When the soaring notes of “I Believe I Can Fly” fill the air, a wave of inspiration and dreams often follows. This iconic song, frequently heard at graduations, sporting events, and even in churches, carries a powerful message of overcoming limitations and achieving the impossible. But behind this uplifting anthem lies a complex and troubling story, inextricably linked to its creator, R. Kelly. So, to answer the question directly: R. Kelly sang “I Believe I Can Fly,” and it’s crucial to understand the full context surrounding this song.
R. Kelly, once a celebrated R&B superstar, penned and performed “I Believe I Can Fly” for the soundtrack of the 1996 film “Space Jam.” The song quickly transcended its cinematic origins, becoming a global phenomenon. Its message of self-belief and soaring ambition resonated deeply, earning Kelly Grammy Awards and an Oscar nomination. For many years, “I Believe I Can Fly” was embraced across diverse communities, including within Black churches, for its seemingly universal themes of hope and transcendence. Music educators and choirs widely adopted it, drawn to its inspirational message and powerful melody. It seemed to echo the biblical promise from Isaiah 40:31, “They that wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles.” In its initial reception, the song was categorized alongside other uplifting anthems that spoke to the human spirit’s desire to overcome obstacles.
However, the narrative surrounding “I Believe I Can Fly” took a dark turn as R. Kelly’s long history of alleged sexual abuse and misconduct came to light. The #MeToo movement further amplified these accusations, revealing the deeply entrenched issues of predatory behavior within the entertainment industry, often disproportionately affecting marginalized communities. The entertainment industry, while offering pathways to economic advancement for Black individuals and other oppressed groups, has also been shown to harbor environments where vulnerability and exploitation can thrive.
The juxtaposition of “I Believe I Can Fly”‘s uplifting message with the horrific actions of its singer created a significant dilemma, particularly within the Black church. Despite mounting evidence and public accusations against Kelly, segments of the Black church maintained a connection with his music. As church historian Anthea Butler has pointed out, Kelly’s conviction can be seen as a reflection on aspects of Black religious life and popular culture’s complex entanglements. This raises critical questions about the separation of art from the artist, especially when the artist’s actions directly contradict the very messages of hope and upliftment their art espouses.
The Black church has historically navigated a complex relationship with secular popular culture. While some have viewed it with suspicion, others have found ways to engage with and even integrate elements of popular music. Figures like Mahalia Jackson and Marian Williams maintained a strict separation between sacred and secular music, while others like Kim Burrell and Mavis Staples walked a finer line. Even artists like Aretha Franklin and Whitney Houston, who achieved mainstream pop success, maintained strong ties to their church roots. This intricate history stems from music’s central role within Black church culture, a tradition deeply rooted in the spirituals – what W.E.B. Du Bois called “Sorrow Songs.” Du Bois identified music as a vital element of the “Negro Church,” alongside the preacher and ecstatic worship, highlighting its power to express the African American Christian experience. Zora Neale Hurston even described the rise of Pentecostal and Holiness churches as a “music making movement,” emphasizing the transformative power of music within these denominations and its connection to gospel music’s emergence.
This historical context reveals that the themes of flight and transcendence, central to “I Believe I Can Fly,” are not new to African American culture. Long before R. Kelly, these themes were deeply embedded in spirituals and folklore born from the trauma of slavery. Stories of enslaved people flying to freedom are a recurring motif in African American folklore, explored in Toni Morrison’s “Song of Solomon” and Virginia Hamilton’s “The People Could Fly.” These narratives of overcoming oppression through symbolic flight are further echoed in the works of poets like Maya Angelou and Nikki Giovanni, demonstrating a long-standing tradition of expressing hope and resilience through the metaphor of flight. Spirituals themselves frequently invoke imagery of flight, yearning for “two wings to fly away where the world can’t do me no harm,” directly echoing the prophetic vision of Isaiah and expressing a desire for liberation from earthly suffering.
Given this rich and deep tradition of music within the Black church that already embodies themes of transcendence and hope, the continued use of “I Believe I Can Fly” becomes increasingly problematic. The song’s message of empowerment is undeniably powerful, but it is now irrevocably intertwined with the legacy of R. Kelly’s abuse. The question then becomes: should a community rooted in justice and liberation continue to amplify a song inextricably linked to a perpetrator of harm, especially when its own history offers a wealth of alternative expressions of hope and resilience?
For many, the answer is a resounding no. Drawing upon the vast treasury of spirituals, gospel music, and hymns offers a way to celebrate faith, resilience, and the desire for transcendence without enriching or celebrating someone who has caused immense pain. The legacy of “I Believe I Can Fly” is now a complex one, forcing a critical examination of the relationship between art, artist, and audience, particularly within the context of the Black church and its ongoing pursuit of justice and liberation. While the song may retain its catchy melody and inspirational message for some, for many others, its association with R. Kelly’s crimes overshadows any positive interpretation. The conversation must shift towards embracing the wealth of existing musical traditions that offer genuine hope and healing, untainted by such damaging associations.
