The Search For Big Black Cock

I’ll never forget the first time I saw a black man’s penis.

I was probably 11 or 12 at the time playing at a friend’s house when we ventured down into the basement to seek out new forms of amusement. Bored with the entertainment options the sparse room offered, our attentions turned to the locked door of the crawl space. “My dad told me to never go in there,” John offered as we fiddled with the lock, “it is strictly off limits.”

This was all we needed to hear. We were not leaving the house until we got into that crawl space.

John resisted at first, but after some feverish persuading he relented and found the key stashed in the drawer of his parent’s bedside table. We had convinced ourselves that something magical awaited us when John finally opened the locked door and we were not disappointed. As the door swung open, we discovered the largest collection of super-8 porn any of us had ever seen. To this day, it is still the largest stash of pornography I have ever come across for personal use. There must have been over 800 films in that cramped space stacked floor to ceiling in tidy rows with a film projector conveniently located to the left of the entrance already loaded with a film called, “The Adventures of Long Dong Silver”. Oh, were we excited. None of us had actually seen a pornographic film at that point so we were giddy with anticipation as we rewound the film and set up the small screen in the corner of the basement.

We couldn’t wait to finally see people fucking. We felt blessed.

As the silent film started, we were giggling as Long Dong Silver (AKA: Daniel Arthur Mead) and his female companion engaged in foreplay. The laughter stopped a few minutes later when the woman removed Mr. Silver’s pants and underwear revealing a throbbing member that resembled an elephant’s trunk both in girth and length that looked nothing like our inch-long white penises. His dick literally hung to just above his knee. It was so big that he could only get about a third of his monstrous appendage inside the woman when they actually started fucking. Whoever went balls deep with Mr. Silver either didn’t live to tell the tale or had an orifice the size of Cleveland. We watched the rest of the film in stunned silence and once it ended, we wordlessly put everything away and headed home never to be the same again.
 
I didn’t hear anything this year that was even remotely as life changing as seeing my first black dick.

That’s not to say that I didn’t come across music over the last twelve months that wasn’t memorable, but none of it was truly remarkable in the vein of Public Enemy’s It Takes A Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back, Double Nickels on the Dime by the Minutemen or even Amy Winehouse’s, Back to Black. I keep waiting to hear truly 21-century music, but I have yet to hear it. From what I heard, everyone is content to milk last century glories. I’ll forgive old people for romancing the past because well, they are old and set in their nostalgic ways, but for young people to emulate music that precedes their birth, there is simply no excuse. While 2009 releases by new century music makers Monsters of Folk, Grizzly Bear and Animal Collective aren’t without their (limited) charms, but like most people making music these days, they are defined by a stilted creative regression that knows no innovation. It all sounds like something you’ve heard done better before. I won’t even go into the myriad of faceless metal, punk, techno, jazz, country, hip-hop, pop, funk and folk rip offs 18–35-year olds inundated the marketplace with this year.

It is just too depressing.
 
Some of my favorite releases of 2009 were the debut self titled release by Brooklyn, New York’s soundtrack pop specialists And The Wiremen, Portable Soundtracks for Temporary Utopias by fellow Brooklyn residents, The Hungry March Band, “Tres Tres Fort” by Staff Benda Bilili, and the seriously creepy, “In Favour” by Andrei Mongush And Ensemble Salgal. Song of the year honors go to The Phenomenal Handclap Band for the plaintive old/new school soul of “Baby”, Pataphysics and their moody pop meditation “You Make Me Feel Like A Weirdo” and the relentless, “I Give You Bass” by Fukkk Offf.
 
With the decade behind us, “The Aughts” has to rank as one of the least innovative musical periods in American history.

I just hope the rest of the century doesn’t sound as boring.

Chris Bopst December 27th, 2009

“But he grew old

This knight so bold

And o’er his heart a shadow

Fell as he found

No spot of ground

That looked like Eldorado.”

EldoradoEdgar Allan Poe April 1849

It’s been over 8 years since I wrote this. Sadly, I’m still waiting for the next big black cock moment in music.

It’s not for lack of trying.

In that time, I booked between 150–200 shows a year, listened to and reviewed thousands of bands and artists and I actively sought of music that I hoped would blast my concept.

It has yet to happen.

Stating the obvious, there is still good music being made. I was lucky to be able to get up close and personal with a lot of it as a music promoter having the good fortune of booking bands like Lake Street Dive, the Lumineers and Matthew E. White when they were unknowns. Just some of the bands I booked that changed my life for the better since 2009 include Oumar Konaté, Chicha Libre, Debo Band, Meschiya Lake and the Little Big Horns, Mark Hosler, Paul Watson, JP Harris & the Tough Choices, NO BS! Brass, Mamadou Kelly, Black Girls, Psychic Mirrors, MUTWAWA, Kenneka Cook, Dirty Bourbon River Show, Butcher Brown, and Shiro Schwarz. If you aren’t familiar with any of those groups or artists, I would strongly suggest that you do as they have proven themselves (to me at least) of delivering a quality good time.

But as good as they are, none of them are Long Dong Silver.

As we advance further into the 21st century, I wonder if we as a culture have lost the ability to create truly innovative art. We have all the advantages of technology, but instead of being masters of it, we have become slaves to its convenience. It controls us instead of us controlling it. Here we are 17 years into the new century and we have yet to unfurl a huge throbbing creative appendage that is uniquely our own.

In the words of raging penis Donald Trump, SAD!

I hold out hope that the seismic musical shifts that once defined each American generation in the 20th century aren’t a thing of the past. A good place to start would be to change the instrumentation; You can’t expect something new to happen if you keep using the same tools. The main issue I have with today’s music is that everybody is jerking off the same dicks.

Consider the electric guitar.

When Les Paul first popularized the use the electric guitar and the possibilities of amplified instrumentation in the early 1950’s, it was exciting and new and it influenced every musical genre that came after it. All these years later, the same cannot be said. Once a bold innovation, playing electric guitar is now the safest means of musical expression there is.

I used to joke that I wouldn’t book bands if anything they played could be bought at Guitar Center or Sam Ashe. If promoters stuck to that rule, they’d probably only be able to book a handful of shows a year, but I do believe it would do music a lot of good. It would force people to think outside of their safe space music boxes and it would set clubs and venues apart from the pack. Will that ever happen? Of course not; it would be financially impossible to sustain. Clubs and music venues only stay in business by giving people what they want, but as a lifelong music maker, booker, reviewer and listener, I am drawn to that idea more and more.

At this stage of the game, instead of waiting for someone else to make the next big black cock of sound, I should create my own. I will keep listening for Eldorado, but one thing that will always be true about music (and all creative expressions) is this:

Making it is better than listening to it.

Chris Bopst March 9th, 2017