Once a Refuge From Segregation, Juke Joints Still Inspire Black Joy

Juke joints have roots in slavery, Tipton-Martin writes. Enslaved people would gather on Saturday nights to eat together and socialize, enjoying the bit of time they had at the end of a work day before religious gatherings on Sundays. Births, funerals, and the ends of harvests were festive occasions, she adds, with music, drinking, eating, and dancing, often called “frolics.” Post-slavery, the tradition continued with sharecroppers getting together at liquor houses and cabins deep in the woods, where they’d enjoy music and food away from “places dominated by Christian values and moralities,” as Tipton-Martin writes. Simple shacks or homes made with corrugated tin, plywood, or other easily accessible building materials allowed for places where pleasure in the form of imbibing and dancing could be experienced far from the watchful eyes of the law or the dehumanization of segregation. It was dangerous to patronize bars and clubs that may have been in the closest city, so Black people made their own spaces that you had to know about in order to get to.

Each juke joint was as distinctive as its owner, offering a different vibe and experience to those in the know. “Only the people in the community knew the different kinds of places and how to get to them,” Tipton-Martin writes. Some had rowdier atmospheres while some were more lowkey, offering a spot to drink a cocktail and sit back to music. Chef Danni Rose’s father owned a juke joint called Haywood’s Place in Birmingham, Alabama, where she would occasionally work, and she notes that the clientele are part of what make up the vibe. “If you don’t see a linen suit on an 80-year-old man, it ain’t a juke joint,” she says with a laugh.

The spaces were so musically distinct, in fact, that they birthed “juke joint blues,” a style that makes you want to get up and dance. The author Zora Neale Hurston once wrote, “Musically speaking, the jook is the most important place in America.” You’d get a strong pour of liquor or locally made moonshine, sit back, and relax. These spaces offered a space to listen to the blues and “get rid of the blues,” according to Kathy Starr, a descendant of sharecroppers who is quoted in Tipton-Martin’s book.

Like many parts of Black culture, it’s hard to know just how many juke joints there have been in this country because their locations and stories have been passed down orally to protect these spaces and their visitors. Some places, like Po’Monkey’s, owned by the late Willie “Po’Monkey” Seaberry, in Merigold, Mississippi, have been preserved because they’re a part of musical and cultural history. Seaberry worked as a farmer and opened the juke joint in 1963, offering locals a place to listen to music and drink together on Thursday evenings, and hosting legendary Delta Blues artists like Big George Brock and T-Model Ford. It was also a way to enjoy himself and cut loose: Guests would notice him slip away to his bedroom (he lived in the same building) and return decked out in an all-red suit, floor-length red white and blue wig, or cowboy hat, ready to dance with patrons as the band played into the early morning hours.