Out In The Be-Bop Night- Saturday Night With “Roy The Boy”- Roy Orbison

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Roy Orbison performing Running Scared.
DVD Review

Roy Orbison: Black and White Nights, Roy Orbison, various all-star musicians and backup singers including Bruce Springsteen and T-Bone Burnett, 1987

Elvis, Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis come easily to mind when thinking about classic rock ‘n’ roll. And about where you were, and who you were with, and what you were doing when you heard those voices on the radio, on the television, or when you were spinning platters (records, for the younger set, okay, nice expression, right?). The artist under review, Roy Orbison, although clearly a rock legend, and rightly so, does not evoke that same kind of memory for me. Oh sure, I listened to Blue Bayou, Pretty Woman, Running Scared, Sweet Dreams, Baby and many of the other songs that are performed on this great black and white concert footage. And backed up by the likes of T-Bone Burnett, who may be the top rhythm guitarist of the age (and who has also gotten well-deserved kudos for his work on Jeff Bridges’ Crazy Hearts), Elvis Costello, Tom Waits, and Bruce Springsteen. With vocal backups by k.d. lang and Bonnie Raitt. All who gave energized performances and all who were deeply influenced by Roy’s music. That alone makes this worth viewing.

Still, I had this gnawing feeling about Roy’s voice after viewing this documentary and why it never really “spoke” to me like the others. Then it came to me, the part I mentioned above about where I was, and who I was with, and what I was doing when I heard Roy. Enter one mad monk teenage friend, Frankie, Frankie from the old neighborhood. Frankie of a thousand stories, Frankie of a thousand treacheries, and, oh ya, Frankie, my bosom friend in high school.

See, when Roy was big, big in our beat down around the edges, some days it seemed beat six ways to Sunday, working class neighborhood in the early 1960s, we all used to hang around the town pizza parlor, or one of them anyway that was also conveniently near our high school too. Maybe this place was not the best one to sit down and have a family-sized pizza with salad and all the fixings in, complete with family, or if you were fussy about décor but the best tasting pizza, especially if you let it sit for a while and no eat it when it was piping hot right out of the oven. (People who know such things told me later that kind of cold is the way you are supposed to eat pizza anyway, and as an appetizer not a meal.)

Moreover, this was the one where the teen-friendly owner, a big old balding Italian guy, at least he said he was Italian and there were plenty of Italians in our town in those days so I believed him but he really looked Greek or Armenian to me, let us stay in the booths if it wasn’t busy, and we behaved like, well, like respectable teenagers. And this guy, this old Italian guy, could make us all laugh, even me, when he started to prepare a new pizza and he flour-powdered and rolled the dough out and flipped that sucker in the air about twelve times and about fifteen different ways to stretch it out. Some times people would just stand outside in front of the big picture window and watch his handiwork in utter fascination. Jesus, he could flip that thing. One time, and you know this is true because you probably have your own pizza dough on the ceiling stories, he flipped the sucker so high it stuck to the ceiling and it might still be there for all I know (the place still is, although not him). But this is how he was cool; he just started up another without making a fuss. Let me tell you about him, Tonio I think his name was, sometime but right now our business to get on with Frankie and the Roy question, alright.

So there nothing unusual, and I don’t pretend there, in just hanging out having a slice of pizza (no onions, please, in case I get might lucky tonight and that certain she comes in, the one that I have been eying in school until my eyes have become sore), some soft drink (which we called tonic in New England in those days but which you call, uh, soda), usually a locally bottled root beer, and, incessantly (and that incessantly allowed us to stay since we were “paying “ customers with all the rights and dignities that entailed, unless they needed our seats), dropping nickels, dimes and quarters in the jukebox.

Here is the part that might really explain things, though. Frankie has this girl friend (he always had a string of them, which what was cool about him, but this was his main squeeze, his main honey, his main twist, his main flame and about sixty-seven other names he had for them). The divine Joanne (his description, I could take or leave her, and I questioned the divine part, questioned it thoroughly, on more than one occasion). See though Frankie, old double standard, maybe triple standard Frankie, was crazy about her but was always worried, worried to perdition, that she was “seeing” someone else (she wasn’t). You know guys like that, guys that have all the angles, have some things going their way but need, desperately need, that always one more thing to “complete” them.

But sweet old clever “divine” Joanne used that Frankie fear as a wedge. She would always talk (and talk while I was there, just to kind of add to the trauma drama, Frankie’s drama) about all the guys that called up bothering her (personally I didn’t see it, she was cute, for sure, and with a nice figure but I wouldn’t jump off a bridge if she turned me down, others in those days yes, and gladly, but not her). This would get Frankie steaming, steaming so he couldn’t see straight. Once he actually couldn’t eat his pizza slice he was so upset and Frankie, Frankie from the old neighborhood, ALWAYS ate his pizza. Even fatherly Tonio took notice.

Worst, was when old doll, old sweetheart, Joanne would drop coins in the jukebox to play… Roy Orbison’s Running Scared over and over. And make Frankie give her good coin, his good coin to boot. It got so bad that old Frankie, when Joanne wasn’t around, would play it on his own. With his own money, no less. So, I guess, I just got so sick of hearing that song and that trembling rising crescendo voice to increase the lyrical that I couldn’t see straight. But, really, you can’t blame Roy for that, or shouldn’t. Watch this DVD. I did and just turned the old volume on the remote down when that song came on. And think of poor old lovesick Frankie and his divine Ms. Joanne. That’s the ticket.

**********
Running Scared- Roy Orbison, Joe Melson
Just running scared, each place we go
So afraid that he might show
Yeah, running scared, what would I do
If he came back and wanted you

Just running scared, feeling low
Running scared, you love him so
Yeah, running scared, afraid to lose
If he came back which one would you choose

Then all at once he was standing there
So sure of himself, his head in the air
And my heart was breaking, which one would it be
You turned around and walked away with me

*The "Easy Rider" Is No More- Actor Dennis Hopper Passes On

Click on the headline to link to a "YouTube" film clip of scenes of Dennis Hopper in the road classic, "Easy Rider."

Dennis Hopper, creator of hit 'Easy Rider,' dies
By CHRISTOPHER WEBER, AP

LOS ANGELES — Dennis Hopper, the high-flying Hollywood wild man whose memorable and erratic career included an early turn in "Rebel Without a Cause," an improbable smash with "Easy Rider" and a classic character role in "Blue Velvet," has died. He was 74.

Hopper died Saturday at his home in the Los Angeles beach community of Venice, surrounded by family and friends, family friend Alex Hitz said. Hopper's manager announced in October 2009 that he had been diagnosed with prostate cancer.

The success of "Easy Rider," and the spectacular failure of his next film, "The Last Movie," fit the pattern for the talented but sometimes uncontrollable actor-director, who also had parts in such favorites as "Apocalypse Now" and "Hoosiers." He was a two-time Academy Award nominee, and in March 2010, was honored with a star on Hollywood's Walk of Fame.

After a promising start that included roles in two James Dean films, Hopper's acting career had languished as he developed a reputation for throwing tantrums and abusing alcohol and drugs. On the set of "True Grit," Hopper so angered John Wayne that the star reportedly chased Hopper with a loaded gun.

He married five times and led a dramatic life right to the end. In January 2010, Hopper filed to end his 14-year marriage to Victoria Hopper, who stated in court filings that the actor was seeking to cut her out of her inheritance, a claim Hopper denied.

"Much of Hollywood," wrote critic-historian David Thomson, "found Hopper a pain in the neck."

All was forgiven, at least for a moment, when he collaborated with another struggling actor, Peter Fonda, on a script about two pot-smoking, drug-dealing hippies on a motorcycle trip through the Southwest and South to take in the New Orleans Mardi Gras.

On the way, Hopper and Fonda befriend a drunken young lawyer (Jack Nicholson, whom Hopper had resisted casting, in a breakout role), but arouse the enmity of Southern rednecks and are murdered before they can return home.

"'Easy Rider' was never a motorcycle movie to me," Hopper said in 2009. "A lot of it was about politically what was going on in the country."

Fonda produced "Easy Rider" and Hopper directed it for a meager $380,000. It went on to gross $40 million worldwide, a substantial sum for its time. The film caught on despite tension between Hopper and Fonda and between Hopper and the original choice for Nicholson's part, Rip Torn, who quit after a bitter argument with the director.

The film was a hit at Cannes, netted a best-screenplay Oscar nomination for Hopper, Fonda and Terry Southern, and has since been listed on the American Film Institute's ranking of the top 100 American films. The establishment gave official blessing in 1998 when "Easy Rider" was included in the United States National Film Registry for being "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant."

Its success prompted studio heads to schedule a new kind of movie: low cost, with inventive photography and themes about a young, restive baby boom generation. With Hopper hailed as a brilliant filmmaker, Universal Pictures lavished $850,000 on his next project, "The Last Movie."

The title was prescient. Hopper took a large cast and crew to a village in Peru to film the tale of a Peruvian tribe corrupted by a movie company. Trouble on the set developed almost immediately, as Peruvian authorities pestered the company, drug-induced orgies were reported and Hopper seemed out of control.

When he finally completed filming, he retired to his home in Taos, N.M., to piece together the film, a process that took almost a year, in part because he was using psychedelic drugs for editing inspiration.

When it was released, "The Last Movie" was such a crashing failure that it made Hopper unwanted in Hollywood for a decade. At the same time, his drug and alcohol use was increasing to the point where he was said to be consuming as much as a gallon of rum a day.

Shunned by the Hollywood studios, he found work in European films that were rarely seen in the United States. But, again, he made a remarkable comeback, starting with a memorable performance as a drugged-out journalist in Francis Ford Coppola's 1979 Vietnam War epic, "Apocalypse Now," a spectacularly long and troubled film to shoot. Hopper was drugged-out off camera, too, and his rambling chatter was worked into the final cut.

He went on to appear in several films in the early 1980s, including the well regarded "Rumblefish" and "The Osterman Weekend," as well as the campy "My Science Project" and "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2."

But alcohol and drugs continued to interfere with his work. Treatment at a detox clinic helped him stop drinking but he still used cocaine, and at one point he became so hallucinatory that he was committed to the psychiatric ward of a Los Angeles hospital.

Upon his release, Hopper joined Alcoholics Anonymous, quit drugs and launched yet another comeback. It began in 1986 when he played an alcoholic ex-basketball star in "Hoosiers," which brought him an Oscar nomination for best supporting actor.

His role as a wild druggie in "Blue Velvet," also in 1986, won him more acclaim, and years later the character wound up No. 36 on the AFI's list of top 50 movie villains.

He returned to directing, with "Colors," "The Hot Spot" and "Chasers."

From that point on, Hopper maintained a frantic work pace, appearing in many forgettable movies and a few memorable ones, including the 1994 hit "Speed," in which he played the maniacal plotter of a freeway disaster. In the 2000s, he was featured in the television series "Crash" and such films as "Elegy" and "Hell Ride."

"Work is fun to me," he told a reporter in 1991. "All those years of being an actor and a director and not being able to get a job — two weeks is too long to not know what my next job will be."

For years he lived in Los Angeles' bohemian beach community of Venice, in a house designed by acclaimed architect Frank Gehry.

In later years he picked up some income by becoming a pitchman for Ameriprise Financial, aiming ads at baby boomers looking ahead to retirement. His politics, like much of his life, were unpredictable. The old rebel contributed money to the Republican Party in recent years, but also voted for Democrat Barack Obama in 2008.

Dennis Lee Hopper was born in 1936, in Dodge City, Kan., and spent much of his youth on the nearby farm of his grandparents. He saw his first movie at 5 and became enthralled.

After moving to San Diego with his family, he played Shakespeare at the Old Globe Theater.

Scouted by the studios, Hopper was under contract to Columbia until he insulted the boss, Harry Cohn. From there he went to Warner Bros., where he made "Rebel Without a Cause" and "Giant" while in his late teens.

Later, he moved to New York to study at the Actors Studio, where Dean had learned his craft.

Hopper's first wife was Brooke Hayward, the daughter of actress Margaret Sullavan and agent Leland Hayward, and author of the best-selling memoir "Haywire." They had a daughter, Marin, before Hopper's drug-induced violence led to divorce after eight years.

His second marriage, to singer-actress Michelle Phillips of the Mamas and the Papas, lasted only eight days.

A union with actress Daria Halprin also ended in divorce after they had a daughter, Ruthana. Hopper and his fourth wife, dancer Katherine LaNasa, had a son, Henry, before divorcing.

He married his fifth wife, Victoria Duffy, who was 32 years his junior, in 1996, and they had a daughter, Galen Grier.

___

Associated Press Writer Bob Thomas contributed to this report.

*From The "Bob Feldman 68" Blog- Remembering The 40th Anniversary Of Kent State- Also Jackson State

Click on the headline link to a "Bob Feldman 68" blog entry- "Remembering The 40th Anniversary Of Kent State"- Markin adds-Also Jackson State.

*On Coming Of Political Age In The 1960s - A Personal View

Click on the headline to link to a "Wikipedia" entry for the 1968 Democratic Party nominating convention in Chicago, a seminal event in increasing the leftist political consciousness for many in that generation, including this writer.

Over the past several years I have spent some time, sometimes an inordinate amount of time, thinking through and writing about the course of my political evolution. Hardly a unique pursuit among professional politicians or wannabes of all stripes, except that in America that political evolution is somewhat freakish, if not bizarre. In the land of hard, bitter-hard, at times irrationally and over the top hard, anti-communism, of a frosty post- World War II Cold War that had many believing, including those in my own household, that next week the bomb, some bomb, was coming, FOB, and that there would be no tomorrow or worst yet believing it was better to be “dead that red” my trajectory, circuitous as it was, was leading toward a life time devotion to the ideals of that self-same hated communism. I have filled up many a post with one or another detail of that experience. I have been asked to write it up in some kind of memoir form so the kids now and in the future will know what it was all about, and have rejected the idea. Nevertheless, I have not regrets, no regrets at all, about my choice. Except that we should have won, and we still need to. Let me tell you some more of my story, at least the story of my political coming of age.

How does one really know, except by reflection and certain introspection long, long after the event, when one comes of political age? If anybody really cares about asking such a question. But after a life time of political activity I have a gut instinct that more people than you might think have both thought about the question and have come to a decision about it. And frankly, many have made the decision to avoid politics at all costs and to not touch it with that proverbial ten-foot pole. Alas, that was not my fate. I was the guy pulling to get his greedy little hands on the pole.

There are little signposts along the way, some meaningful some not, like my over-weaning interest in political news in 1956 when I was excited by the Adlai Stevenson for President campaign and was crestfallen when he lost. That, however, was a mere episodic thing, and in fact I was more than happy to be selected by my teacher to write, in magic marker “Eisenhower Wins” on the daily bulletin that we kept up with in the hall next to our elementary school classroom. Hell, maybe I was just sucking up to the teacher, who I may, or may not, have had a crush on. Or maybe wondering what it was that Julius and Ethel Rosenberg did that was so bad. Or why Wisconsin Senator Joseph McCarthy was saying that there were “reds under every bed” in the Army. But this was all just passing noise to a growing boy’s real interest- how to get girls to like you. I swear half the political things I was interested in really came out of an attempt to appear sophisticated to the neighborhood girls. Why else would a young boy pore over a punishment paper for some infraction on democracy and what it means and insist, no demand, that he read it in front of the class. But again this is not really anything but a scatter-shot build-up to coming of age, politically.

Let's, maybe, take it from a difference perspective and see if it makes more sense. Having grown up in a dirt- poor working class family and living in those early days of the post- World War II “American Century” which promised unheard of prosperity after the trials and tribulations of the 1930s Great Depression and the World War II fight certainly made a deep impression on me. Living in an almost exclusively working poor/lumpen environment with all of its adverse pathologies, however, also can give one a much distorted world view. As I pointed out in a commentary last year it was a very long time before I knew that there was anything other than being poor, although I sensed it on the few occasions that I came up against middle class and rich kids. So early on I knew that there was an us, and them. And I definitely was with us-whatever that meant. But does that lead to political consciousness much less class consciousness? Given our few numbers today among those of my generation I think not. That is as much a prescription for lumpen criminal activity against the nearest and most vulnerable targets as of a desire to serve humankind.

So that is predicate-but how does that take us from what, in most cases, is a turning inward away from society rather than defiantly fighting the "monsters". That, my friends is not a simple story and do not believe those who give too quick an answer to how they developed their world views. It is a mix of impressions, understandings, misunderstandings and turning points. Hell, some of it is just happenstance, or at least it seems that way. How explain that in the heart of the Joe McCarthy-led “red scare” that I did not hate communists. I definitely did not, like others I knew, want to turn anyone I suspected of such views in to the government. In fact a quick run through of my political trajectory that I have made people laugh over is that when told that someone was a communist (meaning American Communist Party supporter) I said, in my best “family of the left” voice- "so what, that is one more for our side." When I finally did move left and was actively searching for those same communists to unite with I could only find them deep inside the Democratic Party. And when I seriously took up a Marxist worldview I dreaded running into them.

But enough of that. What do you make of this- In 1960 I distinctly remembered rooting for the Soviet Union to win more gold medals than the United States at the 1960 Rome Olympics. Or, being in a frenzy to get a copy of the “Communist Manifesto”, although for fairly long time as a political opponent of that world view. (Which I got by sending away to the Government Printing Office. The reason they offered it was that it was part of the ‘evidence’ from the famous 1960 San Francisco sessions of the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) that were also were demonstrated against as one of the first acts of the 1960s rebellion in the North or West.) Or being non-plussed when a high school history teacher called me a “Bolshevik” (I really wasn’t… then) for some minor disobedience. Those are all well and good examples but let’s leave it at this. All of this was the stuff that made up, helter-skelter, the development of my political class consciousness. I like to think that all of it was natural for a working class kid. Hey, a theory that says labor must rule should be like moth to a flame for such a kid. I have never regretted sticking with my class. And I never have regretted my “softness” for the Russian Bolshevik Revolution. And to 'prove' it let me finish strong- Forward to new Octobers

*“Tangled Up In Blue”- The Mid-Career Crisis Of One Bob Dylan-The Trans-Atlantic View

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of Bob Dylan Performing His "If You See Her, Say Hello" From The "Blood On The Tracks" Album.

DVD Review

Bob Dylan: 1966-1978: After The Crash, Chrome Dreams, 2006

The first paragraph just below was used in some recent CD reviews of Bob Dylan’s later, post-1990’s work, like “Love And Theft” but also, generally, apply to this DVD review of what now amounts to his “middle” period from 1966 to 1978, the period from his ‘disappearance’ into the wilds of Woodstock, New York through to his reemergence with, arguably, his master work “Blood On The Tracks” and on through the famous “Rolling Thunder Revue” tour of the mid-1970’s:

“Okay, okay I have gone on and one over the past year or so about the influence of Bob Dylan’s music (and lyrics) on me, and on my generation, the Generation of ’68. But, please, don’t blame me. Blame Bob. After all he could very easily have gone into retirement and enjoyed the fallout from his youthful fame and impressed one and all at his local AARP chapter. But, no, he had to go out on the road continuously, seemingly forever, keeping his name and music front and center. Moreover, the son of a gun has done more reinventions of himself than one could shake a stick at (folk troubadour, symbolic poet in the manner of Rimbaud and Verlaine, heavy metal rocker, blues man, etc.) So, WE are left with forty or so years of work to go through to try to sort it out. In short, can I (or anyone else) help it if he is restless and acts, well, …. like a rolling stone?”

Frankly, I have covered so much Bob Dylan material, early, middle and late, over the past year I am beginning to feel like the guy interviewed in this DVD who made something of a ‘journalistic’ career (if also a nuisance) of going through Dylan’s garbage to see if he could find the “Rosetta Stone” to decode the meaning of his lyrics. Whew! At least I am not that bad off. I “merely” write reviews of what, as is the case here, Trans-Atlantic (meaning from the British Isles and their environs) professional music reviewers think Dylan was up to and his place in the folk/rock/pop pantheons.

I will just quickly run through the main points that are presented here as the “talking heads’ who dominate this documentary are fully capable of taking you through the highlights and lowlights of this period in Dylan’ career. Of course it makes no sense to have made this documentary if one does not recognize that after Dylan‘s motorcycle crash in 1966 and subsequent seclusion that this was a watershed event of some proportions in his life and career. This mysterious period, of which I will make a short comment on at the end, is obviously ripe for all kinds of speculation even to this day. What is not up for speculation is that Dylan emerges from this period with a different persona that the early folk troubadour and the subsequent highly poetic folk rock idol of the pre-1966 period.

This, in short, is the period of the various “basement, bootleg and borrowed” tapes of the Woodstock farm time, the seminal American roots/outlaw tribute album, “John Wesley Harding”, various minor albums leading up to a shifting back to rock with the “Planet Wave” album (which has “Forever Young” on it, that can now serve as something of an anthem for the “Generation of ‘68”), the mystical master work “Blood On The Tracks” and the almost equally masterful “Desire” album that served to advertise the “Rolling Thunder Revue” tour. When one puts the whole period together ,as one of the commentators mentioned, this is a remarkable, perhaps unique, amount of work from a guy who was left for dead, musically and culturally, if not physically. And all the time Dylan was ‘reinventing’ himself he was shedding that “folk oracle’ role from the early 1960’s that he was desperately running away from.

To finish up, I want make a comment on Dylan’s place in the music and cultural pantheon of the late 20th century. Much is made in this film, and elsewhere in other commentaries about the shifts in Dylan’s work, about his seeming hatred for the role of folk oracle/leader/messiah of what we were trying accomplish in the 1960’s. No question the folk troubadour Bob Dylan of the early 1960’s, the one who told us “The Times They Are A-Changin’”, that the answer was “Blowin’ In The Wind” and that we were “Like A Rolling Stone” has something to say , and something that we wanted, in some cases desperately, to hear about. That voice carried us through, rather nicely, the civil rights period and the period of questioning where we wanted to see American power and culture go.

However, when the deal went down and the American government and its various security agencies ratcheted up the heat on us during the anti-Vietnam period of the late 1960’s and Dylan was nowhere to found we did not fall apart in dismay or disorder. We heard other, more directly political voices, all the way from Robert Kennedy and Eugene McCarthy to Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin and then on to Karx Marx, Vladimir Lenin, Mao and Leon Trotsky to name a few. Frankly, at least in the circles that I ran in, we did not miss Dylan even if we wondered, off-handedly, where the hell he was. But each man to his calling- “Tangled Up In Blue”, "Idiot Wind”, "Shelter From The Storm” and many other songs from this period still stand the test of musical time. In the end that is what he wanted to do, and that will endure.

*******

"Shelter from The Storm"

twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form.
Come in, she said,
Ill give you shelter from the storm.

And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured
Ill always do my best for her, on that I give my word
In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm.
Come in, she said,
Ill give you shelter from the storm.

Not a word was spoke between us, there was little risk involved
Everything up to that point had been left unresolved.
Try imagining a place where its always safe and warm.
Come in, she said,
Ill give you shelter from the storm.

I was burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail,
Poisoned in the bushes an blown out on the trail,
Hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn.
Come in, she said,
Ill give you shelter from the storm.

Suddenly I turned around and she was standin there
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair.
She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns.
Come in, she said,
Ill give you shelter from the storm.

Now theres a wall between us, somethin theres been lost
I took too much for granted, got my signals crossed.
Just to think that it all began on a long-forgotten morn.
Come in, she said,
Ill give you shelter from the storm.

Well, the deputy walks on hard nails and the preacher rides a mount
But nothing really matters much, its doom alone that counts
And the one-eyed undertaker, he blows a futile horn.
Come in, she said,
Ill give you shelter from the storm.

Ive heard newborn babies wailin like a mournin dove
And old men with broken teeth stranded without love.
Do I understand your question, man, is it hopeless and forlorn?
Come in, she said,
Ill give you shelter from the storm.

In a little hilltop village, they gambled for my clothes
I bargained for salvation an they gave me a lethal dose.
I offered up my innocence and got repaid with scorn.
Come in, she said,
Ill give you shelter from the storm.

Well, Im livin in a foreign country but Im bound to cross the line
Beauty walks a razors edge, someday Ill make it mine.
If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born.
Come in, she said,
Ill give you shelter from the storm.

"If You See Her, Say Hello"

If you see her, say hello, she might be in tangier
She left here last early spring, is livin there, I hear
Say for me that Im all right though things get kind of slow
She might think that Ive forgotten her, dont tell her it isnt so.

We had a falling-out, like lovers often will
And to think of how she left that night, it still brings me a chill
And though our separation, it pierced me to the heart
She still lives inside of me, weve never been apart.

If you get close to her, kiss her once for me
I always have respected her for busting out and gettin free
Oh, whatever makes her happy, I wont stand in the way
Though the bitter taste still lingers on from the night I tried to make her stay.

I see a lot of people as I make the rounds
And I hear her name here and there as I go from town to town
And Ive never gotten used to it, Ive just learned to turn it off
Either Im too sensitive or else Im gettin soft.

Sundown, yellow moon, I replay the past
I know every scene by heart, they all went by so fast
If shes passin back this way, Im not that hard to find
Tell her she can look me up if shes got the time.

*The Not Joan Baez Female Folkies- The Music Of Mary McCaslin

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of Mary McCaslin Doing "The Abyss".

CD Review

Broken Promises, Mary McCaslin, Philo Records, 1994

This review has also been used for McCaslin's "Broken Promises" CD.

Okay, okay I have had enough. Recently I received a spate of e-mails from aging 1960's folkies asking why, other than one review of Carolyn Hester's work late in 2008, I have not done more reviews of the female folkies of the 1960's. To balance things out I begin to make amends here. To set the framework for my future reviews I repost the germane part of the Carolyn Hester review:

"Earlier this year I posed a question concerning the fates of a group of talented male folk singers like Tom Rush, Tom Paxton and Jesse Colin Young, who, although some of them are still performing or otherwise still on the musical scene have generally fallen off the radar in today's mainstream musical consciousness, except, of course, the acknowledged "king of the hill", Bob Dylan. I want to pose that same question in this entry concerning the talented female folk performers of the 1960's, except, of course, the "queen of the hill" Joan Baez. I will start out by merely rephrasing the first paragraph from the reviews of those male performers.

"If I were to ask someone, in the year 2008, to name a female folk singer from the 1960's I would assume that if I were to get an answer to that question that the name would be Joan Baez (or, maybe, Judy Collins but you get my point). And that would be a good and appropriate choice. One can endlessly dispute whether or not Baez was (or wanted to be) the female voice of the Generation of '68 but in terms of longevity and productivity she fits the bill as a known quality. However, there were a slew of other female folk singers who tried to find their niche in the folk milieu and who, like Baez, may today still quietly continue to produce work and to perform. The artist under review, Carolyn Hester, certainly had the talent to challenge Baez to be "queen of the hill."

Well, as the CD under review will testify to, the singer /songwriter Mary McCaslin also was in contention, back in the days. I am not familiar with the current status of Ms. McCaslin as a performer although I know several years ago I attended a benefit concert to raise funds for her medical needs. Nevertheless I can remember the first time I heard her in a coffeehouse in Cambridge doing Woody Guthrie's "Oklahoma Hills Back Home". And that was appropriate as Ms. McCaslin is certainly in her singing style and her songwriting interests attached to the Western United States. That tradition got an additional acknowledgement in that Cambridge performance when she brought down the house with her version of the country classic "Pass Me By If You're Only Passing Through".

That theme and, in addition, several more inward searching tracks, make this a very representative McCaslin effort. Needless to say “Way Down In Texas” sticks out on the first theme and “The Abyss” on the second. She also does a very fine version of the Beatles tune “Help”. So, all in all, whatever her later personal journey back in the days she could have been a contender for “queen of the hill”. Listen up.

Mary McCaslin - Better Late Than Never

LYRICS

ACRES OF HOUSES

I returned to my home in the valley
After way too many years
I stopped on the road, stepped out of the car
And I almost broke down there in tears

I stood and looked all around me
At the fields where the corn used to be
Two story houses, manicured yards
As far as my eye could see

Chorus:
Acres of houses on farmland
It's the saddest thing I've ever seen
We better start thinking about making a stand
Or we'll all end up on soylent green

While they don't come from south of the border
And they don't come from over the sea
They pack up their babies and move out from town
And they all look just like you and me

It's a grand old new world order
Religion and business take all
Families and brokers divide up the ground
And the meadow turns into a mall

Chorus:
Acres of houses on farmland
It's the saddest thing I've ever seen
We better start thinking about making a stand
Or we'll all end up on soylent green



THE LIGHTS OF SPARTANBURG

I've made a living with the band for 20 years or more
Days and nights from sun to sun out on the road we tour

After the Atlanta show, we drove all through the night
Crossing states to make it home sometime around daylight

You came to mind that night along the South Carolina road
Years of friendship, years of song - a treasury untold

Chorus: And I heard it on the radio
Outside of your hometown
I saw the lights of Spartanburg
the night your plane went down
I saw the lights of Spartanburg
The night your plane went down

Don't you know you made the news; your songs are on the air
I wonder why we wait to lose to show how much we care

Cars and buses, trains and planes, the highway and the sky
Seem to take a toll of names as every year goes by

Chorus: And I heard it on the radio
Outside of your hometown
I saw the lights of Spartanburg
The night your plane went down

I think about that night along the South Carolina road
Maybe from this life you've gone, but never from the fold

Chorus: And I hear the words forever more
Outside of your hometown
I saw the lights of Spartanburg
The night your plane went down
I saw the lights of Spartanburg
The night your plane went down
I saw the lights of Spartanburg
The night your plane went down


SABERS AND GUNS

Turn in your saddle and look back at home one more time
Quiet her fears with a few words that come to your mind
'Keep supper warm', you lied your brave lie when she asked
'We'll end it this evening if the Yankees don't run too damn fast'

Stop by the well, smell the sweet scent of magnolia trees
Take a cool drink of water and last look at all that you leave
Your graceful white mansions, acres of fields and green lawns
Will be ashes and ragweed, gone to seed by the time you return

Chorus: Off to war - oh just look at your hardware
With the brass shining gold in the sun
Ah, but don't you feel strong in your gray uniforms
With your shiny new sabers and guns

Wait on the hill where the road forks to go into town
To be joined by another and another, till a hundred ride down
Ride on together, form a column of soldiers so bold
Ah, the pride of the south is a grand thing indeed to behold

Charge into battle with the flame of youth hot in your breast
An army of children trying hard to be men in the test
And which of your friends stand brave and strong in the fight
And which of your friends will be left in the cold ground tonight

Chorus: Off to war - oh just look at your hardware
With the brass shining gold in the sun
Ah, but don't you feel strong in your gray uniforms
With your shiny new sabers and guns

It's all over now, there's no place to go but back home
To face all your loved ones and the people that once you did own
Plantation kingdoms passed down from fathers to sons

Could not be defended with your shiny new sabers and guns
Could not be defended with your shiny new sabers and guns

STANDING IN THE DOORWAY

Standing in the doorway of the Salvation Army
In a place where you and i could wind up any day
A scarf and sweater in a paper bag she holds so dearly
Treasures for a buck or two that someone threw away

She turns her head to look each way and steps out 0n the sidewalk
Hums a tune from some old song she learned when it was new
Starts her daily round to make a little change and small talk
Rain or shine, out on the street - it's what she has to do

Chorus: On and on the memories keep running through her mind
All the dreams of younger days left so far behind

All it takes to stay alive is give up every pleasure
A monthly check just pays the rent and leaves so little more
Every day she faces those who know they are much better
Sees 'em turns their eyes away when she comes through the door

Once a young girl held the stage with every eye upon her
Someone spent a fortune after almost every show
Now a woman stands alone, a hand out to a stranger
A far cry from the life she led so many years ago

Chorus: On and on the memories keep running through her mind
All the dreams of younger days left so far behind

Passing by the doorway of the Salvation Army
It's easier to move along and look the other way
Never stop and take the time to listen to a story
Or think about where you and I could wind up any day
MISSING

A little girl is missing - the wind begins to blow
Neighbors are out searching, but who will ever know
Why he had to pick her up, along the road that day
And take her to a lonely stop, half a mile away

Lawmen spread out all around, knock on every door
Trackers cover miles of ground, like soldiers off to war
Parents pleading on TV, for anyone to tell
Where their little girl may be, and end this living hell

Updates on the Internet, posters everywhere
Sightings in another state, leads from here and there
Faith becomes insanity - hope becomes despair
A night becomes eternity - a curse becomes a prayer

Seven long months after, she disappeared that day
She turned up where he left her, a half a mile away
The wind becomes a mother's cry, a high and mournful howl
Echoing across the sky, the night begins to fall

CALIFORNIA JOE (Jack Crawford)

Well Folks, I Don't Like Stories; Nor Am I Going To Act
Nor Part Around The Campfire What Ain't A Truthful Fact.
Fill Up Your Pipes And Listen; I'll Tell You -- Let Me See
I Think It Was In '50; From Then Till '63.

You've All Heard Tell Of Bridger? I Used To Ride With Him.
And Many A Hard Day's Scoutin' I Did 'Longside Of Jim;
And Back Near Old Fort Reno, A Trapper Used To Dwell
We Called Him Mad Jack Reynolds; The Scouts All Knew Him Well.

In The Spring Of '50, We Camped On Powder River.
We Killed A Calf Of Buffalo And Cooked A Slice Of Liver.
While Eating, Quite Contented, We Heard Three Shots Or Four
Put Out The Fires And Listened; And We Heard A Dozen More.

We All Knew Old Jack Reynolds Had Moved The Traps Up There.
So Picking Up Our Rifles And Hitching Up Our Gear,
We Moved As Quick As Lightning; To Save Was Our Desire.
Too Late, The Painted Heathens Had Set The Camp On Fire.

We Turned Our Horses Quickly And Waded Down The Stream,
And Close Beside The Water I Heard A Muffled Scream,
And There Among The Bushes A Little Girl Did Lie
I Picked Her Up And Whispered, "I'll Save You Or I'll Die."

God, What A Ride -- Old Bridger Had Covered My Retreat.
Some Times The Child Would Whisper In A Voice So Low And Sweet,
"Dear Papa, God Will Take You To Mama Up Above.
There's No One Left To Love Me; There's No One Left To Love."


The Little Girl Was Thirteen; And I Was Twenty-Two.
Said I, "I'll Be Your Papa, And I'll Love You Just As True."
She Nestled To My Bosom, Her Hazel Eyes So Bright
Looked Up And Made Me Happy Through The Close Pursuit That Night.

One Year Had Passed When Maggie -- We Called Her Hazel Eyes
In Truth Was Going To Leave Me; Had Come To Say Goodbye.
Her Uncle, Mad Jack Reynolds, Long Since Reported Dead
Had Come To Claim My Angel, His Brother's Child, He Said.

What Could I Say? We Parted. Mad Jack Was Growing Old.
I Handed Him A Banknote And All I Had In Gold.
They Rode Away At Sunrise; I Went A Mile Or Two.
In Parting Said, "We'll Meet Again; May God Watch Over You."

While Resting By A Babbling Brook A Little Cabin Stood,
And Weary From The Long Day's Ride I Saw It In The Wood.
The Pleasant Valley Stretched Beyond The Mountains Towered Above
Like Some Painted Picture, Or A Well-Told Tale Of Love.

Drinking In The Sweetness And Resting In The Saddle,
I Heard A Gentle Rippling, Like The Dipping Of A Paddle,
And, Turning Toward The Water, A Strange Sight Met My View
A Pretty Girl Was Seated In A Little Birch Canoe.

She Stood Up In The Center, Her Rifle To Her Eye.
I Thought For Just A Moment My Time Had Come To Die,
So I Tipped My Hat And Told Her, If It Was All The Same,
To Drop Her Little Shooter, As I Was Not Her Game.


She Dropped Her Deadly Weapon And She Leaped From Her Canoe.
She Said, "I Beg Your Pardon; I Thought You Were A Sioux.
Your Long Hair And Your Buckskins Looked Warrior-Like And Rough.
My Bead Was Spoiled By Sunlight, Or I'd 'A Killed You Sure Enough."

"Well, Perhaps It Would Be Better Had You Killed Me Here" Said I.
"For Surely Such An Angel Could Bear Me To The Sky."
She Blushed And Dropped Her Eyelids; Her Face Was Crimson Red.
One Shy Glance She Gave Me And Then Hung Down Her Head.

Then Her Arm Flew 'Round Me. "I'll Save You Or I'll Die."
I Held Her To My Bosom, My Long-Lost Hazel Eyes.
The Rapture Of That Moment Was Heaven Unto Me.
I Kissed Her Then, Amid Her Tears, Her Merriment And Glee.

Her Heart 'Gainst Mine Was Beating When Sobbingly She Said,
"My Dear Long-Lost Preserver, They Told Me You Were Dead.
The Man Who Claimed Me From You, My Uncle, Good And True
Lies Ill In Yonder Cabin, And He Talks So Much Of You."

"'If Joe Were Living, Darling,' He Said To Me Last Night,
"'He'd Care For You, Dear Maggie, When God Puts Out My Light.'"
We Found The Old Man Sleeping; "Hush, Maggie -- Let Him Rest."
The Sun Was Slowly Sinking In The Far-Off Golden West.

Although We Spoke In Whispers, He Opened Up His Eyes.
"A Dream, A Dream," He Murmured, "Alas! A Dream Of Lies."
She Drifted Like A Shadow To Where The Old Man Lay
"You've Had A Dream, Dear Uncle, Another Dream Today."


"Oh Yes I Saw An Angel, As Pure As Drifted Snow,
And Standing Close Beside Her Was California Joe."
She Said, "I'm Not An Angel, Dear Uncle, This You Know;
"These Little Hands And This Face Were Never White As Snow."

"But Listen While I Tell You, For I Have News To Cheer
Your Hazel Eyes Is Happy, For Truly Joe Is Here."
Then, But A Few Days Later, The Old Man Said To Me,
"Joe, Boy, She Is An Angel, Or As Good As Angels Be."

"For Three Long Months She's Hunted, And, Joe, She's Nursed Me Too;
"And I Believe That She'll Be Safe Alone, My Boy, With You."
Then, But A Few Days Later, Maggie -- My Wife -- And I
Went Riding From That Valley With Teardrops In Our Eyes.

For There Beside The Cabin, Within A New-Made Grave,
We Laid Him 'Neath The Daisies, Her Uncle, Good And Brave.
Hereafter, Every Gentle Spring Will Surely Find Us There,
At His Graveside In The Valley. We'll Keep It Fresh And Fair.

Our Love Was Newly Kindled While Resting By The Stream,
And Two Hearts Were United In Love's Sweet Happy Dream,
And Now You've Heard My Story; And This You Ought To Know
That Hazel Eyes Is Happy With California Joe.

*As We Gear Up Our Opposition To Obama's Afghan War A Song To Lift Our Spirits- Stepphenwolf's "The Monster"

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of Steppenhwolf Performing "Monster". Ah, Those Were The Days.

This is a repost of an entry dated:

Thursday, March 19, 2009

*As We Gear Up Our Opposition To Obama's Afghan War A Song To Lift Our Spirits- Stepphenwolf's "The Monster"
Guest Commentary/Lyrics by John Kay and others

Every once in a while I NEED to listen to that song just to keep balance in the uphill struggle we have to deal with in fighting against the monster of American imperialism in all its various disguises. Here is the chorus that kind of says it all:

Chorus

America where are you now?
Don't you care about your sons and daughters?
Don't you know we need you now
We can't fight alone against the monster

Hell, there is not much more that I need to say, the lyrics tell it all. Obama- Immediate Unconditional Withdrawal Of U.S./Allied Troops From Afghanistan!-Markin



Words and music by John Kay, Jerry Edmonton, Nick St. Nicholas and Larry Byrom

(Monster)

Once the religious, the hunted and weary
Chasing the promise of freedom and hope
Came to this country to build a new vision
Far from the reaches of kingdom and pope
Like good Christians, some would burn the witches
Later some got slaves to gather riches

But still from near and far to seek America
They came by thousands to court the wild
And she just patiently smiled and bore a child
To be their spirit and guiding light

And once the ties with the crown had been broken
Westward in saddle and wagon it went
And 'til the railroad linked ocean to ocean
Many the lives which had come to an end
While we bullied, stole and bought our a homeland
We began the slaughter of the red man

But still from near and far to seek America
They came by thousands to court the wild
And she just patiently smiled and bore a child
To be their spirit and guiding light

The blue and grey they stomped it
They kicked it just like a dog
And when the war over
They stuffed it just like a hog

And though the past has it's share of injustice
Kind was the spirit in many a way
But it's protectors and friends have been sleeping
Now it's a monster and will not obey

(Suicide)

The spirit was freedom and justice
And it's keepers seem generous and kind
It's leaders were supposed to serve the country
But now they won't pay it no mind
'Cause the people grew fat and got lazy
And now their vote is a meaningless joke
They babble about law and order
But it's all just an echo of what they've been told
Yeah, there's a monster on the loose
It's got our heads into a noose
And it just sits there watchin'

Our cities have turned into jungles
And corruption is stranglin' the land
The police force is watching the people
And the people just can't understand
We don't know how to mind our own business
'Cause the whole worlds got to be just like us
Now we are fighting a war over there
No matter who's the winner
We can't pay the cost
'Cause there's a monster on the loose
It's got our heads into a noose
And it just sits there watching

(America)

America where are you now?
Don't you care about your sons and daughters?
Don't you know we need you now
We can't fight alone against the monster

© Copyright MCA Music (BMI)
All rights for the USA controlled and administered by
MCA Corporation of America, INC

--Used with permission--

*As We Gear Up Our Opposition To Obama's Afghan War A Song To Lift Our Spirits- Stepphenwolf's "The Monster"

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of Steppenhwolf Performing "Monster". Ah, Those Were The Days.


Guest Commentary/Lyrics by John Kay and others

Chorus

America where are you now?
Don't you care about your sons and daughters?
Don't you know we need you now
We can't fight alone against the monster

Hell, there is not much more that I need to say, the lyrics tell it all. Obama- Immediate Unconditional Withdrawal Of U.S./Allied Troops From Afghanistan!-Markin



Words and music by John Kay, Jerry Edmonton, Nick St. Nicholas and Larry Byrom

(Monster)

Once the religious, the hunted and weary
Chasing the promise of freedom and hope
Came to this country to build a new vision
Far from the reaches of kingdom and pope
Like good Christians, some would burn the witches
Later some got slaves to gather riches

But still from near and far to seek America
They came by thousands to court the wild
And she just patiently smiled and bore a child
To be their spirit and guiding light

And once the ties with the crown had been broken
Westward in saddle and wagon it went
And 'til the railroad linked ocean to ocean
Many the lives which had come to an end
While we bullied, stole and bought our a homeland
We began the slaughter of the red man

But still from near and far to seek America
They came by thousands to court the wild
And she just patiently smiled and bore a child
To be their spirit and guiding light

The blue and grey they stomped it
They kicked it just like a dog
And when the war over
They stuffed it just like a hog

And though the past has it's share of injustice
Kind was the spirit in many a way
But it's protectors and friends have been sleeping
Now it's a monster and will not obey

(Suicide)

The spirit was freedom and justice
And it's keepers seem generous and kind
It's leaders were supposed to serve the country
But now they won't pay it no mind
'Cause the people grew fat and got lazy
And now their vote is a meaningless joke
They babble about law and order
But it's all just an echo of what they've been told
Yeah, there's a monster on the loose
It's got our heads into a noose
And it just sits there watchin'

Our cities have turned into jungles
And corruption is stranglin' the land
The police force is watching the people
And the people just can't understand
We don't know how to mind our own business
'Cause the whole worlds got to be just like us
Now we are fighting a war over there
No matter who's the winner
We can't pay the cost
'Cause there's a monster on the loose
It's got our heads into a noose
And it just sits there watching

(America)

America where are you now?
Don't you care about your sons and daughters?
Don't you know we need you now
We can't fight alone against the monster

© Copyright MCA Music (BMI)
All rights for the USA controlled and administered by
MCA Corporation of America, INC

--Used with permission--

*Yes- "What Have They Done To The Rain?"- The Music Of Rosalie Sorrels In Honor Of Malvina Reynolds

Click on title to link to YouTube's film clip of Malvina Reynolds performing "No Hole In My Head"

CD REVIEW

March Is Women’s History Month

No Closing Chord: The Songs Of Malvina Reynolds, Rosalie Sorrels, Red House Records, 2000

My first association of the name Rosalie Sorrels with folk music came, many years ago now, from hearing the recently departed folk singer/storyteller/ songwriter and unrepentant Wobblie (IWW) Utah Phillips mention his long time friendship with her going back before he became known as a folksinger. I also recall that combination of Sorrels and Phillips as he performed his classic “Starlight On The Rails” and she his also classic “If I Could Be The Rain” on a PBS documentary honoring Café Lena’ s in Saratoga, New York, a place that I am also very familiar with for many personal and musical reasons. Of note here: it should be remembered that Rosalie saved, literally, many of the compositions that Utah left helter-skelter around the country in his “bumming” days.

In the same spirit, if not for the same reasons, Rosalie here “rescues” the old time protest song writer and insightful social commentator Malvina Reynolds. Of course having been immersed in the folk revival of the 1960’s I was perfectly aware of Ms. Reynolds’s work although, if pressed, I could not name a song that I associated with her name. That, alas, is the fate of many songwriters who have written indelible songs that far outlast their names and fames. In this regard, for example, I did not realize until I listened here that the classic protest song against nuclear proliferation and in favor of nuclear disarmament from the 1960’s (and later) “What Have They Done To The Rain?" is Malvina’s composition. But enough of that: you want to know what is good here, right?

Well, obviously the above-mentioned song is fit for inclusion. “The Judge Said” a righteously (and justly) indignant outcry against trivializing sexual abuse by the courts is another. “Rosie Jane” about the trials and tribulations of the pro-abortion movement early on (just before the now tenuous victory in Roe v. Wade in 1973) and what that issue looked and felt like down “on the street”. Needless to say any song like “The Money Crop” that pays homage to one of my heroes of the 17th English Revolution the Digger (also known as True Levelers) theorist and leader Gerrrard Winstanley is going to get my attention (as I am sure it would as well for the late Professor Christopher Hill who did much to “rediscover” the work and actions of this important revolutionary).

Moving on, the heartfelt rendition of “This World”, with Bonnie Raitt on slide guitar, is a little bouquet by Rosalie to Malvina. Nice work Rosalie, and nice work Bonnie. Needless to say whether Rosalie is covering Malvina, as in this compilation, or paying tribute to her influence by pushing her own work forward she does a masterful and creative job (like bringing in children as chorus on a couple of the songs at the beginning and end of the CD) that has been the hallmark of her work since the early days.

Lyrics by Malvina Reynolds

What Have They Done to the Rain?

Notes: words and music by Malvina Reynolds; copyright 1962 as "Rain Song" then in 1964 as "What Have They Done to the Rain" by Schroder Music Company, renewed 1990. a.k.a. "Rain Song" and "Just a Little Rain." People now think of this as a song about acid rain, but it was originally written as part of a campaign to stop aboveground nuclear testing, which was putting strontium-90 in the air, where it was washed down by the rain, got into the soil and thence to the grass, which was eaten by cows. When children drank the cows’ milk the strontium-90, chemically similar to calcium but radioactive, was deposited in their bones. Mothers saved their children’s baby teeth and sent them in to be tested by scientists who indeed found elevated levels of strontium-90 in their teeth. A year after this song was written, President Kennedy signed the treaty against aboveground testing.

Just a little rain falling all around,
The grass lifts its head to the heavenly sound,
Just a little rain, just a little rain,
What have they done to the rain?
Just a little boy standing in the rain,
The gentle rain that falls for years.
And the grass is gone,
The boy disappears,
And rain keeps falling like helpless tears,

And what have they done to the rain?
Just a little breeze out of the sky,
The leaves pat their hands as the breeze blows by,
Just a little breeze with some smoke in its eye,
What have they done to the rain?
Just a little boy standing in the rain,
The gentle rain that falls for years.
And the grass is gone,
The boy disappears,
And rain keeps falling like helpless tears,
And what have they done to the rain?

“Rosie Jane”

This song is addressed to my sisters.
Any man who is present may listen,
Any priest, any public official, any physician.
But it gives him no license to touch us,
We make the decision.
Me and Lydia, Josie and Rosie and Eve,
We handle this matter ourselves,
You'd better believe, or you better leave.

Chorus:
Rosie Jane, are you pregnant again?
Rosie Jane, you can hardly take care
Of the four you had before.
What in heaven's name were you thinking of!
Rosie Jane, was it love?

I had an extra shot on top of what I'd got,
In a word I was drunk, so was Bill.
At least I think it was Bill,
And I'd forgot to take my pill.
I guess it was God's will.

(Chorus)

When that baby is a child,
It will suffer from neglect,
Be picked upon and pecked,
And run over and wrecked,
And its head will be crowned with the thorn.
But while it's inside her
It must remain intact,
And it cannot be murdered till it's born.

(Chorus)



The Money Crop

Notes: words and music by Malvina Reynolds; copyright 1966 Schroder Music Company, renewed 1994.

Well, money has its own way,
And money has to grow.
It grows on human blood and bone,
As any child would know.
It's iron stuff and paper stuff
With no life of its own,
And so it takes its growing sap
From human blood and bone.
And many a child goes hungering
Because the wage is low,
And men die on the battlefield
To make the money grow.

And those that take the money crop
Are avid without end,
They plant it in the tenements
To make it grow again.
The little that they leave for us,
It cannot be a seed.
We spend it for the shoddy clothes
And every daily need.
We spend it in a minute,
In an hour it is gone,
To find its way to grow again
On human blood and bone,
Blood and bone.

This World

Notes: words and music by Malvina Reynolds; copyright 1961 Schroder Music Company, renewed 1989. a.k.a. "Love It Like a Fool."

Baby, I ain't afraid to die,
It's just that I hate to say good-bye to this world,
This world, this world.
This old world is mean and cruel,
But still I love it like a fool, this world,
This world, this world.

I'd rather go to the corner store
Than sing hosannah on that golden shore,
I'd rather live on Parker Street
Than fly around where the angels meet.
Oh, this old world is all I know,

It's dust to dust when I have to go from this world,
This world, this world.
Somebody else will take my place,
Some other hands, some other face,
Some other eyes will look around
And find the things I've never found.
Don't weep for me when I am gone,
Just keep this old world rolling on, this world,
This world, this world.

The Winds of Change Do Shift

The Winds of Change Do Shift

On Friday January 4th in the aftermath of Obama’s victory in the Iowa caucuses I noted that victory and also speculated that this event represented, perhaps, the first manifestation of a leftward trend in politics after forty years in the wilderness. (See entry entitled Obama ‘The Charma” and the Baby Boomers, January 4th 2008). In response I received a comment from a reader that implied that apparently in my old age I have grown soft and now, at least tacitly, see a bourgeois politician as the hope of the future. Hell no, a thousand times no. That road is well worn with the political corpses of many of my generation. Enough of that. However, as I will point out below, there is some political significance to the Obama phenomena that actually may help those of us to the left of and opposed to the Democratic Party. Listen up, carefully. But first directly below I have reposted for the record my Friday introductory statement….

“On the day after Obama’a decisive victory in the Iowa caucuses it is only fair to acknowledge that victory even though I am politically far removed from traditional parliamentary politics. I have noted earlier this year in this space and on my American Left History blog site that the winds of change seem to be blowing leftward for the first time in forty years. That was the time of John Kennedy trying to slay the conformist dragons of the 1950’s. It is rather strange to see Hillary as the Eisenhower of this year’s drama. In any case, Obama seems to be the first national manifestation of that change. Below is a commentary made earlier this year as Obama staked his place out in the sun.”….

As any one can see this is hardly a left-handed way to declare for Obama. Look, the last forty years or so have been a disaster for leftist politics. Some of this was, surely, of our own making. Some was obviously due to international politics. But in the final analysis we were defeated because our forces were too small to fundamentally change the way political business was done in this country. In the ensuing forty plus years of cultural wars the yahoos have run rough shot over the country, and us. I would argue, however, that making a political football out of the case of the unfortunate Terri Schiavo was a watershed in the rightward drift and that event signaled its high (or rather low) watermark. The midterm 2006 Congressional elections, whatever else they represented, rather codified my thinking on this question (although the net results caught me a little by surprise).

Do these events mean that we have entered a revolutionary epoch? Hell, no. Not at least from today’s configurations. What it does represent is the fact that we of the left now have more breathing room to fight for and get an audience for our politics. That, dear friends, is where the comparison to the Kennedy days (and in any event probably more the Robert Kennedy days that Jack’s. Some of Obama’s mannerisms and speech patterns rather eerily evoke Bobby) comes in. At that time the cultural wraps of the Eisenhower years were untightened and good political work could be done. The fight for nuclear disarmament opened up, the black civil rights struggle opened up, the fight for a more democratic society opened up. Hell, it was even okay to hobnob with communists in those fights (as long as you didn’t yell it from the rooftops). Is that what the Kennedys wanted? Again, hell no. But that is where the winds of change did shift.


One of the virtues of the extreme concentration on presidential electoral politics by the media is that they poll everything that is not tied down. This time in Iowa they actually have provided some useful information that we can use. The breakdown of the youth vote is illuminating. A major fight today centers around getting the masses of youth of this country back into left wing political struggle. Yes, like in the 1960’s. The hallmark of the 1960’s, whatever else they may have produced, was the wholesale entry of the young into political struggle. Except episodically, the past forty years have not until today witnessed such a phenenomon. Again to look at history the Kennedy victory in 1960 was the catalyst for bringing many, including this writer, onto the political stage although from there we moved in our own direction.

That again is where the comparison with the rise of Obama is apt. I think that one quote from a student in Iowa kind of sums it up nicely. Drake University student Stacey Wilson stated that “No one was expecting the student turnout. Just because we’re not protesting or getting tear-gassed doesn’t mean we don’t care. I’m just glad we shocked everybody”. Yes, I am glad too. Does this mean we must dust off the old Students for a Democratic Society (SDS) buttons? No, but we better keep a rag handy. Enough for now.

*WHEN DID THE 1960'S END?-The Anti-Vietnam War Events Of May Day 1971

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for background on the anti-Vietnam War actions of May Day 1971.

Markin comment:

I have recently been reviewing books and documentaries about radical developments in the 1960’s. They included reviews of the Weather Underground, Students for a Democratic Society (SDS) and the memoirs of Bill Ayers, a central figure in that movement. Throughout this work one thing that I noticed was that the various interviewees had different takes on when that period ended. Although in the end the periodization of history is a convenient journalistic or academic convention in the case of the 1960’s it may produce a useful political guide line.

It is almost universally the case that there is agreement on when the 1960’s started. That is with the inauguration of Democratic President John F. Kennedy and his call to social activism. While there is no agreement on what that course of action might entail political figures as diverse as liberals Bill Clinton and John Kerry on to radicals like Mark Rudd, Bill Ayers and this writer agree that this event and its immediate aftermath figured in their politicization.

What is not clear is when it ended. For those committed to parliamentary action it seems to have been the assassination of Robert Kennedy and the events around the Democratic Convention in 1968 that led to the election of one Richard Milhous Nixon as President of the United States. For mainstream black activists its seems to have been the assassination of Martin Luther King that same year ending the dream that pacifist resistance could eradicate racial injustice. For mainstream SDSers apparently it was the split up of that student organization in 1969. For the Black Panthers, the deaths of Fred Hampton and Mark Clark proving for all to see who wanted to see that the American government was really out to get militant blacks off the streets. For those who thought that the counterculture might be the revolution the bloody Rolling Stone’s concert at Altamont in California in 1969 seems to have signaled the end. For the Weather Underground the 1970 New York townhouse explosion and death of their comrades was the signpost. Since everyone can play this game here is my take.

I can name the day and event exactly when my 1960’s ended. The day- May Day 1971 in Washington D.C. The event- a massive attempt by thousands, including myself, to shut down the government over the Vietnam War. We proceeded under the slogan- IF THE GOVERNMENT WILL NOT SHUT DOWN THE WAR-WE WILL SHUT DOWN THE GOVERNMENT. At that time I was a radical but hardly a communist. However, the endless mass marches and small local individual acts of resistance seemed to me to be leading to a dead end. But the war nevertheless continued on its savagely endless way. In any case, that day we formed up in collectives with appropriate gear to take over the streets of Washington and try to get to various government buildings. While none of us believed that this would be an easy task we definitely believed that it was doable. Needless to say the Nixon government and its agents were infinitely better prepared and determined to sweep us from the streets-by any means necessary. The long and short of it was that we were swept off the streets in fairly short order, taking many, many arrests.

I walked away from that event with my eyes finally opened about what it would take to made fundamental societal changes. On reflection, on that day we were somewhat like those naïve marchers in St. Petersburg, Russia that were bloodily suppressed by the Czarist forces at the start of the revolution there in January 1905. Nevertheless, in my case, from that point on I vowed that a lot more than a few thousand convinced radicals and revolutionaries working in an ad hoc manner were going to have to come together if we were to succeed against a determined and ruthless enemy. Not a pretty thought but hard reality nevertheless. Enough said.

YOU NEED A WEATHERMAN (PERSON) TO KNOW WHICH WAY THE WIND BLOWS, PART II

BOOK REVIEW

FUGITIVE DAYS, A MEMOIR, BILL AYERS, PENGUIN, 2001

Recently in this space I reviewed the documentary Weather Underground so that it also makes sense to review the present book by Bill Ayers, one of the ‘talking heads’ in that film and a central leader of both the old Students for a Democratic Society and the Weather Underground that split off from that movement in 1969 to go its own way. Readers should see the documentary as it gives a fairly good presentation of the events around the formation of the Underground, what they tried to accomplish and what happened to them after the demise of the anti-war movement in the early 1970’s.

To get a better understanding of what drove thousands of young American students into opposition to the American government at that time the documentary Rebels With A Cause (also reviewed in this space) is worth looking at as well. Between those two sources you will get a better understanding of what drove Professor Ayers and many others, including myself, over the edge. Professor Ayers makes many of those same points in the book. Thus, I only want to make a couple of political comments about the question of the underground here. They were also used in my review of the Weather Underground documentary and apply to Professor Ayers thoughts as well. I would also make it very clear here that unlike many other leftists, who ran for cover, in the 1970’s I called for the political defense of the Weather Underground despite my political differences with their strategy under the old leftist principle that an injury to one is an injury to all. Moreover, and be shocked if you will, the courageous, if misguided, actions of the Weather Underground require no apology today. I stand with the Professor on that count. Here are the comments.

“In a time when I, among others, are questioning where the extra-parliamentary opposition to the Iraq War is going and why it has not made more of an impact on American society it was rather refreshing to view this documentary about the seemingly forgotten Weather Underground that as things got grimmer dramatically epitomized one aspect of opposition to the Vietnam War. If opposition to the Iraq war is the political fight of my old age Vietnam was the fight of my youth and in this film brought back very strong memories of why I fought tooth and nail against it. And the people portrayed in this film, the core of the Weather Underground, while not politically kindred spirits then or now, were certainly on the same page as I was- a no holds- barred fight against the American Empire. We lost that round, and there were reasons for that, but that kind of attitude is what it takes to bring down the monster. But a revolutionary strategy is needed. That is where we parted company. ......


"One of the paradoxical things about the documentary is that the Weather Underground survivors interviewed had only a vague notion about what went wrong. This was clearly detailed in the remarks of Mark Rudd, a central leader, when he stated that the Weathermen were trying to create a communist cadre. He also stated, however, that after going underground he realized that he was out of the loop as far as being politically effective. And that is the point. There is no virtue in underground activity if it is not necessary, romantic as that may be. To the extent that any of us read history in those days it was certainly not about the origins of the Russian revolutionary movement in the 19th century. If we had we would have found that the above-mentioned fight in 1969 was also fought out by that movement. Mass action vs. individual acts, heroic or otherwise, of terror. The Weather strategy of acting as the American component of the world-wide revolutionary movement in order to bring the Empire to its knees certainly had (and still does) have a very appealing quality. However, a moral gesture did not (and will not) bring this beast down. While the Weather Underground was made up a small group of very appealing subjective revolutionaries its political/moral strategy led to a dead end. The lesson to be learned; you most definitely do need weather people to know which way the winds blow. Start with Karl Marx.”