There's a great book patiently waiting to be written on Obama's forthright authentication and spotlighting of black music and culture; preferably by someone better historically informed, more racially cognizant, and certainly more skilled in transposing meteoric, largely tacit societal change into language, than I. Moreover as a 20-something white guy it'd be at best disingenuous to talk assertively about black ontology, and its corollary; a specifically, indivisibly black music identity going back centuries. Rather, what I present is a panoramic chronicle anchored in my understanding of Obama's vivid nationalisation of black culture during his eight years in office.

When you look at modern music, encompassing any aesthetic design or social conjunction, black music has touched every detail; if it's not its origin. Pitchfork's Corey Smith-West annotates its history beautifully:

"Gospel's roots can be traced to fields of slaves seeking resilience in communal song. The mould for blues, itself the precursor to rock'n'roll, was cast by black performers committing the woes of post-slavery Southern life to song. Jazz was the by-product of black musicians exploring European musical traditions after decades of being stripped of their own. Soul and funk were shaped by a segregated music industry. Hip-hop first found its footing as an avenue for black youth to verbally paint the challenges of inner city life. Electronic music as we know it is indebted to house music's emergence within Chicago's ostracized queer and black underground club community."

Considering its titanic permutations on not only music but everyday politics, culture and lifestyle, until recently black music had been shamefully - if not surprisingly -underrepresented in America's Parthenon. It's vital to recognise the pretext, the chartered chronology of a racially charged relationship between black musicians and the White House (on some level), to grasp the extent of Obama's cultural reform. The first recorded concert occurred in 1878, when the Soprano Marie Selika Williams sang for President Hayes; while the Roosevelts circumvented the "white performers only" dogma of Constitution Hall by having celebrated opera singer Marian Anderson hold an open-air concert at the Lincoln Memorial, and later providing a private concert for the couple in the White House.

Sammy Davis Jr. stayed overnight at the invitation of President Nixon in 1973, the first black artist to do so. Fascinatingly, hip-hop was first represented when in 1991 NWA's Easy-E held lunch with George HW Bush, as he supported the then-president's foreign policy over Operation Desert Storm. One of the celebrity figureheads of the civil rights movement, Aretha Franklin, finally performed at the White House during Clinton's first administration in 1994, in a profoundly moving rendition of 'You Make Me Feel (Like A Natural Woman)'. Feasibly though, the most apposite illustration of racial progress has nothing to do with music.

The first feature film screened in the White House was DW Griffith's The Birth of a Nation, which sustains its reputation as one of the most disquieting and problematic pictures ever released. Technically seminal in its artistic composition and extraordinarily expansive in its cinematic ambition, it was America's first epic and its first box office juggernaut. It was also malignly and fulsomely racist, depicting free blacks as slavering barbarians who pillaged and raped impetuously; only to be stopped by the heroically represented Ku-Klux Klan. The Democrat President Woodrow Wilson heralded it in 1915 as a masterpiece.

101 years later, on the 3rd October, Obama hosted the South by South Lawn Festival; a winking riff on Texas's South by South West, and a celebration of "ideas, art and action" cultivated in the White House gardens. Corporate Social Responsibility keynotes and VR demonstrations were overtured by the Indie benignity of The Lumineers, but elsewhere Common rapped about the justice system's intrinsic prejudices, and loudspeakers lofted Public Enemy aboard a pristine Autumn zephyr. It's typical now to absorb such narrative without feeling the itch of incongruity.

At least, it was, until Tuesday 8th. Who knows how many decades of progress are waiting to be crudely rewound, like an outmoded VHS tape. Because, shit. I'm not going to dissolve into fatalistic exasperations or reactionary parentheses, and you've read dozens of post-mortem think-pieces already today; but, well, shit.

It's impossible to overstate the significance of Obama's - almost couched - coalescence of black music with the traditional parameters of American music. Credibly, his cultural insurgency began during the Democrat primaries in 2008; when asked to comment on criticisms made by his opponent Hilary Clinton Obama responded 'you just gotta...' and emulated Jay Z by figuratively brushing dirt off his shoulders. It was made instantaneously apparent that this was not Jimmy Carter.

For his Inaugural Ball, Beyoncé performed Etta James's 'At Last'; an occasion layered with manifold colours of joy and boundless optimism, and a video I've had on repeat as a reliable source of comfort since last the election results. In 2012, his execution of 'Slow Jams The News' on Jimmy Fallon, alongside The Roots, conveyed an amiable, multifaceted, and unprecedentedly modern embrace of popular culture; and the following year Michelle Obama danced 'the dougie' on the same late-night show. In response to the Charleston massacre last summer, Obama - crying - broke out into a rendition of 'Amazing Grace' while delivering the eulogy for South Carolina State Senator Clementa Pinckney. It remains an iconic image of unfettered grief from a person of pronounced poise, a synecdoche of a country consumed by mourning, confusion, and anguish.

Some incidents have even accumulated retroactive prescience and import. In 2009, Lin-Manuel Miranda carolled a clunky draft that would latterly materialise as Hamilton, his monolithic Broadway musical about the Founding Father Alexander Hamilton recast in the mid-tempo parlance of hip-hop. An alternative, rather inauspicious, moment of clairvoyance was Obama's dig at Trump's birtherism conspiracy fallacy, paralleling it with Roswell, faking the moon landing, and queries such as 'where are Biggie and 2Pac?'

Obama's shock-and-awe approach to deconstructing the cultural hegemony naturally attracted wardens of conservatism. The GOP bade for the career blood of the insurrectionist, the radical, who dared to initiate - and so regularise - the morally destitute practice of hip-hop into the hallowed halls of the Executive Mansion. An unwashable smear, or taint. Since he detonated the zeitgeist as a genuine contender in the run-in to 2008's primaries, manufactured outrage contorted itself over Obama's alleged birth certificate fraud, in addition to innumerable spurious or baseless allegations linking him to abstract controversy, but operably the most relevant milestone during both administrations exhibited itself in Michelle Obama's invitation to Common in May 2011 for "an evening of poetry".

She was condemned by many Right publications and politicians - including Sarah Palin, Karl Rove, and the UK's very own Daily Mail - for elevating a rapper who'd growled in the early '90s about replying police violence with violence, but had swiftly turned his lyrical attention to beneficent anti-Gangstaism and calling out political partialities, thus refining a cool intellectualism diametrically opposed to the Right's caricaturing. Undertaking the most exhaustive research you'd struggle to produce a less corrosive figure in hip-hop. That Common participated in SXSL this year with no notable outrage stresses the magnitude of progress in half a decade.

Furthermore he championed musicians and cultural luminaries, irrelevant of race, as national heroes and treasures; during Jay Z's set at the 2012 Made In America festival - his face enlarged and plastered via projector - Obama supplied an address to the crowd affirming that "no matter who you are, what you look like or where you come from, you can make it if you try. Jay Z did. He didn't come from power or privilege." This was monumental. For a nation that's conventionally glorified celebrities who've epitomised libertarianism and entrepreneurship - tech iconoclasts like Steve Jobs and Bill Gates, or economists like Milton Friedman - to swing shared veneration towards the positive, empowering influence of rappers, pop stars and poets, not only engages young people in politics and amplifies the established importance of the arts, but defiantly legitimatises the liberal lifestyles of Jay Z, Beyoncé etc. as an aspirational, perfectly honest and moral manifestation of the - conservatively idealised - American dream.

Perhaps Obama's most successful tactic was his subversive accentuation of familiarity and unspoken egalitarianism, whether that's joking about not having Kanye West's phone number, dissing Lil Wayne at a high school visit, or releasing his biannual Spotify playlists to a captivated public. What does The Leader Of The Free World listen to when he's chilling, or running, or having some drinks? The most recent playlist - 'President's 2016 Summer Day' - features The Beach Boys, Courtney Barnett and Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros; side-by-side with Leon Bridges, Nina Simone and Janelle Monae. He listens to what me and you listen to, or what me and you can listen to, because there's nothing as democratic as pop music.

The emphasis on the everydayness, the persistent normalisation of black musicians (and Latino musicians, and LGBTQ musicians) strolling the White House or being offhandedly namedropped by the president, has flourished. By refusing to explicate these occasions as momentous, they've infiltrated the climate as being commonplace. Multiculturalism wins when Frank Ocean - black and bisexual - is invited to a White House Dinner and it piques the world's interest exclusively because it's his first major public appearance in three years. It's neither contentious nor celebrated, just ordinary.

The ubiquitous dissemination of hip-hop and R&B - indeed, their conceivable monopoly over modern pop - is not only a vindication of black expression and perseverance, but a window into the black experience that much of white America could otherwise be ignorant of. Herein lies another of Obama's great achievements; he's negated the misconception of black experience as alien while asserting its actuality as singular.

Essentially, through his platforming of black music and culture he's reaffirmed blackness as a different and equitably wonderful segment of the polyglot American life, in an open manner that welcomes multiracial understanding and participation. There are obviously caveats, the most prevailing of which possibly being the ever-deteriorating rapport between black Americans and the police, but Obama has reinforced the idea that through art we can build and rebuild empathy, compassion and inclusivity.

The question lingers whether we can ever divorce racial politics from art on a critical level, and even whether we should; which is a pertinent debate across the pluralistic canvas of American society. Truly, 2016's Man Booker winner The Sellout, by Paul Beatty, fundamentally queries the plausibility of a post-racial anything, never mind a post-racial arts. But can we have it both ways? Can we engage with socio-political implications while enjoying purely a melody, or a rhythm, or a falsetto?

The Obamas unabashedly lionise Aretha Franklin, Nina Simone, Sam Cooke, Otis Redding et al because of their impression on the civil rights movement, and their transubstantiation of historical and contemporary black identity; but maybe they also dig the tunes as tunes, and want every other American - regardless of creed or colour - to dig them also. Yet equally, the advent of politically impassioned records from Kendrick Lamar, Common, Jamila Woods, A Tribe Called Quest, Solange and D'Angelo - substantiated by Beatty's novel and Nate Parker's electric The Birth of a Nation (itself a belated rejoinder to its namesake) - is not coincidentally aligned with the escalating police violence and the prominent rise of a newly-fanged patriarchal, white supremacist movement fronted by the pretence of 'alt-right' pseudo-intellectual media. The counter-revolutionary whitelash is physical, and viably apocalyptic for racial equality and all the political and cultural progress Obama has realised.

With Trump as president-elect, the White House's regression in black culture currency is valued as a cursory footnote in the War & Peace-thick compendium of Catastrophic Shit That Could Actually And Realistically Happen; but that doesn't mean that it's immaterial - as expounded by Trump's thinly veiled threats towards Beyoncé and Jay Z following their pre-election denunciation - and it certainly doesn't mean Obama's advancement was fruitless. As much as anything else, the elevation of black culture from a marginalised digression of Americana to a recognised keystone of nationhood needs to be safeguarded against an administration tangentially elected on the grounds of violating and dismantling it.