All language subtitles for The.United.States.of.Hoodoo.2012.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP2.0.H.264-alfaHD-English

When I stepped out of the cab
in Brooklyn, I didn't know it

but I was about to
meet Glinda The Good

you know, the witch who
pranced through

enchanted poppy fields
in the north of Oz,

and get a pair of ruby slippers.

Hi, Darius.
Nice to meet you.

Her real name was
Val Jeanty.

And she was raised
on the island of Haiti,

not with a litter of
prune-faced Munchkins.

Val fused the ancient skills
of the ritual drummer

with the tools of the DJ
in the Digital Age.

She was a sorcerous shamanic
talent

with a gift for speaking to
both the living and the dead.

I was impressed.

But I also realized,

this was just the first step
on my long journey.

It was initiation.
My ruby moment.

You have to cue me,
because I can go on and on.

This space is totally
energized.

I mean, I have experienced that
in certain other circumstances.

But I only know energy
like this,

like walking into very
old churches.

I mean, it's electric, it's like
very electric, very calming.

And of course, there is
a whole thing about

art, spirituality,
religion, magic.

If you put your hands close
to a speaker

while there is some
heavy bass,

you gonna feel something in
your hands - that's frequency,

that's the physical

manifestation of
frequency, right?

So there is some energy
coming out of there that

you can't see but you feel it
in your hands, sort of thing,

so frequencies coming from
the Haitian culture

- Haitian voodoo culture,

we're dealing with
specific rhythm patterns,

specific chants.

So it's already kind of
pre-coded.

And certain songs
you don't sing

after three p.m.
on Thursdays,

you just don't.

And everyone knows
not to sing it

because there is a frequency
in that song

that you don't want
to manifest.

So pretty much the sound
manifests in physical reality.

So the sound that
I am creating in here

is also what you are feeling.

So when you walk into
the church or the temple,

because the frequency
is still there,

there is a reminiscence of it
that is in the space,

that stays there,

you can't really get rid of it

- it becomes part of
the fabric of that space.

This is the house
I grew up in.

It sits on a patch of
overly-taxed landfill

in Hamden, Connecticut.

I've sailed to South
and Central America.

I've lived in Los Angeles,
New York, and Montreal.

Finally, I settled in Berlin.

After ten amazing years
in that city of ravens,

a place I felt
was my natural home,

Hamden was the last place

I ever imagined
I would end up in life.

I'd rather fight
flesh-eating zombies

in a isolated pocket
of Pennsylvania.

My name is Darius James.

If you're familiar
with me at all,

its because I published
two books

- "Negrophobia" and

"That's Blaxploitation:
Roots of the Baadasssss'Tude"

back in the nineties.

I came back to this house
in January of 2007.

My time in Berlin had come to
an abrupt end.

My father had died.

He was 81 years old.

All that remained of my father
was his mask collection

and a cardboard box filled with
ashes.

I have not touched either since
my return.

My childhood home had
become a mausoleum.

I live in this house with
my younger sister, Jeri.

She is the sweetest person
I know

and she is the only reason
why I am still here.

In an early stage of my search
I went to an exhibition

at the Caribbean
Cultural Center in Manhattan,

titled "Standing with Papa Legba
- Vodu at the crossroads".

It was an unusual look at
Haitian spiritual traditions

through the lens of
contemporary art.

That's where I met its
young curator, Shantrelle Lewis.

Shantrelle reminds me of
a young Muhammad Ali.

She has the distinct lines

and grace of a dancer
and the mind of a boxer.

I wanted to know more about her.

I had a feeling she was more
than professionally involved

with the themes of
her exhibition.

So a few weeks later

I dropped by
at her home in Brooklyn.

Hey - welcome to mi casa.

So, I practice Lukumi,

which is a derivative
of Yoruba spirituality.

A part, a basic part of that is
the understanding of the role

that ancestors play in
your existence

and the way you move
about the world

on a daily basis and you know.
Ancestors walk with you...

They're not just off somewhere
in this random kingdom

but they protect you
every single day

and so on basic altars you may
see glasses of water

and again each glass
representing

a different group
of ancestors...

What is what you actually
acknowledge in your ancestors?

This is a daily practice.

I try to acknowledge them
on a daily basis.

I generally try to
refresh my altar,

the glasses of water
on Sundays.

Maybe this has something to do
with my Catholic upbringing,

the Christian upbringing but
that's the day

where I kind of starting
my week of so

I like to do that
on a Sunday.

I understand that.

It's kind of interesting, too,
cause there is a wall,

in my home is surrounded
by masks

and things which is my family,

of the paternal side
in my family...

although my father insisted that

he wasn't influenced
by voodoo at all.

Everything that I've discovered

since moving back in the house
seems to contradict that.

On another visit to New York

I happen to be invited
to spend the afternoon

in the home of
Danny Simmons.

Danny is a worldly and
unpretentious man

who is much more than
the sum of his parts

- painter, writer, art collector
and,

with his brother Russell,

producer of HBO's
"Def Poetry-Jam".

He is a system of refuge and
support for a broad artistic

and intellectual community
in New York and beyond.

Thinking about my father

- this is an extraordinary
collection.

My father collects masks
from all over

and he has got some
good pieces.

But when I've tried to talk
with him about it in the past

in terms of spiritual powers
of Africa

- he was kind of blind
to that,

he was looking at it purely...

For aesthetic reasons?

That's what he was telling me
- you know what I am saying?

Which kind of let to
this project.

That there are these African
influences in peoples lives...

Sure.

...that they don t want to
acknowledge.

And I am - obviously, based on
what I know about you,

you recognize those powers
and you respect them.

Well, yeah. We've been taught,
and people have been taught,

especially these generations
prior to ours have been taught

that anything associated
with Africa was bad.

Unless it was
an aesthetic thing.

You can relate to the aesthetic
of a mask

or you can relate to

the aesthetic of fabric
or the aesthetic

- but the actual culture,

the actual people
that was eshewed.

You can go to any museum and
you can see African masks.

But they don't concentrate.

They call it art
and it's not really art.

These are ritual items
and objects

that people use for
points of power

and for points of
spiritual reference.

They don't talk about that
and it s eshewed,

anything that's non-christian
in this society is looked at

You can look at the same object
as a European

and say this is a great mask.

Let me put some wax on it
and shine it up

and put it next to
a Picasso or something.

Once if you start
talking about it

in its natural setting as
a religious object,

people get upset and
that s what we were taught.

You are
one hundred percent right.

They're afraid because they
really don't know it.

But if we look at
what we have here

we will see what the truth
is in that.

People have walked in here
and looked at this stuff

and turned around
and walked out.

People talk a lot of
black stuff and say:

Oh no no, I can't be in a
room with that stuff.

No its doen't work that way.

It's the absence of faith.

To begin with...

The more we look at what
we have here - from Africa -

the more we look
and get to understand

and let some of it
be revealed to you

than you really see
how fortunate you are.

And you see where
your power lies

Absolutely.

The Power lies
in your history...

For me I started collecting
African art.

My father taught Black History.

But when I started painting
years and years and years ago

and I started looking
at the European Masters,

immediately I was attracted to
Picasso and his cubist stuff

not knowing that that time he
had been referencing African Art

or African objects to create
this paintings

and to create this stuff.

You know I am a self-taught
artist and as I looked deeper,

I started looking at where did
he get this from?

Where did all these Europeans
who are considered Masters

getting this stuff from?

So I moved beyond that and

started looking at things
that were closer.

Like this painting here
by Wifredo Lam,

an Afro-Cuban painter
and the way he painted it.

It has deeper spiritual meaning
than what Picasso put out there.

Picasso put figures out there

-Wifredo Lam tapped into
spirits of Santeria.

And I had a natural affinity
for that beyond the surface

to this actual spiritual of
what an object is.

You mentioned the Cubans.

Okay. The Cubans
they were able to maintain

a lot of their
African heritage.

My godfather in my religion,

I m a Palo Mayombe,
here did he ome from?

Cuba. What he brought
came from Africa.

I felt when I walked
into this house.

I thought:
Man, I am amongst my people.

That's how I feel.

That's how I feel.
I am a mongst my people.

I am glad we are now, some of
us are looking a little deeper.

Together
with my friend Kanene

I went to join our ancestors
occupying Wall Street.

They weren't pounding drums in
Zuccotti Park, though.

They took their movement
underground;

camping out in silent protest
underneath lower Broadway

since the 1690s.

Kanene is a dedicated

New York City
public school teacher;

actress; and
Zora Neale Hurston scholar.

Talking to her is like staring
into

the high beams of
a speeding, on-coming car.

Do you know much about
the African burial ground?

Ironically
I do and I don't and I do.

But it was like breaking news.

Because they were busy building
some building.

That was the goal.
Some financial building

- whatever building
they were trying to build

and you just have to go,
dig up the ground

and in that process of
building the foundation

this became breaking news
like oh oh

- we can't just build
the foundation on these graves

and so it really started to
come out. Was it like 95 or 96?

I think it was 95.

Yeah, it was 95, so I was in
the fifth grade, so yeah, 95.

And they were like wow, shuut
- we can't just build on this land

and the whole notion of
the fact that these are slaves

it's not just any random grave.

These are the slaves that
actually built New York City.

They literally build this city

and they were buried underneath
rock and granite.

And the whole notion of it,
you can't erase it.

And that's funny

because even now me
as a social studies teacher,

I taught fifth grade
social studies two years ago

and I had to prepare them for
a fifth grade states test,

it's all this stuff about
New York history

they need to know,
fifth graders should know

- the difference between rural,
suburban, and urban -

they need to know about
the Niagra falls

and the New Trade routes,
that were developed

they need to know these things.

And I usually feel like

because it's all war, it's all
the glorification of war.

War of 1812, French
and Indian War.

It's war, war, war and it
never talks about the people,

it never talks about the
real stories about people

and the rebellion
and the revolution.

And so they gave me this book,
and it was like this thick

just to prep them for the test,
the test is in November,

school starts in September

and they had maybe
two paragraphs

on slavery
in this entire book.

It's the stuff on the
Constitution

they had to learn,
stuff on the Supreme Court,

the judicial branch,
legislative branch,

branches of government,

all this stuff.

The Industrial Revolution

- all this stuff these little
fifth graders need to know...

Wow, which is interesting
because knowing about slavery

would put everything else
in the perspective.

It would, because
the whole capitalistic structure

of New York City
and all of America

New York was the hub
of capitalism at that time

and still is was all based on
all of the slave labour.

The whole notion of
Wall Street, Bank of New York

they all either insured slaves,
invested in slaves.

The East India Company,
West India Company,

all these companies

that we do or do not know, we
do or do not recognize,

a lot of them, Lehmann Brothers,
all of these companies

which are on Wall Street today
- not all of them obviously,

but some of them still have a
legacy

and wouldn't be
the companies they were

if they weren't investing in
slave labor back in the day.

The burial ground is at the
heart of American capitalism.

Exactly!

Which was an interesting thing
because as I was going

through the rotunde here
they had a symbol from Legba...

Yes, the crossroads, yes!

The crossroads.

Which told me that the
crossroads wasn't about

deciding what direction
you are going to take,

what faded decision
you are going to make

but rather it was
about contradictions.

Hmhm.

Which is probably the reason

why Legba is considered
a trickster.

Exactly, and I love Legba,

I mean Legba is Bugs Bunny.
You know.

Yeah.

That whole notion of
what is reality

and I can shift it
based on perception

and what you are beholding to
as reality.

That s existentialism, that can
become nihilism and denial.

Because what is reality?

I mean New York
would not be New York

without the backs of slaves.

Just like in a book by
Zora Neale Hurston about Moses.

The whole story starts of
with the fact

that there are these
slaves in Egypt.

All the slavers on our back and
we can't do anything about it.

We learn nothing but sorrow.

If nothing else, that's that
lasting legacy that this leader,

this pharao wants to sit there
and impart to us...

You mean nothing other
than your labour.

Right, you see these
beautiful temples,

you see these
beautiful pyramides, right,

but that lasting legacy of
the blood,

the sweat and the tears is
still in everything that we see

and ironically that's the path
that we must choose.

And the path that a lot of
history books choose

is in one direction which is ah,
erase that, it doesn't matter,

again nihilism,
denial of the truth.

And I would literally sitting
there, looking at this book,

under the pressure of preparing
fifth graders -

seventy percent can not read
on a fifth grade level.

This is in 2008 - so if you can't
read on a fifth grade level

you really can't read.

And I have two month
to prepare these kids.

And I am looking at the history
again,

and I am really thinking
to myself and say:

Wait a minute, did slavery
not happen?

And so I had to go back and
find other books

and other resources and teach
that whole portion of history.

It s interesting, because
you talked about lines

and here is a circle...

In the middle of
Manhattan's financial district

is a sacred space.

It seems to exists as if some

mysterious happenstance
of history

has joined forces with
all the world's religions,

including Vodu,

to confront the very powers
of Mammon

that Wall Street
represents.

And I find, even here,
we all must ask Legba

for his permission
to pass through the gates.

And I think it's beautiful,

the way they designed
this entire burial ground.

In terms of it does actually
reference a lot

of the Sankofa symbols.

This is a monument
to give these people

some form of a voice.

The thing that I am thinking
about: past and present coexist.

Yes.

Past, present.

They're parallel.

Yeah.

And sometimes when
you ask questions

they can become perpendicular
and that's the power,

that's the power of
asking questions:

Why? How? Where? Who? And then
they also notice, it's raining.

Yeah.

I am noticing that.

I kind of like the image.

Hm?

I like the image.

My father never
really understood

why I prefered
living abroad.

I once wrote him a letter and
explained the reasons

why I vowed I would never live
again in the United States.

His only reply was that he
didn't understand.

For me, why was simple.
This place had nothing for me.

Or at least that's what
I thought until

I was struck by
a cold realization.

I was wrong.

There was something,
maybe something unique.

One of the reasons
I started this journey was

to find out
what that something is.

Outside of a couple of trips
to New Orleans,

this is my first visit
to the deep south.

We rolled passed
the manicured lawns

of Greenwood's
middle class,

literally crossing the tracks,
over into ''Baptist Town''.

As we arrived, we were greeted
by an unexpected surprise

- Pastor McArthur McKinley -

Baptist Town's gold-tooth
and gheri-curled reverend

in a Stacy Adam's suit.

Homeboy knew he was clean.
I shook his hand and asked,

"Where can I get me
a suit like that?"

"Are you a married man,
son?", he asked.

"No, why?"

"Well, that's good, because
if you were married,

and you wore a suit like mine,

it would only lead you
into temptation",

he said, gold tooth glittering
in the mississippi sun.

As you noticed I just read a
scripture where Jesus promised

that he would go and
prepare a place for us.

And I am going to do
at this time

Sweet Home...
it's a beautiful home.

♪ Sweet Home,

♪ Sweet Home,

♪ Lord I know

♪ Lord I wonder

♪ will I ever

♪ get home.

♪ Sweet Home

♪ it's a beautiful home,

♪ Sweet Home

♪ Lord I know

♪ Lord I wonder...

I'm feeling really ambivalent

for a lot of reasons.

I'm not in New York.

I'm among solid church-going
folks who pay taxes to god

and have barbecues
after service.

But the deep south is also
Hoodoo country

where two-heads lay tricks,

sprinkle goofer dust
and work mojos.

And this is stuff people don't
talk about openly here

unless they're telling tales

about the one-eyed man deep in
the woods makin' gris-gris bags

or singing about it in songs
by Robert Johnson.

To them, asking the kind
of questions I asked,

I'm just talking about
"The Devil". Period.

Right here, right now
we are in Baptist town.

Baptist town is like the save
haven for the blues singer

like Robert Johnson,
Honeyboy Edwards,

Guitar Slim.

All those guys would live
in this area,

they live in this area,

so they wouldn't go to
the cotton field and go to work

cause they live
across the river

where the balls man would make
sure they would be at work.

But they lived over here

and hide out in the houses
and wouldn't go to work

and that's what guys like
Robert Johnson

or guys like Honeyboy Edwards
would do

because they can make
more money

playing music on
the corner

then they would picking cotton
in the fields...

Robert Johnson would have been
one hundred years old today.

And Greenwood
was throwing the party.

But I really honestly
didn't understand

who or what
was being celebrated

If what Mr. Hoover
said was true,

how was it that a man
who played the blues

was being celebrated in
a cotton museum?

So I thought I'd go talk
with Steve LaVere.

Steve is a big presence in
Greenwood's blues community.

And he plays an
even bigger part

keeping the legacy of
Robert Johnson alive.

Greenwood is the world's
first long-stapled Cotton market

and it moved to Memphis
about 1900.

So things don't move to quickly
in the Delta as you know.

Things have a tendency
to maintain

and retain and be retained and
so that's what that's all about.

But as far as who owns
Robert Johnson is concerned

which I think was
one of the early posits

that you set for us
in your question.

Robert Johnson and what is
considered country blues

and really I think that's just

a small portion of all
indiginous American music:

Jazz, American black gospel,
white gospel

- it all has its roots
in two primary cultures

that the world has produced:

the European culture
and the African culture

and they came together
on this continent.

Okay, I understand
that aspect of the story

but that from what I
understand there

is this whole generation
of British musicians

who had discovered blues,
you know American blues

and which was discarded by

and large but they picked it up

and created this whole
sensation in rock music

in the 60s and the 70s.

When British musicians (who)
were looking for songs to play

rather than write their own.

Why write your own when there
is a guy like Robert Johnson

and has written the great song
that we can do?

Let's do "Dust my broom",

lets do "Sweet Home Chicago",

let's do "Come on in my
kitchen"

Right.

You know and so they got
their energy behind that

and sold it back to America.

Yeah, I understand.
I can see that.

Actually I heard a tape,
it was an acoustic tape

that Keith Richards had done
covering Robert Johnson songs.

That's when I began to have
respect for Keith Richards,

knowing that he was a serious
student of the music.

He said so on numbers
of occasions.

We are here at the site
where Robert Johnson is buried.

Let's go. It's right out here.

Most of the people
do not have stones.

Lot of em early 1900s.

And you see some of them
handmade

and a lot of them where just
made with wood,

a cross made out of wood and
they stuck it in the ground.

And Robert Johnson

he died right across
this field over here

because he followed
a girl home that night.

You'd be in this cotton field,

picking and jumping cotton
all way down

to where you see them trees.

You would hear music
coming from here.

Do you hear that singing,
do you hear that singing?

And you would hear sound
coming from this graveyard.

Legend has it
Robert Johnson

went down to the crossroads

and gave the devil his guitar
and a fried-chicken sandwich.

The devil tuned the guitar and
ate the sandwich, saying:

"But your soul would taste a
hell of a lot better. Yum yum!"

So Robert Johnson
shrugged his shoulders

and handed over his soul.

The devil gave him back his
guitar and belched.

Robert Johnson went on to

impressed a lot of folks
with his singin'

and playin' during
his short life.

Within
African American culture,

I think people are
leaving out,

they miss a part of it in terms
of understanding

where this whole notion of

Robert Johnson going to
the crossroads

to sell his soul to the devil.

That is sort of a
Christian perspective.

But in African American culture
we don't all buy into that

because we know that there is a
larger culture related to that

such as understanding the
African perspective of that

as that eventually came down to
African American culture as well

and that was understanding

the trickster of
the god figure Legba

that was part of
African culture.

And Legba himself
was not the devil

- that's to strong of a term,

but Legba was
really a trickster,

that some people can call on.

You said that people
should begin to

acknowledge these African
presences in our lives.

That is something the culture
has largely ignored,

the reason why of course
is that there

is a lot of misinformation

regarding African spiritual
practices in this country.

It is a motive. We have
no proof for any of this.

But I think its worth exploring
in terms of understanding

as some would call it this
voodoo kind of mystique

around Robert Johnson.

♪ There's a Black Sun rising

♪ Underneath the water

♪ There's a Black Sun rising

♪ Under the bounding mane

♪ Sit in motion by the greed

♪ of Midas

♪ And the arrogance

♪ of Cain

♪ A dark ritual of Moloch

♪ Straight from
Bohemenian Grove

♪ The Creamation of Dull Care

♪ And the City
they could not hold

♪ Fire on the water

♪ Fire in the air

♪ And below the
Black Sun burning

♪ With an evil glare

The thing that
always impressed me

about New Orleans,

the thing I really dug,
was that it's the city

that gave the rest of the
United States its flavor,

its spice.

It is a city reknown for its
celebration of life through

its food, music, dance
and sex.

It was the city in America that
wasn't afraid of the body.

It was the one place in America
that didn't outlaw the drum

and permitted
black people to dance.

New Orleans is Europe bathing

with Africa in the
waters of the Carribean.

And no, I am not
a "spiritual tourist" here.

I'm not searching for a path
to "enlightenment"

by gawking at
the Hindus of India

or the Buddhists of Japan
or Tibet.

I am an American
in an American city.

I am not looking outside
of my culture.

I am traveling along
a tributary,

searching for a central spring

that nourishes America
in a spiritual way.

Jesus Christ, It's
fucking hot. Miss Glasman...

It's great to see you.

How are you?

You traded wonderful
New England spring

like weather for
this heat, humidity...

Yes, I must have been
out of my mind...

You established that
long time ago. I need a chair.

I know you need a chair.

And all the chairs are
covered in boxes

cause I am moving the shop.

Let's... Let's... here is a
chair.

And I'll sit on the box of salt.

That way I am cleansing myself
as we speak.

Indeed.

Yes, there you go.

So, what's happening
and what you are doing?

Seriously?

Hmhm.
Last time you were here

we were initiating people
in my temple

in the miserable,
unbearable heat

and Edgar, my papa from Haiti
was here.

Yes.

And you were making
recordings of him

and nobody was speaking
each others language

but everybody understood
everything.

Yeah, that's true. I wanted
to get to that a little later.

Okay.

Cause actually
since that time

a couple of questions
occurred to me

given the horrific nature of
the natural disasters

that hit two of the major
voodoo centers in the west.

How? I mean I don't
understand how one can...

You look fabulous...

Happy Easter.

Okay, natural disasters.

In the face of
two horrific disasters

of monstrous proportions

that some might say
are acts of god.

How do you retain
your faith in a religion

that's disparaged by
the society we live in.

I have so many things to say
about this.

I was sure you did.

I'll try to be succinct.

First of all, when I hear

disasters of monstrous
proportions

and than I think these are
at least natural,

these are mother earth rising up

and when I think
about the proportion

of the disaster
that was slavery,

that was the supposedly
founding of this country

and the discovery
of the New World,

I think at least there is

something aligned
and that Haiti,

like New Orleans has somehow
become the conscience keeper

for the western world
and the violence

that was done upon humanity
at those times and

in the same way that
people say to me that

possession trance is this
terrifying demonic thing

and I think instead that it's
exactly the opposite

- our ego identities
having such control

and such a lock hold on us
is really scary

and that possession trance

where you get to go beyond
those boundaries

and become spirit for a while...

I see things always at askew
and I always been that way.

I mean from the time I was
first born

I see things backwards,
I do things backwards and

New Orleans is very much
that way...

everything is backwards
and upside down.

Haiti - everything is backwards
and upside down.

When I was initiating
myself in Haiti,

all through the initiation
which went on for a week,

houngans, priests and
mambos, priestesses

came into the chamber that
I was in and they would all say:

Don't think that this will make
your life any easier, it's not.

If anything it gonna
make it harder

because you are
basically upside down

and backwards compared to the
rest of the world and so what,

you have entrée
into the invisible,

it's gonna make it
hard for you

in the physical mundane
material world.

Don't think it's gonna make
anything easier for you.

But what it does do it tells
you at what level

and to what degree you can
engage in your own life

and your own experience and how
we respond to spirit is

whether we gonna survive this
or not.

So I don't think that Haiti or
New Orleans is unique.

I don't think we're being
punished by anybody,

Voodoo is not about judging
good and bad,

so that whole premise
that this is great evil

and god is going to punish

doesn't make any sense
in the context of voodoo

but what does matter is balance

and consciously creating
a balance in your life,

in your well being, in your
community,

in how you address spirit

and no wonder all these
amazing people

are collecting in New Orleans

and creating a front line and
preserving what is unique.

You talk about going beneath
the surface.

The waters of the invisible.

What do you mean
when you say that?

In the voodoo world view
we could say

and actually the way I perceive
and always have perceived,

there is a surface level
in the world.

That's the physical,
that's the visible.

And there is also
simultaneously within,

beyond,throughout,

around all of the physical

- there is an invisible
ocean of spirit.

By spirit I mean basically
intelligent energy

and this intelligent
energy to me

radiates from the presence
of the divine.

And spirit is in everything.

It is literally the water that
we bath in,

the earth that we walk upon,
the air that we breathe.

The entire world is
enrolled with spirit

and is contained
within god's life force.

And these two worlds interact
and interpenetrate each other.

They reveal things about
one another

and they affect one another and
we can say that they...

The visible world is influenced
by the invisible world

in ways that are invisible.

So we think of them as magic.

They appear to us

on the physical side
of things as magic.

To me they are just mere images

that the physical world is a
mirror of the invisible world.

And so we can act in ways
in the physical

that will effect
the invisible world, too.

We can open the doors between
these two realms

and invite them to dance.

a Legba qui garde la porte

a Legba qui garde la porte

au tambour

de l'homme à l'homme dans le
Ashè

I didn't really
understand the

deeper meanings of friendship
until I met Sallie.

We met in high school.

She had recently
lost her mother.

I had lost my own
the year before.

It's a loss I've never really
recovered from, either.

It remains the most painful
experience of my life.

The world fell from beneath
my feet and

I tumbled into
infinite darkness.

Sallie was the one person then
who understood those feelings.

We formed a bond of
empathetic intensity.

La famille de ma mère,
la famille de mon père

Nous dansons ici et
en Guinèe on danse

When you are dancing
in the ceremony

and the drums are beating
and there is lots of vibration

and frequency happening.

Every colour you see, every
gesture that there is,

every song, every beat is
focusing the mind

in a
particular way

and accentuating
a particular vibration,

a particular frequency.

And it allows ordinary,
everyday people

in the ordinary,everyday
world to suddenly

break through that
ordinary world into

this realm of spirit
and become spirit.

It is interesting
you described

the spirit as like
intelligent energy

as opposed to these personified
forces of nature.

Through our interaction
with them

we start to perceive
beyond our own boundaries

and what happens
in possession trance

is not that you are being
shut out or shut down

and being taken over by
some force out there.

Instead you just going past

what you think of as
your limitations.

Cigar!

What goes on here is that
my family is together again.

I didn t grow up here
but I've been here long

and I been here
seven years living.

And I'm really interested
in African spirituality

as it is practiced in Africa
and was historically.

What I found out is
that it works

and that is why the why
the French lost their colonies

because they thought
it was entertainment,

but it was really working.

So I come here to take part
in African spirituality,

connect with my
ancestors directly

and it's really nice because
I go to another church

which is a catholic church and
the people on the walls,

on the murals they
don't look like me,

they look like somebody else

and some of like
my great grandmother,

but they don't look like me.

So when I come here I see
representations of spirits

that look like me and that is
easier to connect with.

The ceremony was
generous in more than one way.

It gave me the gift of
a new friend

in the person of
Hassan Sekou Allen?

a charming man with an
incredible breath of knowledge

concerning New Orleans'
complex history

and its ongoing parade
of surprises.

He is very much an ambassador
of New Orleans magic,

even if he is actually from L.A.

I am really interested
in knowing

how the voodoo that bloomed
here in New Orleans

contributed to the evolution of
the different musical genres

that came out of that city.
Can you give me some insight.

Okay, you know that
fundamentally African music

is a rhythmic music,

it's polyrhythmic whereas
European music is,

we speak of polyphonic music,

more than one phonic going on
at a time.

Well, here it is more than
one rhythm going on at a time.

Polyrhythmic democracy,

this democracy of rhythm
which is intrinsic

not only to
African ritualistic music

but also to social music.

And these rhythms
being brought across

I mean really fundamental

to what becomes every strain of
popular music down to today.

The rhythm of for example
the bambola rhythm.

Well, you can hear that
all the way down

to the washboard players on
royal street this afternoon

or the lady that we met at
Sallie Anns place on Sunday

also for a minute tapped into
that rhythm.

You know just naturally, never
having drummed before

she did that bambola rhythm,
isn't that very interesting?

You know and there are
other fundamental rhythms

like what we call the key.

In Afro-Yoruba percussion
it is the clave,

so it is a rhythmic pattern
which I learned is two ways:

hair cut shave shampoo and
shave hair cut shampoo.

Depending on the determination
of the phrase.

Well that rhythm we know

travels through many
different variations.

Bizets Habanera from Carmen
is one variation of it

or the second line beat of the
famous New Orleans bab bab bab..

That is also
one variation of that

one,two,three, one,two,three,
one, two,

That is an important aspect
of the music.

I remember reading about
this man who would sharpen

and would go through
New Orleans neighbourhood

and sharpen like knifes things

like that who apparently carry
the same rhythms

- a vegetable seller,
the ice man.

But even down to the
second line marches

you go to a Mardi Gras parade,
there are 47 crews in row,

most of them use
- highschool,

junior highschool,
elementary school -

bands from the area

and one of the big things is

that these bands have
to have a drum cadence

that is distinctly their own

and if you don't hear bits of
Africa, Haiti and Brazil

through all of that and Cuba,

you aren't listening
because it's out there

and it's happening on the
streets every day in this city.

I've known
David Goat Carson since

my boho days in a now-vanished
New York.

David is a novelist
and songwriter.

He studied with the
blues legend Skip James

and shares a Grammy with
musical collaborator Dr. John.

It wasn't until after he left

New York for New Orleans,
however,

I learned he was
a respected shaman

of the White Buffalo tribe.

You see, this is the most
sacred spot for me.

This is the oldest tree
in New Orleans.

This tree is obviously over a
thousand years old which means

it was a baby when
the crusaders marched

into Jerusalem.

And you see the roots are as
big as the trunk of the trees

and every time I have something

to do that's I feel
life changing

this is where I come to pray.

Look at this, what
a comfortable chair.

I was actually interested in
how Native American practice

merged with African spirituality

that's been a repeating theme
in many of the people

I've talked to
all over this trip.

Here is the story
as it has come to me.

When they moved the slaves here,

when they moved the Africans
their gods became like them.

Powerful gods like Legba would
suddenly be a cripple,

a drunkard, living in rags.

But what happened is that
when they came here,

two peoples with a very similar
understanding of the earth,

the relationship
with the planet,

the relationship
with trees, everything

and they were both being
oppressed by the same guy.

So they came together

and they did this in the hills
and mountains of Haiti.

The natives there, that
Columbus hadn't killed

had run off to the mountains.

So the Africans would do
their religion

which was a devil worship

according to
the catholic church.

They would go up in the woods

and when they was in the woods,

they ran into
the Native Americans.

And they got together,

they began to Powwow,

Powwow originally meant
healing ceremony.

That's what Powwow means.

And they came together
and from this merging,

the Petra, the fire ceremonies,
New Orleans voodoo,

Haitian voodoo came about
through this blend.

Which is where the Mardi Gras
Indian tradition comes from

and I think it is
very telling that

the Mardi Gras Indians
use the Indian.

Cause they gotta had somebody
who fight the Gods of Europe

and so they started talking
to the Indians,

and the Indians fell in love
with the black people

because they thought
they were pretty.

Totally different view,
you know,

white folks they found them
ugly, stupid,

like monkeys but the Indians
thought:

Oh, beautiful, oh, fearless,
powerful.

They had no problem
in falling in love,

not at all and the thing
they had to consider

because the Indians had
no slavery.

If you married, if your slave
married an Indian woman,

that Indian woman was not
your slave,

nor were their children.

They would live
on your plantation

and they would help
their husband

but they would have
their own garden

and they would eventually
buy their husbands freedom

and this is where you get this

whole thing of
free people of colour.

That's like one of the
big New Orleans things,

that's one of the
few places in the south

where there were
free people of color.

It was the only place
in the South

where the Africans were
allowed to drum

cause they were afraid
of the African drum

because it was to much like
the Native American drum.

"They're talking to the Indians,
what are they saying?"

And they would freak out.

I am in my Easter Sunday best.

My brother. How is it going?

Guess what... we have got
a date this evening...

for the opening of Treme.

What time will it be on?
Around 9,9:30?

Something like that.

I don't remember.
It's been so long.

They said, my episode was
on last Thursday.

I've got royalties from the
first Treme episode I shot

That song?
The revelator...

The revelator.
You heard that.

I gave you a copy

Yeah, I heard a copy of it.

♪ John the Revelator knocked
a song to me.

♪ We were given a peek into
the future you see.

♪ What we saw words
can't explain.

♪ No, we just sending pictures
from the astral plane -

♪ visions and riddles
- you connect the dots...

Its hot.
All I can think about is

air conditioning

and the end of the civil war.

And how the newly freed needed
to celebrate.

So they picked up
the brass instruments

discarded in the streets

by the military's departing
marching bands.

A new music evolved out of the
ashes of slavery and war.

This new music was called
a lot of things

but eventually it was called
Jazz.

Jazz is played for all
occassions in New Orleans,

including funerals,
especially funerals.

I am just glad to see
everybody out here,

because I always knew my father
was an icon here in this city

and from the likes
of Jimi Hendrix,

you can name it.

If you wanna go on Youtube
and look at it,

it's all there about my father,
you know.

And my brothers are right here.

I am glad to see them.

Because with our father's legacy

we are all glad to share
with everybody.

Right here. Especially for
this week of Jazzfest.

The technical name is
a traditional funeral

and it comes in two sections:

the first line and
the second line.

The second line is the part

that most people
are familiar with.

But you need a first line
to have a funeral

and in the first line
you have the deceased,

the grand marchall, the band,

and some very close members
of the family

and the person who will
release the spirit.

Once the casket or the urne

or whatever is placed
inside the vault

it is the responsibility and
the honour of this spouse,

partner, child, husband,
whoever is the closest to

the diseased to take
their index finger

and make a gesture
just like this.

And when they do that

they have cut through
an imaginary tether

which has bound
that soul to earth.

When that occurs, generally
those people fall out

cause it's so intense.

But once this gesture is made,

that's when the high steppin,

the baton twirlin,
the umbrella spinning,

dancing takes place and
that's the second line.

The living cuts
the teather,

the spirit breaks free and,
so too, the music breaks,

reaffirming life,
reaffirming freedom.

But it's still too hot.

I love this city,
but after two weeks

I'm ready for cooler climes.

I was first introduced
to the work of Ishmael Reed

by one of my creative writing
instructors in high school.

Mr. Reed has remained an
influence in my life ever since.

Slightly more than
ten years later,

while trying to establish
my own voice as a writer,

I found myself part of
a group of writers

and other artists on the
Lower Eastside of Manhattan

who had descended from
The Umbra Workshop;

an arts collective Mr. Reed
had been involved

with in the very early sixties.

During Mr. Reed's frequent
visits to New York

I was able to establish a
growing friendship with him.

What I love most about Mr. Reed

is his absolutely grotesque yet
incisive sense of humor.

For example,

we were discussing
Basquiat's fate

at the hands of
Andy Warhol.

"It was like
Renfield's encounter

with Count Dracula" he said,

"In the end, Warhol had him
cowering eating flies."

We've been on the road for
quiet a few weeks.

We've absorbed a lot

and we've realized I am just

scratching the surface
of my subject.

I think that is the essential
element of all of this,

that this is a process
that can absorb.

Unlike Protestantism
where you are with them

or you are not with them.

If you want a summary, an
abstract of African religion,

you can say that it is something

that always was able to
incorporate new ideas,

incorporate religions that are
hostile to it.

Like Christianity.

I went to a funeral at
The Church of God in Christ.

This is a church,
a 19th century church,

they keep the
African tradition going.

They got the drums,
they got the whole thing.

Middle class people,
the strivers,

bourgeoise Afro-Americans
look down upon them.

In the situation that we are in
in this hemisphere,

our religions always had to be
one step ahead of the law.

Our cultures always had to be
one step ahead of the law.

Always had to improvise.

Improvisation is something that
we have used as a tool.

The spiritual force
was able to

incorporate elements from
other religions and practices.

If you look at Haitian art.

I saw a show in Paris and
I saw a show in New York

where people use scraps,

they use scraps to
assemble these collages.

Which is what I do in my work.

I mean my work is not influenced

by other writings as much as
by the collage.

Because that's what the people
I knew in New York were doing.

The painters were
doing collages,

the musicians were
doing collages,

in the sense that if you listen
to John Coltrane,

Miles Davis and all of them

they take bits and snatches
from popular tunes.

They were mixing and sampling

before these kids had these
machines and everything.

The blues players
were doing that also.

Absolutely, so we had
to improvise

in order to stay alive.

When we talk about reclaiming
a African based religion

and how that religion
has informed the identities

of a lot of Afrocentricists
for example.

What I find interesting
is that the idea

of identity becomes meaningless
in the face

of a genuine voodoo experience.

You need an interpretation
of religion that is modern.

That doesn't involve
a lot of paraphernalia.

I got Eshu (Legba) up there.

But it doesn't involve a lot
of paraphernalia and ritual,

and I don't consider myself
a follower of any religion.

All these saints require
gifts...

Sustenance

I think the mind is like that

and what one does is
to feed the mind.

I don't feel religion

can answer complex questions
of the universe.

The mind is the house
of the spirit unencumbered by

trappings of ritual and dogma.

This is the last thought
Ishmael Reed had left me with.

I ponder this as I leave
Oakland to explore

how this view might play itself
out in contemporary art.

With his gifts of sewing
and dance combined

with a sharp eye
for found objects,

visual artist Nick Cave
has made

a unique contribution
to American culture,

clearly influenced
by the religious customs

and ritual traditions of
West African masquerade.

We spent a day looking
at your exhibition in Seattle.

What I would like to know is

how you make the transition
from fabric to movement.

You went to an art school

but you also have this
interest in dance

and you manages somehow to find
a way to combine the two.

What was that process,
that growth process?

Well, I went to art school
to study art.

And at the same time
I studied dance.

So I had these dual majors
at the same time

and was interested at some point

in this sort of collaboration
of these two disciplines.

I can look at it as
a sculptural object

but then I also can
think about it as something

that can be brought to the body.

And then how does the body
inform that object?

May it be through performance,

may it be through photography,

may it be through
a collaborations.

I read an
interesting story about

how you came upon
the twig sound suit.

You were gone through
a period of questioning yourself

or more importantly
questioning the idea

what it meant to be
a black male in this society

around the time of
the Rodney King beating.

You know that horrific incident
was very sort of emotional.

Particularly for me
as a black male.

To think about the role
of racial profiling.

What I was responding to
was the sort of readings

and how they brought
description to his character.

Larger than life, worked out
with prison weights.

Six men me to bring him down,
scary.

and just trying to visualize

what that would look like
as an image.

And then I created this sort of
suit in response

to looking at materials
that were discarded.

And then I realized that
I saw this as sculpture

and I didn't even think that

I could physically
put this thing on.

Then I put it on and
then I was thinking:

am I making a sort of
second skin?

A suit of armor?

Something to protect my spirit.

And then I started
to think about, you know,

the role of a Persona and
hidden identity

and the fact that the sound
suits hide

gender, race, class and so

you are forced to reckon

with something
without judgement.

It made me think about myself
as an artist differently.

That there is something more
behind this than I realized.

My exploits may have
taught me a few things

but the Hoodoo road is still
a lonely place.

So it was good to be back
in New York

with my gumbo of friends;

who, by the way,
were celebrating my return

by preparing a pot of gumbo.

Do we have all the celery
and everything together?

Who first taught you
how to do Gambo?

My mother.

And she learned it from...

..a book...

A year a ago I called
all my friends

and I asked for their
gumbo recipe and I mixed them...

I mixed them all together.

So we are using her roux
and her fond

but the sauteeing of the shells

comes from a friend
in Mississippi

and the use of okra

is the staple of my aunt
and my cousins.

You use fishheads in yours?

I use fishheads, shrimp
shells,

and vegetables for the fond and
I cook it over night...

Here's the folklore: when I
went to Togo several years ago.

I wanted to get okra stew,
right?

In Ghana, okra stew is like a
really important dish.

Obviously, Ghana is anglophone
and Togo is francophone,

so I was having a hard time.

No one knew what I meant
when I said okra.

Like: okra! Like: okra stew!

And they were like, oh, Gambo!

Ca c'est gambo en francaise.

So I found out then

that the word for okra in
francophone West Africa,

in the Dahomé region, is gambo.

And basically that's
how Gumbo became Gumbo

in the Louisiana basin,
in that area,

because the principle
ingredient was okra.

But then there was
the Native American

influence with the sassafras.

That's what I came about.

And I was just curious.

The reason why I brought that up

was that I was just curious

if the two of you had
the okra/gumbo argument...

We just had an argument about
how to make Gumbo,

because I asked her if
I'm partially using her recipe

and she said:

"No, I don't make it like that"
and I am just like:

"What's Gumbo without ocra?".

I mean: Gumbo IS okra!

So I understand that

you want to deny
a whole line of tradition

where there's a lot of people
who make gumbo not with okra.

And that's okay?

But Gumbo is okra and it
wouldn't be called Gumbo

when it didn't have okra in
it...

That's okay... there is
lots of kinds of Gumbo.

I agree.

Would you like to way in
on this discussion.

We always use okra.

I think the idea of Gumbo,
the metaphor,

is that it's a stew that
combines

a lot of different cultural
elements and blends them.

Absolutely.

Okay.

And your technique can be drawn
from a lot of different regions.

I think that's the point of
Gumbo.

What I understand is that
okra wasn't native to this area

and it was brought over in the
hair of the enslaved women.

That's the folklore.

It would be interesting to be
really like research.

Yeah, to do the research...

I'm not playing
on this dinner party.

I just want to get
something to eat.

Why didn't you just
put that in this.

Cause it was
too hot to handle.

But you can handle me,
can't you?

- Diverse Voices -

That was amazing.

Tell me what you think
of the magazine...

Yes Baby.

I see you all on facebook...

Please somewhere else!

I'm free.

That's why you've got
to make me

the mixtape with the free songs.
I'm free...

Allright, got you...

I know I've only
scratched the surface

of what I what I've been
looking for.

But the one thing I learned

standing among the tombs
of New Orleans is,

that the spirits of
the dead must be

set free to do their work

in order for the living
to continue their own.

Its no wonder my home
feels like a mausoleum.

I know now what I must do.

Glinda looms large,
drizzling a rain of star dust.

I can hear the beat of her
electronic drum.

I click my ruby heels.

♪ Hey my man,

♪ You know, who's cooking
up that jive,

♪ selling it to these
folks 'round town,

♪ makin 'em have them
funny dreams.

♪ Well, you ve got them.

♪ That s right.

♪ Somebody done hoodoo'd
the hoodoo man

♪ Ol' Joe Hannah
from Lousiana,

♪ A hoodoo king
in every manner

♪ But I found out
without a doubt,

♪ The tables had turned on him

♪ He ain't got a tooth
in his head,

♪ Poor Ol' Joe is almost dead

♪ Somebody done hoodoo'd
the hoodoo man

♪ 10, 10,
double 10, 45, 15,

♪ Joe cant drink no gin

♪ And nothing goes over
the devil's back

♪ that don't buckle
under his chin

♪ His face looks just like
gravel sand

♪ And everybody's got Joe
on the pan

♪ Somebody done hoodoo'd
the hoodoo man

♪ shabada, duu, bab

♪ shabada, dii, da da da

♪ shabada, bii, bii, du

♪ shaba, dup, di, di, da...

♪ shaba, dup, di, di, di...

♪ da, da, dab, ba, dap,
oh, ip, pi...

♪ Oh man, you re making
me hungry

♪ Somebody done cooked up
some stuff in a pot,

♪ Not too cold and not to hot

♪ They put a few drops in
Joe's beef stew

♪ Now he's blowing his top,
he don't know what to do

♪ They don't know who did it

♪ They can't find out

♪ But he's done hoodoo'd his last
hoodoo without a doubt

♪ Somebody done hoodoo'd -

♪ Done hoodoo'd the hoodoo man.