--- Who the limp-wrist cream puff that's a sex tease to all the chicks? Smothered inch-by-inch, layer-by-layer in “bling,” form-fitting polyester, and cheap men’s cologne, the initial presentation of Youngblood Priest, the criminal, coke dealing mastermind who has built himself an empire of drugs, women, and cheap cash, looks more like a middling, half-done up drag queen prostituting in the red light district. With hair in shoulder-length curls that tickle the tip of his chin, sideburns that dress the sides his cheeks, and a mustache that even Rico Suave couldn’t pull off, his heated parade of glitz and glam is topped off by a “pimped out” fur coat that hugs his slim, delicate figure like the caress of a woman. It is in this exact manner he rides, his lady Cadillac. Known as “Priest,” his name cries blasphemy to religion, ironically identifying a coke-dealing pusherman as a sacred figure of God. It is from his life of crime and vice that he desperately seeks an out by banking the last deal of coke to run off and start a new life. Superfly directed by Gordo Parks Jr. is a pariah among 70s blaxploitation films in it’s disband of set character archetypes, despite at surface fitting the paradigm of a Black movie made for and by Black people. The character development of Priest, whose soft, effeminate attributes diverge from blaxploitation’s masculine and heroic superman Shaft, proposes the precedence of fused gender roles that pun the coined stereotype of masculinity for men in Black culture. The tension posed between Curtis Mayfield’s problematic critique of Priest and Superfly’s utmost veneration of Priest reveals the presence of “message music” in soul music, integrated by more recent innovations in funk and rock n’ roll that showcased the struggle of the Black street life disillusioned during the aftermath of the Civil Rights Movement. In the history of African-American culture, recorded in textbooks is its evident oppression and segregation. But often forgotten is the folkloric, mythological content of Black tradition—socio-economic edifices of street culture—which presents a true, forward depiction of Black culture defining Black identity. Blaxploitation films provided a testimony of Black urban mythology, flaunting a shameless gallery of “pimps, pushers, knockout whores, and corrupt cops snorting, shooting, and screwing”1. It is this genre of 70s cinema with its flamboyant attire and its approval of narcotic, sex scenes that presented Black audiences with a caricature of the street life and the hood: “With a veneer of street-corner realism… the ritual’s illusions settle into an exaggerated conception of everyday life. Outside the theater, dreams become reality”2. Blaxploitation in essence is a campy, satirical play on the Black community, jaded with the loss of its pivotal hope through the disillusioned outcome of the Civil Rights Movement. The nature of blaxploitation films portrays a fabrication of everyday life, “as a plausible means away from the streets one hundred feet behind your seat”2, turning the nobodies and anybodies of street culture into the romanticized heroes on screen. You could be a star. In contrast to White cinematic mythology, where the good guy always seems to be a bitch of the law—cop, detective, or CIA—Black films instead idealize and promote the roles of people on the street, be it pusher or whore. It is by this the genuine representation of everyday people that self respect is gained through individual victories that prevail over White societal exploitations on Black culture. It is the Black man who writes his own history, not the White man who writes it for him. In presenting a reversal of set racial hierarchies that has enslaved Black culture since the notion of the “Black American,” blaxploitation has bestowed a level of self-respect and indignation to the Black man that was absent before when he was considered merely as a three-fifths person, left as the drug dealer in “the only game the White man has left us.”5 With the privilege of this newfound reverence and esteem, comes the confirmation of Black male empowerment in the depiction of Black culture as a declaration of his worth and pride. To be effeminate is to be associated with what is culturally servile and submissive, primarily weakening what it is to be Black: “since masculinity and heterosexuality anchor the genre’s presentation of “authentic” blackness, queerness gains a certain threatening representational power”3. In securing the notions of equality and reinforcing a cultural valor that unifies in the fight against mainstream White dominance, Black masculinity was upheld. In contrast, Whiteness, or the depiction of White masculinity is “villainized, made deviant, mocked, feminized, and brutally punished as black men are given representational primacy”3. The perception that “most American White men are trained to be fags”3 in blaxploitation’s repeated feminization of the white man is apparent in the 70s expose of White men in short shorts, long hair, with flaring boyish charm. In an attempt to denigrate the black and white margins of the colorline, a socially conscious effort among black filmmakers was fashioned to castrate the role of White males on television, through the means of media portrayal and its subtle propaganda. The centuries of servitude and racial enslavement were reconciled through a premeditated, pop-cultural glitch—mainstream had bought it: White men were buying short shorts. The initial intent to ridicule the White man by casting them as effeminate and emasculate has brought upon a vogue in the 70s where the white man embraced this mockery of femininity. As an anomaly to most blaxploitation films, the seventies pusher flick Superfly starring Ron O’ Neil as Youngblood Priest—a coke dealer attempting to get out of the ghetto by banking a million in deals—showcased a paradoxical incarnation of the traditional, standard protagonist: he is instead a Black effeminate, criminal cocaine dealer. In contrast to the character Shaft, a dark, masculine black private detective who fights for the common good, Priest takes on the role of a crack-dealing pusherman with an uncanny absence of Black masculinity. The would-be antagonist takes on the role of hero, where his womanizing, drug dealing, and conning are romanticized into admirable qualities praised and glamorized by the audience. The biting irony extent in his name “Priest”, where sacrilegious violations of religious ethic are exemplified as he snorts cocaine with a crucifix—transgressions that lampoon virtues of the Christian religion—exhibits the disillusionment felt by the Black community in the period of lapse after the fall of the Civil Rights Movement. The initial intent of this film is purely a joke, a comical play on Black stereotypes that have been rampantly over-exaggerated and deprecated in the context of White-produced cinema. It does not intend to mock the paradigms of the Black ghetto; moreover, it serves to pun the very existence of such stereotypes, pimps, hoes, and crackers, who have arisen from postulations brought upon by the White community. The cynical outlook on the White America was caused by the disenchantment of societal oppression. The criticism of the pusher lifestyle is paraded blatantly in the song, “Pusherman”: “been told I can’t be nothing else, just a hustler in spite of myself, I know I can rake it this life just don’t make it”4. Priest has been born into a disenchanted, crestfallen lifestyle of crime and poverty that has evidently stripped off any hope of aspiration and a bright future: “ask him his dream, what does that mean, he wouldn’t know…the most he’ll confess…there’s no happiness”4. The wasted, atrophied vanity of street culture on screen legitimizes the pessimistic, apathetic disposition of the Black community, which Mayfield directly delivers in his lyric. It is in this life the Black man’s covet of “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” is translated to nothing other than “snorting half piece of dope everyday, owning color TV in every room, and an 8 track stereo”5. The emasculation of Priest also provokes controversy, which vehicles the introduction of a gay counter-culture hidden in Black cinema. Disparate from the ideal protagonist in blaxploitation films, Priest is light-skinned, thin, and aesthetically attractive—complemented by his liking for tight-fitted suits and faux fur. Yet in the film, these qualities are more over praised, rather than disputed. The context of Black masculinity is deconstructed in the film as less romanticized, fairy-like men take over the parts of what is construed to be Black masculinity, conquering street life while still sexing the girls: “multiple forms of critique are staged throughout blaxploitation that undercut and challenge the presumed invulnerability and authenticity…of the Black macho”3. In this reversed role play, Curtis Mayfield’s compositions directly address and adhere to the characteristic anomalies present in Priest. The aesthetic of Curtis Mayfield’s vocal progression is feminine, his voice being a high falsetto-sounding male tenor. Yet his pleasant sounding vocals contrast to the composition’s harsh, critical lyrics that prostitute the detriments of street life—drugs, sex, and money. He adopts a message that de-romanticizes the gallant, heroic allure of Priest, redefining the misdirected, blurred representations of street life that have made heroes out of drug dealers and prostitutes into icons. The ironic placement of Priest whose emasculate and sissified aesthetic conflicts with his prominence in street culture as pusherman of a top-notch drug enterprise, is seen as an incongruous paradox that deposes the archetypical, media-implemented representation of what is “street” and what is “queer.” This directly parallels Curtis Mayfield’s effeminate voice within the context of crucial, pitiless lyrics. This analysis corresponds to Isaac Hayes, who’s low, masculine voice with praising lyrics fit into context with Shaft’s tough and macho character, epitomizing Black masculinity: “Who's the Black Private Dick That's a Sex Machine to All the Chicks?”8. Thus the employment of marked musicians and the construction of specific lyrics are used within the production of the film to implement and emphasize the characterization of the film. The striking disparity that alienates Priest from most blaxploitation film protagonists instruments social commentary on racial standards, social environments, and sexual orientation. The classification of street culture pictured on screen was underscored by Curtis Mayfield’s musical composition, incorporating personal interjections of social commentary in his music and lyric. As an African American soul artist, fusing different genres of Black music in his compositions, funk, rhythm and blues, and gospel, his music presented a personification of what was to be “Black and Proud”—an uncommon affirmation during that period among Blacks who have always been enslaved by oppression. Mayfield was influential in heading a new stream of popular music, which was critical in addressing social, cultural, and political concerns to a prevailingly apathetic and disillusioned public. It is this brand of “message music” that became essential in a time of social turmoil and political cynicism. In the context of Superfly, while attempting to break away from street life, Priest runs into a gang of crooked White cops who force him to continue his crack enterprise. There is bitingly ironic, social commentary that takes place in the plot, as white cops become their antithesis, the criminals, the antagonists of ploy, providing direct incite on the subversive, underground life of the urban scene that institutes corruption and vice among the norms of establishment. The notion of the “bad white cop” could be blamed on this being a Black film made for and by Black people, but it also suggests that the means of establishment, government and law enforcement, must not always be trusted. Mayfield’s lyrics and the blatant portrayal of street culture on screen evokes questioning and inquiry against the norms of institution. The tension between Mayfield’s problematic set up of Priest in lyric in opposition to Superfly’s cosmetic amelioration of Priest in plot situates a musical message that addresses the different, disparaging concerns of Black culture during this time. Mayfield’s score constructed and critiqued cinematic elements of the film, fashioning a sense of rampant Black Nationalism, militant separation of political and social culture apart from the mass white society. It was during the heyday of seventies blaxploitation films, no other Black musician in popular music understood as deeply, expressed his music so naturally, the disillusionment inherent in Black street culture. Prior to Superfly, Mayfield’s solo album had illustrated the confidence and faith of 1960s optimism, which featured songs that deal with the growing pride and satisfaction of the civil rights movement, birthing civil rights anthems such as “People Get Ready” and “Keep On Pushing.” With the turn of the decade and the rise and fall of Martin Luther King Jr., who was iconic in the ideals of the movement, Mayfield openly assessed the growing disheartenment of Blacks whose spirits where once high at the peak of the movement, callously critiquing the cynicism of the Black community in his antagonistic but musically upbeat: “(Don't Worry) If There's a Hell Below, We're All Going to Go.” For Superfly, Mayfield purposely evades parading the Black ghetto present in the movie, or exploiting it, instead he uses each song to focus on a different aspect of what he saw as a plague on America's streets. As he addresses the story of the plot in lyric, he steers away from explicit moralizing or preaching; Mayfield simply tells it like it is. He provides a channel that serves to unite the characters and situations in the film to people in real life, with any lessons learned being the result of his vibrant storytelling and his ability to manipulate the means of the plot to process a moral. It is in this fashion that Mayfield desensitizes the fabrication of Priest as the high-regarded and highly-romanticized hero, Messiah of the urban, street life. The role of blaxploitation films was mentioned to create a history—a semi-realistic, pseudo mythology—with exaggerated plots that highlight the feats of real, everyday people extent in the hood. In the case of Superfly, where a coke dealer as superman champions over his White counterparts, the corrupt cops, through means of benefiting more from the pearls of society—cars, cash, and women; the moral intended for the audience promotes such a culture of materialistic covetice through means of vice. No where in the plot does it condemn Priest for his routine means of existence; it more so tries to depict the realities of a lifestyle that the audience is more or less living in it. It is here that Mayfield critiques the apathy of such a society where the audience is so disillusioned to accept as a given the heroes on screen, whether he is a coke addict or a prostitute. Mayfield seeks to offer a wake up call to the jaded cynics of the time. “Freddie’s Dead” exemplifies Mayfield’s underlying interests within the context of the plot, in order to illustrate the essence of what blaxploitation films try to exploit. “Freddie’s Dead” presents in detail one of the film's chief casualties, a good- hearted yet naïve bitch of the pusher who’s death, summed up in a line during the plot, emblematizes the apathy of those who has witnessed or has heard about it. The influence of death in the plot, in its petty insignificance, epitomizes the overall lack of emotion apparent in street culture. Thus in contrast to the indifference of the plot, Mayfield directly addresses the matter, supplementing the meager description of the death in the plot: “ Everybody’s misused him, ripped him off and abused him, another junkie playin’…if you wanna be a junkie, wow, remember Freddie’s Dead”6. Mayfield also voices the disillusionment of the current Black culture, marginalizing the stigma of lost hope that has thwarted means of progress: “We’re all built up with progress, but sometimes I must confess, we can deal with rockets and dreams but reality what does it mean…’cause Freddie’s dead”6. It is the satire evident in the sound of Superfly that positively overwhelms its lyrical finesse. With “a melange of deep, dark grooves, trademarked wah-wah guitar, and stinging brass”7 the more optimistic sound in the musical content of “Freddie’s dead” complements the need for Mayfield to acquire “some peace of mind with a little love I’m trying to find”6, advocating aspiration, peace and love, and a Black-centered pursuit of happiness. Underneath the lyrics is a constant, repeated guitar riff that is overlapped with the inception of horn and string instrument. The string segment then starts to drive into the stringent repetition of the guitar and bass, which pilots a high, virtuosic violin solo that takes place of the guitar solo. The replacement of instrumental roles, in which the guitar is suppose to take on the solo and the violins act to complement the guitar lead, is paramount in its composition as it puns the exemplars of instrumental fixation. The influence of Superfly is epic to this day in the context of the Black culture: Snoop Dog still rocks the shoulder-length perm and “pimped out” Cadillacs endlessly roam the streets. Yet it is paramount to note that in the end, Black culture in the current has superseded its fabricated aesthetic of life in the ghetto prone to drugs, poverty, and prostitution. The disillusionment of the seventies Black culture was eventually overcome, surpassing media portrayal, white oppression, sexual orientation, and segregation. Mayfield’s role in message music implemented the growth of the Black community. Without the stirring hope of Mayfield, who proved the junkie to be a misrepresented artifice—a counterfeit manikin of Black culture, it would have been difficult to foster a means of change and rebuilding. It was the precedence of Superfly in music, message, and plot that re-booted the direction of a lost people. *** 1 Morris, Gary. “Blaxploitation.” Bright Lights Film Journal. Mar. 1997 2 Wander, Brandon. “Black Dreams: The Fantasy and Ritual of Black Films.” JSTOR. 11 Feb. 1975 3 Wlodarz, Joe. “Beyond the Black Macho: Queer Blaxploitation.” UCLA Library. 25 Oct. 2004 4 Mayfield, Curtis. “Pusherman.” Superfly. Rhino Records. Los Angeles 1972. 5 Superfly. Gordon Parks Jr., Sig Shore, and Phillip Fenty Videocassette. Warner Home Video. 1972. 6 Mayfield, Curtis. “Freddie’s Dead.” Superfly. Rhino Records. Los Angeles 1972. 7 Bush, John. “Critic’s Review.” All Music Guide. 8 Shaft. Gordon Parks, Videocassette. Warner Studios. 1971. ----- Copyright © 2005 Evil Monito; Illustration credit © Kozoo