Friday, June 08, 2018

On Memphis Minnie's Birthday ***A Blues Potpourri-The Blues Is Dues, Part II-The Sky May Be Crying But You Won’t Be

Click on the headline to link to a "YouTube" film clip of "Big Mama" Thornton performing "Hound Dog." Elvis step back, way back, on this one.

CD REVIEW

February Is Black History Month


As those familiar with this space know I have spent a good amount of ink touting various old time blues legends that I ‘discovered’ in my youth. My intention, in part, is to introduce a new generation to this roots music but also to demonstrate a connection between this black-centered music and the struggle for black liberation that both blacks and whites can appreciate. Like virtually all forms of music that lasts more than five minutes the blues has had its ups and downs. After becoming electric and urbanized in the immediate post-World War II period it was eclipsed by the advent of rock&roll then made a comeback in the mid- 1960's with the surge of English bands that grew up on this music, and so on. Most recently there was mini-resurgence with the justifiably well-received Martin Scorsese PBS six-part blues series in 2003. A little earlier, in the mid-1990’s, there had also been a short-lived reemergence spearheaded by the ‘discovery’ of urban blues pioneer Robert Johnson’s music.

The long and short of this phenomenon is that commercial record production of this music waxed and waned reflecting that checkered history. I have, in the interest of variety for the novice, selected these CDs as a decent cross-section of blues (and its antecedents in earlier forms of roots music) as to gender, time and type. The following reviewed CDs represent first of all an attempt by record companies to meet the 1990’s surge. They also represent a hard fact of musical life. Like rock&roll the blues will never die. Praise be. Feast on these compilations.

The Sky May Be Crying But You Won’t Be

Living The Blues: Blues Masters, MCA Records, 1995


Many of the artists on this compilation have received individual attention by this reviewer elsewhere in this space. Thus I will highlight some of the lesser known artists who were either one hit johnnies (or janies) and for some reason did not make the blues pantheon. First, however, I must note that any compilation that starts off with “I’m Your Hoochie Goochie Man” by Muddy Waters, an incredible version of “Hound Dog” by “Big Mama” Thornton and “Back Door Man” by Howlin’ Wolf is has already paid its way. Add in a laid back Jimmy Reed on “Baby What Do You Want Me To Do”, a ripping slide guitar by Elmore James on “The Sky Is Crying”, a young and hungry John Lee Hooker flailing away on “Boogie Chillun” and “So Many Roads, So Many Trains” by the smooth Otis Rush and you have not been cheated.

Now for the lesser lights that make this a virtually complete compilation of masters. How about a young but soon to be immortal Etta James on her classic “I’d Rather Go Blind”. Or the harmonica player extraordinaire, Little Walter, on “You’re So Fine”. And “The Things That I Used To Do” by the virtuoso guitarist Guitar Slim. And Lowell Fulsom rocking away on “Reconsider Baby. And…. Well, you get the picture. With the possible exception of Slim Harpo (who had a small body of work due to an early untimely death) all of these masters will be getting fuller treatment in this space later. For now this will give you an idea of what it was like when men and women played electric blues for real.

BIG MAMA THORNTON HOUND DOG LYRICS

You ain't nothing but a hound dog
Been snoopin' round my door
You ain't nothing but a hound dog
Been snoopin' round my door
You can wag your tail
But I ain't gonna feed you no more
You told me you was high class
I could see through that
You told me you was high class
I could see through that
And baby I know
You ain't no real cool cat
You ain't nothing but a hound dog
Been snoopin' round my door
You ain't nothing but a hound dog
Been snoopin' round my door
You can wag your tail
But I ain't gonna feed you no more
You made me feel so blue
You made me weep and moan
You made me feel so blue
You made me weep and moan
'Cause I'm looking for a woman
All your lookin' for is a home
You ain't nothing but a hound dog
Been snoopin' round my door
You ain't nothing but a hound dog
Been snoopin' round my door
You can wag your tail
But I ain't gonna feed you no more

On Memphis Monnie's Birthday-The “Kings Of Dinkytown**” - The Music Of Folk’s Spider John Koerner and Sidekicks Dave Ray And Tony Glover

Click on title to link to YouTube's film clip of Spider John Koerner and
Tony Glover performing "Last Lonesome Blues" at , appropriately, the Dinkyfest in 2007.


**Dinkytown refers to the student/hip ghetto, etc. of Minneapolis back in the days (and perhaps today as well). It also seemingly reflects on the geographic range of the Koerner/Ray/Glover ambition.

DVD Review

Blues, Rags& Hollers: The Koerner, Ray& Glover Story,directed by Tony Glover, MVD Visual, 1986


In a review of Spider John Koerner’s CD “Stargeezer” (see review entry accompanying this blog on this date, August 29. 2009) earlier this year I made the following comment that related to a question I was then asking about the fate of various male folk singers from the folk revival of the 1960s:

“Okay, Okay those of you who have been keeping tabs know that I have spend much of the last year, when not doing political commentary or book or movie reviews, reviewing many of the old time folk artists that, along with the blues, were the passion of my youth in the early 1960's. You might also know, if you are keeping tabs, that I have been attempting to answer a question that I have posed elsewhere in this space earlier about the fate or fates of various performers from that period. Spider John Koerner was a lesser known, but important, fixture on the Cambridge/Boston folk scene during that time, as well as later once the hubbub died down and he and a local stalwart, Mr. Bones, carried on the tradition in smaller venues and in front of smaller crowds.”

Well, according to this film documentary by Tony Glover, at various times part of the sporadic musical team of Koerner, Ray and Glover, there was more, much more to the Spider John story that I was aware of. And to the stories of Ray and Glover, as well. That said, it is nevertheless true that Spider John fell off the charts and became more of a regional influence. All of this seemingly by choice and by personal circumstance. That brings up the final point that I would make (other than recommending that if you are interested in the fates of the secondary occupants of the folk revival pantheon to view this very informative, if somewhat eccentric piece). Not everyone was cut out by disposition, drive, personal inclination or personal limitations to be “king of the hill” in the folk revival (or any other endeavor). But, damn they can still make good music and we owe a lot to this trio for preserving it for us.

"Me & My Chauffeur" lyrics by Memphis Minnie

Won't you be my chauffeur
Won't you be my chauffeur
I wants him to drive me
I wants him to drive me downtown
Yes he drives so easy I can't turn him down
But I don't want him
But I don't want him
To be ridin' his girls
To be ridin' his girls around
So I'm gonna steal me a pistol, shoot my chauffeur down
Well I must buy him
Well I must buy him
A brand new V8
A brand new V8 Ford
Then he won't need no passengers, I will be his load
Yes... take it away...
Wanna let my chauffeur
Wanna let my chauffeur
Drive me around the
Drive me around the world
Then he can be my little boy, yes I'll be his girl

When First Unto This Country
Lyrics: Traditional
Music: Traditional


When first unto this country
A stranger I came
I courted a fair maid
And Nancy was her name

I courted her for love
Her love I didn't obtain
Do you think I've any reason
Or right to complain

I rode to see my Nancy
I rode both night and day
I stoled a fine stallion
From Colonel Charles Grey

I rode to see my Nancy
I rode both day and night
I courted fairest Nancy
My own heart's true delight

The sheriff's men they followed
And overtaken me
They carted me away
To the penitentiary

They opened up the door
And then they threw me in
They shaved off my hair
And they cleared off my chin

They beat me and they banged me
And they fed me on dry beans
'Til I wished to my own soul
I'd never been a thief

With my hands stuck in my pockets
And my cap set on so bold
My coat of many colors
Like Joseph's of old

When first unto this country
A stranger I came
I courted a fair maid
And Nancy was her name

Thursday, June 07, 2018

The Other Thin Man-Ginger Rogers And William Powell’s “Star Of Midnight” (1935)-A Film Review

The Other Thin Man-Ginger Rogers And William Powell’s “Star Of Midnight” (1935)-A Film Review




DVD Review

By Film Emeritus Sam Lowell

[Although Sam is formerly retired he has expressed a desire to help out when we have several films to review and not enough hands to do the task. Since he is very familiar with The Thin Man series which also starred William Powell (and Myrna Loy) he was the natural choice to cover this film. Thanks, Sam-Pete Markin]

Star of Midnight, starring Ginger Rogers, William Powell, 1935 

One of the problems a few actors have had is to be type-cast into a certain cinematic persona. That was generally the case with William Powell, the male lead in the film under review, Star of Midnight where he plays a smart, sophisticated urban (New York City of course) man about town very similar to the role that he played in The Thin Man the year before this film was released (and would go on to star with Myrna Loy in six sequels, ouch) except here he is a high-priced lawyer, Dal, and not an ex-cop private dick Nick Charle. 


The play is the same though although the romantic interest is Donna a young smitten, smitten by Dal, played by Ginger Rogers who is not his boon companion as Myra Loy as Nora Charles was. Here a friend of Dal’s is looking for him to find his missing paramour who blew Chic town (okay Chicago) a year before without leaving a forwarding address. (Forget it buddy, move on, and that isn’t even high-priced legal advice.)  The plot thickens when the three of them attend a play and nobody but a masked girlfriend is on the stage. The guy yells out Alice Bad move though since she is on the lam from somebody trying to silence here after she witnessed a murder in, ah, Chicago. Somebody has reason to silence her to cover up his own dastardly deeds so he let out that he was looking for Alice too. Don’t worry even though Dal was accused of killing a source killed in his own apartment he was left by the coppers to figure the whole thing out. And you know just like Nick (and Nora) he does. By the way Dal won’t be lonesome anymore. Donna snagged him. The killer: well grab the film and check it out. It could have been one of several people as usual.      

The 50th Anniversary Of The Summer Of Love, 1967- The Ebb Tide- The Rolling Stones- Altamont 1969

The 50th Anniversary Of The Summer Of Love, 1967- The Ebb Tide-  The Rolling Stones- Altamont 1969




Zack James’ comment June, 2017:

You know it is in a way too bad that “Doctor Gonzo”-Hunter S Thompson, the late legendary journalist who broke the back, hell broke the neck, legs, arms of so-called objective journalism in a drug-blazed frenzy back in the 1970s when he “walked with the king”’ is not with us in these times. In the times of this 50th anniversary commemoration of the Summer of Love, 1967 which he worked the edges of while he was doing research (live and in your face research by the way) on the notorious West Coast-based Hell’s Angels. His “hook” through Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters down in Kesey’s place in La Honda where many an “acid test” took place and where for a time the Angels, Hunter in tow, were welcomed. He had been there in the high tide, when it looked like we had the night-takers on the run and later as well when he saw the ebb tide of the 1960s coming a year or so later although that did not stop him from developing the quintessential “gonzo” journalism fine-tuned with plenty of dope for which he would become famous before the end, before he took his aging life and left Johnny Depp and company to fling his ashes over this good green planet. He would have “dug” the exhibition, maybe smoked a joint for old times’ sake (oh no, no that is not done in proper society) at the de Young Museum at the Golden Gate Park highlighting the events of the period showing until August 20th of this year.   


Better yet he would have had this Trump thug bizarre weirdness wrapped up and bleeding from all pores just like he regaled us with the tales from the White House bunker back in the days when Trump’s kindred one Richard Milhous Nixon, President of the United States and common criminal was running the same low rent trip before he was run out of town by his own like some rabid rat. But perhaps the road to truth these days, in the days of “alternate facts” and assorted other bullshit    would have been bumpier than in those more “civilized” times when simple burglaries and silly tape-recorders ruled the roost. Hunter did not make the Nixon “hit list” (to his everlasting regret for which he could hardly hold his head up in public) but these days he surely would find himself in the top echelon. Maybe too though with these thugs he might have found himself in some back alley bleeding from all pores. Hunter Thompson wherever you are –help. Selah. Enough said-for now  



DVD REVIEW

Gimme Shelter, The Rolling Stones Altamont Concert 1969, 1970


I have written elsewhere in this space that when it comes to musical influences in my youth that the Stones played a key role in developing my tastes. I have also mentioned elsewhere that my youthful alienation was reflected in the language and sound of the group. I mentioned Street Fighting Man and Tumbling Dice, as well as an earlier cover of Little Red Rooster as important. All this is by way of saying that I looked forward recently to re-watching the old Stones documentary Gimme Shelter reviewed here, despite my knowledge of the tragic and unnecessary incidents that occurred at Altamont and marred the whole experience.

If one is to recount the nodal points of the too short counter-cultural explosion of the 1960’s one could arbitrarily assign the Summer of Love in 1967 as the height and Altamont as the start of the decline. We can argue that point endlessly but clearly something or some things happened at Altamont that exposed the ugly side of the dope/counter-cultural scene. Moreover, on reflection no one can deny the unreasonableness of having the notorious California Hell’s Angels, despite favorable press from Tom Wolfe in Electric Kool Aid Acid Test and Hunter Thompson in his classic study Hell’s Angels, as security for a 300,000 person event.

Now, we finally get to the music and the film. And I think that this is about the right place for such comments about the event itself in the scheme of things. There have been many, many Stones concerts during the past forty years but none have had the cultural significance of Altamont. Most of the film is about how the Stones, good-naturedly if ultimately naively, tried to put the event together. A fair portion of the film is footage of the reaction by the Stones to the events that they witnessed from the stage including the one that led to a death. These segments are interspersed in between parts of the performances by the Stones and others.

This film has not aged well, although Mick has. His voice comes off tinny here reflecting an earlier, more primitive sound technology that does not do justice to how Mick and the boys could whip up an audience. A nice surprise though is a very sensual Tina Turner (backed by Ike) performance. Unfortunately, the Jefferson Airplane's afternoon performance is marred by the same kind of violence that doomed the event. But here is the skinny. If you need to look at rock and roll history watch this one and one half hour documentary. If you want to hear the Stones at their best then purchase any one of about ten greatest hits albums available. That’s the ticket.

The 50th Anniversary Of The Summer Of Love, 1967-When “Doctor Gonzo” Was 'King Of The Hill'-The Master Journalism Of Hunter S. Thompson-"Songs Of The Doomed"

The 50th Anniversary Of The Summer Of Love, 1967-When “Doctor Gonzo” Was 'King Of The Hill'-The Master Journalism Of Hunter S. Thompson-"Songs Of The Doomed"



Zack James’ comment June, 2017:

You know it is in a way too bad that “Doctor Gonzo”-Hunter S Thompson, the late legendary journalist who broke the back, hell broke the neck, legs, arms of so-called objective journalism in a drug-blazed frenzy back in the 1970s when he “walked with the king”’ is not with us in these times. In the times of this 50th anniversary commemoration of the Summer of Love, 1967 which he worked the edges of while he was doing research (live and in your face research by the way) on the notorious West Coast-based Hell’s Angels. His “hook” through Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters down in Kesey’s place in La Honda where many an “acid test” took place and where for a time the Angels, Hunter in tow, were welcomed. He had been there in the high tide, when it looked like we had the night-takers on the run and later as well when he saw the ebb tide of the 1960s coming a year or so later although that did not stop him from developing the quintessential “gonzo” journalism fine-tuned with plenty of dope for which he would become famous before the end, before he took his aging life and left Johnny Depp and company to fling his ashes over this good green planet. He would have “dug” the exhibition, maybe smoked a joint for old times’ sake (oh no, no that is not done in proper society) at the de Young Museum at the Golden Gate Park highlighting the events of the period showing until August 20th of this year.   


Better yet he would have had this Trump thug bizarre weirdness wrapped up and bleeding from all pores just like he regaled us with the tales from the White House bunker back in the days when Trump’s kindred one Richard Milhous Nixon, President of the United States and common criminal was running the same low rent trip before he was run out of town by his own like some rabid rat. But perhaps the road to truth these days, in the days of “alternate facts” and assorted other bullshit    would have been bumpier than in those more “civilized” times when simple burglaries and silly tape-recorders ruled the roost. Hunter did not make the Nixon “hit list” (to his everlasting regret for which he could hardly hold his head up in public) but these days he surely would find himself in the top echelon. Maybe too though with these thugs he might have found himself in some back alley bleeding from all pores. Hunter Thompson wherever you are –help. Selah. Enough said-for now  


Book Review

Songs Of The Doomed; Gonzo Papers Volume Three, Hunter S. Thompson, 1978


In a review of Hunter Thompson's early journalistic work compiled under the title , The Great Shark Hunt, a retrospective sampling of his works through the early 1970s, many which appeared in the pages of Rolling Stone magazine during its more radical, hipper phase, I noted the following points that are useful to repost here in reviewing Songs Of The Doomed, another later , similar compilation of his journalistic pieces:

“Generally the most the trenchant social criticism, commentary and analysis complete with a prescriptive social program ripe for implementation has been done by thinkers and writers who work outside the realm of bourgeois society, notably socialists, like Karl Marx. Vladimir Lenin, and Leon Trotsky and other less radical progressive thinkers. Bourgeois society rarely allows itself, in self-defense if nothing else, to be skewered by trenchant criticism from within. This is particularly true when it comes from a man of big, high life appetites, a known dope fiend, a furious wild man gun freak, and all-around edge city lifestyle addict like the late, massively lamented, massively lamented in this quarter in any case, Dr. Hunter S. Thompson. Nevertheless, although he was far, very far, from any thought of a socialist solution to society's current problems and would reject such a designation, I think out of hand, we could travel part of the way with him. We saw him as a kindred spirit. He was not one of us-but he was one of us. All honor to him for pushing the envelope of mad truth-seeking journalism in new directions and for his pinpricks at the hypocrisy of bourgeois society. Such men are dangerous.

I am not sure whether at the end of the day Hunter Thompson saw himself, or wanted to been seen, as a voice, or the voice, of his generation but he would not be an unworthy candidate. In any case, his was not the voice of the generation of 1968, my generation, being just enough older to have been formed by an earlier, less forgiving milieu, coming of adult age in the drab Cold War, red scare, conformist 1950s that not even the wildly popular Mad Men can resurrect as a time which honored fruitful and edgy work, except on the coastal margins of society. His earlier writings show that effect. Nevertheless, only a few, and with time it seems fewer in each generation, allow themselves to search for some kind of truth even if they cannot go the whole distance. This compilation under review is a hodgepodge of articles over the best part of Thompson’s career, the part culminating with the demise of the arch-fiend, arch-political fiend, Richard Nixon. As with all journalists, as indeed with all writers especially those who are writing under the pressure of time-lines and for mass circulation media, these pieces show an uneven quality. Hunter's manic work habits, driven by high dope infusions and high-wire physical stress, only added to the frenzied corners of his work which inevitably was produced under some duress, a duress that drove his hard-boiled inner demons onward. However the total effect is to blast old bourgeois society almost to its foundations. Others, hopefully, will push on further.

One should note that "gonzo" journalism is quite compatible with socialist materialism. That is, the writer is not precluded from interpreting the events described within a story by interposing himself/herself as an actor in that story. The worst swindle in journalism, fostered by the formal journalism schools, as well as in the formal schools of other disciplines like history and political science, is that somehow one must be ‘objective’. Reality is better served if the writer puts his/her analysis correctly and then gets out of the way. In his best work that was Hunter’s way.

As a member of the generation of 1968 I would note that the period covered by this compilation was a period of particular importance in American history, the covering of which won Hunter his spurs as a journalist. Hunter, like many of us, cut his political teeth on wrestling with the phenomena of one Richard Milhous Nixon, at one time President of the United States, all-around political chameleon and off-hand common criminal. His articles beginning in 1968 when Nixon was on the rising curve of his never ending “comeback” trail to his fated (yes, fated) demise in the aftermath of the Watergate are required reading (and funny to boot). Thompson went out of his way, way out of his way, and with pleasure, skewering that man when he was riding high. He was moreover just as happy to kick Nixon when he was down, just for good measure. Nixon, as Robert Kennedy in one of his more lucid comments noted, represented the "dark side" of the American spirit- the side that appears today as the bully boy of the world and as craven brute. If for nothing else Brother Thompson deserves a place in the pantheon of journalistic heroes for this exercise in elementary political hygiene. Anyone who wants to rehabilitate THAT man before history please consult Thompson’s work.

Beyond the Nixon-related articles that form the core of the book there are some early pieces that are definitely not Gonzo-like. They are more straightforward journalism to earn a buck, although they show the trademark insightfulness that served Thompson well over the early part of his career. Read his pieces on Ernest Hemingway-searching in Idaho, the non-student left in the 1960’s, especially the earnest early 1960s before the other shoe dropped and we were all confronted with the madness of the beast, unchained , the impact of the ‘beats’ on the later counter cultural movements and about the ‘hippie’ invasion of San Francisco. The seminal piece on the Kentucky Derby in 1970 which is his ‘failed’ (according to him, not others) initial stab at “gonzo” journalism is a must read. And finally, if nothing else read the zany adventures of the articles that give us the title of the book, “The Great Shark Hunt”, and his ‘tribute’ to his friend the “Brown Buffalo” of future legend, Oscar Acosta. Those are high water marks in the great swirl of Hunter S. Thompson’s career. Hunter, I hope you find the Brown Buffalo wherever you are. Read this book. Read all his books.”

As for the pieces here, mainly the journalistic pieces that form the core of this compilation, the format of the book is divided up into decades starting from the pre-gonzo days of the1950s (although you can detect a certain flare for putting himself inside the story even then, note Prince Jellyfish) to the woe-begone mad efforts (on local law enforcement’s part) to legally destroy Brother Thompson in the early 1990s. In between, Thompson runs through side commentaries on the whys and wherefore of his famous “fear and loathing” works that were the bedrock of his version of gonzo journalism. Additionally, in the 1980s he makes, to my mind, something of a comeback with his reportage on the Pulitzer divorce proceedings in Palm Beach and some of his work (published more extensively elsewhere in another compilation as well) for the San Francisco Examiner. One piece, one short piece that may sum up what Hunter Thompson was trying to do, and what make be his best individual piece of flat-out king hell king good Hemingway/Fitzgerald writing is High Water Mark from Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas. That is “high” Thompson as well as very good exposition of where and when the tide ebbed for those of us seeking a “newer world” in the 1960s. Buy the ticket; take the ride as he would say.

*The 50th Anniversary Of The Summer of Love,1967-When “Doctor Gonzo” Was 'King Of The Hill'-The Master Journalism Of Hunter S. Thompson

*The 50th Anniversary Of The Summer of Love,1967-When “Doctor Gonzo” Was 'King Of The Hill'-The Master Journalism Of Hunter S. Thompson



Zack James’ comment June, 2017:

You know it is in a way too bad that “Doctor Gonzo”-Hunter S Thompson, the late legendary journalist who broke the back, hell broke the neck, legs, arms of so-called objective journalism in a drug-blazed frenzy back in the 1970s when he “walked with the king”’ is not with us in these times. In the times of this 50th anniversary commemoration of the Summer of Love, 1967 which he worked the edges of while he was doing research (live and in your face research by the way) on the notorious West Coast-based Hell’s Angels. His “hook” through Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters down in Kesey’s place in La Honda where many an “acid test” took place and where for a time the Angels, Hunter in tow, were welcomed. He had been there in the high tide, when it looked like we had the night-takers on the run and later as well when he saw the ebb tide of the 1960s coming a year or so later although that did not stop him from developing the quintessential “gonzo” journalism fine-tuned with plenty of dope for which he would become famous before the end, before he took his aging life and left Johnny Depp and company to fling his ashes over this good green planet. He would have “dug” the exhibition, maybe smoked a joint for old times’ sake (oh no, no that is not done in proper society) at the de Young Museum at the Golden Gate Park highlighting the events of the period showing until August 20th of this year.   


Better yet he would have had this Trump thug bizarre weirdness wrapped up and bleeding from all pores just like he regaled us with the tales from the White House bunker back in the days when Trump’s kindred one Richard Milhous Nixon, President of the United States and common criminal was running the same low rent trip before he was run out of town by his own like some rabid rat. But perhaps the road to truth these days, in the days of “alternate facts” and assorted other bullshit    would have been bumpier than in those more “civilized” times when simple burglaries and silly tape-recorders ruled the roost. Hunter did not make the Nixon “hit list” (to his everlasting regret for which he could hardly hold his head up in public) but these days he surely would find himself in the top echelon. Maybe too though with these thugs he might have found himself in some back alley bleeding from all pores. Hunter Thompson wherever you are –help. Selah. Enough said-for now  


Book Review

The Great Shark Hunt; Gonzo Papers Volume One, Hunter S. Thompson, 1978


Most of this review of “The Great Shark Hunt” the master journalistic work of the late Hunter S. Thompson, a man much missed in these quarters by this reviewer originally appeared in a review of one of his latter, lesser books, “Songs Of The Doomed”. Most of the points made there apply here as well but I want to add some additional comments concerning specific articles which you NEED to read to know what mad man journalism in search of the truth, some truth anyway, was all about.

“Generally the most the trenchant social criticism, commentary and analysis complete with a prescriptive social program ripe for implementation has been done by thinkers and writers who work outside the realm of bourgeois society, notably socialists, like Karl Marx. Vladimir Lenin, and Leon Trotsky and other less radical progressive thinkers. Bourgeois society rarely allows itself, in self-defense if nothing else, to be skewered by trenchant criticism from within. This is particularly true when it comes from a man of big, high life appetites, a known dope fiend, a ferious wild man gun freak, and all-around edge city lifestyle addict like the late, massively lamented, massively lamented in this quarter in any case, Dr. Hunter S. Thompson. Nevertheless, although he was far, very far, from any thought of a socialist solution to society's current problems and would reject such a designation, I think out of hand, we could travel part of the way with him. We saw him as a kindred spirit. He was not one of us-but he was one of us. All honor to him for pushing the envelope of mad truth-seeking journalism in new directions and for his pinpricks at the hypocrisy of bourgeois society. Such men are dangerous.

I am not sure whether at the end of the day Hunter Thompson saw himself, or wanted to been seen, as a voice, or the voice, of his generation but he would not be an unworthy candidate. In any case, his was not the voice of the generation of 1968, my generation, being just enough older to have been formed by an earlier, less forgiving milieu, coming of adult age in the drab Cold War, red scare, conformist 1950s that not even the wildly popular Mad Men can resurrect as a time which honored fruitful and edgy work, except on the coastal margins of society. His earlier writings show that effect. Nevertheless, only a few, and with time it seems fewer in each generation, allow themselves to search for some kind of truth even if they cannot go the whole distance. This compilation under review is a hodgepodge of articles over the best part of Thompson’s career, the part culminating with the demise of the arch-fiend, arch-poltical fiend, Richard Nixon. As with all journalists, as indeed with all writers especially those who are writing under the pressure of time-lines and for mass circulation media, these pieces show an uneven quality. Hunter's manic work habits, driven by high dope infusions and high-wire physicial stress, only added to the frenzied corners of his work which inevitably was produced under some duress, a duress that drove his hard-boiled inner demons onward. However the total effect is to blast old bourgeois society almost to its foundations. Others, hopefully, will push on further.

One should note that "gonzo" journalism is quite compatible with socialist materialism. That is, the writer is not precluded from interpreting the events described within a story by interposing himself/herself as an actor in that story. The worst swindle in journalism, fostered by the formal journalism schools, as well as in the formal schools of other disciplines like history and political science, is that somehow one must be ‘objective’. Reality is better served if the writer puts his/her analysis correctly and then gets out of the way. In his best work that was Hunter’s way.

As a member of the generation of 1968 I would note that the period covered by this compilation was a period of particular importance in American history, the covering of which won Hunter his spurs as a journalist. Hunter, like many of us, cut his political teeth on wrestling with the phenomena of one Richard Milhous Nixon, at one time President of the United States, all-around political chameleon and off-hand common criminal. His articles beginning in 1968 when Nixon was on the rising curve of his never ending “comeback” trail to his fated (yes, fated) demise in the aftermath of the Watergate are required reading (and funny to boot). Thompson went out of his way, way out of his way, and with pleasure, skewering that man when he was riding high. He was moreover just as happy to kick Nixon when he was down, just for good measure. Nixon, as Robert Kennedy in one of his more lucid comments noted, represented the "dark side" of the American spirit- the side that appears today as the bully boy of the world and as craven brute. If for nothing else Brother Thompson deserves a place in the pantheon of journalistic heroes for this exercise in elementary political hygiene. Anyone who wants to rehabilitate THAT man before history please consult Thompson’s work."

********
Beyond the Nixon-related articles that form the core of the book there are some early pieces that are definitely not Gonzo-like. They are more straightforward journalism to earn a buck, although they show the trademark insightfulness that served Thompson well over the early part of his career. Read his pieces on Ernest Hemingway-searching in Idaho, the non-student left in the 1960’s, especially the earnest early 1960s before the other shoe dropped and we were all confronted with the madness of the beast, unchained , the impact of the ‘beats’ on the later counter cultural movements and about the ‘hippie’ invasion of San Francisco. The seminal piece on the Kentucky Derby in 1970 which is his ‘failed’ (according to him, not others) initial stab at “gonzo” journalism is a must read. And finally, if nothing else read the zany adventures of the articles that give us the title of the book, “The Great Shark Hunt”, and his ‘tribute’ to his friend the “Brown Buffalo” of future legend, Oscar Acosta. Those are high water marks in the great swirl of Hunter S. Thompson’s career. Hunter, I hope you find the Brown Buffalo wherever you are. Read this book. Read all his books.”

*From The Archives Of The Spartacist League (U.S.)- The Struggle Against Class Collaboration In The Anti-War Movement- Beyond October 21: From Protest To Power (1967)

Click on the headline to link to an American Left History book review entry A Norman Mailer Novel As History-Pentagon 1967-Armies Of The Night, for some background about the famous 1967 March on the Pentagon.

Markin comment:

Earlier this month I started what I anticipate will be an on-going series, From The Archives Of The Socialist Workers Party (America), starting date October 2, 2010, where I will place documents from, and make comments on, various aspects of the early days of the James P. Cannon-led Socialist Worker Party in America. As I noted in the introduction to that series Marxism, no less than other political traditions, and perhaps more than most, places great emphasis on roots, the building blocks of current society and its political organizations. Nowhere is the notion of roots more prevalent in the Marxist movement that in the tracing of organizational and political links back to the founders, Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, the Communist Manifesto, and the Communist League.

After mentioning the thread of international linkage through various organizations from the First to the Fourth International I also noted that on the national terrain in the Trotskyist movement, and here I was speaking of America where the Marxist roots are much more attenuated than elsewhere, we look to Daniel DeLeon’s Socialist Labor League, Eugene V. Deb’s Socialist Party( mainly its left-wing, not its socialism for dentists wing), the Wobblies (IWW, Industrial Workers Of The World), the early Bolshevik-influenced Communist Party and the various formations that led up to the Socialist Workers Party, the section that Leon Trotsky’s relied on most while he was alive. Further, I noted that beyond the SWP that there were several directions to go in but that those earlier lines were the bedrock of revolutionary Marxist continuity, at least through the 1960s.

Today I am starting what I also anticipate will be an on-going series about one of those strands past the 1960s when the SWP lost it revolutionary appetite, what was then the Revolutionary Tendency (RT) and what is now the Spartacist League (SL/U.S.), the U.S. section of the International Communist League (ICL). I intend to post materials from other strands but there are several reasons for starting with the SL/U.S. A main one, as the document below will make clear, is that the origin core of that organization fought, unsuccessfully in the end, to struggle from the inside (an important point) to turn the SWP back on a revolutionary course, as they saw it. Moreover, a number of the other organizations that I will cover later trace their origins to the SL, including the very helpful source for posting this material, the International Bolshevik Tendency.

However as I noted in posting a document from Spartacist, the theoretical journal of ICL posted via the International Bolshevik Tendency website that is not the main reason I am starting with the SL/U.S. Although I am not a political supporter of either organization in the accepted Leninist sense of that term, more often than not, and at times and on certain questions very much more often than not, my own political views and those of the International Communist League coincide. I am also, and I make no bones about it, a fervent supporter of the Partisan Defense Committee, a social and legal defense organization linked to the ICL and committed, in the traditions of the IWW, the early International Labor Defense-legal defense arm of the Communist International, and the early defense work of the American Socialist Workers Party, to the struggles for freedom of all class-war prisoners and defense of other related social struggles.

**********

Markin comment on the peace and/or anti-war question:

If I was asked to name the number one political cause that I have fought for in my life, and I thought about it for a few moments, the answer would have to be the peace, or put a better way, the anti-war question. I will just quickly draw a distinction between the two terms for purposes of this commentary. Of course, everybody and their brother and sister wants peace, talks about peace, would love to see in their lifetimes, and so on. By this they mean, usually, no wars, or at least just little ones, or may an occasional civil war or something like that. Mainly though, truth to tell, no wars to intrude on their daily lives, and certainly nothing that they have to take up arms about, or worst, sent their children with those selfsame arms to fight. Sunday speech peace is what this attitude boils down to. We have heard that noise from politicians, high and low, for an eternity. And for a fair part of my political youth, truth to tell, that kind of peace, that kind of striving for peace as a political activist, if not quite put in that hard-boiled a manner had great appeal.

Yes, but I am a big boy now, and have been for quite awhile. Thus, sweet Sunday speech peace preachments leave nothing but a bitter taste in my mouth. First of all, as a historical materialist by political inclination I know that there are some wars, like the class struggle wars that I don not want to be peaceful about, at least if the bourgeoisies of the world get in our way as they usually do. Or certain wars for national self-determination by oppressed nations, like the Vietnam War that caused me to re-evaluate my “peace” principles on more than one occasion back in the 1960s. Or wars fought by progressive, or at least smaller sized and helpless entities against bigger, bullying ones. So no, in the year 2010, I do not want to fight for “peace at any price.” And while I am no inveterate war-monger by any means thems the facts. As to the anti-war part of the question I think that I can stand on that position a little better, a little more truthfully, by opposing the wars that world imperialism, and in the first instance American imperialism, constantly throw at us, including today’s Iraq and Afghan occupations for starters.

That said, let me go back to that Vietnam War anti-war experience or rather experiences for they will be illustrative of the transformation of my search for “peace” to that of class justice in this wicked old world. Early on in that war, before the massive escalations of the mid-1960s, I would characterize my position as pacifistic in the universal sense reflecting a Catholic Worker-type position tinged with not a little unkempt social-patriotism toward the American government. As the bombs kept endlessly falling on that benighted country and I studied and learned more about the historic struggle of the Vietnamese against foreign oppression I came to support their struggles under the rubric of a war of national liberation. As I moved further left I held quasi-positions (quasi in the sense of ill-formed, or not fully worked out in those hectic times when one could not move fast enough leftward, and as importantly, theoretically leftward) that the anti-war movement should act as an active “second front” in the Vietnamese national liberation struggle by “bringing the war home” (and rather passive toward what ultimately needed to be done to the American government). Finally, finally I came closer to Bolshevik positions on the war question, the need to defend a workers state (in whatever condition, that too evolved over time), the need to do with and in the American military to bring the war to an end the Bolshevik way.

That said, this particular series of entries from the archives of the Spartacist League would have made life infinitely easier if I had had access to them in those days as expressions of a clear way forward for the anti-war movement that I (and not I alone) was getting increasingly frustrated with as it got mired into bourgeois defeatism, and then into oblivion as that war wound down. Unfortunately I did not initially read this material until some time in the mid-1970s. I will make additional individual comments on each entry.
**************

Markin comment on Beyond October 21: From Protest to Power

In an earlier entry today discussing some of the personal history of my political evolution on the anti-war question I mentioned that in 1965 I was not totally committed to a philosophy of non-violence action for political change nor was I totally committed to working within the bourgeois parliamentary system. (See From The Archives Of The Spartacist League (U.S.) - The Struggle Against Class Collaboration In The Anti-War Movement- New York Peace Parade Statement (1965).) By 1967, in the aftermath of the hard governmental suppression of the black riots that expressed an elementary outrage at the reality of ghetto life, a suppression supported by Martin Luther King and other black leaders, the first stirrings of armed self-defense by the Black Panthers out in Oakland, California, and the successive escalations of the Vietnam War by the Johnson Administration, I was becoming somewhat radicalized. And, more importantly, less and less wedded to those core, essentially left-liberal beliefs, that drove my earlier political views.

However, I was also not committed to the total break from the system that some of my friends, and as were virtually all of my girlfriends of the period. (One girlfriend, who I was crazy about, actually was calling for victory to the National Liberation Front, a very left position in that year.) Ironically, ironically today anyway, I was in the position of arguing that it was still possible to work in the system for social change if only we could find the right bourgeois politicians (read: Robert Kennedy) to talk “sweet” reason to. Needless to say, all those friends and girlfriends were to the left of me, mainly working with SDS, or its offshoots, and made life hell for me. Naturally, as well, relations with most of those girlfriends tended to wilt on the vine (quaint expression, right?)

But hear me out, and hear me out admittedly from today’s perspective on this. In the United States in 1960, a country with no working class party, reformist, centrist, or revolutionary, what was a dirt poor working class kid crazy for politics and crazy for social change with a little rough justice thrown in, to do? Especially in Massachusetts, the king hellion locale for putting political careers and “good works” together. So, see it wasn’t me to blame okay. Actually let’s blame the Stalinists of the American Communist Party for tying us to Franklin Delano Roosevelt and the Democratic Party back in the 1930s when there was a good change to built a mass workers party. Hey, I don’t mind kicking the Stalinists around politically once in a while. Ya, let’s blame them.

Blame aside though, 1967 and the October March on the Pentagon that the leaflet below was addressed to was just the kind of action that I saw as necessary, “levitating” pranks and all, to grow the anti-war movement. For what purpose? Well, for one, at this point to solidify the call for immediate, unconditional withdrawal of American troops from Vietnam which I had begun to take up as against my previous wish-washy “Stop the War” position. But you already know the real purpose. To pressure Senator Robert Kennedy (whose position on Vietnam was actually to the right of mine at that point) to break finally with Johnson and run against him in 1968. Such, boys and girls, is politics. It ain’t always pretty.

*****************
Beyond October 21:
From Protest to Power

—from Spartacist leaflet distributed at 21 October 1967 anti-Vietnam War march in Washington, D.C.


The April 15th mobilization was at once the greatest success of the official peace movement and definitive evidence of its political bankruptcy. The series of demonstrations leading up to the April 15th affair not only had no effect on government policy, but the escalation of the war appears to have coincided with each demonstration. The complete ineffectiveness of the April 15th march and the cynical indifference of the Johnson administration to anti¬war sentiment has engendered a hysterical hatred of the "power structure" and a sense of frustration among the most active sections of the anti-war movement. Isaac Deutscher caught the problem exactly when he said that he'd exchange the whole huge April I5th mobilization for just one dock strike.

Mass Action—Not Kamikazes

There is widespread sentiment to make the demonstrations more aggressive, dramatic and personally involving. The result has been a turn toward self-sacrifice and personal heroics in direct physical confrontations with the "war machine." The notion that the sheer strength of will of its opponents can end the war has its logical culmination in the hippies'project to "raise the Pentagon." Except for satisfying masochistic demonstrators and sadistic cops, nothing is gained from such "confrontations." Whether the demonstrators fight back or not, under these circumstances the odds are all on the side of the cops. Such direct action is as ineffectual as large, orderly demonstrations, and more expensive to the movement in terms of bruised bodies, jail sentences and money.

Personal sacrifice can never substitute fora mass movement and it is necessary to understand this in developing a perspective for anti-war movement. This does not mean reverting to the simple pacifist humanitarianism of the official peace movement in order to get middle-class liberals on the picket lines. What, it does mean is tapping the fundamental discontent and conflicts in American society; the black ghetto uprisings and rash of militant strikes indicate the depth and explosiveness of this discontent. Some of this discontent is with the war itself, or things related to the war such as the inflation eating into real wages. But all of it stems from the fundamentally oppressive character of American capitalism, o which the slaughter of the rebellious Vietnamese peasantry is simply the most dramatic external manifestation.

You WILL Go

Closely related to the tendency of anti-war radicals to think in terms of personal assaults on the "system" is the draft-resistance campaign which has become the principal organizing focus of the purging of radicals from the army strengthens the ideological purity and political reliability of the army. The government still seeks to screen radicals out of the service. Radicals, rather than going off to prison or Canada, would be far more effective educating their fellow soldiers. The Americans who suffer most from the war are the soldiers in Vietnam, and as the war grows longer and bloodier. discontent among G.I.s and its effect on prosecuting the war could be very great indeed

Perhaps more important is the effect of student draft avoidance particularly the frenzied scrambling after 2-S deferments, which are available only to the intellectually or financially privileged on the attitude of working-class draftees. The majority of draftees are vaguely disquieted about the war and disgruntled about being drafted during a shooting war, where they could get killed. But they accept the draft as a fact of life, and the idea of refusing to go is completely alien to their whole mode of thinking They view the "we won't go" movement as motivated by physical cowardice, holier-than-thou moralism and a desire on the part of spoiled college kids to avoid the harshness of army life. The anti-war movement will never break out of the campuses and coffee-houses, and reach the masses, unless young radicals share the common experiences of all working class youth, in serving a few years in the army. Only by such measures can the debilitating, and potentially dangerous, isolation of bohemian intellectuals from the mass of the working class, so characteristic of the American left, be overcome.

For Anti-War Strike Actions

The widespread feeling that the continual repetition of big marches is ineffectual and demoralizing is correct. However, kamikaze tactics are not the answer. It is necessary for the anti-war movement to achieve the maximum social power it can muster in protests. To this end. the Spartacist League advocates concretely building for a one-day general strike in factories, offices, ghetto neighborhoods and schools as the next national mobilization. Given the existing strength of the anti-war movement, and proper organizing, such a mobilization could bring out huge numbers of workers and students, and have a severe effect on whole segments of the economy. Even on this modest scale, such a demonstration would put the "fear of god" into the government, because it would mean the anti-war movement had gone far beyond accepted forms of protest and attacked the very foundations of American capitalism production. Such a strike would be infinitely more effective than this endless series of marches whether or not decorated by the bloodied heads of martyrs.

Toward Conscious Class Struggle

Apart from being a more effective form of protest, the proposed general strike would enable the anti-war movement to widen its base among forces other than political activists and particularly to strengthen organized anti-war sentiment among workers. It would be an excellent way for anti-war trade unionists to organize among their fellow workers and inject the war question into trade union politics. Since the trade union bureaucracy would certainly oppose it the fight over the proposed strike would reinforce the increasing rank and file discontent in the unions. In fact, in many places, the strike would not only be around anti-war demands, but economic issues as well. It would then be a protest of general social discontent, and would help lay the basis for a mass revolutionary socialist party.

Protest or Power

To the extent that most anti-war activists think in terms of politics, they mean running "peace-conscience" candidates, whose sole activity consists of about six weeks of electioneering. This type of discontinuous and one-sided activity can never build an effective movement. In fact, it is seen as a gesture of protest and nothing more. However, the fundamental weakness of this type of peace candidate is not organizational inefficiency, but political. The general social program of most of these candidates the type of program King or Spock would run on is not substantially different from the liberal wing of the Democratic Party, who. for purely opportunistic reasons, are unwilling to oppose Johnson. The official leadership of the anti¬war movement reinforces the hegemony of the Democratic Party, purged of the personal noxiousness and "aggressiveness" of Johnson. King or Spock would simply be a tryout for Robert Kennedy in '72.

Even on the question of the war itself, a program which implicitly supports American capitalism is self-defeating. The Vietnamese war is not unique. It is simply the largest in a series of colonial wars that the U.S. and all other imperialist powers have been fighting for the past century and will continue to fight until capitalism is overthrown in its main centers. In brief, the U.S. is in Vietnam to suppress a peasant revolution which challenges the dominance of U.S. business in Asia. It is futile to oppose the intervention in Vietnam while supporting the economic system which generates that intervention and the ideology that legitimatizes it.

Toward a Labor Party

Moreover, a political movement built solely around the war is incapable of unifying the various forces of discontent within American society. On the contrary, the necessary support given to the suppression of the American working class by establishment "doves" Wayne Morse is a leading Congressional advocate of government strike-breaking while the liberal establishment, including King, unanimously supported the bloody suppression of the ghetto risings—is a major obstacle to building a mass anti-war movement. Only such a revolutionary Labor Party, projecting a long-term struggle in the interest of the working masses, represents the kind of qualitative political change needed to create a serious break with the traditional parties and counter the political apathy of most workers. With the widespread discontent over the war, the rising militancy and restiveness in the labor movement, and the explosiveness of the black ghettos, the prospect for initiating such a party is better now than at any time in the last twenty years.

The anti-war movement can force Johnson to withdraw U.S. troops only if he is more afraid of it than of the victory of the Vietnamese Revolution. No demonstration, however effective and militant, can do this. Only a movement capable of taking state power can. The anti-war movement has no future except as a force for building a party of revolutionary change.

The Vietnamese War has opened many people's eyes to the horrors and injustices inherent in the mainstream of American politics. Nothing short of a fundamental change in the class axis of those politics will eliminate, these injustices.




The Latest From The Partisan Defense Committee Website-Free All The Class-War Prisoners Now!

The Latest From The Partisan Defense Committee Website-Free All The Class-War Prisoners Now!  




James P.Cannon (center)-Founding leader of The International Labor Defense- a model for labor defense work in the 1920s and 1930s.

Click below to link to the Partisan Defense Committee website.


Reposted from the American Left History blog, dated December 1, 2010 and as necessary to say in 2017 as back then-maybe more so since we are trying to build the Resistance that means going mano a mano with the Trump administration, his hangers-on and those Alt-Right/Nazis/KKK/White Supremacists and street thugs emboldened by this wacky crowd who nevertheless hold state power-and the keys to the jails.

Greg Green comment:

I like to think of myself as a fervent supporter of the Partisan Defense Committee, an organization committed to social and political defense cases and causes in the interests of the international working class. And an organization committed, at this time of the year, to raising funds to support the class-war prisoners’ stipend program through the annual Holiday Appeal drive. Unfortunately having to raise these funds in support of political prisoners for many years now, too many years, as the American and international capitalist class and their hangers-on have declared relentless war, recently a very one-sided war, against those who would cry out against the monster. Attempting to silence voices from zealous lawyers, articulate death row prisoners, anti-fascist street fighters to black liberation fighters who ended up on the wrong side of a cop and state vendetta, and anti-imperialist fighters who took Che’s admonition to wage battle inside the “belly of the beast” seriously. Others, other militant fighters as well, too numerous to mention here but remembered.

Normally I do not need any prompting in the matter. This year as I read the Anniversary Appeal article in Workers Vanguard I was startled to note how many of the names, organizations, and political philosophies mentioned there hark back to my own radical coming of age, and the need for class-struggle defense of all our political prisoners in the late 1960s (although I may not have used that exact term at the time. In fact almost probably did not).

That recognition included names like black liberation fighter George Jackson’s San Quentin Six comrade the late Hugo Pinell; the Black Panthers in their better days, the days when the American state really was out to kill or detain every last supporter, and in the days when we needed, desperately needed, to fight for their defense in places from Oakland to New Haven,  as represented by two of the Omaha Three (Poindexter and the late wa Langa), in their better days; the struggle, the fierce struggle, against the death penalty as represented in Mumia’s case today; the Ohio 7 and the Weather Underground who, rightly or wrongly, were committed to building a second front against American imperialism in the hard days of the Vietnam War when we all were routing for the South Vietnam National Liberation Front and Father Ho and his North Vietnamese troops desperately needed in the southern struggle , and who most of the left, the respectable left, abandoned; and, of course, Leonard Peltier and the Native American struggles from Pine Ridge to the Southwest. It has been a long time and victories few. I could go on but you get the point.

That point also includes the hard fact that we have paid a high price, a very high price, for not winning back in the late 1960s and early 1970s when we last had this capitalist imperialist society on the ropes. Maybe it was political immaturity, maybe it was cranky theory, maybe it was elitism, hell, maybe it was just old-fashioned hubris but we let them off the hook. And have had to fight forty years of rear-guard “culture wars” since just to keep from falling further behind.

And the class-war prisoners, our class-war prisoners, have had to face their “justice” and their prisons. Many, too many for most of that time. That lesson should be etched in the memory of every pro-working class militant today. And this, as well, as a quick glance at the news these days should make every liberation fighter realize; the difference between being on one side of that prison wall and the other is a very close thing when the bourgeoisie decides to pull the hammer down. The support of class-war prisoners is thus not charity, as International Labor Defense founder James P. Cannon noted back in the 1920s, but a duty of those fighters outside the walls. Today I do my duty, and gladly. I urge others to do the same now at the holidays and throughout the year. The class-war prisoners must not stand alone. 

*Free The Last of the Ohio Seven-They Must Not Die In Jail

COMMENTARY
ONE OF THE OHIO SEVEN -RICHARD WILLIAMS DIED IN PRISON (2006). THAT LEAVES JAAN LAAMAN AND TOM MANNING STILL IN PRISON. IT IS AN URGENT DUTY FOR THE INTERNATIONAL LABOR MOVEMENT AND OTHERS TO RAISE THE CALL FOR THEIR FREEDOM. FREE ALL CLASS WAR PRISONERS.

Below is a repost of a commentary I made in 2007 to support of freedom for the last of the still imprisoned in 2017  Ohio Seven
The Ohio Seven, like many other subjective revolutionaries, coming out of the turbulent anti-Vietnam War and anti-imperialist movements, were committed to social change. The different is that this organization included mainly working class militants, some of whose political consciousness was formed by participation as soldiers in the Vietnam War itself. Various members were convicted for carrying out robberies, apparently to raise money for their struggles, and bombings of imperialist targets. Without going into their particular personal and political biographies I note that these were the kind of subjective revolutionaries that must be recruited to a working class vanguard party if there ever is to be a chance of bringing off a socialist revolution. In the absence of a viable revolutionary labor party in the 1970’s and 1980’s the politics of the Ohio Seven, like the Black Panthers and the Weathermen, were borne of despair at the immensity of the task and also by desperation to do something concrete in aid of the Vietnamese Revolution and other Third World struggles . Their actions in trying to open up a second front militarily in the United States in aid of Third World struggles without a mass base proved to be mistaken but, as the Partisan Defense Committee which I support has noted, their actions were no crime in the eyes of the international working class.
The lack of a revolutionary vanguard to attract such working class elements away from adventurism is rendered even more tragic in the case of the Ohio Seven. Leon Trotsky, a leader with Lenin of the Russian Revolution of 1917, noted in a political obituary for his fallen comrade and fellow Left Oppositionist Kote Tsintadze that the West has not produced such fighters as Kote. Kote, who went through all the phases of struggle for the Russian Revolution, including imprisonment and exile under both the Czar and Stalin benefited from solidarity in a mass revolutionary vanguard party to sustain him through the hard times. What a revolutionary party could have done with the evident capacity and continuing commitment of subjective revolutionaries like the Ohio Seven poses that question point blank. This is the central problem and task of cadre development in the West in resolving the crisis of revolutionary leadership.
Finally, I would like to note that except for the Partisan Defense Committee and their own defense organizations – the Ohio 7 Defense Committee and the Jaan Laaman Defense Fund- the Ohio Seven have long ago been abandoned by those New Left elements and others, who as noted, at one time had very similar politics. At least part of this can be attributed to the rightward drift to liberal pacifist politics by many of them, but some must be attributed to class. Although the Ohio Seven were not our people- they are our people. All honor to them. As James P Cannon, a founding leader of the International Labor Defense, forerunner of the Partisan Defense Committee, pointed out long ago –Solidarity with class war prisoners is not charity- it is a duty. Their fight is our fight! 

LET US DO OUR DUTY HERE. RAISE THE CALL FOR THE FREEDOM OF LAAMAN AND MANNING. MAKE MOTIONS OF SOLIDARITY IN YOUR POLITICAL ORGANIZATION, SCHOOL OR UNION.


YOU CAN GOOGLE THE ORGANIZATIONS MENTIONED ABOVE- THE PARTISAN DEFENSE COMMITTEE- THE OHIO 7 DEFENSE COMMITTEE- THE JAAN LAAMAN DEFENSE FUND.

On Memphis Minnie's Birthday-***Her Castle's Rocking- The Blues Of Alberta Hunter

Click on title to link to YouTube's film clip of Alberta Hunter performing "Nobody Knows You When You're Down And Out". Ain't that the truth.

DVD REVIEW

February Is Black History Month

March Is Women’s History Month

Alberta Hunter, Alberta Hunter (Jazz Masters Series), Shanachie Productions, 20005

The ideas in the first couple of paragraphs have been used elsewhere in this space in reviewing the works of other women of the early blues period.


One of the interesting facts about the development of the blues is that in the early days the recorded music and the bulk of the live performances were done by women, at least they were the most popular exponents of the genre. That time, the early 1920's to the 1930's, was the classic age of women blues performers. Of course, when one thinks about that period the name that comes up is the legendary Bessie Smith. Beyond that, maybe some know Ethel Waters. And beyond that-a blank.

Yet the blues singer under review, Alberta Hunter, probably had almost as a productive career (with a long gap in between while pursuing a nursing career after the death of her mother) as either of the above-mentioned names. That ‘second’ career got a big boost by her performance in the Geraldine Chaplin film “Remember My Name”. And here is the kicker. If you were to ask today's leading women blues singers about influences they will, naturally, give the obligatory Bessie response, but perhaps more surprisingly will also praise Ms. Alberta, as well.

This nice little archival DVD compilation, while not technically the best, will explain the why of the above paragraph. Alberta worked the cabaret circuit with many back up players over the years, some good some bad, but her style and her energy carried most of the production. She, like Memphis Minnie and others, was the mistress of the double entendre so popular in old time blues- you know phrases like `put a little sugar in my bowl'. Here we have a late performance in 1982 by Alberta Hunter just a few years before her death. While she had lost a few steps her voice held up well, and more importantly, that little sparkle in here eyes and in her devil-may-care manner carry this effort.

So what sticks out here? Well, a nice interview with Alberta between sets for one. As for the songs how about the now appropriate “Nobody Knows You When You’re Down And Out”. Bessie’s “Down Hearted Blues” works. As does “My Castle’s Rocking” and the salacious “My Handy Man”. A nice hour for those who love the old women blues singers.



"Nobody Knows You When You're Down And Out"

(by Jimmie Cox)


Once I lived the life of a millionaire,
Spent all my money, I just did not care.
Took all my friends out for a good time,
Bought bootleg whisky, champagne and wine.

Then I began to fall so low,
Lost all my good friends, I did not have nowhere to go.
I get my hands on a dollar again,
I'm gonna hang on to it till that eagle grins.

'Cause no, no, nobody knows you
When you're down and out.
In your pocket, not one penny,
And as for friends, you don't have any.

When you finally get back up on your feet again,
Everybody wants to be your old long-lost friend.
Said it's mighty strange, without a doubt,
Nobody knows you when you're down and out.

When you finally get back upon your feet again,
Everybody wants to be your good old long-lost friend.
Said it's mighty strange,
Nobody knows you,
Nobody knows you,
Nobody knows you when you're down and out.

"My Handy Man"

Whoever said a good man was hard to find,
Postively, absolutely sure was blind;
I found the best that ever was,
Here's just some of the things he does:

He shakes my ashes, greases my griddle,
Churns my butter, strokes my fiddle;
My man is such a handy man!

He threads my needle, creams my wheat,
Heats my heater, chops my meat;
My man is such a handy man!

Don't care if you believe or not,
He sure is good to have around;
Why, when my furnace gets too hot,
He's right there to turn my damper down!

For everything he's got a scheme;
You ought to see his new starter that he uses on my machine;
My man is such a handy man!

He flaps my flapjacks, cleans off the table, He feeds the horses in my stable; My man is such a handy man!

He's God's gift!

Sometimes he's up long before dawn,
Busy trimming the rough edges off my lawn;
Oooh, you can't get away from it! He's such a handy man!

Never has a single thing to say,
While he's working hard;
I wish that you could see the way
He handles my front yard!

My ice don't get a chance to melt away,
He sees that I get that old fresh piece every day;
Lord, that man sure is such a handy man!

Bet, Bet Straight Up-With The Old Riverdale Neighborhood Corner Boys In Mind

Bet, Bet Straight Up-With The Old Riverdale Neighborhood Corner Boys In Mind

By Film Critic Emeritus Sam Lowell

As everybody familiar with this space (or with the on-line version of the American Film Gazette )knows I have retired from the day to day grind of writing film reviews and have handed over that chore, at least temporary, to my in the not too distance future retiring old friend, colleague and competitor Sandy Salmon. I noted when I posted my retirement notice that I, like old time military men, would just fade away. I also noted that I would as the occasion warranted write a little something, a little commentary if the subject interested me. That is my purpose today.        

Recently Sandy Salmon reviewed a 1947 film, a murder mystery of sorts that had a long prior pedigree, Seven Keys To Baldpate, which had been based on a play by the same name back in the early 20th century which in turn was based on a crime novel by the great crime writer Earl Derr Biggers (whose popular Charlie Chan series is perhaps much better known). Sandy did a good job of reviewing this film which hinged on the idea of a guy, a crime writer, making a bet with his publisher for five thousand cash that he could write a crackerjack mystery novel in twenty-four hours. As he attempted to do such out in the boondocks at an allegedly closed down inn with the only key to the place all hell broke loose, a couple of off-hand murders and such, by people who had collectively mysteriously come up with the six other keys of the title. One of those six people was a ringer, was the good-looking blonde with well-turned legs secretary to the guy who the crime writer made the bet with. No, not a sex lure like would be included in such a plotline now, at least not publicly, not in 1947 but to distract him anyway she could to make him miss his deadline. What the hell that ain’t fair, no way, especially when after the smoke cleared and the crime writer solved the whole mystery of why the other five people were there she flopped herself on his lap when he went to write that story to win the bet and dared him to ignore her. Needless to say the other guy won the bet        

Sandy mentioned at the start of his review that some guys will bet on anything, any proposition to pass the time. That got me to thinking after I had read the review about what the deal was in the old days in my growing up hometown of Riverdale about forty miles west of Boston when me and my high school corner boys who hung around Sal’s Pizza Parlor would to while away the lonesome, girl-less, no dough, no serious dough to not be girl-less bet on all kinds of propositions for a couple of bucks, maximum five probably. Certainly not five thousand which as Sandy mentioned is nothing but walking around money now but then was a number which we could not get around, couldn’t believe existed, not in our neighborhood where rubbing nickels together was a tough enough battle.

Now a lot of the bets with guys like Sammy Young, Billy Riley, Jack Callahan the great school football player before Chrissie McNamara did her own flop down on his lap and dared him to move her which he had had absolutely no inclination to do, Sid Green, Pat Murphy and Ian Smith were on the outcome of various sports events. You know back in those days whether the hapless Red Sox would finish last in the American League (or how long a losing streak the team would go on once they started their inevitable losing), how many points would the golden age Celtics score (or allow). We also did our fair share of betting on football games, no so much the games themselves as each play, pass or run, stuff like that, which sounds exotic but except for one time when I got on a bad streak and lose twenty-two bucks which took me about six weeks of caddying for the Mayfair swells to pay was usually the difference of two or three dollars.         

Other bets were a bit racier. Like whether Sally, who was going out with Pat, would let him “touch” her, and you know what I mean and don’t ask how we verified such bets but just know that we did do so. Or whether such and such a girl, a hot girl usually, would take the bait and give one of us a date. Hell, sometimes when the girls came into Sal’s to have some pizza, Cokes and to play the great jukebox that he had over in the corner we would bet on what song a girl would play. There was a certain art to that proposition for instance if a girl had just broken up with her boyfriend there would likely be some slow sad song chosen. You get what I mean. Sometimes it would be whether the notoriously late local bus would arrive on time or not. So anything was up for betting purposes.         
         
That ringer secretary in the film though got me thinking about the strangest bet I ever made back then, maybe ever. One Friday night, another one of those girl-less ones, Jack Callahan, this is before fetching Chrissie McNamara snagged him, bet me on how high Sal would toss the pizza dough when he was kneading and stretching it to make his great pizza pies. Jack’s idea for calling the bet, mine too for taking it, was that one of us but not both could have enough kale for a date with Laura Lawrence on Saturday night. We were both interested in her and she liked us both well enough although Jack as the football hero probably had the edge aside from the money factor. So the bet was on. Oh, I forgot to tell you that if one of the corner boys made a proposition the other guy (or guys depending on the nature of the bet) had to take the bet, or lose and pay up anyway. So naturally I said “bet.”      

The time of the bet was probably about seven o’clock so we had to wait a bit for Sal to start making more pizzas for the crowd that would be coming in around eight or so for their slice and soda before heading to some date or to the local lovers’ lane. Sal did eventually get going, maybe a half an hour later. The idea for who would win any individual bet on the toss was whether Sal flipped the dough above or below the Coke sign directly behind him. I got to call the first bet. Low. I won and the race was on taking my shots at high or low. I did pretty well for a while, was up maybe seven or eight dollars which would be enough to take Laura out, maybe a movie and something to eat. I figured I was in. Then my luck began to change, change dramatically and before long I was down about ten bucks before Sal stopped tossing the goddam stuff.

Jack smiled a knowing smile, knowing that he was going to escort Laura around and maybe get to “touch” her and you know what I mean by that and I don’t have to spell it out. Here’s where everything about that film review by Sandy comes into play. Sal was the ringer. Remember Jack was a football hero and Sal loved football, loved Jack’s prowess on the field and Jack had told him the situation earlier in the day before I showed up there. They had planned to let me win early to draw me in and had set up a silent signal about which position I had taken. How about that. Don’t you think now that I am thinking about it and getting burned up all over again that the next time I go over to Jack and Chrissie’s house in Hingham that I should ask for that ten bucks back-with interest. Yeah, Sandy had it right some guys will bet on anything.