This space is dedicated to the proposition that we need to know the history of the struggles on the left and of earlier progressive movements here and world-wide. If we can learn from the mistakes made in the past (as well as what went right) we can move forward in the future to create a more just and equitable society. We will be reviewing books, CDs, and movies we believe everyone needs to read, hear and look at as well as making commentary from time to time. Greg Green, site manager
Thursday, July 30, 2009
*Once Again- Immediate Uncondtional Withdrawal From Afghanistan Mr. Obama
Click On Title To Link To United For Justice With Peace (UJP) Poster Of Obama And His Afghan War Policy. Now I Have Made Clear, Very Clear I Hope My Differences With UJP and Other Coalitions That Want To Treat These People Who Run The American Imperial State As Fellow Rational Human Beings But This Poster Kind Of Says It All (For Now)About The Need To Oppose Obama "The Charma's" War Policy.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
*Nothing But The Truth, Maybe -The Film Version
Click On Title To Link To Trailer For Film "Nothing But The Truth".
DVD Review
Nothing But The Truth, starring Kate Bakendale, 2009
In the normal course of my work in this space I don’t generally review current commercial films, except when they provide some kind of political or social comment that is in line with my aims. Or I have an ax to grind. The latter turns out to be the case here. The plot of this film revolves around a First Amendment freedom of the press question of a high profile, Type-A newspaper women protecting a source at least that is the way it unfolds, although it is done in a somewhat ham-handed and obviously benignly liberal way.
On the face of it, a film about the praiseworthy efforts of a doggedly determined print reporter bound, seemingly beyond reason, to protect her source of knowledge about why the President of the United States called in a patently erroneous retaliatory strike on Venezuela (you can see where the problem is already, I assume) seem to be tailor –made for praise from this reviewer. Except everything is wrong here. That includes everything, from the source the reporter is protecting to her refusal to divulge her source under very trying circumstances, to say the least, (I won’t give that source up here either. I am not tattle-tale and moreover that revelation provided the only real twist in this whole sorry plot line.) to the nasty twist and turns of the federal special prosecutor who is trying to nail her in the interest of “national security”.
Don’t get me wrong, or at only get me wrong a little. We better fight tooth and nail to maintain a free press and other forms of expression against governmental interference. But one must pick and choose one’s battles. Off of this plot line and off the moral dilemmas the reporter willingly placed herself in there is certainly a question about her political acumen, to say nothing of her common sense.
But the real issue here, aside from the liberal bend of putting up the good fight to maintain the free press that drives the film, is that the vaunted “forth estate”, of late, has been pretty sorry in real life when it comes to opposing the American government’s propaganda lines. A medium that was asleep at the wheel, in many cases willingly so, during the lead up to the Bush portion of the Iraq War, and for a long time after, is hardly worthy, as the people associated with this production seem to think, of positive treatment, even when one could admire the tenacity if not the common sense of the reporter in this drama. While we desperately need to protect free expression this film did not add much to our real life knowledge about how to defend it. Certainly not the way it played out in this film, that is for sure.
DVD Review
Nothing But The Truth, starring Kate Bakendale, 2009
In the normal course of my work in this space I don’t generally review current commercial films, except when they provide some kind of political or social comment that is in line with my aims. Or I have an ax to grind. The latter turns out to be the case here. The plot of this film revolves around a First Amendment freedom of the press question of a high profile, Type-A newspaper women protecting a source at least that is the way it unfolds, although it is done in a somewhat ham-handed and obviously benignly liberal way.
On the face of it, a film about the praiseworthy efforts of a doggedly determined print reporter bound, seemingly beyond reason, to protect her source of knowledge about why the President of the United States called in a patently erroneous retaliatory strike on Venezuela (you can see where the problem is already, I assume) seem to be tailor –made for praise from this reviewer. Except everything is wrong here. That includes everything, from the source the reporter is protecting to her refusal to divulge her source under very trying circumstances, to say the least, (I won’t give that source up here either. I am not tattle-tale and moreover that revelation provided the only real twist in this whole sorry plot line.) to the nasty twist and turns of the federal special prosecutor who is trying to nail her in the interest of “national security”.
Don’t get me wrong, or at only get me wrong a little. We better fight tooth and nail to maintain a free press and other forms of expression against governmental interference. But one must pick and choose one’s battles. Off of this plot line and off the moral dilemmas the reporter willingly placed herself in there is certainly a question about her political acumen, to say nothing of her common sense.
But the real issue here, aside from the liberal bend of putting up the good fight to maintain the free press that drives the film, is that the vaunted “forth estate”, of late, has been pretty sorry in real life when it comes to opposing the American government’s propaganda lines. A medium that was asleep at the wheel, in many cases willingly so, during the lead up to the Bush portion of the Iraq War, and for a long time after, is hardly worthy, as the people associated with this production seem to think, of positive treatment, even when one could admire the tenacity if not the common sense of the reporter in this drama. While we desperately need to protect free expression this film did not add much to our real life knowledge about how to defend it. Certainly not the way it played out in this film, that is for sure.
***The American Songbook Pantheon- The Music Of Irving Berlin.
Click On Title To Link To An Irving Berlin Lyrics Website.
CD Review
Irving Berlin: A Hundred Years, Irving Berlin compositions as performed by various artists, Columbia Record Company, 1988
I have been running through the legends of folk music, the blues, rock and assorted other genres over the past period. Not intentionally, at least I do not think that this was my intention at the start, I have reviewed a number of musicians, composers and recording artists who have been influential in the preservation of American roots music. You know, names like Pete Seeger, The Lomaxes, Bob Dylan, Woody Guthrie, Willie Dixon, Sam Phillips and, probably, a dozen more who have sung, recorded produced or preserved parts of what is termed “the American Songbook”. These names, however, are hardly all-inclusive, as this review will try to make clear. The American Songbook is a “big tent” operation that extends back to the times of Stephan Foster in the 19th century, if not before, and is brought up to date by the likes of Mr. Seeger and Mr. Dylan. Along the way, including a significant part of the 20th century, Irving Berlin did more than his fair share of helping to fill that book.
We could go on and on about who should be or not be, beyond the names mentioned above, included in the American Songbook pantheon. However, there is no question, whether you tastes run to Tin Pin Alley tunes or not that Irving Berlin is up on that first level. This little compilation by Columbia Records put out some years ago both honors him on his 100th birthday and can serve as a primer for those unfamiliar with Mr. Berlin’s work. Although if you have been the least bit conscious, or are very, very young, you already ‘know’ many of these songs, if not their author.
A Berlin biography is beyond the scope of this little review but needless to say this son of immigrants caught at least a portion of what America meant to both immigrant and native alike at a time when assimilation into American society, its manners and mores was a more pressing issue than today. Berlin’s hey days were in the 1930’s and 1940’s and he is forever tied in memory to such Great Depression/World War II Broadway music as “Putting On The Ritz”, “Cheek To Cheek”, “How Deep Is The Ocean”, “’I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm” and a slew of other classics included here. And done by the likes of Fred Astaire, Judy Garland, Billie Holiday, Etherl Merman, Ethel Waters and a host of others, all famous in their time for singing whatever Mr. Berlin put before them, gladly. This is the music your parents or grandparents hummed back in the days. On this compilation it seems that Columbia has gone out of its way, way out of its way to get the best renditions by the most definitive artists to present these tunes.
Irving Berlin is also, whether the fact is well-known now or not, closely associated with popular American patriotic songs like “God Bless America”. He is also associated with novelty songs like “White Christmas”, “Easter Parade”, “Alexander’s Ragtime Band” and “Let’s Have Another Cup Of Coffee”. Now some of this is not to my taste and, perhaps, not to yours. Some of the patriotic stuff is way overblown. And a few tunes have not aged well. Those are separate, more political questions, that can be more properly addressed elsewhere. But hear me out. The next time some asks Irving who? Or I don’t know his work? Just start humming “White Christmas”, or the like. Berlin may not be my top candidate for Number One composer in the American Songbook but he belongs in the select company of that pantheon.
CD Review
Irving Berlin: A Hundred Years, Irving Berlin compositions as performed by various artists, Columbia Record Company, 1988
I have been running through the legends of folk music, the blues, rock and assorted other genres over the past period. Not intentionally, at least I do not think that this was my intention at the start, I have reviewed a number of musicians, composers and recording artists who have been influential in the preservation of American roots music. You know, names like Pete Seeger, The Lomaxes, Bob Dylan, Woody Guthrie, Willie Dixon, Sam Phillips and, probably, a dozen more who have sung, recorded produced or preserved parts of what is termed “the American Songbook”. These names, however, are hardly all-inclusive, as this review will try to make clear. The American Songbook is a “big tent” operation that extends back to the times of Stephan Foster in the 19th century, if not before, and is brought up to date by the likes of Mr. Seeger and Mr. Dylan. Along the way, including a significant part of the 20th century, Irving Berlin did more than his fair share of helping to fill that book.
We could go on and on about who should be or not be, beyond the names mentioned above, included in the American Songbook pantheon. However, there is no question, whether you tastes run to Tin Pin Alley tunes or not that Irving Berlin is up on that first level. This little compilation by Columbia Records put out some years ago both honors him on his 100th birthday and can serve as a primer for those unfamiliar with Mr. Berlin’s work. Although if you have been the least bit conscious, or are very, very young, you already ‘know’ many of these songs, if not their author.
A Berlin biography is beyond the scope of this little review but needless to say this son of immigrants caught at least a portion of what America meant to both immigrant and native alike at a time when assimilation into American society, its manners and mores was a more pressing issue than today. Berlin’s hey days were in the 1930’s and 1940’s and he is forever tied in memory to such Great Depression/World War II Broadway music as “Putting On The Ritz”, “Cheek To Cheek”, “How Deep Is The Ocean”, “’I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm” and a slew of other classics included here. And done by the likes of Fred Astaire, Judy Garland, Billie Holiday, Etherl Merman, Ethel Waters and a host of others, all famous in their time for singing whatever Mr. Berlin put before them, gladly. This is the music your parents or grandparents hummed back in the days. On this compilation it seems that Columbia has gone out of its way, way out of its way to get the best renditions by the most definitive artists to present these tunes.
Irving Berlin is also, whether the fact is well-known now or not, closely associated with popular American patriotic songs like “God Bless America”. He is also associated with novelty songs like “White Christmas”, “Easter Parade”, “Alexander’s Ragtime Band” and “Let’s Have Another Cup Of Coffee”. Now some of this is not to my taste and, perhaps, not to yours. Some of the patriotic stuff is way overblown. And a few tunes have not aged well. Those are separate, more political questions, that can be more properly addressed elsewhere. But hear me out. The next time some asks Irving who? Or I don’t know his work? Just start humming “White Christmas”, or the like. Berlin may not be my top candidate for Number One composer in the American Songbook but he belongs in the select company of that pantheon.
*Be Still My Heart The New Federal Minimum Wage Has Gone Into Effect-For A Living Wage For All!
Click On Title To Link To NPR Story On The Recent Increase In The Federal Minimum Wage Rate Including A Compelling Story About One Woman's Struggle To Keep Herself And Family Above Water At That Rate.
Commentary
Do the math (approximately). 7x40=280x50=14,000 plus. Nothing more needs to be said about this absurdly inadequate minimum wage increase. We need to fight fora living wage for all. Better yet isn't it about time to get rid of this increasingly disparate capitalist system. As the story details- no mother should have to worry feeding and clothing their kids. And no kid should have to feel bad about not having enough to eat and something nice to wear. In the end that is what our struggle for socialism is all about.
Commentary
Do the math (approximately). 7x40=280x50=14,000 plus. Nothing more needs to be said about this absurdly inadequate minimum wage increase. We need to fight fora living wage for all. Better yet isn't it about time to get rid of this increasingly disparate capitalist system. As the story details- no mother should have to worry feeding and clothing their kids. And no kid should have to feel bad about not having enough to eat and something nice to wear. In the end that is what our struggle for socialism is all about.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
*U.S. Troops Back On Patrol In Iraq On The Low- Immediate Unconditional Withdrawal Of All Allied Troops From Iraq- Loudly
Click On Title To Link To BBC Story About The Situation With The So-called "Incredibly Shrinking U.S. Troop Presence" In Iraq. Miracle Or Myth? Let Me Just Say We Had Better Start Getting Our Grandchildren Ready To Face The Music In Iraq When Their Time Comes. John McCain and Before Him One George W. Bush Said It Would Take A Generation Or More To Stabilize The Situation In Iraq. They May Have Not Been Far Off The Mark. But Just To Be On The Safe Side- Obama-Immediate Unconditional Withdrawal Of All U.S./Allied Troops From Iraq!
Monday, July 27, 2009
*"The Blues Is Dues" Story, Again-Down The Backroads Of The Blues
Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of Charlie Patton Doing "Shake It And Break It".
DVD REVIEW
The Blues Is Dues Story, Again
The Blues Story, 2003
I have written by now seemingly countless reviews of old time acoustic and electric blues artists, male and female alike. I have "toured" the Delta, the Texas Panhandle, the streets of small town Southern cities, Memphis and the "Mecca", Chicago, to give my take on the blues story. I have "been" on the plantation Saturday night, the "juke joints", the blues clubs, Chicago's Maxwell Street and on any street corner where a blues artist could set up shop. My thumbs are sore from giving thumbs up and down to the various blue artists that I have known about since my teenage years a long time ago. All of the above is by way of saying if you want to do some one- stop shopping for what the blues was, is and will be this is your destination. A better primer, especially for the novice complete with some great blues riffs, done in a couple of hours would be hard to find.
All the traditional blues "hot spots" like Memphis and Chicago are given due time. All the blues greats get at least a passing nod from Charley Patton and Robert Johnson in the old days to Howlin' Wolf, Muddy Waters and B.B. King in the modern age. In fact that is what is most impressive about this production. The producers have seemingly gathered, at the time of production, every still living blues artist who could still hold an instrument and speak a few words to talk about their work and those that they knew who "taught" them the blues. Why is this important? The likes of Ruth Brown, Honeyboy Williams, Gatesmouth Moore, Gatesmouth Brown, Buddy Guy and a host of others showcased here are the transmission belt from the older tradition of Charley Patton, Son House, Blind Blake, Ma Rainey and the others who created the sounds of the blues. Ruth Brown said it best- the young (and here I think she was including me-thanks Ms. Brown) don't need to learn the blues; they need to learn about the blues. Yes, ma'am. So to answer one of the questions posed in and by the documentary; will the blues ever die? Never.
"Shake It And Break It" by Charlie Patton
You can shake it, you can break it,
you can hang it on the wall
Throw it out the window, catch it 'fore it roll
You can shake it, you can break it,
you can hang it on the wall
...it out the window, catch it 'fore it falls
My jelly, my roll, sweet mama, don't let it fall
Everybody have a jelly roll like mine, I lives in town
I, ain't got no brown, I, an' I want it now
My jelly, my roll, sweet mama, don't let it fall
You can snatch it, you can grab it, you can break it,
you can twist it, any way that I love to get it
I, had my right mind since I, I blowed this town
My jelly, my roll, sweet mama, don't let it fall
Jus' shake it, you can break it,
you can hang it on the wall
.. it out the window, catch it 'fore it falls
You can break it, you can hang it on the wall
...it out the window, catch it 'fore it...
My jelly, my roll, sweet mama, don't let it fall
I ain't got nobody here but me and myself
I, stay blue all the time, aw, when the sun goes down
My jelly, my roll, sweet mama, don't let it fall
You can shake it, you can break it,
you can hang it on the wall
... it out the window, catch it 'fore it fall
You can break it, you can hang it on the wall
...it out the window, catch...
My jelly, my roll, sweet mama, don't let it fall
You can snatch it, you can grab it,
you can break it, you can twist it,
any way that I love to get it
I, had my right mind, I, be worried sometime
'Bout a jelly, my roll, sweet mama, don't let it fall
Just shake it, you can break it,
you can hang it on the wall
... it out the window, catch it 'fore it falls
You can break it, you can hang it on the wall
...it out the window, catch it 'fore it falls
My jelly, my roll, sweet mama, don't let it fall
I know I been to town, I, I walked around
I, start leavin' town, I, I fool around
My jelly, my roll, sweet mama, don't let it fall
Just shake it, you can break it,
you can hang it on the wall
... it out the window, catch it 'fore it falls
You can break it, you can hang it on the wall
...it out the window, catch it 'fore it...
My jelly, my roll, sweet mama, don't let it fall
Jus' shake it, you can break it,
you can hang it on the wall
... it out the window, catch it 'fore it...
My jelly, my roll, sweet mama, don't let it...
DVD REVIEW
The Blues Is Dues Story, Again
The Blues Story, 2003
I have written by now seemingly countless reviews of old time acoustic and electric blues artists, male and female alike. I have "toured" the Delta, the Texas Panhandle, the streets of small town Southern cities, Memphis and the "Mecca", Chicago, to give my take on the blues story. I have "been" on the plantation Saturday night, the "juke joints", the blues clubs, Chicago's Maxwell Street and on any street corner where a blues artist could set up shop. My thumbs are sore from giving thumbs up and down to the various blue artists that I have known about since my teenage years a long time ago. All of the above is by way of saying if you want to do some one- stop shopping for what the blues was, is and will be this is your destination. A better primer, especially for the novice complete with some great blues riffs, done in a couple of hours would be hard to find.
All the traditional blues "hot spots" like Memphis and Chicago are given due time. All the blues greats get at least a passing nod from Charley Patton and Robert Johnson in the old days to Howlin' Wolf, Muddy Waters and B.B. King in the modern age. In fact that is what is most impressive about this production. The producers have seemingly gathered, at the time of production, every still living blues artist who could still hold an instrument and speak a few words to talk about their work and those that they knew who "taught" them the blues. Why is this important? The likes of Ruth Brown, Honeyboy Williams, Gatesmouth Moore, Gatesmouth Brown, Buddy Guy and a host of others showcased here are the transmission belt from the older tradition of Charley Patton, Son House, Blind Blake, Ma Rainey and the others who created the sounds of the blues. Ruth Brown said it best- the young (and here I think she was including me-thanks Ms. Brown) don't need to learn the blues; they need to learn about the blues. Yes, ma'am. So to answer one of the questions posed in and by the documentary; will the blues ever die? Never.
"Shake It And Break It" by Charlie Patton
You can shake it, you can break it,
you can hang it on the wall
Throw it out the window, catch it 'fore it roll
You can shake it, you can break it,
you can hang it on the wall
...it out the window, catch it 'fore it falls
My jelly, my roll, sweet mama, don't let it fall
Everybody have a jelly roll like mine, I lives in town
I, ain't got no brown, I, an' I want it now
My jelly, my roll, sweet mama, don't let it fall
You can snatch it, you can grab it, you can break it,
you can twist it, any way that I love to get it
I, had my right mind since I, I blowed this town
My jelly, my roll, sweet mama, don't let it fall
Jus' shake it, you can break it,
you can hang it on the wall
.. it out the window, catch it 'fore it falls
You can break it, you can hang it on the wall
...it out the window, catch it 'fore it...
My jelly, my roll, sweet mama, don't let it fall
I ain't got nobody here but me and myself
I, stay blue all the time, aw, when the sun goes down
My jelly, my roll, sweet mama, don't let it fall
You can shake it, you can break it,
you can hang it on the wall
... it out the window, catch it 'fore it fall
You can break it, you can hang it on the wall
...it out the window, catch...
My jelly, my roll, sweet mama, don't let it fall
You can snatch it, you can grab it,
you can break it, you can twist it,
any way that I love to get it
I, had my right mind, I, be worried sometime
'Bout a jelly, my roll, sweet mama, don't let it fall
Just shake it, you can break it,
you can hang it on the wall
... it out the window, catch it 'fore it falls
You can break it, you can hang it on the wall
...it out the window, catch it 'fore it falls
My jelly, my roll, sweet mama, don't let it fall
I know I been to town, I, I walked around
I, start leavin' town, I, I fool around
My jelly, my roll, sweet mama, don't let it fall
Just shake it, you can break it,
you can hang it on the wall
... it out the window, catch it 'fore it falls
You can break it, you can hang it on the wall
...it out the window, catch it 'fore it...
My jelly, my roll, sweet mama, don't let it fall
Jus' shake it, you can break it,
you can hang it on the wall
... it out the window, catch it 'fore it...
My jelly, my roll, sweet mama, don't let it...
Sunday, July 26, 2009
*Defend The Cuban Revolution- Hands Off The Myers!
Click on title to link to "Workers Vanguard" article about the Myers, who have been charged with aiding the Cuba revolution (from our perspective, the actual legal charges that the couple are confronted with by the U.S. government, as usual, read differently). I echo the sentiments of the article- Hands Off The Myers!-Defend The Cuban Five!-More on this as the case unfolds.
*Musings On The Struggle Against Imperialist War- On The Question Of How To Call For The Defeat Of U.S. Imperialism Today
Click On Title To Link To V.I. Lenin's late 1914 Article "The Position And Tasks Of The Socialist International" For A "First Draft" Of Leninism On The Question Of Opposition To Imperialist War In The Throes Of The Opening Salvos Of World War I. This Entry Is Merely A First Look At What Should Be An On-Going Appraisal Of His Work On Revolutionary Defeatism.
Markin Commentary
The following is a response to the blogger Trotskyist’s comments (posted immediately below) on another entry on July 17, 2009, "Once Again, The Slogan Is...", and reflects, perhaps, better than the unwieldy headline of this entry some thoughts in what should be an on-going struggle to find a way to effectively battle the Obama Iraq/Afghan war policies.
******
2 Comments:
Trotskyist said...
Markin: What is the difference between your slogan now and "Out Now" from the reformist SWP during the Vietnam war (or the anti-war popular front today)?
Didn't Lenin insist that revolutionaries must call for the defeat of their own imperialist ruling class in a war?
8:30 AM
Renegade Eye said...
Revolutionary defeatism was a slogan, for a particular audience, at a particular time. It was not a principle. In addition Trotsky opposed that slogan.
Regards
*********
Trotskyist in his comment posted above from the July 17, 2009 entry mentioned above is actually right, in a formal sense. There is no qualitative difference between the Socialist Workers Party’s (SWP) slogan (and that of others, many others during that time) “Out Now” raised in the 1960s during various phases of the Vietnam War and my formulation now of “Immediate Unconditional Withdrawal Of All U.S. /Allied Troops From Iraq’ (or, for that matter, Afghanistan).
Nevertheless that old SWP slogan was a supportable one, if barely, as an anti-imperialist slogan. When, toward the middle of that war every even mildly leftist (and some not so leftist) bourgeois politician on the make was calling for some variation of that very slogan it was hard to differentiate the SWP’s position. However, the SWP’s (and those same bourgeois politicians on the make) equally prevalent social-patriotic slogan “Bring The Boys Home” (and its variants) on the other hand was not supportable at all. Except for my slightly more algebraic formulation on withdrawal from Iraq then what makes me any more than another run-of-the mill reformist of the SWP ilk posing as a revolutionary? The not inconsiderable one of context.
The SWP raised their slogan, in fair weather or foul, all throughout their anti-war work as they pursued the main chance-staying chummy with bourgeois politicians and suburban housewives (okay, and househusbands too). They raised it in 1965 when it was just barely acceptable to the anti-communist liberal/ labor left that dominated the early anti-war struggle. They raised in 1969 when many of us were calling for “Victory To The NLF (National Liberation Front Of South Vietnam)” in the aftermath of Tet 1968 and they raised it in 1975 as the helicopters were lifting the remnants off the Americans personal off the United States Embassy in Ho Chi Minh City (then Saigon) with the advances of the DNV/NLF forces entering the city.
I believe that today , as an anti-imperialist militant standing in opposition to the escalating Obama-driven American military presence in Afghanistan (and previously during the height of the long and continuing American presence in Iraq that was the focus of Trotskyist’s comment), my slogan represents ONE of the tasks that we have to fight around. In an America that has thus far, except a few malcontents on the left-wing of the Democratic Party and those few, too few, of us to the left of that organization, significantly backed off from the anti-war opposition that drove the initial period of opposition to the Bush portion of the Iraq War this slogan creates an axis to struggle around. A little class struggle in America around this issue (and for that matter any issue given the current economic circumstances) would go a long way toward breaking through on this problem of the Obama “honeymoon”.
As for the question of revolutionary defeatism, an important concept to those who stand in the Leninist anti-war tradition, let me make my position clear. Since somewhere about the middle of the Vietnam War I have, on more occasions that I care to count, called for the defeat of the American imperialist in whatever military adventure they were up to at the moment. That is my policy in regard to the American military presence in the world under any and all foreseeable circumstances while this country remains in the hands of the imperialists.
In practice, in Iraq and Afghanistan, that has meant calling for, in the best Leninist tradition, the military defense of the Taliban regime in Afghanistan and Hussein’s regime in Iraq when confronted with the American onslaught. Naturally this precluded any political support to those wretched regimes. Thus, an additional slogan is the call for the Iraqi and Afghan peoples to overthrow those regimes (while we are committed to do likewise with our own). I have raised those points many times in this space, including a call to form soldiers and sailors committees in the U.S. military in order to end the Iraq war. What I do not believe is appropriate for today (meaning in the short term) is to make that policy the center of our anti-war work. In practice today such an approach would mean something like raising a slogan of “Military Victory To The Taliban”, or some such thing. To state the proposition that starkly tells the tale. Sometimes in politics, especially left-wing politics, one finds oneself between a rock and a hard place. That, my friends, is the case here.
That situation is also where things today are different from Vietnam where we did have a side, the DRV/NLF forces, we wanted to see win. There were some forces I did want to see win in Afghanistan- the Soviet Union and their Afghan governmental allies before 1989. Of course then many Western leftists were screaming their version of “Out Now”, anti-Soviet-style. But a review of that fight is for another time. This is hardly the last word on this issue but I’ll be damned if I will take a back seat to anyone on my adult life time of opposition to American imperialism just because today I want to line up forces behind a variation of the “out now” axis of opposition to imperialist war.
Note: I slightly disagree with Renegade on the weight of the policy of revolutionary defeatism. It is not merely a question of its being a tactic but is rather an important strand in the anti-imperialist struggle especially here in the heartland of world imperialism, although the practical application now may take a variety of forms.
Markin Commentary
The following is a response to the blogger Trotskyist’s comments (posted immediately below) on another entry on July 17, 2009, "Once Again, The Slogan Is...", and reflects, perhaps, better than the unwieldy headline of this entry some thoughts in what should be an on-going struggle to find a way to effectively battle the Obama Iraq/Afghan war policies.
******
2 Comments:
Trotskyist said...
Markin: What is the difference between your slogan now and "Out Now" from the reformist SWP during the Vietnam war (or the anti-war popular front today)?
Didn't Lenin insist that revolutionaries must call for the defeat of their own imperialist ruling class in a war?
8:30 AM
Renegade Eye said...
Revolutionary defeatism was a slogan, for a particular audience, at a particular time. It was not a principle. In addition Trotsky opposed that slogan.
Regards
*********
Trotskyist in his comment posted above from the July 17, 2009 entry mentioned above is actually right, in a formal sense. There is no qualitative difference between the Socialist Workers Party’s (SWP) slogan (and that of others, many others during that time) “Out Now” raised in the 1960s during various phases of the Vietnam War and my formulation now of “Immediate Unconditional Withdrawal Of All U.S. /Allied Troops From Iraq’ (or, for that matter, Afghanistan).
Nevertheless that old SWP slogan was a supportable one, if barely, as an anti-imperialist slogan. When, toward the middle of that war every even mildly leftist (and some not so leftist) bourgeois politician on the make was calling for some variation of that very slogan it was hard to differentiate the SWP’s position. However, the SWP’s (and those same bourgeois politicians on the make) equally prevalent social-patriotic slogan “Bring The Boys Home” (and its variants) on the other hand was not supportable at all. Except for my slightly more algebraic formulation on withdrawal from Iraq then what makes me any more than another run-of-the mill reformist of the SWP ilk posing as a revolutionary? The not inconsiderable one of context.
The SWP raised their slogan, in fair weather or foul, all throughout their anti-war work as they pursued the main chance-staying chummy with bourgeois politicians and suburban housewives (okay, and househusbands too). They raised it in 1965 when it was just barely acceptable to the anti-communist liberal/ labor left that dominated the early anti-war struggle. They raised in 1969 when many of us were calling for “Victory To The NLF (National Liberation Front Of South Vietnam)” in the aftermath of Tet 1968 and they raised it in 1975 as the helicopters were lifting the remnants off the Americans personal off the United States Embassy in Ho Chi Minh City (then Saigon) with the advances of the DNV/NLF forces entering the city.
I believe that today , as an anti-imperialist militant standing in opposition to the escalating Obama-driven American military presence in Afghanistan (and previously during the height of the long and continuing American presence in Iraq that was the focus of Trotskyist’s comment), my slogan represents ONE of the tasks that we have to fight around. In an America that has thus far, except a few malcontents on the left-wing of the Democratic Party and those few, too few, of us to the left of that organization, significantly backed off from the anti-war opposition that drove the initial period of opposition to the Bush portion of the Iraq War this slogan creates an axis to struggle around. A little class struggle in America around this issue (and for that matter any issue given the current economic circumstances) would go a long way toward breaking through on this problem of the Obama “honeymoon”.
As for the question of revolutionary defeatism, an important concept to those who stand in the Leninist anti-war tradition, let me make my position clear. Since somewhere about the middle of the Vietnam War I have, on more occasions that I care to count, called for the defeat of the American imperialist in whatever military adventure they were up to at the moment. That is my policy in regard to the American military presence in the world under any and all foreseeable circumstances while this country remains in the hands of the imperialists.
In practice, in Iraq and Afghanistan, that has meant calling for, in the best Leninist tradition, the military defense of the Taliban regime in Afghanistan and Hussein’s regime in Iraq when confronted with the American onslaught. Naturally this precluded any political support to those wretched regimes. Thus, an additional slogan is the call for the Iraqi and Afghan peoples to overthrow those regimes (while we are committed to do likewise with our own). I have raised those points many times in this space, including a call to form soldiers and sailors committees in the U.S. military in order to end the Iraq war. What I do not believe is appropriate for today (meaning in the short term) is to make that policy the center of our anti-war work. In practice today such an approach would mean something like raising a slogan of “Military Victory To The Taliban”, or some such thing. To state the proposition that starkly tells the tale. Sometimes in politics, especially left-wing politics, one finds oneself between a rock and a hard place. That, my friends, is the case here.
That situation is also where things today are different from Vietnam where we did have a side, the DRV/NLF forces, we wanted to see win. There were some forces I did want to see win in Afghanistan- the Soviet Union and their Afghan governmental allies before 1989. Of course then many Western leftists were screaming their version of “Out Now”, anti-Soviet-style. But a review of that fight is for another time. This is hardly the last word on this issue but I’ll be damned if I will take a back seat to anyone on my adult life time of opposition to American imperialism just because today I want to line up forces behind a variation of the “out now” axis of opposition to imperialist war.
Note: I slightly disagree with Renegade on the weight of the policy of revolutionary defeatism. It is not merely a question of its being a tactic but is rather an important strand in the anti-imperialist struggle especially here in the heartland of world imperialism, although the practical application now may take a variety of forms.
Friday, July 24, 2009
*Voodoo Blues From The Bayou- The "Voodoo Daddy" Lonnie Brooks Is On Stage
Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of Lonnie Brooks.
CD Review
Lonnie Brooks: The Voodoo Daddy, Lonnie Brooks (and son Ronnie Baker), Alligator records, 1997
When reviewing various blues artist over the past year in this space I have spilled much ink on places like the Mississippi Delta, Chicago, Memphis and Texas. I have spent very little time talking about Cajun country, the bayous of Louisiana or the Mississippi port town of News Orleans as sources of the blues tradition. When one thinks of the bayous one tends to think of the Cajun-centered accordion or Zydeco music. New Orleans brings to mind jazz more than the blues, except maybe some barrel house influence. That omission seems now to have been flat out wrong as the artist under review, ‘The Voodoo Daddy” Lonnie Brooks, amply demonstrates.
Sure, Lonnie (and on this album his son Ronnie Baker as well) has mastered basic blues lines as any successful electric blues guitarist must but his music has that little extra “funky” edge that one gets when listening to better New Orleans jazz and Zydeco music, especially that big old sax blaring out to beat the band. That is what the Voodoo Daddy brings to the table. Here it starts right out with the first track “Jealous Man” carries through to “Hoodoo She Do” the aptly named “Zydeco” and finishes up nicely with “Rolling Of The Tumbling Dice”. More on this kind of bayou-derived music, especially under the influence of Clifton Chenier who was instrumental in jump starting Lonnie’s career, later. For now listen here- you can heard those swamp sounds from those Lake Charles and environs boys now, can’t you?
"Got Lucky Last Night"
Pretend you're mean as a lion
Wild like a tiger cat
Been lovin' mem so good last night
I almost had a heart attack
chorus:
I got lucky last night
I got lucky last night
Played your little game and I got lucky last night
Pretend you're mean and evil
Stubborn like a Georgia mule
Been lovin' me so good last night
You had me on private school
(chorus)
Pretend you can be sweet
Pretend you can be kind
But when it come to lovin' girl
You don't draw the line
(chorus)
I got lucky last night
I got lucky last night
I got lucky last night
I got lucky last night
Played a little game and I got lucky last night
I got lucky last night
I got lucky last night
I got lucky last night
I got lucky last night
I got lucky last night, tryin' to get lucky tonight
"Wife For Tonight"
Is is that string bikini?
Or the sun that's makin' me hot?
Whatever thing to cool me with baby
They gonna take a hell of a lot
I feel the need for some down home lovin' tonight
Oh I could gonna pretend that I'm your husband
If you'd only pretend you'll be my wife tonight
Yeah
I'll build us a playhouse
Into my bedroom
So you can play the bride baby
While I play the groom
I feel the need for some down home lovin' tonight
Oh I could gonna pretend that I'm your husband
If you'd only pretend you'll be my wife tonight
All right...
You can come on over
There'll be no strings attached
If you like what I'm doin' to you baby
You can always come back
I feel the need for some down home lovin' tonight
Oh I could gonna pretend that I'm your husband
If you'd only pretend you'll be my wife tonight
CD Review
Lonnie Brooks: The Voodoo Daddy, Lonnie Brooks (and son Ronnie Baker), Alligator records, 1997
When reviewing various blues artist over the past year in this space I have spilled much ink on places like the Mississippi Delta, Chicago, Memphis and Texas. I have spent very little time talking about Cajun country, the bayous of Louisiana or the Mississippi port town of News Orleans as sources of the blues tradition. When one thinks of the bayous one tends to think of the Cajun-centered accordion or Zydeco music. New Orleans brings to mind jazz more than the blues, except maybe some barrel house influence. That omission seems now to have been flat out wrong as the artist under review, ‘The Voodoo Daddy” Lonnie Brooks, amply demonstrates.
Sure, Lonnie (and on this album his son Ronnie Baker as well) has mastered basic blues lines as any successful electric blues guitarist must but his music has that little extra “funky” edge that one gets when listening to better New Orleans jazz and Zydeco music, especially that big old sax blaring out to beat the band. That is what the Voodoo Daddy brings to the table. Here it starts right out with the first track “Jealous Man” carries through to “Hoodoo She Do” the aptly named “Zydeco” and finishes up nicely with “Rolling Of The Tumbling Dice”. More on this kind of bayou-derived music, especially under the influence of Clifton Chenier who was instrumental in jump starting Lonnie’s career, later. For now listen here- you can heard those swamp sounds from those Lake Charles and environs boys now, can’t you?
"Got Lucky Last Night"
Pretend you're mean as a lion
Wild like a tiger cat
Been lovin' mem so good last night
I almost had a heart attack
chorus:
I got lucky last night
I got lucky last night
Played your little game and I got lucky last night
Pretend you're mean and evil
Stubborn like a Georgia mule
Been lovin' me so good last night
You had me on private school
(chorus)
Pretend you can be sweet
Pretend you can be kind
But when it come to lovin' girl
You don't draw the line
(chorus)
I got lucky last night
I got lucky last night
I got lucky last night
I got lucky last night
Played a little game and I got lucky last night
I got lucky last night
I got lucky last night
I got lucky last night
I got lucky last night
I got lucky last night, tryin' to get lucky tonight
"Wife For Tonight"
Is is that string bikini?
Or the sun that's makin' me hot?
Whatever thing to cool me with baby
They gonna take a hell of a lot
I feel the need for some down home lovin' tonight
Oh I could gonna pretend that I'm your husband
If you'd only pretend you'll be my wife tonight
Yeah
I'll build us a playhouse
Into my bedroom
So you can play the bride baby
While I play the groom
I feel the need for some down home lovin' tonight
Oh I could gonna pretend that I'm your husband
If you'd only pretend you'll be my wife tonight
All right...
You can come on over
There'll be no strings attached
If you like what I'm doin' to you baby
You can always come back
I feel the need for some down home lovin' tonight
Oh I could gonna pretend that I'm your husband
If you'd only pretend you'll be my wife tonight
Thursday, July 23, 2009
*The Hoodoo Man Is In The House- The Harmonica Blues Of Junior Wells
Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of Junior Wells Doing "Hoodoo Man".
DVD REVIEW
Don’t Start Me Talking: The Junior Wells Story, Junior Wells, Buddy Guy and various artists and commentators, Sony, 2005
The last time that the name Junior Wells was mentioned in this space was when he was referenced in a review of the work of legendary Chicago blues guitarist and his long time musical companion, Buddy Guy. Starting in the late 1950's those names, more often than not, were linked together as among the hottest sounds to come out of clubs and other venues during that fantastic period of the reemergence of the Chicago blues. Well today is Junior's turn in the spotlight in this informative hour and one half review of the ups and downs of his musical and personal life.
The personal part of Junior's life is not an unfamiliar one when detailing the life stories of many of the great black blues musicians who made a name for themselves in Chicago, the "Mecca" of the electric blues. Born down South on the farm, enduring a hard scrabble childhood, coming up North, hungry. Sound familiar? And, as in many other cases concerning the hungry part including Junior's case, almost literally so. But these guys and gals (think of Koko Taylor, an interviewee here) ready to do anything to get out of the South of the hard luck farms and the plantations, to speak nothing of Jim Crow. Chicago-bound was Junior's cry, as well. But there were a million guys trying to work Maxwell Street and get the bright light attention of the likes of Muddy Waters and Howlin' Wolf in the late 1950's. Somehow, through thick and thin and some toying around the edges of the criminal life, sheer talent and energy, Junior survived and got his big chance with Muddy. The rest, as they say, is history.
Junior's story is told here in a number of ways. Mainly there are personal interviews with him about his sometimes rocky way to blues stardom. Then there are personal and musical testimonials from the likes of the above-mentioned Buddy Guy and long time Wells band member Lonnie Brooks (worthy of his own separate review in his well-travelled blues career). Finally, there is the seemingly inevitable roundtable group of commentators who throw out various tidbits about Junior's life, his recording career and his character, including important information for the blues archivist about the Delmark Records production of the album "Hoodoo Man" and from his first manager, the ubiquitous Dick Waterman. The results are an inside look into one of the key Chicago blues figures who carried on the tradition from the post-World War II blues giants like Muddy, Howlin' Wolf, and Willie Dixon. Nice.
"Hoodoo Man"
Lord, I wonder what's the matter, I'm crying all the
time
The minutes seem like hours, everything's the same
But I'm holding my hand, Lord I'm trying to make my
baby understand
Somebody done tell me, Junior, somebody done
hoodoo
the hoodoo man
I buzzed your bell this morning, elevator running
slow
I buzzed your bell this morning, take me up to your
third floor.
But I'm holding my hand, Lord I'm trying to make my
baby understand
I'm gonna tell you one time, ain't gonna tell you no
more
If I have to tell you again, I'm gonna let you go
But I'm holding my hand, Lord I'm trying to make my
baby understand
"Checkin' On My Baby"
Checkin' on my baby, see what she puttin' down
So many days and nights I been out of town
I wouldn't call home, and I wouldn't even write
I bought me a plane and flew back the same night
Checkin' on my baby, find out what she puttin' down
Checkin' up on my baby, find out what she puttin'
down
So many nights and days I been out of town
"Good Mornin' Lil' Schoolgirl"
Good morning, little schoolgirl, can I go home with
you?
Tell your mother and your poppa, I'm a little
schoolboy too
Lord, I love you baby, just can't help myself
Don't care how you treat me, baby, I don't want nobody
else
Good morning, little schoolgirl, hey hey hey!
Oohweeh, I'm gonna leave you baby, one of these old
days
On account of how you treat me, baby, I'm gonna stay
away
Good morning, little schoolgirl, can I go home with
you?
Come on now, pretty baby, come one home with me
Good morning, little schoolgirl, hey hey hey!
Ooh, oohweeh, I'm gonna buy an airplane, fly all over
your town
Tell everybody, baby, Lord knows you're fine
I can't stand it, baby, just can't help myself
You're so young and pretty, you love somebody else
Good morning, little schoolgirl, hey hey hey!
Ooh, oohweeh!
"My Baby She Left Me"
When my baby she left me, she left me with a mule to
ride
When my baby she left me, she left me with a mule to
ride
When her train left the station that old mule laid
down and died
Man I sent this woman a brand new twenty dollar bill
Lord I sent that woman a brand new twenty dollar bill
Now if that don't bring her back, I'm sure this old
shotgun will
Lake Michigan ain't no river, Chicago ain't no hill
town
Lake Michigan ain't no river, Chicago ain't no hill
town
If I feel like this tomorrow I'm gonna clear out be
back down Memphis bound
I'll be standing down on the landing when the big boat
pull off and roll
I'll be standing on the landing when the big boat pull
off and roll
I'll be hopin' I'll be prayin' I don't see your face
no more
When my baby she left me, she left me with a mule to
ride
When my baby she left me, she left me with a mule to
ride
When her train left the station that old mule laid
down and died
Lord I sent this woman a brand new twenty dollar bill
Man I sent my baby a brand new twenty dollar bill
Now if that don't bring her back, I'm sure my shotgun
will
"Messin' With The Kid"
What's this a-here goin' all around town
The people they say they're gonna put the kid down
Oh no, oh look at what you did
You can call it what you want to, I call it messin'
with the kid
You know the kid's no child, and I don't play
I says what I mean and I mean what I say
Oh yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah, oh look at what you did
You can call it what you want to, I call it messin'
with the kid
You know the kid's no child, and I don't play
I says what I mean and I mean what I say
Oh yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah, oh look at what you did
You can call it what you want to, I call it messin'
with the kid
We're gonna take the kid's car and drive around town
Tell everybody you're not puttin' him down
Oh yeah yeah yeah yeah, oh look at what you did
You can call it what you want to, I call it messin'
with the...
DVD REVIEW
Don’t Start Me Talking: The Junior Wells Story, Junior Wells, Buddy Guy and various artists and commentators, Sony, 2005
The last time that the name Junior Wells was mentioned in this space was when he was referenced in a review of the work of legendary Chicago blues guitarist and his long time musical companion, Buddy Guy. Starting in the late 1950's those names, more often than not, were linked together as among the hottest sounds to come out of clubs and other venues during that fantastic period of the reemergence of the Chicago blues. Well today is Junior's turn in the spotlight in this informative hour and one half review of the ups and downs of his musical and personal life.
The personal part of Junior's life is not an unfamiliar one when detailing the life stories of many of the great black blues musicians who made a name for themselves in Chicago, the "Mecca" of the electric blues. Born down South on the farm, enduring a hard scrabble childhood, coming up North, hungry. Sound familiar? And, as in many other cases concerning the hungry part including Junior's case, almost literally so. But these guys and gals (think of Koko Taylor, an interviewee here) ready to do anything to get out of the South of the hard luck farms and the plantations, to speak nothing of Jim Crow. Chicago-bound was Junior's cry, as well. But there were a million guys trying to work Maxwell Street and get the bright light attention of the likes of Muddy Waters and Howlin' Wolf in the late 1950's. Somehow, through thick and thin and some toying around the edges of the criminal life, sheer talent and energy, Junior survived and got his big chance with Muddy. The rest, as they say, is history.
Junior's story is told here in a number of ways. Mainly there are personal interviews with him about his sometimes rocky way to blues stardom. Then there are personal and musical testimonials from the likes of the above-mentioned Buddy Guy and long time Wells band member Lonnie Brooks (worthy of his own separate review in his well-travelled blues career). Finally, there is the seemingly inevitable roundtable group of commentators who throw out various tidbits about Junior's life, his recording career and his character, including important information for the blues archivist about the Delmark Records production of the album "Hoodoo Man" and from his first manager, the ubiquitous Dick Waterman. The results are an inside look into one of the key Chicago blues figures who carried on the tradition from the post-World War II blues giants like Muddy, Howlin' Wolf, and Willie Dixon. Nice.
"Hoodoo Man"
Lord, I wonder what's the matter, I'm crying all the
time
The minutes seem like hours, everything's the same
But I'm holding my hand, Lord I'm trying to make my
baby understand
Somebody done tell me, Junior, somebody done
hoodoo
the hoodoo man
I buzzed your bell this morning, elevator running
slow
I buzzed your bell this morning, take me up to your
third floor.
But I'm holding my hand, Lord I'm trying to make my
baby understand
I'm gonna tell you one time, ain't gonna tell you no
more
If I have to tell you again, I'm gonna let you go
But I'm holding my hand, Lord I'm trying to make my
baby understand
"Checkin' On My Baby"
Checkin' on my baby, see what she puttin' down
So many days and nights I been out of town
I wouldn't call home, and I wouldn't even write
I bought me a plane and flew back the same night
Checkin' on my baby, find out what she puttin' down
Checkin' up on my baby, find out what she puttin'
down
So many nights and days I been out of town
"Good Mornin' Lil' Schoolgirl"
Good morning, little schoolgirl, can I go home with
you?
Tell your mother and your poppa, I'm a little
schoolboy too
Lord, I love you baby, just can't help myself
Don't care how you treat me, baby, I don't want nobody
else
Good morning, little schoolgirl, hey hey hey!
Oohweeh, I'm gonna leave you baby, one of these old
days
On account of how you treat me, baby, I'm gonna stay
away
Good morning, little schoolgirl, can I go home with
you?
Come on now, pretty baby, come one home with me
Good morning, little schoolgirl, hey hey hey!
Ooh, oohweeh, I'm gonna buy an airplane, fly all over
your town
Tell everybody, baby, Lord knows you're fine
I can't stand it, baby, just can't help myself
You're so young and pretty, you love somebody else
Good morning, little schoolgirl, hey hey hey!
Ooh, oohweeh!
"My Baby She Left Me"
When my baby she left me, she left me with a mule to
ride
When my baby she left me, she left me with a mule to
ride
When her train left the station that old mule laid
down and died
Man I sent this woman a brand new twenty dollar bill
Lord I sent that woman a brand new twenty dollar bill
Now if that don't bring her back, I'm sure this old
shotgun will
Lake Michigan ain't no river, Chicago ain't no hill
town
Lake Michigan ain't no river, Chicago ain't no hill
town
If I feel like this tomorrow I'm gonna clear out be
back down Memphis bound
I'll be standing down on the landing when the big boat
pull off and roll
I'll be standing on the landing when the big boat pull
off and roll
I'll be hopin' I'll be prayin' I don't see your face
no more
When my baby she left me, she left me with a mule to
ride
When my baby she left me, she left me with a mule to
ride
When her train left the station that old mule laid
down and died
Lord I sent this woman a brand new twenty dollar bill
Man I sent my baby a brand new twenty dollar bill
Now if that don't bring her back, I'm sure my shotgun
will
"Messin' With The Kid"
What's this a-here goin' all around town
The people they say they're gonna put the kid down
Oh no, oh look at what you did
You can call it what you want to, I call it messin'
with the kid
You know the kid's no child, and I don't play
I says what I mean and I mean what I say
Oh yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah, oh look at what you did
You can call it what you want to, I call it messin'
with the kid
You know the kid's no child, and I don't play
I says what I mean and I mean what I say
Oh yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah, oh look at what you did
You can call it what you want to, I call it messin'
with the kid
We're gonna take the kid's car and drive around town
Tell everybody you're not puttin' him down
Oh yeah yeah yeah yeah, oh look at what you did
You can call it what you want to, I call it messin'
with the...
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
*Harmonica Heaven- The Blues Harp Of "Jazz" Gillum
Click On Title To Link To Wikipedia's Entry For "Jazz" Gillum".
CD REVIEW
Bill “Jazz” Gillum: The Bluebird recordings, 1934-38, Bill Gillum, BMG Records, 1997
Sonny Boy Williamson (either artist who went by that name), James Cotton, Brownie McGhee all made their marks with some very smoking harmonica. Hell, even Bob Dylan enhanced much of his earlier folk work using that instrument. Here one of the early masters of the instrument gives it a full work out and some very nice blues/jazz tunes. As the title of the album indicates, although he had a longer somewhat checkered career that ended in personal tragedy in some dark alley, Gillum hits his high notes best in the period of the Bluebird recordings. Together with some fine back up musicians and a voice that while not memorable is serviceable this album shows why that statement is true.
Remember though you are getting this album for the harmonica work, that is the strong suit here. For this reviewer the top song is the New “Sail On Little Girl” (that Big Joe Turner made a huge hit on later). Others to listen for are “Sarah Jane”, “Alberta Blues”, “Reefer Head Woman” (you know what that one’s about, right?) and the seemingly obligatory (for any black musician in that time coming out of the Mississippi Delta and heading North to Memphis or Chicago) “Good Old 51 Highway”.
Lyrics to "Reefer Head Woman" (a song covered bu Aerosmith, by the way)
I got a reefer headed woman
She fell right down from the sky
(Good Lord)
Woh...I got a reefer head a woman
She fell right down from the sky
Well, I gots to drink me a two fifths of whiskey
Just to get half as high
When the good Lord made that woman
He sure went to town
Oooh...when the good Lord made that woman
He sure went to town
Well, when he was feelin' high
Oooh...he sure should have been feelin' low
Oh Mr. Perry!
I got a reefer headed woman
Lord...she fell right down from the sky
Uuum...got a reefer headed woman
She fell right down from the sky
Lord, I gots to drink me two fifths of whiskey
Just to get, just to get, half as high
CD REVIEW
Bill “Jazz” Gillum: The Bluebird recordings, 1934-38, Bill Gillum, BMG Records, 1997
Sonny Boy Williamson (either artist who went by that name), James Cotton, Brownie McGhee all made their marks with some very smoking harmonica. Hell, even Bob Dylan enhanced much of his earlier folk work using that instrument. Here one of the early masters of the instrument gives it a full work out and some very nice blues/jazz tunes. As the title of the album indicates, although he had a longer somewhat checkered career that ended in personal tragedy in some dark alley, Gillum hits his high notes best in the period of the Bluebird recordings. Together with some fine back up musicians and a voice that while not memorable is serviceable this album shows why that statement is true.
Remember though you are getting this album for the harmonica work, that is the strong suit here. For this reviewer the top song is the New “Sail On Little Girl” (that Big Joe Turner made a huge hit on later). Others to listen for are “Sarah Jane”, “Alberta Blues”, “Reefer Head Woman” (you know what that one’s about, right?) and the seemingly obligatory (for any black musician in that time coming out of the Mississippi Delta and heading North to Memphis or Chicago) “Good Old 51 Highway”.
Lyrics to "Reefer Head Woman" (a song covered bu Aerosmith, by the way)
I got a reefer headed woman
She fell right down from the sky
(Good Lord)
Woh...I got a reefer head a woman
She fell right down from the sky
Well, I gots to drink me a two fifths of whiskey
Just to get half as high
When the good Lord made that woman
He sure went to town
Oooh...when the good Lord made that woman
He sure went to town
Well, when he was feelin' high
Oooh...he sure should have been feelin' low
Oh Mr. Perry!
I got a reefer headed woman
Lord...she fell right down from the sky
Uuum...got a reefer headed woman
She fell right down from the sky
Lord, I gots to drink me two fifths of whiskey
Just to get, just to get, half as high
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
*Stinging Electric Blues Guitar-Otis Rush Is In The Room
Click On Title To Link To The Otis Rush Website.
CD Review
All Your Love I Miss Loving: Live At The Wise Fool Club, Otis Rush, Delmark, 2005
Okay, okay I have been talking about doing a review of the legendary electric blues guitarist Otis Rush ever since I saw him on some DVDs in the “American Folk Blues “series from the 1960’s that I have reviewed earlier in this space. Arguably, the 1950’s and 1960’s were the heroic age of electric blues guitar with the likes of Muddy Waters, Hubert Sumlin (from Howlin’ Wolf’s band), Elmore James, the incredible T-Bone Walker and Brother Rush. What makes the case for his inclusion here is some very rippling solos where he runs the board.
Sometimes the quality of live performances especially in the days before better sound production technology was developed, as here at the famous blues club the “Wise Fool Club”, diminishes the quality of the sound. However, for a performer like Rush, having that live audience in front is the spark that takes them to flights of ....musical fancy. Put that together with Rush’s deep, powerful voice to match the intensity of the riffs and a self-selected back up band and you have the blues when they are dos.
You don’t believe me? Well, listen to a smoking “Sweet Little Angel” or the pathos of “Feel So Bad”. Or the pain of “You’re Breaking My Heart” or the frenetic longing of the title song “All Your Love I Miss Loving”. Case closed.
Sweet Little Angel - B.B. King
(B.B. King & Jules Taub)
I got a sweet little angel
I love the way she spread her wings
Yes, I got a sweet little angel
I love the way she spread her wings
Yes, when she spread her wings around me
I get joy in everything
You know I asked my baby for a nickel
And she gave me a twenty dollar bill
Oh, yes, I asked my baby for a nickel
And she gave me a twenty dollar bill
Whoa, you know I asked her for a little drink of liquor
And she gave me a whiskey still
Ah yes, asked my baby to quit me
Well, I do believe I will die
Yes, I asked my baby to quit me
Well, I do believe I will die
'Cause, if you don't love me little angel
Please, tell me the reason why
CD Review
All Your Love I Miss Loving: Live At The Wise Fool Club, Otis Rush, Delmark, 2005
Okay, okay I have been talking about doing a review of the legendary electric blues guitarist Otis Rush ever since I saw him on some DVDs in the “American Folk Blues “series from the 1960’s that I have reviewed earlier in this space. Arguably, the 1950’s and 1960’s were the heroic age of electric blues guitar with the likes of Muddy Waters, Hubert Sumlin (from Howlin’ Wolf’s band), Elmore James, the incredible T-Bone Walker and Brother Rush. What makes the case for his inclusion here is some very rippling solos where he runs the board.
Sometimes the quality of live performances especially in the days before better sound production technology was developed, as here at the famous blues club the “Wise Fool Club”, diminishes the quality of the sound. However, for a performer like Rush, having that live audience in front is the spark that takes them to flights of ....musical fancy. Put that together with Rush’s deep, powerful voice to match the intensity of the riffs and a self-selected back up band and you have the blues when they are dos.
You don’t believe me? Well, listen to a smoking “Sweet Little Angel” or the pathos of “Feel So Bad”. Or the pain of “You’re Breaking My Heart” or the frenetic longing of the title song “All Your Love I Miss Loving”. Case closed.
Sweet Little Angel - B.B. King
(B.B. King & Jules Taub)
I got a sweet little angel
I love the way she spread her wings
Yes, I got a sweet little angel
I love the way she spread her wings
Yes, when she spread her wings around me
I get joy in everything
You know I asked my baby for a nickel
And she gave me a twenty dollar bill
Oh, yes, I asked my baby for a nickel
And she gave me a twenty dollar bill
Whoa, you know I asked her for a little drink of liquor
And she gave me a whiskey still
Ah yes, asked my baby to quit me
Well, I do believe I will die
Yes, I asked my baby to quit me
Well, I do believe I will die
'Cause, if you don't love me little angel
Please, tell me the reason why
Monday, July 20, 2009
*Folk Potpourri- Part Three-Mark Spoelstra
Click On Title To Link To Rhapsody's Presentation Of "Mark Spoelstra At Club 47". For Those Unfamiliar With 1960's Folk Revival History Club 47 (Now Club Passim) Was The "Mecca" Of The Boston/Cambridge Folk Scene With The Likes Of Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, Tom Rush And The Artist Under Review Holding Forth There. Those Were The Days. Sorry, I Could Not Find A YouTube Link For Mark Spoelstra.
CD REVIEW
Five & Twenty Questions, Mark Spoelstra, Collectors’ Choice Music, 2006
Over the past year or so I have been reviewing many of the male folksingers who proliferated in the early 1960’s folk revival and who threw their hats in the ring to be “king of the hill” of the burgeoning folk scene (the women singers of the period are to be looked at separately later). Names such as Tom Rush, Tom Paxton, Jesse Colin Young and Jesse Winchester have already been reviewed. These are performers, for the most part, who still work the small concert and coffee house circuit but whose names are probably very unfamiliar to today’s musical audience, folk or otherwise. I approached my theme initially under the sign of this question; what qualities, personal and musical, make some singers succeed and others fall by the wayside?
We know that Bob Dylan, without a doubt, wanted to win that contest for supremacy and did so. I think that Dylan answered the why of that question himself in one of the snippets of interviews in the Martin Scorsese documentary of his early career, “No Direction Home”. There he noted, when asked why audiences gravitated to his songs, that while there was plenty of talent around most singers sang their message over the audience (I think that he meant in the literal performing sense, as well as intellectually) but that it was necessary to “speak” to the audience. To our sense of longing for identity, for some knowledge of life’s mystery, and for that some one who could express in our own tribal youth language the words that we needed to push on with. Well, Dylan certainly did that to a generation, my generation, that saw “the answer blowing in the wind” and desperately hoped that “the times were a-changin’’’.
The folk artist under review, Mark Spoestra is one of the male singers that I have not mentioned previously, although he was certainly in the mix of things in the early 1960’s. In fact, his “resurrection” here is due to my having seen his “talking head” commentary on that “No Direction Home” Scorsese production. I do not know the particulars of his later story but the work here on this CD is a case in point about the Dylan comment. (I note that after this review was written I found out that Mark Spoelstra had died in 2007.)
Certainly his lyrics are strong and are right in the Woody Guthrie (and later, Dylan himself) troubadour tradition of spreading the news of the day. “Five & Twenty Questions” and, more so, the tragic story outlined in “Ballad Of 12th Avenue”, about the desperation of a used up man in the bowels of modern American society that has left him with no resources but the gun to work out his problems, are in that mode. “On The Road Again” and “The Leaves” speak to the need to ramble and find oneself or to find love or find something that we hungered for then (and not just then either). That said, this album still leaves me with the feeling that old Mark was speaking to himself and for himself and not to me. That is the difference. A big difference. Still, if you have time listen in to someone who was struggling to find the meaning of his times and, at least on “Ballad Of 12th Street”, hit pay dirt.
He Was A Friend of Mine (Just A Hand To Hold)
Lyrics: Mark Spoelstra
Music: Mark Spoelstra
This was played by the Grateful Dead in their early days, from 1966 to 1970. It is normally in setlists as "He Was A Friend Of Mine" but it is in fact a portion of a Mark Spoelstra song "Just A Hand To Hold"
Chorus
He was, he was a friend of mine
He was, he was a friend of mine
Now he's dead and gone
This morning my best friend
Was sleeping in his bed
His face like a jewel
And he was dead
[chorus]
He liked to play games
Mark, push me on a swing
Mark, push me on a merry-go-round
Going round and round
[chorus]
deadsongs.vue.90 : He Was A Friend Of Mine
permalink #5 of 18: Alex Allan (alexallan) Sat 17 Sep 05 01:20
Thanks to a tip from Russ Lipetzky, I've discovered that the song we
know as "He Was A Friend Of Mine" is in fact "Just A Hand To Hold" by
Mark Spoelstra. Spoelstra recorded it on his 1965 LP "5 & 20 Questions"
and it was covered in the same year by Kathy and Carol (Kathy Larisch
and Carol McComb). I've got a copy of the latter - lyrics below. The
Grateful Dead sang just the first few verses. Mark Spoelstra used to
perform with Bob Dylan, Dave Van Ronk et al in New York in the early
1960s, which may explain the loose connection with the song "He Was A
Friend Of Mine" that they performed.
Just A Hand To Hold
Mark Spoelstra
He was, he was a friend of mine
He was, he was a friend of mine
Now he's dead and gone
This morning, my best friend
Lay still on his bed
His face like a jewel
And he was dead
He was, he was only six years old
He was, he was only six years old
So I've been told
He like to play games
Mark, push me on the swing
Mark, push me on the merry-go-round
Go round and round
Swing me, oh swing me, swing me all up and down
Spin me, oh spin me, spin me around and round
Till my feet touch the ground
He never was afraid
For he was was brave and bold
And the only thing he ever asked for
Was a hand to hold
It makes no difference where he's from or where's he's bound
And it makes no difference if he's lost or been found
He's dead and gone
But there is no power
Anywhere in this land
Like the voice used to say
Will you hold my hand
There is a voice that rings loud throughout this land
There is a voice that speaks for the black and tan
And for all of man
It's young and it's old
It's brave and it's bold
It can't be bought or sold
Just a hand to hold
CD REVIEW
Five & Twenty Questions, Mark Spoelstra, Collectors’ Choice Music, 2006
Over the past year or so I have been reviewing many of the male folksingers who proliferated in the early 1960’s folk revival and who threw their hats in the ring to be “king of the hill” of the burgeoning folk scene (the women singers of the period are to be looked at separately later). Names such as Tom Rush, Tom Paxton, Jesse Colin Young and Jesse Winchester have already been reviewed. These are performers, for the most part, who still work the small concert and coffee house circuit but whose names are probably very unfamiliar to today’s musical audience, folk or otherwise. I approached my theme initially under the sign of this question; what qualities, personal and musical, make some singers succeed and others fall by the wayside?
We know that Bob Dylan, without a doubt, wanted to win that contest for supremacy and did so. I think that Dylan answered the why of that question himself in one of the snippets of interviews in the Martin Scorsese documentary of his early career, “No Direction Home”. There he noted, when asked why audiences gravitated to his songs, that while there was plenty of talent around most singers sang their message over the audience (I think that he meant in the literal performing sense, as well as intellectually) but that it was necessary to “speak” to the audience. To our sense of longing for identity, for some knowledge of life’s mystery, and for that some one who could express in our own tribal youth language the words that we needed to push on with. Well, Dylan certainly did that to a generation, my generation, that saw “the answer blowing in the wind” and desperately hoped that “the times were a-changin’’’.
The folk artist under review, Mark Spoestra is one of the male singers that I have not mentioned previously, although he was certainly in the mix of things in the early 1960’s. In fact, his “resurrection” here is due to my having seen his “talking head” commentary on that “No Direction Home” Scorsese production. I do not know the particulars of his later story but the work here on this CD is a case in point about the Dylan comment. (I note that after this review was written I found out that Mark Spoelstra had died in 2007.)
Certainly his lyrics are strong and are right in the Woody Guthrie (and later, Dylan himself) troubadour tradition of spreading the news of the day. “Five & Twenty Questions” and, more so, the tragic story outlined in “Ballad Of 12th Avenue”, about the desperation of a used up man in the bowels of modern American society that has left him with no resources but the gun to work out his problems, are in that mode. “On The Road Again” and “The Leaves” speak to the need to ramble and find oneself or to find love or find something that we hungered for then (and not just then either). That said, this album still leaves me with the feeling that old Mark was speaking to himself and for himself and not to me. That is the difference. A big difference. Still, if you have time listen in to someone who was struggling to find the meaning of his times and, at least on “Ballad Of 12th Street”, hit pay dirt.
He Was A Friend of Mine (Just A Hand To Hold)
Lyrics: Mark Spoelstra
Music: Mark Spoelstra
This was played by the Grateful Dead in their early days, from 1966 to 1970. It is normally in setlists as "He Was A Friend Of Mine" but it is in fact a portion of a Mark Spoelstra song "Just A Hand To Hold"
Chorus
He was, he was a friend of mine
He was, he was a friend of mine
Now he's dead and gone
This morning my best friend
Was sleeping in his bed
His face like a jewel
And he was dead
[chorus]
He liked to play games
Mark, push me on a swing
Mark, push me on a merry-go-round
Going round and round
[chorus]
deadsongs.vue.90 : He Was A Friend Of Mine
permalink #5 of 18: Alex Allan (alexallan) Sat 17 Sep 05 01:20
Thanks to a tip from Russ Lipetzky, I've discovered that the song we
know as "He Was A Friend Of Mine" is in fact "Just A Hand To Hold" by
Mark Spoelstra. Spoelstra recorded it on his 1965 LP "5 & 20 Questions"
and it was covered in the same year by Kathy and Carol (Kathy Larisch
and Carol McComb). I've got a copy of the latter - lyrics below. The
Grateful Dead sang just the first few verses. Mark Spoelstra used to
perform with Bob Dylan, Dave Van Ronk et al in New York in the early
1960s, which may explain the loose connection with the song "He Was A
Friend Of Mine" that they performed.
Just A Hand To Hold
Mark Spoelstra
He was, he was a friend of mine
He was, he was a friend of mine
Now he's dead and gone
This morning, my best friend
Lay still on his bed
His face like a jewel
And he was dead
He was, he was only six years old
He was, he was only six years old
So I've been told
He like to play games
Mark, push me on the swing
Mark, push me on the merry-go-round
Go round and round
Swing me, oh swing me, swing me all up and down
Spin me, oh spin me, spin me around and round
Till my feet touch the ground
He never was afraid
For he was was brave and bold
And the only thing he ever asked for
Was a hand to hold
It makes no difference where he's from or where's he's bound
And it makes no difference if he's lost or been found
He's dead and gone
But there is no power
Anywhere in this land
Like the voice used to say
Will you hold my hand
There is a voice that rings loud throughout this land
There is a voice that speaks for the black and tan
And for all of man
It's young and it's old
It's brave and it's bold
It can't be bought or sold
Just a hand to hold
*Irish Author Of "Angela's Ashes" Frank McCourt Is Dead At 78
Click On Title To Link To NPR's Story On The Death Of Author Frank McCourt. Frank McCourt's story is my story about a generation later and a continent away. But it is still my story. I have reviewed that elsewhere in this space and have reposted it below.
*A Bit Of The Odd Manner- Irish Style- The Childhood Saga of Frank McCourt
Book Review
Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir Of Childhood, Frank McCourt, Flamingo, London, 1997
Frank McCourt’s “Angela’s Ashes” is probably the easiest review that I have had to write since I have been doing such reviews in this space. Why? Frank McCourt’s book of childhood memoirs is my story. No, not in the details of his life’s story, or mine. But rather in how being Irish, being poor and being uprooted affects your childhood, and later. And those traumas, for good or evil, cross generational lines. McCourt, we are told as his story unfolds, was born in America of immigrants of the Diaspora after Irish independence who, for one reason or another, returned to the old country in defeat in the 1930’s. As McCourt notes right at the beginning, that fact in itself provides a rather ironic twist if one is familiar with Irish history (at least until very recently). He is, in any case, thus a child of the Great Depression and World War II, the generation of my parents, as it was refracted through Ireland during that period. I, on the other hand, am a child of the 1960’s, the “Generation of ‘68” here in America born of the dreaded Irish Catholic-English Protestant combination- and raised in an Irish Catholic enclave. Nevertheless the pages of this memoir are filled to the brim with the results of the emotional (and sometimes physical scars) of being “shanty” Irish in this world that hit home to this reader.
That said, we did not share the terrible effect that “the drink” had on creating his dysfunctional family with his father’s, Malachy McCourt, crazed need for the alcohol cure to drown his sorrows and his bitterness and the fact that his great moment in life was his bit for “the cause” (of Irish independence). A familiar story in the Irish community here and in the old country but my father seldom drank, although he too was constantly out of work and shared with Frank’s father that same bitterness about his fate. He was uneducated, lacking in skills and prospects and as a “hillbilly” Protestant Southerner from coal country down in Kentucky. Thus, an ‘outsider’ like Frank’s father. That is the commonality that caught my eye (and sometimes my throat) as I read of Frank’s youthful trials, tribulations and adventures. McCourt’s ability to tap into that “mystical” something is what makes this a fine read, whether you are Irish or not.
Throughout the book McCourt’s woe begotten but fatally prideful father is constantly referred to in the Irishtown working class poor ghetto of Limerick (and elsewhere, as well, but the heart of the story is told from there) as having an odd manner. This reflects a certain clannishness against those from the North of Ireland (Dare I say it, the area then known as Ulster) and a sneaking suspicion amount that crowd of some alien (meaning English Protestant) heritage. As the book progresses that odd trait is transferred (by heredity?) to Frank in his various wanderings, enterprise and desires. What joins us together then is that odd manner that gets repeatedly invoked throughout the book. Frank survived to tell the tale. As did I. But in both cases it appears to have been a near thing.
There is more that unites us. The shame culture, not an exclusive Irish Catholic property but very strong nevertheless, drilled in by the clannishness, the closeness of neighbors, the Catholic religion and by the bloody outsiders- usually but not always Protestants of some sort (as least for blame purposes- you know, the eight hundred years of British tyranny although very real to be sure). All driven by not having nearly enough of this world’s goods. Every time I read a passage about the lack of food, the quality of the food, the conditions of the various tenements that the McCourt family lived in, the lack of adequate and clean clothing I cringed at the thoughts from my own childhood. Or the various times when the family was seriously down and out and his mother, the beloved Angela of the title, had to beg charity of one form or another from some institution that existed mainly to berate the poor. I can remember own my mother’s plaintive cry when my brothers and I misbehaved that the next step was the county poor farm.
And how about the false pride and skewed order of priorities? Frank’s father was a flat out drunk and was totally irresponsible. From a child's perspective, however, he is still your dad and must be given the respect accordingly, especially against the viciousness of the outside world. But life’s disappointments for the father also get reflected in the expectations for the son. The dreams are smaller. Here, the horizons are pretty small when a governmental job with its security just above the “dole” is the touchstone of respectability. Sean O’Casey was able to make enduring plays from the slums of Dublin out of this material. And Frank McCourt enduring literature. Thanks, brother.
Note: The movie version of “Angela’s Ashes” pretty fairly reflects the intentions of Frank McCourt in his childhood memoirs and follows the book accordingly, without the usual dramatic embellishments of that medium. The story line is so strong it needs no such “touch-ups”. Particularly compelling is the very visual sense of utter poverty down at the base of Irish society in Frank McCourt’s childhood.
These two songs below are constantly being sung by Frank McCourt's father when he is "on the drink"
"Roddy McCorly"
O see the fleet-foot host of men, who march with faces drawn,
From farmstead and from fishers' cot, along the banks of Ban;
They come with vengeance in their eyes. Too late! Too late are they,
For young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.
Up the narrow street he stepped, so smiling, proud and young.
About the hemp-rope on his neck, the golden ringlets clung;
There's ne'er a tear in his blue eyes, fearless and brave are they,
As young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.
When last this narrow street he trod, his shining pike in hand
Behind him marched, in grim array, a earnest stalwart band.
To Antrim town! To Antrim town, he led them to the fray,
But young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.
There's never a one of all your dead more bravely died in fray
Than he who marches to his fate in Toomebridge town today; ray
True to the last! True to the last, he treads the upwards way,
And young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.
"Kevin Barry"
In MOUNT JOY jail one Monday morning
High upon the gallows tree
Kevin Barry gave his young life
For the 'cause of liberty
Just a lad of eighteen summers
Yet no true man can deny
As he walked to death that morning
He proudly held his head up high
Another martyr for old Erin
Another murder for the crown
The British laws may crush the Irish
But cannot keep their spirits down
Just before he faced the hangman
In his dreary prison cell
The British soldiers tortured Barry
Just because he would not tell
The name of all his brave companions
And other things they wished to know
Turn informer or we'll kill you
Kevin Barry answered no
Another martyr for old Erin
Another murder for the crown
Whose cruel laws may crush the Irish
But CANNOT KEEP their spirits down
*A Bit Of The Odd Manner- Irish Style- The Childhood Saga of Frank McCourt
Book Review
Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir Of Childhood, Frank McCourt, Flamingo, London, 1997
Frank McCourt’s “Angela’s Ashes” is probably the easiest review that I have had to write since I have been doing such reviews in this space. Why? Frank McCourt’s book of childhood memoirs is my story. No, not in the details of his life’s story, or mine. But rather in how being Irish, being poor and being uprooted affects your childhood, and later. And those traumas, for good or evil, cross generational lines. McCourt, we are told as his story unfolds, was born in America of immigrants of the Diaspora after Irish independence who, for one reason or another, returned to the old country in defeat in the 1930’s. As McCourt notes right at the beginning, that fact in itself provides a rather ironic twist if one is familiar with Irish history (at least until very recently). He is, in any case, thus a child of the Great Depression and World War II, the generation of my parents, as it was refracted through Ireland during that period. I, on the other hand, am a child of the 1960’s, the “Generation of ‘68” here in America born of the dreaded Irish Catholic-English Protestant combination- and raised in an Irish Catholic enclave. Nevertheless the pages of this memoir are filled to the brim with the results of the emotional (and sometimes physical scars) of being “shanty” Irish in this world that hit home to this reader.
That said, we did not share the terrible effect that “the drink” had on creating his dysfunctional family with his father’s, Malachy McCourt, crazed need for the alcohol cure to drown his sorrows and his bitterness and the fact that his great moment in life was his bit for “the cause” (of Irish independence). A familiar story in the Irish community here and in the old country but my father seldom drank, although he too was constantly out of work and shared with Frank’s father that same bitterness about his fate. He was uneducated, lacking in skills and prospects and as a “hillbilly” Protestant Southerner from coal country down in Kentucky. Thus, an ‘outsider’ like Frank’s father. That is the commonality that caught my eye (and sometimes my throat) as I read of Frank’s youthful trials, tribulations and adventures. McCourt’s ability to tap into that “mystical” something is what makes this a fine read, whether you are Irish or not.
Throughout the book McCourt’s woe begotten but fatally prideful father is constantly referred to in the Irishtown working class poor ghetto of Limerick (and elsewhere, as well, but the heart of the story is told from there) as having an odd manner. This reflects a certain clannishness against those from the North of Ireland (Dare I say it, the area then known as Ulster) and a sneaking suspicion amount that crowd of some alien (meaning English Protestant) heritage. As the book progresses that odd trait is transferred (by heredity?) to Frank in his various wanderings, enterprise and desires. What joins us together then is that odd manner that gets repeatedly invoked throughout the book. Frank survived to tell the tale. As did I. But in both cases it appears to have been a near thing.
There is more that unites us. The shame culture, not an exclusive Irish Catholic property but very strong nevertheless, drilled in by the clannishness, the closeness of neighbors, the Catholic religion and by the bloody outsiders- usually but not always Protestants of some sort (as least for blame purposes- you know, the eight hundred years of British tyranny although very real to be sure). All driven by not having nearly enough of this world’s goods. Every time I read a passage about the lack of food, the quality of the food, the conditions of the various tenements that the McCourt family lived in, the lack of adequate and clean clothing I cringed at the thoughts from my own childhood. Or the various times when the family was seriously down and out and his mother, the beloved Angela of the title, had to beg charity of one form or another from some institution that existed mainly to berate the poor. I can remember own my mother’s plaintive cry when my brothers and I misbehaved that the next step was the county poor farm.
And how about the false pride and skewed order of priorities? Frank’s father was a flat out drunk and was totally irresponsible. From a child's perspective, however, he is still your dad and must be given the respect accordingly, especially against the viciousness of the outside world. But life’s disappointments for the father also get reflected in the expectations for the son. The dreams are smaller. Here, the horizons are pretty small when a governmental job with its security just above the “dole” is the touchstone of respectability. Sean O’Casey was able to make enduring plays from the slums of Dublin out of this material. And Frank McCourt enduring literature. Thanks, brother.
Note: The movie version of “Angela’s Ashes” pretty fairly reflects the intentions of Frank McCourt in his childhood memoirs and follows the book accordingly, without the usual dramatic embellishments of that medium. The story line is so strong it needs no such “touch-ups”. Particularly compelling is the very visual sense of utter poverty down at the base of Irish society in Frank McCourt’s childhood.
These two songs below are constantly being sung by Frank McCourt's father when he is "on the drink"
"Roddy McCorly"
O see the fleet-foot host of men, who march with faces drawn,
From farmstead and from fishers' cot, along the banks of Ban;
They come with vengeance in their eyes. Too late! Too late are they,
For young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.
Up the narrow street he stepped, so smiling, proud and young.
About the hemp-rope on his neck, the golden ringlets clung;
There's ne'er a tear in his blue eyes, fearless and brave are they,
As young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.
When last this narrow street he trod, his shining pike in hand
Behind him marched, in grim array, a earnest stalwart band.
To Antrim town! To Antrim town, he led them to the fray,
But young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.
There's never a one of all your dead more bravely died in fray
Than he who marches to his fate in Toomebridge town today; ray
True to the last! True to the last, he treads the upwards way,
And young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.
"Kevin Barry"
In MOUNT JOY jail one Monday morning
High upon the gallows tree
Kevin Barry gave his young life
For the 'cause of liberty
Just a lad of eighteen summers
Yet no true man can deny
As he walked to death that morning
He proudly held his head up high
Another martyr for old Erin
Another murder for the crown
The British laws may crush the Irish
But cannot keep their spirits down
Just before he faced the hangman
In his dreary prison cell
The British soldiers tortured Barry
Just because he would not tell
The name of all his brave companions
And other things they wished to know
Turn informer or we'll kill you
Kevin Barry answered no
Another martyr for old Erin
Another murder for the crown
Whose cruel laws may crush the Irish
But CANNOT KEEP their spirits down
Sunday, July 19, 2009
***Once Again, A Blues Potpourri-John Lee Hooker And Furry Lewis
Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of Furry Lewis Doing "Kassie Jones" Wow!
DVD REVIEW
John Lee Hooker and Furry Lewis, John Lee Hooker, Furry Lewis, Yazoo Productions, 2002
I have recently reviewed a few of John Lee Hooker’s vast number of blues albums that lend credence to the title “Boogie Chillen” man. I also noted that unlike other old time electric blues artists such as Howlin’ Wolf and Lighting Hopkins that Hooker’s work, in general, leaves me cold. Although the small segment of his work presented here is good as he articulates his sense of what the blues mean, especially as it features one of his signature songs that I like, “Boom Boom”, I still am left with that same feeling. I finish by noting that this is a question of personal taste. Hooker is a blues legend, justifiably so. Case closed.
The other figure in this short Yazoo production is a different story. I have also reviewed Furry Lewis’s work elsewhere in this space and have praised his clean guitar picking style and vocals from his early career in the 1920’s when he was along with Blind Blake and Blind Lemon Jefferson one of the kings of the guitar pick. Furry does not fail here late in his career after reemerging during the folk revival of the 1960’s. His version of the famous “Kassie Jones” is worth the price of admission.
DVD REVIEW
John Lee Hooker and Furry Lewis, John Lee Hooker, Furry Lewis, Yazoo Productions, 2002
I have recently reviewed a few of John Lee Hooker’s vast number of blues albums that lend credence to the title “Boogie Chillen” man. I also noted that unlike other old time electric blues artists such as Howlin’ Wolf and Lighting Hopkins that Hooker’s work, in general, leaves me cold. Although the small segment of his work presented here is good as he articulates his sense of what the blues mean, especially as it features one of his signature songs that I like, “Boom Boom”, I still am left with that same feeling. I finish by noting that this is a question of personal taste. Hooker is a blues legend, justifiably so. Case closed.
The other figure in this short Yazoo production is a different story. I have also reviewed Furry Lewis’s work elsewhere in this space and have praised his clean guitar picking style and vocals from his early career in the 1920’s when he was along with Blind Blake and Blind Lemon Jefferson one of the kings of the guitar pick. Furry does not fail here late in his career after reemerging during the folk revival of the 1960’s. His version of the famous “Kassie Jones” is worth the price of admission.
*Down With The Federal Defense Of Marriage Act (DOMA)- The Legal Fights Steps Up
Click ON Title To Link To National Public Radio Segment On The Legal Fight By The Massachusetts Attorney-General To Challenge The Federal Defense Of Marriage Act (DOMA). Needless to say, while we have a different strategic (and political) approach to this vital democratic question all avenues, state and local, legal and on the streets, to gain this right are supportable. Down With DOMA!
Saturday, July 18, 2009
*Down With The "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" Anti-Gay And Lesbian Military Policy
Click ON Title To Link To National Public Radio's Segment On The Fight To Have The Obama Administration Overturn The Clinton-era Policy. This space is unequivocally opposed to every aspect of American militarism and the expanding American imperial presence in the world. That is a knock-down, drag-out fight to the finish. No question about that. Nevertheless, we uphold the democratic rights of those who are in the service. While in the military those who serve, whatever else, are entitled to the same benefits as anyone who serves. Down with this policy now.
Friday, July 17, 2009
*Carnival Of Socialism-Carnival Of Struggle
http://advant.blogspot.com/2009/07/carnival-of-socialism-40-is-here.html
Kudos to Renegade Eye.
Kudos to Renegade Eye.
*Once Again- The Slogan Is Immediate Unconditional Withdrawal Of U.S. Troops From Iraq- Get The Planes Revved Up Now
Click On Title To Link To National Public Radio Segment On The Status, The Real Status, Of Troop Withdrawal In Iraq. The Title Of This Entry Gives My Political Prescription. At This Late Date What More Can Be Said. Obama- Get 'Em Out.
**********************
**********************
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)