for being Black and Lord help you if you deviated in the slightest way… the brothers had in fact created a sex-biased definition of “Blackness” that served only them… if a sister doesn’t dress like me, talk like me, walk like me, and even sleep like me, then she’s not really a sister’ (Royster, 2013, p. 95). George Clinton certainly did not conform to the ‘sex-biased definition of “Blackness”’ Smith describes, often sporting an ‘outrageous, original, and gender-bending style’ (Royster, 2013, p. 107) that blurred the lines between masculine and feminine aesthetic in a time where ladylike features in men were seen as inappropriate or defective. As a result, P-Funk’s music and style attracted not just the black community, but all oppressed young people, enthralled by the bands ‘rejection of fear, loathing, and shame of the black body and embrace of sexual and imaginative freedom’ (Royster, 2013, p. 102). Whilst Star Child is a fantasy character, he symbolises Clinton’s desires by providing a safe space for his identity as a black hippie to flourish and invites his fans to join him.

Dre also creates an identity in his music, but his starkly contrasts Clinton’s Star Child. Having moved on from World Class Wreckin’ Cru, Dre’s new group N.W.A ‘would build its identity in opposition to the flamboyant costuming and dance-floor orientation of its predecessors’ (Kajikawa, 2015, p. 92). Out went glittery jackets and make-up and in came baggy clothes and deadly weapons. This change of style and identity became a representation of the ghetto and gangster life that surrounded N.W.A and South-Central Los Angeles. Dre continued this throughout his debut album The Chronic, as violent and misogynistic tales became common lyrical topics. However, an important question to ask is: does Dre exploit his situation? This question can be contextualised by a scene in Donald Glover’s FX show Atlanta. In this episode, Brian Tyree Henry’s character Albert, or ‘Paperboi’, is being constantly harassed by a vlogger called Zan for social media content. During a conversation between the pair, Albert claims that he has to rap due to a lack of financial prospects, to ‘make the best out of a bad situation’. Zan’s response is that they are cut from the same cloth, reasoning ‘you’re exploiting your situation to make rap, and I’m exploiting you exploiting that’ (Atlanta, 2016). This argument can be applied to Dr. Dre and the character of the gangster that he portrays. It cannot be argued that Dre is not a product of a poverty-stricken ghetto area, but what can be argued is that he uses this space as a means for monetary gain by exploiting violent activity as a personality trait. Clinton created Star Child to unite the isolated, yet ‘symbols of black freedom find themselves supplanted by the gangsta, whose ruthless entrepreneurial activity through rap leads to financial success’ (Kajikawa, 2015, p. 114), which is indicative of Dre’s utilisation of the gangster image. The synthesiser moved away from being the symbol of flamboyant extra-terrestrial identity and instead became the sound of success and mobility.

Due to the accessibility of the synthesiser today, the use of the instrument does not draw the same connotations of emancipation that it did with this pair of artists. Its wide use makes it impossible for musicians to utilise it in an unprecedented manner like Clinton and Dre. However, many contemporary musicians still strive to create art in the name of liberation, most notably Kendrick Lamar’s George Clinton-aided To Pimp A Butterfly (released on Dr. Dre’s record label Aftermath), and Childish Gambino’s ‘This Is America’. This suggests that although the synthesiser does not make the same connect to black freedom that it once did, this generation of black musicians are coming up with new and other unprecedented artistic direction that continue in the same way as their predecessors.

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Discography

Dr. Dre., 2001. (1999). [CD] Aftermath Entertainment.

Dr. Dre., The Chronic. (1992). [Vinyl] Death Row Records.

N.W.A., Straight Outta Compton. (1988). [Vinyl] Ruthless Records.

Parliament., Mothership Connection. (1976). [Vinyl] Casablanca.

James Brown., Say It Loud. (1969). [Vinyl] King Records.

The Winstons., Color Him Father / Amen, Brother. (1969). [Vinyl] Metromedia Records.

The Gap Band., Burn Rubber On Me (Why You Wanna Hurt Me). (1980). [Vinyl] Mercury.

Sugarhill Gang., Rapper’s Delight. (1979). [Vinyl] Sugar Hill Records.

Kendrick Lamar., To Pimp A Butterfly. (2015). [CD] Top Dawg Entertainment/Aftermath Entertainment.

Childish Gambino., This Is America. (2018). [Online] mc DJ Recording.