Congo Square

Slavery and the Origins of Modern Music

Congo Square

K.L. Orion

As some of you are aware by now, I recently went on a trip to the panhandle of Florida. On the way back, my family took a detour to New Orleans. Why? Because we’re a bunch of music nerds. My mom is a music teacher. My dad is a rock and roll geek. My brothers and I play multiple instruments, are involved with band and choir, and are very passionate music listeners. And New Orleans is the birthplace of many styles of music that eventually evolved into nearly all modern forms of music. Elements of pop, rock, country, hiphop, rap, and others come from their roots in jazz, blues, and gospel that originated from this place. 

African Americans forever changed music on this planet. During the times of slavery, they combined some old African melodic and harmonic components with Christian themes to make spirituals. They’d sing spirituals while at work. To the slave owners, these songs often sounded like nothing more than worship music. However, many spirituals were actually coded songs, using biblical imagery and other metaphors to map out escape plans. 

After the slaves were freed, these spirituals evolved into new forms of music. The previously mentioned styles of jazz, blues, and gospel are direct descendants of spirituals. Eventually, these styles of music began to influence the other racial groups of the area, especially the white people. White people took these styles (sometimes literally stealing songs from black artists) and used them across the United States. With the profound impact the United States’ has on the rest of the planet, especially after World War II, seeds of these African American styles spread across the globe until every modern genre incorporates elements that originated from these early black styles. 

This knowledge has been with me for quite some time, as my parents have basically been telling me this for my entire life. What my parents didn’t know was that this history cannot only be traced down to a single region or city, but actually a single spot (for the most part). On our way through New Orleans, my brother found Louis Armstrong Park on the internet. We visited, not knowing what to expect. My mom knew a lot about Armstrong and how his passion for music was inspired by his childhood in the musical sacred grounds of New Orleans. What she didn’t know is that they sectioned off the most sacred spot of it all in a park. 

For one thing, this park was next to Basin Street, which might not have any relevance to you, but for me, I went nuts. Louis Armstrong has a song called Basin Street Blues, and it has my favorite chord progression EVER towards the end of it. I’ll link the specific version I listen to here. Go take a listen. 

I went absolutely bananas when I got to listen to Basin Street Blues ON Basin Street. 

There were also statues of other New Orleans musicians and Mardi Gras personalities, which you can guess there were a lot of. A mural of the one and only Trombone Shorty was located just outside of the park’s fence. The whole thing was basically a love letter to New Orleans music. I wish we had more time there as there were certainly more treasures to be discovered in this massive park. Luckily, we got to see, or rather stand on something very important before we left. 

Not far from Basin Street (and this next part takes place right after I forced my family to listen to Basin Street Blues on Basin Street with me), there was this large lot surrounded on all sides by ancient looking trees whose sagging branches draped over. The lot was made of red bricks. A single sign with information stood opposite to us. We walked up to it, and before we could read it, the most New Orleans thing ever happened to us.  

I have no idea who this guy was. I don’t know if he was a homeless guy, or maybe a professor who spends his Fridays teaching the local lore. Whoever he was, there are two things I can be sure of. One, he was a musician. Two, he was a music scholar. And damn, he knew his stuff. 

So imagine this. You’re a small town Iowan in a family of white small town Iowans in the middle of a giant city, and this African American man walks up to you in the strangest outfit you think you’ve ever laid eyes on. Man is decked out in purple. Purple pants, purple vest, purple top hat with a feather sticking out. He has two necklaces on; one being a Mardi Gras necklace and the other a string with a wooden alligator head at the end of it. He has a saxophone earring hanging from his left ear. And the oddest thing about his appearance? The guy is holding a tambourine. 

I wish I knew his name, but since I never caught it, I shall refer to him as “Tambourine Man” for the sake of this story. Now, Tambourine Man just waltzes on up to us, a bunch of uncultured tourists, and rather than begging for money or even asking us how our day has been, my man just starts off on this carefully thought out lecture that I have to believe he’s told a million times from how refined his storytelling was. He doesn’t bother with introducing himself or asking us who we are. He just launches into this story the moment he walks up. That’s because he doesn’t care who he is or who we are, all he cares about is spreading knowledge. And that to me is a valuable trait. 

Not only is he knowledgeable, he is a damn good storyteller. He catches our attention from the get-go by claiming that the picture on the lone sign is from the 1700s (I can’t remember the exact date it was that he said unfortunately). Then he points out landmarks in that drawing that are all around us. A church steeple in the background that is still standing just behind the picture down the street. The trees around us are even the same trees in that picture from hundreds of years ago. So what is this place, and why is there an old drawing of it? 

What we didn’t realize until after his lecture is that we were standing in the birthplace of modern music. The lot was a place called Congo Square, and it might be one of the most important single locations to musical history on the entire Earth. Before New Orleans was founded, this location at Congo Square served as a sacred spot for the local Indigenous peoples. They held ceremonies and rituals here for centuries, maybe even thousands of years. But when the French set up New Orleans, the Congo Square location became sacred for a whole new group of people. 

New Orleans was a place full of slaves, as ships bringing them into French territory on North America often unloaded them in this city. The slaves had some rules that differed from what we Americans are familiar with. One, the slaves were converted to Catholicism. That conversion often happened right after they got off the boat at the church of the previously mentioned steeple. These conversion tactics didn’t really work as they weren’t properly converted, leaving many of the slaves to continue practicing their African religions. 

But some other rules were surprising to me. Slaves had rights. Not many, but they weren’t stripped of all of them. Masters could not abuse their slaves. If they did, they could take their masters TO COURT. To any American, we all know that concept sounds absolutely crazy. It gets even better. Families of slaves couldn’t be split up by sales. If you were to buy a slave with a family, you’re buying the whole family. But even better, on Sundays, there was a period of time when Slaves were allowed to go wherever they wanted. They were free for a few hours. Most of them would congregate in Congo Square, where they would celebrate and socialize for their hours of freedom. This square became a regular meeting ground for slaves. They’d sing songs, new and old, which would start to form the basis of new genres as more and more people joined in on the music making over generations. 

Eventually, after a few leadership changes in France, slaves were allowed to purchase their freedom if they could afford it. Once that law was passed, Congo Square transformed. Slaves would become vendors at the square for their hours of freedom, slowly building up enough money to buy their way to freedom. Thousands upon thousands of slaves became freed people by doing this. Things in Congo Square were great. 

Then, roughly in the words of Tambourine Man, Napoleon happened. 

Napoleon sold the French territories to the United States in the Louisiana Purchase. This part of history I was certainly familiar with, as my home state of Iowa was part of this purchase. What I didn’t know was that the United States got a lot of slaves out of this. The US didn’t recognize the freedom of all these former slaves who bought their freedom. Those who didn’t flee were forced back into bondage. And this is the part of history we Americans are familiar with. 

The interesting thing (sad but interesting) about the treatment of the slaves by the French vs by the Americans was that France treated slavery as owning humans. Owning humans is a terrible thing, but it was a tradition that had been going on in some form or another since the birth of civilization. They still respected their slaves on a basic human level, even if that respect wasn’t much. They could empathize with them. They understood they were human. Under the Americans, slavery wasn’t owning people; it was owning livestock. 

Slavery under the United States was hell in every form of the word. Long, brutal work. Torturous slavers. Viscous slave hunters. Any rights they might’ve had were gone now. Families could be split up between buyers. Slaves were beaten regularly. And Congo Square was shut down. This cultural ground so important to these enslaved peoples went silent overnight. 

At some point, missionaries did get to the slaves and actually converted them. Slaves began praying. Slaves were not actually allowed to pray by themselves, as that was an insult to their masters. Talking to God by themselves was forbidden. So they did it in secret. And in the words of Tambourine Man, the Isrealites prayed for four hundred years under the Pharaoh, then God sent Moses. The African slaves prayed for four hundred years under their white masters, then God sent Abraham Lincoln. 

The Sunday after the Emancipation Proclamation was signed, Congo Square spurred to life once again. Finally, they were free to be there not only on Sundays but whenever they wanted. Music filled the square yet again, and the inspirations for modern styles began to develop here in this spot. 

Once his narrative was done, Tambourine Man began telling us about other locations nearby that we have to visit. Even then, he didn’t try to introduce himself. He didn’t try to get to know us. He just tried to spread knowledge to whoever was willing to listen. Knowledge about his own ancestry, the trials they faced, the triumphs they made, and how even white small town Iowans are impacted by it everyday. His storytelling was concise and well thought out. Not once did he stumble or say, “Um,” or “Uhh.” Like clockwork, everything came out exactly as he intended. And from that, I probably got a better lesson standing in the light drizzle in the middle of New Orleans on vacation from a possibly homeless guy than what I get at school. A homeless guy or a scholar with a wild sense of style. Or a normal guy who’s just passionate about his musical and ancestral history. I think that’s part of the fun of Tambourine Man. I have absolutely no idea who this guy is or was or will be, but what I know is that he is one passionate lecturer. 

It’s still wild to think that whenever I throw on some Green Day, or sit through some rocking anime intro, or play through a jazz band piece, or just veg out to a little Queen, musical stylizations in these songs that we take for granted now may have developed in a place I stood. Congo Square has been sacred ground for thousands of years to different groups of people, now I hope all groups of people around the world will consider it sacred for its contributions to music.   

Another post I think you’d like if you liked this one: A Story About A Band Nerd

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On our way out of Congo Square, our minds blown, we passed by a statue dedicated to the vendors and slave visitors of the square. At the base of the statue’s feet were spices and beans and other things likely left in memory or even as an offering to the enslaved people who found freedom for a few glorious hours here at Congo Square.