Exercise 1:6: The contemporary abyss.

Exercise 1.6: The contemporary abyss. 

Through time the word sublime has been diluted and lost its true meaning.  “Oh darling you look sublime.”  “That meal was sublime.”

Edmund Burke described the sublime, “ As the strongest emotion the mind is capable of.”  It should be worrying, energising and horrifying.  I don’t believe a meal out, nor the latest look can qualify.

The visual arts alone are not capable of taking me to those heights of emotion.  Music on the other hand can.  My judgement on how affecting I find a piece of music, how sublime it is is simple; can I drive and listen to it.  One song that is never played is Strange Fruits.  Whether sung with the earthiness of Billy Holiday or the perfect tones and intonations of Nina Simone, here is an experience that drills into my soul.  The lyrics alone reach into the heart, but add the melody and that sublime moment overwhelms me.  

The song relates to a lynching in 1930 of two men, Thomas Shipp and Abram Smith,who were accused of robbery and murder.  The mob broke them out of jail with the express intent of hanging them.  The third victim, a 16 year old named James Chapman, was rescued when the sheriff finally intervened.  

While investigating the background for this exercise I came across this photograph of the event that led to the song being written.  If the lyrics of the song fail to horrify then look at the scenes of the actual lynchings.  

The truly horrifying feature is the carnival atmosphere and the mix of people with young, old, women and children.  The picture must have been taken by one of the mob as a record of the good deed they were carrying out.  

The sublime feature, the energising part of it is supplied by Abel Meerpols lyrics which in so few words describe the scene.

Southern trees bear a strange fruit,

Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,

Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze,

Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.

Pastoral scene of the gallant south,

The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,

Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh,

Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.

Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,

For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,

For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,

Here is a strange and bitter crop.

Although the story and the picture supply the horror, it is the song that lifts me to the level that can be described as sublime.  There is nothing rational in why the visual cannot lift me to these height but music can.