How to Love a Genre That Doesn't Love You Back
I was a Black girl in the American suburbs, yet I believed The Beatles—and eventually, a dazzle of other white male musicians—were singing only for me. It wasn’t so.
This is Unscrewing the Oreo, a column by Brittany K. Allen that asks: How do you hold space for loving and critiquing art that was never made for you?
Viva Las Vegas,
High Fidelity. High Fidelity
seems whitethe Bemelmans Bar,white
whitest bands in history,smugness more whiteness.
Music From Big Pink, The Last Waltz
what do we do with the art of ignoble men?
lossAnnie Hall Thriller
Take a load off, Fanny. Take a load for free.
Brittany K. Allen is a Brooklyn-based writer, performer and library goblin. Her prose appears or is forthcoming in Catapult, McSweeney's Quarterly Concern, Kenyon Review Online, and Longreads, among other places, and her short fiction has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. Her stage plays have been produced and developed at Portland Center Stage, Manhattan Theatre Club, Ensemble Studio Theatre, and elsewhere.
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It is not enough to be pretty. It is not enough to be obedient, or deferential, or useful. Being not a problem is not enough for a person to live on.