In this episode of NPR's Book of the Day, hosts explore two new music books examining Paul Simon's Graceland album and the relationship between American music and the prison system. The discussion covers how Simon reinvented his career in the mid-1980s by incorporating South African musical traditions, though his decision to record in apartheid South Africa sparked controversy despite his efforts to spotlight local artists.
The episode also examines how incarceration has shaped American musical genres from blues and jazz to hip-hop and country. The conversation highlights stark racial disparities in how musicians navigate the justice system, contrasting Johnny Cash's ability to profit from prison imagery with the obstacles faced by Black musicians who encountered law enforcement. Through these two books, the episode traces how artists across generations have managed their public personas around themes of crime and incarceration, revealing the complex intersection of creativity and America's history of mass incarceration.

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In the mid-1980s, Paul Simon needed reinvention after his album Hearts and Bones underperformed commercially. Ashley Kahn notes that Simon discovered a bootleg cassette of South African accordion music that sparked a new creative direction. Graceland marked a radical shift in Simon's songwriting—he began with rhythm tracks rather than lyrics, letting the music guide the song's evolution. A Martínez cites "You Can Call Me Al" as an example of this new method, which originated from a loose studio jam that developed organically.
Simon traveled to South Africa to record with the original artists who inspired him, notably collaborating with Ladysmith Black Mambazo. Their work together produced "Homeless," showcasing the group's iconic Zulu harmonies to a global audience. Kahn and Martínez highlight that at an age when many pop stars fade into the "oldies" circuit, Simon produced vital, innovative music that introduced South African traditions to worldwide audiences, cementing Graceland as his signature album.
When Graceland was released, a UN resolution demanded musicians honor a cultural boycott of South Africa's apartheid government. Despite this, Simon traveled to South Africa and recorded with local artists. While he spotlighted South African musicians, he received criticism for not including explicit anti-apartheid messages and was accused of profiting from the culture amid widespread suffering. Instead of embedding political commentary in lyrics, Simon and his collaborators addressed apartheid through action—each night on tour, they sang "Nkosi Sikelele Lili Africa," the anthem of the anti-apartheid movement, making a collective political statement.
Colin Asher notes that American music, from blues and jazz to hip-hop and country, has been deeply shaped by the country's justice system for over a century. He describes two contradictory American impulses: immense creativity producing vibrant music, and repression marked by criminalization and incarceration. Prison experiences have long influenced musicians like Lead Belly, whose song "Midnight Special" draws directly from incarceration, using the metaphor of a train's headlight as a symbol of hope within confinement.
The experiences of Johnny Cash and Black jazz musicians highlight stark racial disparities in the justice system. Cash built his persona around prison themes and performed in prisons, yet never served more than a night in jail. Asher notes that Cash received grace from the justice system that was rarely granted to Black musicians facing similar or lesser infractions. While Cash profited from singing about incarceration, Black musicians like Elmo Hope faced police harassment that directly hindered their careers and ability to perform.
Because of disproportionate scrutiny, Black jazz musicians consciously avoided the criminal imagery that earlier blues musicians embraced. They crafted an intellectual and artistic presentation to protect their careers, concealing criminal records that would only enhance systemic disadvantages. While white artists could capitalize on an outlaw mystique, Black musicians had to distance themselves from such associations to sustain their livelihoods.
Colin Asher's book, The Midnight Special, explores how policing and incarceration have shaped American music from Southern prison farms to modern mass incarceration. Lead Belly's prison experiences became inseparable from his artistic legacy, marking the historical transition from slavery to prison as a tool of social control. Conversely, jazz musicians concealed police encounters to protect their genre's intellectual credibility, creating a historical gap where important experiences were obscured.
Some artists, like Ike White, spent entire careers creating music within California prisons. Asher describes the vibrant musical cultures that develop inside prisons, where artists find ways to express themselves despite institutional constraints. The book's final section centers on Tupac Shakur, whose life was defined by the criminal justice system from conception—his mother was a Black Panther being tried in court when he was conceived. Growing up during mass incarceration, Tupac's generation faced an omnipresent relationship with policing that was fundamentally different from earlier musicians.
Andrew Limbong and Don Gonyea discuss how musicians strategically use or reject criminal associations in crafting their public personas. Limbong explains that some artists leverage associations with crime to present themselves as cool or dangerous, while others distance themselves from criminal connections to protect legitimacy. However, structural racism means White and Black musicians face dramatically different consequences for similar histories.
White musicians like Johnny Cash could celebrate incarcerated populations and advocate prison reform while maintaining mainstream success and avoiding legal repercussions. By contrast, Black musicians often face higher risks when their careers intersect with incarceration—without exceptional talent or careful strategy, criminal associations can damage their careers. Gonyea observes that the outlaw archetype is deeply embedded in American music history, and Asher's analysis shows that American music culture persistently returns to prison narratives, highlighting the complex relationship between celebration of creativity and the reality of repressive policies and mass incarceration.
1-Page Summary
In the mid-1980s, Paul Simon faced a pivotal moment in his career. Ashley Kahn notes that Simon’s prior album, Hearts and Bones, underperformed commercially despite critical acclaim. This lackluster reception left Simon in need of reinvention, both artistically and commercially. Change arrived in an unexpected way when Simon discovered a bootleg cassette titled Gum Boots, Accordion Jive, Volume 2, featuring South African accordion music. A tune by accordionist Johnson Makalali especially inspired Simon, sparking what would become a new creative direction.
Ashley Kahn explains that Graceland marked a 90-degree shift in Simon’s songwriting approach. Traditionally, Simon would begin building songs from lyrics; with Graceland, he started with rhythm tracks, letting the music guide the song’s evolution. This process was directly influenced by the infectious rhythms on that South African cassette.
A Martínez cites "You Can Call Me Al" as a prime example of Simon’s new method. The song originated from a loose studio jam with no clear shape. Rather than imposing a structure early, Simon allowed the music to develop organically, later adding lyrics inspired by a dinner party where he was mistakenly called "Al." The DNA of the South African cassette can be heard across the album, including in "Gumboots" and other tracks.
Determined to capture the essence of the music that inspired him, Simon decided not to recreate these sounds with New York studio musicians but to record with the original South African artists themselves. Paul Simon traveled and worked directly with these musicians, notably recording with Ladysmith Black Mambazo. Although initially intimidated by their powerful Zulu choral harmonies, his long-time love of vocal harmony, doo-wop, and gospel drew him into productive collaborations.
Their defining collaboration produced "Homeless," a song that showcased Ladysmith Black Mambazo’s iconic harmonies and brought their sound to a global stage. Simon’s willingness to work with such intimidating vocal traditions underscores his deep commitment to creative exploration. As the relationship deepened, Ladysmith Black Mambazo performed w ...
Musical Innovation and Career Reinvention
Music and politics often intertwine, shaping both artistic expression and societal perception. The Graceland project and the influence of incarceration on American genres demonstrate how deeply political and social realities are embedded in musical history.
When "Graceland" was released, the United States and other countries were imposing sanctions on South Africa’s apartheid government. At the same time, a United Nations resolution was in effect, demanding that musicians honor a cultural boycott to support the anti-apartheid movement. Despite this, Paul Simon traveled to South Africa and recorded the album with local artists. While Simon did shine a spotlight on South African musicians, he received criticism for not including explicit anti-apartheid messages in his songs and was accused of profiting from South African culture amid widespread suffering. This failure to state a direct anti-apartheid stance became one of the most pointed criticisms he faced as the album gained international attention.
Instead of embedding overt political commentary within the album’s lyrics, Simon and his South African collaborators addressed apartheid through their actions on stage. Each night at the end of the Graceland tour performances, the entire group of musicians—South Africans and Simon—would come to the front of the stage to sing "Nkosi Sikkele Lili Africa," the anthem of the anti-apartheid movement. This collective musical gesture and performance conveyed solidarity with the anti-apartheid struggle, using their shared voices to make a political statement that transcended lyrical declarations.
Colin Asher notes that American music, from blues and jazz to hip-hop and country, has been deeply shaped by the country’s justice system for more than a century. The lineage of these genres traces back to southern prison farms and continues through the era of modern mass incarceration. He describes two contradictory impulses within American society: one of immense creativity that produces vibrant, expressive music, and ...
The Intersection of Music and Social/Political Context
The experiences of Johnny Cash and Black jazz musicians like Elmo Hope highlight stark racial disparities in how musicians navigate the legal and criminal justice systems. The justice system’s favor toward white musicians created significant differences in career outcomes and shaped how Black musicians managed their public identities.
Johnny Cash built his public persona around prison themes, famously performing in prisons and becoming a hero to incarcerated people. Despite this reputation and his openness about questionable behavior and addiction, Cash never served more than a night in jail. His image as an outlaw was not rooted in actual prison experience.
Colin Asher notes that while Cash made mistakes and engaged in behaviors similar to Black peers, he was met with grace and humanity by the justice system—a generosity rarely granted to Black musicians, even for lesser infractions.
Cash profited greatly—making millions—by singing about policing and incarceration while facing few direct consequences from the justice system. In contrast, Black musicians like Elmo Hope were repeatedly harassed by police. This interference was not only personal but also professional, directly impacting their ability to work and earn a living.
Asher emphasizes that if Elmo Hope had been allowed to perform without interference, his career could have been much more prolific, with more live performances and recordings. This is true for many Black jazz musicians whose careers were curtailed by police harassment and criminal records.
Racial Disparities In how Musicians Navigate Legal/Criminal Systems
Colin Asher’s book, The Midnight Special, explores how policing and incarceration have shaped American music, from the era of Southern prison farms to modern mass incarceration. The history reveals how prison has influenced artists’ identities, the music they create, and the development of entire genres.
Lead Belly, born in 1889, spent significant time in Southern prison farms, where he performed and absorbed musical influences. His experiences in prison became inseparable from his artistic legacy, both shaping his persona and demonstrating the historical transition from the age of slavery to the era when prison, particularly in the South, replaced slavery as a tool of social control. Lead Belly’s time inside profoundly marked his music and his public image, and his association with incarceration is a pattern many later artists have confronted.
With the advent of modern jazz, musicians actively distanced their genre from the criminalized image attached to blues artists like Lead Belly. Jazz was positioned as an intellectual and sophisticated art form—one of America’s greatest cultural achievements. This involved concealing criminal records and any encounters with police or prison, which preserved jazz’s reception as a “genius” endeavor. However, this deliberate hiding created a historical absence, leaving much suffering and adversity unacknowledged and obscuring the challenges that shaped some musicians’ lives.
Ike White exemplifies artists whose entire musical careers took place behind bars. Incarcerated in California at the end of his teenage years, White spent most of his creative life within the prison system. His story uncovers a lesser-known, but rich, tradition of music made inside institutions.
Asher describes the vibrant musical cultures that can develop inside prisons. Within the constraints of incarceration, artists find ways to express themselves and contribute to genre evolution. These institutional environments, despite their limitations, foster both creativity and innovation among incarcerated musicians.
Prison's Role in Music History and Genre Development
Andrew Limbong and Don Gonyea discuss how musicians strategically use or reject criminal associations in crafting their public personas. This management of self-mythology can determine career trajectory and cultural impact, shaped significantly by the artist's race and broader societal context.
Andrew Limbong explains that, as author Colin Asher points out in his book, some artists have the luxury of leveraging associations with prison or crime as a way to present themselves as cool or dangerous. For these musicians, embracing an outlaw persona can enhance credibility, deepen their myth, and even be seen as essential to their public identity. Conversely, other musicians may feel compelled to distance themselves from any criminal connections to protect their legitimacy or avoid alienating their audience.
However, Limbong notes that not all musicians have equal power over how these narratives play out. Structural racism means that career consequences for criminal associations or incarceration are distributed unequally, with White and Black musicians facing dramatically different outcomes for similar histories.
The case of White musicians such as Johnny Cash is emblematic. Limbong and Gonyea note that Cash could openly celebrate incarcerated populations, perform in prisons, and advocate for prison reform in his music, all while maintaining mainstream success and avoiding legal repercussions or social stigma that might damage his career.
By contrast, Black musicians often face higher risks when their careers intersect with incarceration or encounters with law enforcement. Without exceptional talent, careful strategy, or avoidance of outlaw imagery, Black artists can see their careers wither after public criminal associations. The implications of racism within the music industry and wider society mean that their ...
Artist Self-Mythology and Public Persona Management
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