Now I have one radio-phonograph; I plan to have five. There is a certain acoustical deadness in my hole, and when I have music I want to feel its vibration, not only with my ear but with my whole body. I'd like to hear five recordings of Louis Armstrong playing and singing 'What Did I Do to Be so Black and Blue —all at the same time. Sometimes now I listen to Louis while I have my favorite dessert of vanilla ice cream and sloe gin. I pour the red liquid over the white mound, watching it glisten and the vapor rising as Louis bends that military instrument into a beam of sound. Perhaps I like Louis Armstrong because he's made poetry out of being invisible. I think it's because he's unaware that he is invisible. And my own grasp of invisibility aids me to understand his music.

Where to begin with this one? Well, first of all, we have the unnamed narrator: a black man literally living underground in New York City. This man loves music, specifically Louis Armstrong's jazz. He listens to Armstrong while eating vanilla ice cream with gin poured over it.

Then he guesses that the reason he likes Armstrong so much is because he plays and sings without knowing about his "invisibility." The narrator, on the other hand, does know about his "invisibility," which is why he's able to understand Armstrong's music.

Fascinating stuff.

Yes, you're right: Invisible Man was published well after the Jazz Age had ended. But this passage tells you exactly how much the Jazz Age and the Harlem Renaissance affected both Ellison… and his unnamed narrator.

For starters, how about that song Ellison references? Here's what you need to know about "What Did I Do to Be so Black and Blue." First, it wasn't Louis Armstrong's song exactly; it started out as a jazz standard in 1929.

Second, the lyrics are all about feeling lonely and alienated because the speaker has the "wrong" skin color. (He's got dark skin.)

The lyrics make the song an easy match for Ellison's narrator because it's such a direct expression of the pains of being black—so black it can make a person feel blue. Which also make it a great expression of the ethos of the Harlem Renaissance.

Plus, Louis Armstrong was known for being a virtuoso trumpet soloist. So referencing him here sort of draws a parallel between Armstrong and Ellison's narrator; maybe the narrator treats his solo existence like a work of art, too.

But what about the whole invisibility deal?  Here's one possible read on that: the novel was written after the Harlem Renaissance had started to die out as a movement. So wouldn't it make sense that one of the most visible moments in American history for African Americans—the Harlem Renaissance—was followed by a book that dealt with African Americans' virtual invisibility or fading cultural power?

Yep.

I, I, I. Yawn. This passage has "I"s everywhere, doesn't it? It's all about the narrator and his eccentricities, like his taste for "vanilla ice cream and sloe gin," or how he'd like to play five records of Louis Armstrong all at the same time.

So what's the point of all this first-person talk? Is the narrator a narcissist? Sure, he is. But his narcissism is completely based on this whole concept of invisibility, which makes his self-obsession not just peculiar, but ironic, too.

The narrator is so into his invisibility that he can't stop discussing it. Even his choice of song— "What Did I Do to Be so Black and Blue"— dramatizes his own personal alienation. Here's an example of the lyrics:

I'm white, inside but
that don't help my case
'Cause I cant hide what is in my face
How will it end, ain't got a friend
My only sin is in my skin
What did I do to be so black and blue?

So we'd like to think of the narrator's egotism as a form of art. His life is a work of art, solely produced and sustained by himself.

Now maybe all a little selfish, but maybe that's exactly what's necessary, considering how the Harlem Renaissance and its ambitious black-centered goals eventually became thwarted by a system of white patronage. Black New Yorkers often weren't allowed access to black art—like seeing Louis Armstrong live at Connie's, a nightclub owned by a white man and open mostly to whites.

Which means that Ellison's narrator is aiming for a life that doesn't need white patrons to keep it going. A life entirely constructed by himself, and for himself.

This dude even steals electricity from the city-wide electrical grid. But since no one knows he's doing that—he's an "invisible man," after all—think of his theft as a kind of passive aggressive stab at the whole idea of patronage. Bam.