#448: Otis Redding, ‘Dictionary of Soul’
VOLT, 1966
I flew into Portland today to spend time with my sister and her family. I was dropped off at her home while she left to go fulfill her volunteering duties at my niece’s school. I snuggled into my sister’s bed and started to doze. Within about 5 minutes, I heard the front door open and realized that my brother-in-law’s parents had returned to the house. For the next 30 minutes, I froze on that bed while I listened to them chat, vacuum and cook. Anxiously, I imagined frightening them with my surprise presence or, worse, myself being an unwelcome guest in their moments of communion.
What is so striking even to me is that I knew they would be coming over. I knew they would be happy to see me. I also knew that my sister had told them I would be in her room sleeping off jetlag. Yet, I was still so concerned about alerting them of my body. I lay on that bed panicking about offending the status quo of the house.
I curled my tired body tighter and tighter into a ball and stifled my breathing so I would not be too loud.
I have been in many houses, my own even, where I felt I was taking up too much space in the private corners. I don’t always feel I can close a door and live my life. No, if there are bodies on the other side of the door, I am to remain in that space imprisoned in my own paranoia of making too much noise and obligating those on the other side to involve themselves in my activities.
Yes, I am a chronic people pleaser (a trait that has brought me into the most wonderful situations and also a trait that has betrayed my own need for freedom and autonomy) but I don’t think this is that. There is something inside of me immediately on alert of frightening someone else and then being harmed, someone crossing that boundary I have made clear via closing the door. I feel that the less space I take up, the safer I am. The less noise I make, the safer I am. The less trouble I induce, the safer I am.
This is not life. We know this.
The moments that I have been pushed to value life over safety have been my most beautiful moments. Those have been the moments when I have quieted my distrust and found myself still hungry for more flavor and change.
This is not a moment of, “We should all live free and wild… yadda, yadda.” There are real consequences for women or other marginalized populations who take up space in places they are not indeed safe. It is always a choice to take up space. It is a choice to make noise and often it only happens if absolutely necessary.
Otis Redding took up space and he did it in a way that was not only life-giving but also life-sustaining. He took up space in a world that did not want to see his huge black body thrusting, swinging and gyrating to music about love and pleasure.
He took up space, not for the sake of entertaining his audience, but for the sake of doing justice to the music he dedicated his life to writing, producing and recording.
In a New Yorker article published in 2017 by Jonathan Gould, Otis Redding’s revolution is in his courage to perform with his full body in a time when the black male body was seen as aggressive and violently sexual against white female bodies as modeled in films like Birth of a Nation. Jim Crow made it impossible for black artists to cross over and perform authentically for white audiences. But Redding did it. He performed with overt sexuality. The article points out that Redding was born the same year as Emmett Till, a perfect example of how dangerous romance/suggestive actions/any sexuality was for a black male to show in front of white audiences.
When we think about Michael Jackson’s crotch-grabbing, Boyz II Men’s making love to you, and even R&B bad boy “Bobby Brown” – those choices would have gotten them killed if a white audience was sitting in front of them during Jim Crow. The context dictated the freedom in the performance.
Even Blues artists, renowned for their sexual freedom, hid their bodies behind their instruments. Motown singers danced to precise choreography with no surprises.
When we think about Otis Redding’s career, we think about his enormously strong body but also of his enormous songs, Sitting On the Dock of the Bay, Try A Little Tenderness, and Respect (made even more famous by Aretha Franklin). Dock of the Bay and Respect were anthems of the Civil Rights Movement, effortlessly and powerfully about taking space in places and relationships where dignity is not freely given.
‘Dictionary of Soul’ is the last solo album he recorded before he died. It is the album he recorded while dealing with polyps on his larynx of which he would eventually have surgery. It was the album that labeled him a mature and smart singer. It is the album that Bob Dylan wished his song, “Just Like A Woman” had been on. It is the album that made the world notice Otis.
Did you know his career lasted five years? That’s it — five short years. He died in a horrible plane crash. I could go on about the tragedy of the accident, I could go on about his songwriting, his recording skills, how seriously he took making music, and his family. I could go on and on about this man but, ironically, we do not have the space to take in this newsletter.
I will end with this:
Otis Redding died at 26 years old, still a baby. He died leaving a universe-sized hole in music all because he had the courage to take the space that no one gave him.
Top songs: Tennessee Waltz, Try A Little Tenderness, Ton of Joy, You’re Still My Baby
Otis and Emmett. Wow.