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I don't usually watch the Grammys. It's hard to respect an awards show in which there are more than 500 winners. I keep waiting for the award for Best Performance made by a singer in J Robert's shower. I could win that one. But I was curious last Sunday to see if music would finally remember its proud protest tradition and say something, anything about our world's current state. Nope. With the exception of Limp Bizkit's Fred Durst (Fred Durst?!), the only even oblique references to the world came from two old songs: Simon and Garfunkel's reunion of "Sound of Silence" and Bruce Springsteen and Co.'s blistering rendition of The Clash's "London Calling." It was a reminder of how completely self-absorbed our music culture has become.

For those who still believe that music can change the world, I urge you to get up to the Music Box theater to see Amandla! A Revolution in Four-Part Harmony. It's a documentary about South African freedom songs during the apartheid era. Arranged somewhat chronologically, it covers the history of freedom, or liberation, songs from the mid-'40s, when the racial system of apartheid was installed, to the celebratory songs over the election of Nelson Mandela as South Africa's first elected black leader.

The movie begins with what appears to be a funeral. As it turns out, it's actually an exhumation of the bones of Vuyisile Mini. He was one of the first composers of liberation songs in the 1940s, and he was also a political activist. He was executed for both of those activities, and his body was thrown in a pauper's grave. The documentary shows his exhumation in preparation for a proper, even celebratory, funeral.

Jumping from this initial scene, the movie traces the history of South Africa and the parallel history of protest music. To do this, it relies on the old documentary stand-bys of interviews and archival footage. The various "talking heads" consist mostly of old protest singers and activists, some who are pushing their senior citizen years and others who rose up in the revolution's final decade. Their memories are beautifully balanced by actual singing. Often, the songs are performed by contemporary singers and choirs, but sometimes an interviewee will stop talking and start singing acappella. Those are my favorite moments in the movie. The purity of a single voice singing a song of victory or lament or prayer is striking and powerful.

That power is one of the movie's primary themes. "Amandla" means power, and the word was often followed by the phrase "to the people." In a society in which blacks had absolutely no power--political, economic, social--they had to find ways of empowerment. Singing became one of the most important. It was so important that the government even tried to ban the singing and the songs, but, as the movie reminds us, how can you ban the human voice?

The songs had the effect not only of inspiring the South African people but educating them as well. As one man remarks early in the movie, a song is often easier to understand than a political speech and more effective than a pamphlet in a society where many people can't read. Because of that, the song's composers and singers became some of the leaders in the revolutionary movement. And even when the African National Congress (the largest wing of the anti-apartheid movement) turned to violent methods, it still utilized the power of song to rally its fighters and supporters.

Because the songs were so powerful, many of the musical artists were imprisoned or exiled, some for more than 30 years. The movie's most poignant moments are when people like Hugh Masekela talk about the difficulty of exile, of not being able to speak your own language or sing with your own people. Though the election of Nelson Mandela was less than ten years ago, it seems like a different lifetime. Amandla! provides a welcome reminder of the struggle that millions endured to be free.

Because of its emphasis not only on singing but history, the documentary is highly educational, particularly for those who weren't politically aware (or alive) in the '70s or '80s. I could see the film being a favorite of high school world studies teachers, who need something visual to explain the horrific system of apartheid. But because the film has a strong educational bent, it can sometimes feel a little dry. Fortunately, just when the movie gets dull, the singing begins again, and the audience is transported to a different place.

It's been a good year for music documentaries. Last spring, we had the reissue of The Last Waltz, then the fall brought us the wonderful Standing in the Shadow of Motown, and now Amandla! In each of those, I was reminded of the enormous gulf between our contemporary, corporate music culture and the vastly more powerful and authentic music traditions of the recent past. When MTv and Entertainment Tonight weren't the dictators of what was cool, what was important; when music wasn't packaged like a cereal box; when musicians and singers actually had something to say besides, "where's my record deal?" Anyone who longs for those days will find much to enjoy in Amandla!  

J. Robert Parks  2/25/2003