INTRODUCTION ENCYCLOPEDIA OF POPULAR CULTURE
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This culture had a characteristic pattern. Alexis de Tocqueville devoted 11 chapters of his classic 1835-40 masterpiece Democracy
in America to the art, literature, and language of the United States, arguing that they reflected a democratic ethos that required new
standards of evaluation. ‘‘The inhabitants of the United States have, at present, properly speaking, no literature,’’ he wrote. This
judgment, he made clear, arose from a definition of literature that came from aristocratic societies like his own. In its stead, he
explained, Americans sought books ‘‘which may be easily procured, quickly read, and which require no learned researches to be
understood. They ask for beauties self-proffered and easily enjoyed; above all they must have what is unexpected and new.’’ As in so
many other ways, this description of American literature, which paralleled what Tocqueville saw in other arts, proved not only vivid
but prophetic.
The paradox of American democracy, of course, is that the freedom Euro-Americans endlessly celebrated co-existed with—some
might say depended on—the enslavement of African Americans. It is therefore one of the great ironies of popular culture that the
contributions of black culture (a term here meant to encompass African, American, and amalgamations between the two) proved so
decisive. In another sense, however, it seems entirely appropriate that popular culture, which has always skewed its orientation
toward the lower end of a demographic spectrum, would draw on the most marginalized groups in American society. It is, in any
event, difficult to imagine that U.S. popular culture would have had anywhere near the vitality and influence it has without slave
stories, song, and dance. To cite merely one example: every American musical idiom from country music to rap has drawn on, if not
actually rested upon, African-American cultural foundations, whether in its use of the banjo (originally an African instrument) or its
emphasis on the beat (drumming was an important form of slave communication). This heritage has often been overlooked,
disparaged, and even satirized. The most notable example of such racism was the minstrel show, a wildly popular nineteenth century
form of theater in which white actors blackened their faces with burnt cork and mocked slave life. Yet even the most savage parodies
could not help but reveal an engagement with, and even a secret admiration for, the cultural world the African Americans made in
conditions of severe adversity, whether on plantations, tenant farms, or in ghettoes.
Meanwhile, the accelerating pace of technological innovation began having a dramatic impact on the form as well as the content of
popular culture. The first major landmark was the development of photography in the mid-nineteenth century. At first a
mechanically complex and thus inaccessible medium, it quickly captured American imaginations, particularly by capturing the
drama and horror of the Civil War. The subsequent proliferation of family portraits, postcards, and pictures in metropolitan
newspapers began a process of orienting popular culture around visual imagery that continues unabated to this day.
In the closing decades of the nineteenth century, sound recording, radio transmission, and motion pictures were all developed in
rapid succession. But it would not be until well after 1900 that their potential as popular cultural media would be fully exploited and
recognizable in a modern sense (radio, for example, was originally developed and valued for its nautical and military applications).
Still, even if it was not entirely clear how, many people at the time believed these new media would have a tremendous impact on
American life, and they were embraced with unusual ardor by those Americans, particularly immigrants, who were able to
appreciate the pleasures and possibilities afforded by movies, records, and radio.
Many of the patterns established during the advent of these media repeated themselves as new ones evolved. The Internet, for
example, was also first developed for its military applications, and for all the rapidity of its development in the 1990s, it remains
unclear just how its use will be structured. Though the World Wide Web has shown tremendous promise as a commercial enterprise,
it still lacks the kind of programming—like Amos ’n’ Andy in radio, or I Love Lucy in television—that transformed both into truly
mass media of art and entertainment. Television, for its part, has long been the medium of a rising middle class of immigrants and
their children, in terms of the figures who have exploited its possibilities (from RCA executive David Sarnoff to stars like Jackie
Gleason); the new genres it created (from the miniseries to the situation-comedy); and the audiences (from urban Jews to suburban
Irish Catholics) who adopted them with enthusiasm.
For much of this century, the mass appeal of popular culture has been viewed as a problem. ‘‘What is the jass [sic] music, and
therefore the jass band?’’ asked an irritated New Orleans writer in 1918. ‘‘As well as ask why the dime novel or the grease-dripping
doughnut. All are manifestations of a low stream in man’s taste that has not come out in civilization’s wash.’’ However one may feel
about this contemptuous dismissal of jazz, now viewed as one of the great achievements of American civilization, this writer was
clearly correct to suggest the demographic, technological, and cultural links between the ‘‘lower’’ sorts of people in American life,
the media they used, and forms of expression that were often presumed guilty until proven innocent.
Indeed, because education and research have traditionally been considered the province of the ‘‘higher’’ sorts of people in American
life, popular culture was not considered a subject that should even be discussed, much less studied. Nevertheless, there have always
been those willing to continue what might be termed the ‘‘Tocquevillian’’ tradition of treating popular culture with intellectual