A Pig, a Black Panther, and a Cowboy Walk Into a Music Video
You’d bet money that you were at the wrong place.
The address numbers were falling off the building, the red-orange brick crumbling and bleached by the Phoenix sun into a light peach. It seemed to exist in the background, a building that gave no indication it had seen any life recently, a place they tell you not to go alone when it’s dark out. And yet – its mysteriousness was enticing, its locked door saying both go away and come in at the same time, the dark and empty hallway within showing only shadows against the glow of vending machines.
Treehouse Creations, a nondescript building sitting below the whoosh of airplanes overhead, houses Phoenix’s premier recording studio and creative space, the site where the powerful and collaborative lyrics of a new Shaft remix will come to life.
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It’s 8 o’clock on a Saturday morning.
The smell of weed and mismatched furniture make it feel like you’re at a friend’s house. A blunt rests in a nearby ashtray, its end still warm and smoking. The neon green wall and floor would be strange to anyone who wasn’t familiar with video production and editing. The air conditioning hums and creaks in the ceiling, unselfconscious, the noise swallowing up the shuffle and snap of a card game being played at the table. It’s an imperfect, homey, used-with-love space, a blank canvas eager and waiting for artists to enliven it.
They sit around, a blend of new and familiar faces, each tending to their own tasks yet orbiting around each other and the project that brought them together. They wait for her to arrive, and when she does, the room comes to life.
Jamila “Benny” Bentley, creative director and featured artist, enters the room with doughnuts and photographer Mango in tow, her commanding yet friendly presence inspiring movement and energy. The silence is replaced with bass and rap coming through the speakers, and the sleepy, whispered conversations are replaced with hellos and handshakes. Old friends and new connections catch up over iced coffee while others nod along to the music and take a moment to smoke privately. Lights are turned on, equipment is set up, test shots are taken, and artists get into character. It’s time to begin.
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Shaft is her favorite movie. It follows NYPD detective John Shaft and his fight against the racist and unjust legal system that prioritizes protecting profits over people. Shaft turns his back on the very laws that he vowed to uphold, taking matters into his own hands in order to bring true justice to his Black community. He’s cocky and existing unapologetically as a Black man in a world that’s only made room for others.
His world – his vision, his purpose – is not unlike ours. Benny knows this, despite the several decades difference between the movie’s original release and now. The justice system still fails to protect Black people and with the help of some fellow creatives, she wants it to be crystal clear how she feels about it.
It’s a silly and fun process even though the reality that inspired it isn’t. She refines each shot with the precision of a brain surgeon, dissecting and correcting each scene with friendly feedback. Each verse gets translated into a visual interpretation, a conglomeration of honesty and artistic liberties. Naturally, the cop wears a pig mask while he gets berated by the extras on set. They know they can’t put their hands on a cop, but their words are abusive and threatening, landing like a closed fist holding generations of oppression and suffering. It’s not real, but it could be.
Okay Taye is running from the man, but he can only run for so long. He’s taller than the cop, but his skin is darker and that makes him worthy of the chokehold he’s receiving. He’s found guilty before he’s even tried. His crime? Existing as a Black man in America. It takes several tries to get the scene perfect, each try an attempt on his life followed by a moment of liberation.
Kaj Loud wears a bullet-proof vest and combat boots, a Black militant not fighting for his country but for his people. He holds a real gun devoid of its real bullets, a symbol of real police brutality and gun violence against real people. He instead loads it with Black consciousness and Black power, his verse and message shooting through the lens. His eyes and teeth sparkle like the shiny lacquer on a coffin.
Vavrix Owens stands as a Black Panther, tall, stoic, and proud. His round shades protect his eyes from the glare of white privilege that threatens to blind him. His beret sits precariously on his head, pointed towards the camera, away from the history that haunts him and towards the progress that awaits him.
Benny has the upper hand against a corrupt business man. For once, he’s scared for his life instead of her scared for hers. She takes her time getting up close and personal with him, rapping to his cheek while sweat drips down his sideburns. A bandana is tied around his mouth, silencing him like his kind has silenced her father, her brother, her blood, and her base for millenia. A band plays wildly in the background, drumsticks flying with the same fervor that her rhymes carry. David Hammons’ African-American flag hangs behind her, the colors of colonialism and enslavement replaced by the blood, skin, and natural wealth of Africa. She gives the business man a farewell kiss on the forehead as a mocking reminder of who makes the rules in her version of things, leaving him – still bound and silenced – to bruise his knees waiting for a white savior that will never come.
–
As the remix is started and stopped, played through then rewinded, truths reveal themselves then fade as the crew celebrates the end of a project well done. In this bubble, there is no negativity or separation – only community, collaboration, and closeness. Huddled together for a group photo, they can forget about the reality that awaits them and bond over the collective display of artistry and talent that allowed this project to blossom. Only they know what happened here and what comes next – until the secret is revealed…
