Rocking out and race in the documentary afro-punk.

The "Black Rock" revolution, anticipated given the popularity of bands such as Living Colour and Fishbone in the late 80s and early 90s, never arrived. But the brief movement did succeed in spawning and representing a generation of black fans seeking to claim rock music as their own--including 27-year-old documentary filmmaker James Spooner. Growing up as a black punk rock fan in both Southern California and New York, Spooner longed to connect with a community of black fans who both shared his love of punk music and understood his feelings of alienation as a person of color in the mostly white scene. Afro-punk, Spooner's engaging documentary, which began making the festival circuit in summer of 2003, documents the experiences of fans of African descent that have devoted themselves to the music and culture of punk music.

Predictably, cultural duality is a central theme of the film. Most of Spooner's subjects grew up in all-white communities, with mostly white friends. As a result, they have spent years attempting to reconcile their racial identities with their punk rock lifestyle. Most of the usual experiences for black fans of rock music are addressed by Afro-punk's subjects: being one of a handful of black fans at a show, rejection from black peers who accuse them of being "sellouts" or "wanting to be white," being the token black friend within a group of white folks. Some admit to trying to straighten their hair in an attempt to have the long, flowing hair associated with white rockers; others admit that they wished to be white at one point in their lives. For many of these young people, it's possible that this is the first time they've felt comfortable enough to talk about these experiences in public. It is Spooner's identification with his subjects that allows them the comfort level to speak intimately about race issues on camera.

Despite the recent popularity of MTV-ready "pop punk," the underground punk scene has never strayed far from its politically radical origins. However, the punk scene's primarily white, middle-class fan base sidelined issues of race. Some of Spooner's subjects seem content not to confront race issues within the punk community, even while remaining aware of their own ambivalence. Mariko Jonez, a pixieish DJ and zinc publisher in her early twenties, strives to defy the stereotypes and conventions placed upon her as a person a color within the punk community, while still struggling with a few of her own. Jonez comments on her experiences with interracial dating within the punk scene, mentioning that she "is proud to be black" but states minutes later that she doesn't date black men because "I respect myself" and refuses to be "all Fubu-ed out" or "wearing hoochie outfits." Others like Moe Mitchell, the dreadlocked lead singer of the New York band Cipher, embrace punk's activist philosophy by directly addressing race issues in his music, even though his fans sometimes don't understand his attempts. During one revealing moment, Cipher is shown performing "Protoculture," a harrowing song about the Middle Passage. Most of his chanting, moshing fans interviewed after the show are only vaguely aware of the historical context of Mitchell's lyrics, even though they know all of the words. Nonetheless, Mitchell is not primarily concerned about whether his white fans "get it," and is more concerned with making music for the "liberation of [his] people."

With murky lighting here, muffled sound there, and occasional sloppy editing, the aesthetic of the punk community's "DIY" (Do it Yourself) philosophy is evident throughout the film. Chaka Malik of the band Orange 9mm theorizes that the same philosophy that supports independent, alternative media-making within the punk community could be applied to concepts of financial and creative autonomy within the black community. It's an intriguing theory that could easily serve as the basis of its own film, though Afro-punk does not provide any analysis about how race fits into punk's politically radical ethos. Spooner approaches the film not as the sociological or historical study of a subculture, but more as an oral history of the individuals that compose it, including over 80 interviews with fans and musicians from across the country. Avoiding use of any unifying commentary, narration, or historical footage, he allows his subjects to form the heart of the film, to speak in their own voices. Considering how few black voices have been included in rock music's canon, either as performers, promoters, or fans, such a documentation is long overdue.

Keidra Chaney is a freelance writer whose work has appeared in Africana.com, Bitch: Feminist Response to Pop Culture and Friction Magazine. She also edits the People section of Clamor Magazine. She resides in Chicago.