Tangle with Music History Today
Ask most any one about Mississippi music and the conversation will dive head first into the blues. Ask about Mississippi's black musicians, and you'll hear names like Robert Johnson, Muddy Waters, Howlin' Wolf, or Jesse Mae Hemphill. Yet, this narrow recounting of music history overlooks the profound story of the first African American singer, born in Mississippi, to gain international acclaim.
Elizabeth Greenfield.
Her story is both remarkable and a stark reminder of our uncomfortable history as a state and a nation. Born into slavery in Natchez around 1817, Greenfield moved to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania as an infant with her former owner (after whom she had been named) Elizabeth Holliday Greenfield. After leaving Mississippi in the early 1820s, the elder Greenfield began to free her slaves, likely influenced by abolitionist Quakers.
While given her freedom, Elizabeth Greenfield continued to live with the elder Greenfield and was educated in a private Quaker school. In the 1830s, Philadelphia was both integrated and challenged by riots from those who wanted to thwart the upward mobility of black Americans. Within this frustrating mix of freedom and intimidation, Greenfield developed a talent for music and teaching. This career led her to a debut public performance in Buffalo, New York, in 1851, where she was dubbed “The Black Swan.” Her performance led to a rapid fame that, quite astoundingly, often sparked calls for desegregation of public performance spaces.
Greenfield's reputation even carried her across the Atlantic. By 1854, with the patronage of Harriet Beecher Stowe and British nobility, Greenfield was the first African American to perform before British royalty in a command performance at Buckingham Palace for Queen Victoria.
There has been no evidence that Greenfield returned to Natchez before her death in 1876, and, given the history of that era, it is highly unlikely. Yet, as a woman of color born into slavery in Mississippi, Greenfield's story is significant (and not just for Mississippians).
Her contribution to the arts and music history is a reminder of our fractured culture. It is, by no means, a story to romanticize, lest we forget the realities of slavery and segregation. Despite her freedom, support from abolitionist Quakers, and early financial support from a wealthy white woman, Elizabeth Greenfield was, at one point, refused tutelage because she was black. Even her talent and fame was referenced, praised, and noted alongside the color of her skin. For nearly a decade, Greenfield was refused the inheritance left in the will of the elder Greenfield. Her concerts often remained segregated, even in New York City at an 1853 performance at the Metropolitan Hall before an all-white audience. The circumstances of her life lead to the inevitable conclusion that a formula of miracles aligned like stars to give us this legacy.
Why is Greenfield's story not taught more widely? There was a time, particularly in a highly segregated South, when stories like hers did not matter. Omitting these stories now feels like an insidious aftermath of an outdated mentality.
We have much to learn from Elizabeth Greenfield, both about her as an artist and about ourselves as a nation. What creative talent has been snuffed out or lost, whether a result of slavery or Jim Crow or a modern lack of educational access? Greenfield provides us a goal post for what is possible through equity and access to education, while also reminding us of the potential cost when that goal is never reached.
History is complicated, y'all. Even in the arts. In the words of Kiese Laymon, “Wrestle with history today.”