Album Review: Ben Williams, I Am A Man
June 18, 2020
On Thursday, February 1, 1968, a rainy day in Memphis, Echol Cole and Robert Walker, two sanitation workers in Memphis, were crushed, and killed, by a malfunctioning sanitation truck. In an effort to avoid the pouring rain, Cole and Walker were under the hood in the back of the truck. For Cole, Walker, and many other sanitation workers, when it rained, they would stand under the awning of a home until the rain passed by. But a short time before their tragic deaths, the city had ordered Black sanitation not be allowed to do such under the homes of white residents.
Prior to their deaths, Black sanitation workers in Memphis had voiced their displeasure, and concern, regarding their working conditions, minuscule pay, and basic dignity as laborers. And though Black sanitation workers had unionized in 1964, Henry Loeb, the mayor of Memphis, would not recognize their demands or their unionization.
Ten days after the tragic deaths of Walker and Cole, roughly 700 Black sanitation workers met to discuss what they might do, and on February 12th they began their labor strike, denying work and collecting trash in the city. The workers would march every day at noon through the streets of Memphis, but with growing momentum, the Memphis police began violently attacking, billy-clubbing, and pepper-spraying protestors. Nonetheless, the protests would continue.
Of all of the days of the protest, February 23rd was a particularly violent day. The following day, February 24th, meeting in a church basement, Reverend James Lawson, an ally of Dr. King and key organizer in the sanitation strike, addressed the strikers declaring:
“For at the heart of racism is the idea that a man is not a man, that a person is not a person. You are human beings. You are men. You deserve dignity.”
These words uttered by Reverend Lawson would serve as the inspiration for the movement and the foundation for one of the most visible markers of a social movement: I Am A Man – a seemingly simple, yet profoundly ontological statement; a plea for recognition of one’s mere existence. Protestors would now take to the streets wearing sandwich billboards – stating I AM A Man in large, black font, on the front and the back, and no matter where you were standing you could see their declaration.
As the sanitation strikers were organizing, Reverend Lawson and Dr. King were regularly in conversation. On March 18th, Dr. King arrived in Memphis, addressing strikers, civil rights activists, and local ministers. For Dr. King, the Memphis sanitation strike presented an opportunity to further the message of the Poor People’s Campaign, and his burgeoning ideological and political views. The Poor People’s Campaign represented a shift from Dr. King’s sharp focus on electoral politics, having realized that while the Voting Rights Act of 1965 had made voting more accessible, the exploitation of Black bodies persisted, poverty ran rampant and the United States brutality existed beyond the borders of the United States. More, what was needed was a multiracial coalition aimed at challenging economic injustice that saw the interconnected reality of global capitalism and its assault on the poor. A more pointed Dr. King began directly challenging the evils of capitalism – the exploitation of people, land, and labor – and the engine that fuels it, racism.
Like any movement, the Memphis sanitation strike had its share of ups and downs, contestations and differing views of actionable steps, but through it all, the Memphis sanitation workers, the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC), and Dr. King, planned for another march to be held on April 5, 1968. However, the night before, on April 4th, while standing on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel, Dr. King was assassinated, and the march planned for April 5th was postponed, as uprisings took place across the country. That march would later happen on April 8th, led by union workers, Dr. King’s wife, Coretta Scott King, and local clergy for the recognition of the Memphis sanitation workers demands.
After much pressure, on April 16th, Henry Loeb would recognize the union and their demand for better wages, but only in jest. The sanitation workers would threaten to strike again, as their demands hadn’t been recognized. In fact, it wasn’t until July 2017 that the city of Memphis announced that they would pledge $50,000 in tax fee grants to the surviving 14 sanitation strikers.
The Memphis sanitation strike has proved to be one of the most important movements of the 20th century, standing as a key inflection point in the history of Black politics. The message delivered by Reverend Lawson on February 24th brings to bear a message that has been echoed by the oppressed for centuries – a plea for humanity. The message delivered by Dr. King, late in his life, proves to be more prophetic by the day: racism, the pursuit of capital and subsequent domination, and the construction of empire are evil.
The words and efforts put forth by the Memphis sanitation strike, Reverend Lawson, and Dr. King, are prophetic and instructive to the moment we live in.
*****
On February 7, 2020, bassist and singer-songwriter Ben Williams, released his 3rd studio album, I AM A Man, a 46-minute meditation on the enduring words of Reverence Lawson, as well as a reflection on the social, political, and spiritual conditions we presently live in. As an in-demand bassist for Pat Metheny, José James, Marcus Strickland, and countless others, Williams has developed a sound that covers the range of Black American music from Jazz and Gospel, to Hip-Hop and R&B.
I Am A Man presents Williams as a seasoned composer, bandleader, and artist with a sharpened voice. The album features an ensemble cast of artists as well: Kendra Foster, most known for her contributions to, and member in, D’Angelo’s backing band, the Vanguard; Jamire Williams and Justin Brown sharing duties on drums; Kris Bowers on piano; David Rosenthal on guitar; Bendji Allonce on percussion; Muhsinah, Wes Felton, and Niles as guest vocalists.
Why didn’t you come for me? Left me all alone. Why didn’t you stay with me? This place is not a home.
The album begins with I Am A Man (Intro), a slow-burning composition, to the sound of a detuned piano, dragging kick drum and snare, and Williams singing you paid the cost to be the boss / at this game he still loss. As the bass falls in on the second verse, Williams is joined by additional vocalists singing, let the people say what’s on their mind. Following, the intro, Williams begins If You Hear Me, a 6-minute plea to God, to the sound of rattling congas, and a lush string arrangement reminiscent of Motown. As the drums slowly trickle in, and the tempo is set, Ben Williams sings, Why didn’t you come for me? / Left me all alone / Why didn’t you stay with me / This place is not a home. Throughout the song, Williams poses a series of conditional statements, questioning where God is and what help he may offer. As the music breaks and the piano takes center stage with Williams saying, God, would you show me a sign?/A sign that you’re still there And that you still care/I just need a sign from you/A reason, reason to go on/‘Cuz this world... Williams doesn’t stand in for God, or attempt to theorize his response, rather, he leaves the song unresolved.
While If You Hear Me is pensive and questioning, March On, the following song, takes the ethos of the Memphis sanitation strikers, placing in context what many have felt in the midst of moments of protest. Sonically, March On communicates the aggression and passion of collective action, and when fellow D.C. native, and rapper, Wes Felton appears on the track, the music seamlessly flows into a smooth, Marvin Gaye-styled groove. Fittingly, Williams follows March On with Promised Land, featuring singer-songwriter, Kendra Foster. The sequencing between the two songs flows and tells a story in its own right: the courage and patience to march on is feasible when the idea of a promised land is present.
A graduate of Michigan State University and the Julliard School’s Jazz studies program, Ben Williams is equally adept on both the upright and electric bass guitar. Williams’ talent as a composer is best seen in his ability to synthesize complex ideas into enchanting grooves, none better than High Road and High Road, Pt. 2, which features singer-songwriter Mushinah. As the drums play pulsating eighth notes, Ben Williams’ bass keeps a lock-and-step cadence for what makes one of the best grooves on the album.
Take it from me, the world is out to get us
The brilliance of I Am A Man is its ability to connect history to the contemporary moment. Williams’ Take it From Me, featuring Minneapolis-born rapper, Niles, tells the story of state violence against Black bodies. As Williams sings on the chorus, take it from me / The world is out to get us, Niles lists the countless lives that have been lost to police terrorism. As the song fades out, Kris Bowers’ piano begins haphazardly playing atonal notes, and the listener can hear the audio of a car rolling down its window, and police sirens come into focus. Amidst the commotion, the audio of a woman comes on, pleading for whomever may be in the car to simply come home – an all too familiar sound and plea.
So many of us out here starving for justice, but life is not just until life can serve justice to all
Following Take it From Me, Williams is joined by Kendra Foster again, this time for the rock infused Come Home. With the bass and David Rosenthal’s distorted guitar driving the song, Williams and Foster sing, Walkin’ round feel like I got a chip on my shoulder / Lookin’ round I wonder will I ever grow older / Born with an invisible target painted on my head / I see red. Come Home sees Williams at his compositional and lyrical best, melding the worlds of Jazz and Rock, and aided by Kendra Foster, who follows in a great tradition of Soul and Rock vocalists, the song only goes to greater heights. In the final movement of the song, Williams and Foster sing a powerful refrain: So many of us out here starving for justice, but life is not just until life can / serve justice to all / It’s not (just) a matter of / Oppression and abuse... / Daily life is too much of a tossup for much / many more than many of us like to / Like to believe.
In the final movement of the album, Williams closes with the Death of Emmitt Till, a Bob Dylan cover, and a rearranged rendition of We Shall Overcome. Williams’ treatment of both songs is haunting and hopeful, sonically communicated through oversized drums, intricate orchestral arrangements, spacious keyboards, and vocals that are swiftly fleeting. As We Shall Overcome fades out, the listener is placed in what feels like another world, possibly one that has been transformed.
