Hip-hop is a bicoastal game, at least that’s how it’s framed. Even decades after its founding, East and West back and forth roared over the constellation of regional scenes at the genre’s bedrock. Cities like Houston, Philadelphia and Atlanta pushed their own dialects into the national sonic lifeblood, yet Memphis is still one of the most unsung engines.
Thousands of miles away, decades later in Paris, a young Christelle Oyiri took a liking to the gritty 808s, lo-fi drawl and raw, sinister subjects of Three 6 Mafia’s early tapes. Raised in a Christian household, she found something comforting in its darkness, something that resonated with her own uneasy relationship with faith and how it flourishes because of its many contradictions, not in spite of them.
“I didn’t have much of a fixed idea of who I wanted to be,” she told Hypeart, reflecting on her teenage years. “I just knew I wanted intensity and movement in my life.” Those dreams became realized in the form of a contemporary art practice that bridges film, sculpture, installation and sound, produced under her DJ moniker, CRYSTALMESS. Often tuned to the aesthetics of underground sonic cultures, her work has been exhibited in some of Europe’s most prominent art venues, like LAS Art Foundation, Tate Modern and the Centre Pompidou.
She never shook that love for Memphis rap, so for her first stateside solo, it only made sense to go straight to the source. Now open at Amant in Brooklyn, New York, her new exhibition, Belief May Vary, dives into the mythos of Memphis, Tennessee — a place where, as she puts it, “religion, music and mythology all converge as a survival strategy.”
The showcase brings tangibility to the genre’s ghostly aura. Aluminum-cast mixtapes by names like Tommy Wright III and 8Ball & MJG, while a lenticular print of street proselytizers flank the walls. A sculptural reimagining of the Memphis Pyramid — now a Bass Pro Shops — crowned with a crystal skull brings focus to an unmistakably American monumentalism, where ancient symbols of death and transcendence can be swallowed whole by sports retailers.
At the heart of the gallery is “Hauntology of an OG,” a film created with photographer Neva Wireko during a research trip to the American South. Soundtracked by the voices of local legends, the work charts the alterlives of Memphis, from cemeteries and strip clubs to the chance burning of Clayborn Temple Church. Here, the city is anything, but atmospheric, stepping into the spotlight as the film’s main protagonist.
In the days leading up to her U.S. debut, Oyiri expanded on the allure of Memphis, anti-slasher culture and our state of “spiritual welfare.”
“I want to confront ghosts instead of tip-toeing around them.”
Describe some post-preview feels.
A bit naked. I’ve been working on this video for a year. This presentation is important for me since it relates to the U.S. context, so I’m nervous, but also really excited to show it.
Your previous works also toy with alternative temporalities and diasporic histories. In this show, how are you activating hauntology as Mark Fisher originally imagined it?
What I took from Fisher’s theory is that we’re stuck in a loop of impossible imaginations for our future. We’re stuck in a permanent state of nostalgia and recycle ghosts of the past into what we feel could be contemporary art. I agree with him to a certain extent, and do want to preserve an element of hope. At the same time, I want to confront ghosts instead of tip-toeing around them.
Where does the sonic aesthetic of Memphis fit in?
The South and Black American creation mobilizes aspects of hauntology, notably through sampling. At the beginning of the film, you’ll hear Princess Loko, one of the first female rappers from Memphis. Her voice resonates like a ghost. A lot of old Memphis rap tapes were made using two or three tape recorders, so it has a lo-fi element that leaves space for eerie sounds and textures. There’s also a lot of sampling from old horror movies, crime scenes, stuff like that. I always thought their technique of sonic production was interesting, how it gave an aesthetic to aura.
The ‘Hauntology of an OG’ also evokes assessment. Throughout the film, you also hear Mak Clayton, we call him PhatMac. He’s a community organizer and one of the more emblematic figures in the city. It’s him making an assessment about the past, present and future of Memphis in the form of a poem. I really wanted to include his poetry because, to me, he’s the epitome of an OG: somebody that is a mentor. When I call someone my OG, it’s almost like a forefather or foremother. He’s truly the person that carried the project with me and Neva.
“I’m not attached to mediums, I’m attracted to affect, emotion, circulation. Film, culture and DJing are all different compression formats of the same idea.”
Belief May Vary is anchored by these ghostly themes and industrial textures, yet each piece is alive with a sense of flesh and humanity.
I try to create with grace. I’m not African American and don’t intend to speak over them because i do believe that they are a force to be reckoned with. It was about making space for people that were born there, live there — not just having an exterior or documentary perspective, but an introspective one as well.
You captured the burning of Clayton Temple Church after a calling led you to shoot in the early hours of the morning. What were your intentions going into Memphis and creating this film?
It was very eye-opening. I went in with a plan, but I let frequencies guide me. You have to experience energy first-hand. It can never completely be translated. We listen to music from all over the world, for example, but it doesn’t replace going to a live show and tuning into the frequencies there.
What’s beautiful about film is that it’s a vivid and collaborative process, so you’re not alone. You also have other people present and the city itself is an actor of its own.
The exhibition, and your practice broadly, traverses many mediums. How do you connect initial ideas for works to their final forms?
It’s intuitive. I’m not attached to mediums, I’m attracted to affect, emotion, circulation. Film, culture and DJing are all different compression formats of the same idea. Some mediums, like music, help you feel collectively. Others, like sculpture and film, can make you turn inward, feel haunted.
People call it slasher culture; it’s not. It’s the result of being interested in different fields and knowing how they are enmeshed with one another. It’s something that feels very New York, too. The ’80s downtown scene was led by figures like Alan Vega or Basquiat, people that were making art while leading their own bands. Not only did you have to hustle, but leave room for curiosity. I’ve connected with so many multidisciplinary artists since first coming here.
“We are in the midst of spiritual welfare so if you don’t cultivate a sense of self, you’re going to end up on the wrong side of history…”
Who are some figures that inspire you?
My mom. She’s gone through so many difficulties in her life, but still finds ways to be open-minded and allow herself to experience difference. She’s not an artist, but has the freedom that an artist is supposed to have.
As far as artists go, I’m really inspired by artists that are big on discomfort. A lot of work nowadays creates comfort for people, which is exactly why people think there’s a crisis in the art world. It feels like it micromanages the feeling of the audience. There’s also Sun Ra. I’m always influenced by those who think with metaphysics and cosmology. Existence, for him, is limitless; you’re not just a human being with a beginning and an end.
Nowadays, young people lean more atheist or agnostic, less religious. Is that sense of faith placed somewhere else? Where should it be placed?
Young people should believe in having a sense of self. In order to build and give back to your community, you need a little bit of headspace to hear your own thoughts. Not in an individualistic way, but more so to identify your values and what you stand for, taking an hour in the day to really tune into yourself. We are in the midst of spiritual welfare so if you don’t cultivate a sense of self, you’re going to end up on the wrong side of history, the wrong side of spirituality.
Photography by New Document and Alpha Medy. Courtesy of the artists, Amant, Brooklyn, NY; LAS Art Foundation, Berlin; Pinault Collection, Paris; and Galerie Buccholz.
