Monolith Cocktail Blog

ALBUM PURVIEW/CONTEXT: DOMINIC VALVONA

‘Parchman Prison Prayer – Some Mississippi Sunday Morning’
(Glitterbeat Records) 15^th September 2023

Back in the state penitentiary system, the producer, author and violence prevention expert Ian Brennan finds the common ground once more with another cast of under-represented voices. Eight years on from his applauded, Grammy nominated Zomba Prison Project, Brennan, thousands of miles away from that Malawi maximum-security facility in the deep, deep South of America, surprises us with an incredible raw and “uncloyed” (one of Brennan’s best coined interpretations of his production and craft) set of performances of redemption and spiritual conversion.

On the surface, what connects that Zomba experience and this Sunday service communal at the infamous Parchman Prison in the Mississippi Delta is less a somber woe me sense of bitterness at incarceration, but a documentation of endurance and spirit. In fact, the inmates of Parchman seem, or the individuals put on tape and prosperity, to face up to their crimes, misdeeds; a self-realisation you could say. Most of this is down to finding religion; in this setting, and with the history, it’s Christianity – although no actual denomination is mentioned, its fairly obvious we’re talking the Baptismal, Evangelical kind that fires up the soul and glorious magic of Gospel music in the Black communities of America. In many ways, with suspicion and well-founded doubt, this paean, celebration of God and Jesus is routinely sniffed at or dismissed; the premise of salvation mocked even, and constantly skewered to certain groups, individuals own selfish purposes. Musically, this tradition has undeniably given birth to some of the greatest sounds and voices in the American music cannon; a sanctuary to find understanding and guidance in the face of oppression and racism. It’s difficult for many of us to understand faith, but there’s no way you can’t be moved by Arthea, the Staple Family and Sam Cooke (to name just a few of those hot-housed in the church). And although we’re not told of their crimes, their sentences (remember this is a prison that includes both a men’s and women’s death row), you can’t help but be moved by the inmates on this testament to spiritual salvation.

For some context, Parchman squats across 28sq miles of unconventional farm-like enclosures near to the uninhabitable swamps of the Delta, but also within shouting distance of the Blues map of iconic landmarks and civil rights flashpoints. In the former camp, the birthplace of Muddy Waters, Ike Turner and Sam Cooke (in nearby Clarksdale), and the place where Bessie Smith breathed her last and junction where Robert Johnson signed over his soul to the Devil. In a nutshell, the very birthplace of Blues as we know it. And if we go even further back, the conjuncture of at least two First Nation routes across the South. In the latter camp, Parchman is a “hop” and “skip” away from the gruesome, evil racist torture and murder (eventually lynched) of Emmett Till in 1955. That’s some psychogeography right there.

PHOTO CREDIT: Marilena Umuhoza Delli

The inmate population of the prison is mixed, with racial tensions resulting in some forms of segregation. Statistics wise, its ranked as one of the worst prisons for mortality rates and rioting. Improved, depending on who you listen to or read (Jay-Z was moved and enraged enough to back and file a class action suit against the “barbaric conditions” of this prison not all that long ago), Parchman was once run more or less like a private fiefdom, with prisoners routinely worked to near death; the Black inmates picking cotton, back in servitude and chains as if emancipation had never happened. This was Jim Crow country after all. A bleak environment to put it mildly, it formed the backdrop to Bukka White’s (one in a long line of Bluesman, Rock ‘n’ Rollers, Bluegrass and Country luminaries that spent time there) forewarned ‘Parchman Farm Blues’, to Faulkner’s The Mansion (christened with forebode by the author as “destination doom”) and Jesmyn Ward’s award-winning 2017 novel Sing, Unburied, Song. They based prisons in both Cool Hand Luke and O Brother Where Art Thou? on it too.  

Whilst Brennan, as part of his ongoing acclaimed series of “in-situ” recordings around the world (mostly in some of the globe’s most dangerous and remote locations) with his filmmaker, photographer and activist partner Marilena Umuhoza Delli, hones in on just one such scandal hit prison, he’s shining a light on America’s entire prison system; its laws, sentencing and the disparity in incarcerating those from the Black population. Funds from bandcamp pre-sales for example went towards the NAACP Legal Defense Fund.

In answer to the intergenerational strife of racism in America, the voices on this album turn to the Gospels; guided by the prison’s chaplains, although services are in some cases segregated: but not here.

It took three years of bureaucracy to unlock the cell doors, and much apprehension, but Brennan’s skills in diplomacy eased the way for candid, pure performances; both a capella style and with the accompaniment of instruments from the prison chapel. And as ever, with minimal fuss the he captures some stark epiphanies, afflatus revelations and paeans from a cast of both partially identified and anonymous prisoners. The oldest of which, the seventy-three year old former rock ‘n’ roll singer turn chaplain, C.S. Deloch, who offers one of the most poignant quotes: “You’ve got to get out of prison while you’re still in prison”. That former life comes in handy as Deloch leads the congregation on the Muscle Shoals gospel (via Jamaica) ached ‘Jesus, Every Day Your Name Is The Same’, and the final group effort, hallelujah clapping with Fats Weller piano jangling, ‘Lay My Burden Down’.

Past lives for the most part are kept secret, but as you listen to those unfiltered (ok, the odd bit of echo here and there) humbling songs it becomes apparent that there isn’t any distinction or difference in quality to those professionals on the outside. The twenty-nine year old L. Stevenson, stripped back to nothing, has such a soulful reverence on ‘Open The Eyes Of My Heart, Lord’. And on the handclapped, iterated ‘I Gotta Run’, he performs a brilliant doo-wop-esque turn, complete with lower frog-like register bass. One anonymous participant sounds like John Legend, on the beautifully yearned love paean, ‘I Give Myself Away, So You Can Use Me’ – a real highlight that if buried on any compilation would have been assumed to be from some pianist-singer R&B troubadour of repute.  

You could hear L. Brown’s ‘Hosanna’ litany being used as a hip-hop sample by Jay Z or the dodgier Kayne West – who’s had is own flirtations with the good book and gospel music.

Surprisingly, the only actual proto-rap inclusion on this album is the Robinson and A. Warren collaboration ‘Locked Down, Mama Prays For Me’, which combines a sympathetic soulful hum with a spoken word walk through of shame. There are rumminations on the hurt caused, and the machismo that comes with the territory, plus a special heartfelt apology to his mum.

PHOTO CREDIT: Marilena Umuhoza Delli

The sixty-three year old N. Petersen wades in the waters on the Holy Land baptismal Galilee, transferred to the Mississippi bayou, ‘Step Into The Water’, whilst A. Warren’s second appearance, ‘Falling In Love With Jesus Was The Best Thing I’ve Ever Done’, has a real Willis Earl Beal vibe. The most unusual recording is by the sixty-year old M. Palmer, who’s deeper than deep throaty baritone is almost mystical on ‘Solve My Mind’; especially with what appears to be a reverberated otherworldly drone accompaniment.

There’s music, song and litany that would be recognizable to inmates from the turn of the last century, whilst others, tap right into the modern age. The Gospel’s message runs deep in the Southern realms, and encouragingly seems to motivate even those with little hope of being released. Hard times are softened by belief and redemption on a revelatory production. Returning to America after a myriad of recordings throughout the world’s past and present war zones, scenes of genocide and remote fabled communities, Brennan finds just as much trauma and the need for representation back home.

Hi, my name is Dominic Valvona and I’m the Founder of the music/culture blog monolithcocktail.com For the last ten years I’ve featured and supported music, musicians and labels we love across genres from around the world that we think you’ll want to know about. No content on the site is paid for or sponsored and we only feature artists we have genuine respect for /love. If you enjoy our reviews (and we often write long, thoughtful ones), found a new artist you admire or if we have featured you or artists you represent and would like to buy us a coffee at https://ko-fi.com/monolithcocktail to say cheers for spreading the word, then that would be much appreciated.