Freeman Vines’ passing is yet another stark reminder of the paradox Black musicians and artisans have faced for generations—creating work that shapes the very soul of American culture, yet often dying without financial security or widespread recognition during their lifetimes.
From the earliest days of blues, jazz, gospel, and rock and roll, Black musicians have defined the rhythms, melodies, and styles that form the backbone of American music. Yet, the industry they built has historically exploited them, profiting off their talents while denying them ownership, fair compensation, and long-term financial stability.
Vines’ journey echoes those of countless Black musicians—artists like Robert Johnson, who died penniless despite shaping the future of blues and rock; Sister Rosetta Tharpe, a gospel pioneer who inspired Elvis Presley and Chuck Berry but was buried in an unmarked grave; and Big Mama Thornton, whose original recording of Hound Dog was overshadowed by Elvis’ version while she struggled to make ends meet.
Systemic racism ensured that Black musicians rarely had control over their own intellectual property. Recording contracts were predatory, royalties were either withheld or minimized, and mainstream America profited off the very artists it marginalized. The blues, a genre born from the pain of Black life in the Jim Crow South, became commercially viable only when it was rebranded and reinterpreted by white artists.
Freeman Vines’ work was more than luthiery—it was resistance. His Hanging Tree Guitars stood as physical testaments to the past, confronting America with its history of racial violence. He took discarded wood—often remnants of a brutal past—and transformed it into something that carried truth, beauty, and power. Yet, like so many Black creators before him, his recognition did not translate into widespread financial success.
It is a tragedy that so many Black musicians have given everything to America—its sound, its soul, its rhythm—only to die with little to their name. While their legacy endures in the music that continues to move the world, their financial struggles highlight the enduring inequities that persist in the industry.
Honoring Freeman Vines means not just remembering his craftsmanship but confronting the systemic barriers that continue to strip Black artists of their due. It means supporting Black musicians while they are still alive, ensuring that their work is owned by them and that their contributions are not only recognized but properly compensated.
Freeman Vines carved history into his guitars. The question remains: Will America ever give Black artists the respect, ownership, and security they deserve?
