Saturday, March 18, 2017

RIP: CHUCK BERRY

Chuck Berry just died at age 90.

Johnny B. Goode, man who rolled over Beethoven with Rock & Roll music, chased Nadine and Maybeline for 30 days shouting "you can't catch me!" to Sweet Little 16 back in the promised land of the U.S.A. during school dayz, the man who gave us the "duck walk," has gone, leaving us with a most impressive legacy: Rock n' Roll.

Bill Haley, Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, Little Richard; each one of these men were founding fathers of Rock & Roll, that defining turn of popular music, the blending of white and black styles that defined the boundary between Everything that Came Before and Everything that Came Since. Along with Chuck Berry, each one deserves a piece of the glory of being pone without whom, it would not have happened. Each one is unique int heir own way, each one with their own contribution, not just to the sound, but the spread of the music that was to define a generation.

The uniqueness of Chuck Berry's unique contribution among this pantheon was his songwriting and guitar virtuosity, which combined around basic rhythm and blues chord changes and country music brightness to bring something fun to the table.

Other music writes have, and will continue to write about his genius, how he changed rock & roll forever, how his white-sounding voice enabled him to get over on white radio, how many famous rock & rollers, from the Beach Boys to the Beatles to the Rolling Stones to Bob Dylan to Eric Clapton to Bob Seeger to Bruce Springsteen to AC/DC to the Stray Cats to the Blasters etc were inspired by him, how his marathon tour schedule brought him to the people, how he would show up at gigs asking for $10,000 in a paper bag and expecting the house to provide a backing band that knew his material, and if they were good, he would give the band $1000, about the several ways he was screwed over in his career, etc, etc, etc, and he deserves every word of it. Even the inevitable legendary exaggerations and fabrications.

I first discovered 1950's rock & roll when my favorite babysitter gave me a Bill Haley album that led off with the theme song from "Happy Days," that TV show that came on after "Emergency" or "Fire House" that my mom would never let me watch. It grew slightly when Elvis Presley died, and more when I saw "Grease" and "American Graffiti."

But a greater appreciation and understanding of the forms and sounds that set the world a'rockin really came when I discovered WABC-AM, and then WCBS-FM.

When I was growing up, my mom kept the radio on classical stations and news radio. Sometimes it would land on a "lite" radio station (or whatever they called it in the 1970's), basically elevator music, The Thousand Strings, etc. I was somehow aware of country-western music, and that I liked it, and of course I was made familiar with Pete Seeger and Oscar Brand and the world of folk music thorugh children;s concerts and played my mom's Smithsonian folk music album collection over and over again.

The death of Elvis and the 50's nostalgia movement made me think it was cool to know about popular culture of the past. For a while I got confused between '50's rock & roll and "Nostalgia" music, that is, pop music of the 1920's, '30's, '40's, and '50's, and listened to WNEW-AM. It's great music, and a lot of it inspired the early sounds of rock & roll, but it is not rock & roll.

Then, by the 5th grade, the NY Yankees, whose games had been broadcast on WINS newsradio, moved to WABC, a rock & roll radio station. That was when I started listening to rock & roll. the 1980's had not yet arrived, and the idea of "the evolution of rock" was a new concept, one which WABC pioneered.

When WABC switched to an all-talk format (the week after I graduated from the 8th grade), I had to find a new radio station. I had gotten a Sony Walkman FM radio as a graduation present, and played around with a few stations, WAPP, WNEW, WBIS (during a period in which I was trying to get past the friend zone with a punk stoner chick), but the only place I could reliably find the sound that thrilled me, that genuine, raw, early rock & roll sound, was WCBS-FM. True, sometimes I had to wait through some Big-Chill-era stuff, and of course the requisite Beatles and British invasion stuff (all of which is very good in its own right), but then a Chuck Berry song would come on, and I would perk up my ears and listen to every note, every syllable, absorbing the sound until I could play it in my head.

In my sophomore year of high school I got a Sanyo C4 home/portable stereo set, which I could plug into my mom's record player. So when I started making enough money to do so, I started buying records. After seeing "Streets of Fire" I became a big fan of the Blasters. When I asked a musician friend of mine if he could play their song "Rock and Roll Will Stand," he replied that it was just "Johnny B. Goode." That got me to realizing that lots of early rock & roll songs were just that same melody. When Marty McFly played "Johnny B. Goode" in "Back to the Future," I would fantasize that it was me up there, rocking out. When I learned how to play harmonica I re-wrote the words to "Johnny B. Goode" to make applicable to a harmonica player on the Lower East Side.

 As my knowledge of 50's rock & roll grew, so did my record collection. It got so I started to build a compete collection of the classics by the greats so I could make the perfect cassette of '50's rock & roll music, because every compilation album or "the greatest hits" collection was always loaded down with ballads and stuff that just didn't "rock." Among the first of these albums was Chuck Berry's "The Great Twenty-Eight."

A Village Voice writer wrote an article titled "Chuck Berry: A Theory of Fun." It was a cover story. It made perfect sense to me. The man was a genius. His music is not about seeking a sublime higher level of existence, it is about taking life as it is and enjoying every moment on Earth.

I saw a triple feature of Alan Freed movies ("Rock, Rock, Rock," "Go, Johnny, Go!" and "American Hot Wax" at the Thalia Soho. Chuck Berry was in all of them, and if there were any justice in this world, he would have been in more.

(Note Alan Freed's hot drum licks in this clip from "Rock, Rock, Rock!")

Now you can't hear 1950's music on the radio anymore. Even the "Oldies" stations don't play anything before the Beatles, and we are the poorer for it.

He is gone now, may he find a well deserved reward in whatever afterlife goes to musical geniuses who have changed the world, and may rock & roll never die!







Tuesday, January 24, 2017

When Indians meet "Indians."

This is a story idea for a movie in which a South Asian person has contact with Native Americans. The point of the story is to set up a theoreticaly possible, if fictional, framework in which two different kinds of "Indians" could meet. To my knowledge, no suich meeting of historic import has ever occurred.


***


This story begins in India in the late 1850's, shortly after the Indian Mutiny of 1857. The British army in India is in the process of being restructured. Our main character is a loyal Sikh, under the command of a young British officer.


We need a reason for this officer to leave India in 1862, and for this Sikh to go with him, but once they depart, the head to North America to observe the Civil War, much in the style of Colonel Freemantle, who obnserved the Battle of Gettysburg, esentially as a "war tourist."


Our british officer and Sikh soldier land in Texas and work their way north to find the front lines. In the course of their adventures, they become separated, and our Sikh winds up wandering through Indian country.


He is found in the desert by a native tribe, who nurses him back to health. He proves his valor in a skirmish with another native tribe. In time, he goes through a vision quest and becomes a valued member of the tribe, much in the style of "A Man Called Horse" or "Little Big Man." His bond with the tribe even goes as far as getting a wife and becoming blood-brother with her brother.


Meanwhile, our British officer had fallen in with some Missouri bushwackers, much like Quantrill's Raiders. At the end of the war, the raiders head west to escape the pursuing US cavalry. In their flight, their leader is wounded. As he lays dying, he passes leadership on to the Britisher, for he has shown his battle skill and leadership qualities, and the men support him.


The raiders head into Indian territory with a notion to go to Mexico. Starvation and thirst dog them until they wind up getting ambushed by the tribe of which the Sikh is now a member. In the course of the ambush, the two men reunite. The Sikh convinces the cheif to let the raiders live and reover with them until they are ready to go on their way. One of the raiders tries to steal from the tribe, but the Britisher kills him, proving his sense of courtesy to the tribe to which his old friend now belongs.


Meanwhile the US cavalry is till on the trail of the raiders. They are better equipped for the desert than the raiders were, so they are hearty when they find the tribe. The ensuing massacre kills the Sikh's wife and child, and reminds both the Sikh and the Britisher of incidents in the Indian Mutiny that they committed, and are repulsed.


The cavalry manages to capture the Britisher and the Sikh alive. The go to the Britisher and inform him tha the is a sort of hero in England, where they have been reading reports of his gallant adventures in fighting for such a lost cause. Personally, the cavallry officer would be happy to execute him along with the rest of the readers for treason and insurrection, but Queen Victoria has sent a direct messsage to the president to bring him back alive. The Sikh, however, is "just another Indian."


The Sikh's blood brother/brother in law had been out hunting when the massacre/attack occurs, so he is able to help him escae. The Sikh won't go without the Britisher, but there is a moment of hesitation as the Britisher considers his loyalty to the queen. That hesitation proves fatal, however. The escape attempt is discovered. The Britisher decides to sacrifice himself so the two "Indians" can escape.


The blood brothers get away and locate the rest of the tribe's warriors, who had all been out hunting and missed the massacre. The blood brothers form a war party of these braves, and forge a legend of indomitable fighting spirit against the US cavalry.


***


I need to research which Native American tribe would fit best into this story. I also need to do a little more research into the life of a mid-19th century British officer to get him out of India and to america with a Sikh soldier in 1862.


My main question is, however, is this an appropriate use of NAtive American and Sikh culture for the purpose of narrative entertainment, or and I selfishly appropriating the cultures at the roiskl of misrepresenting or offending them? The concept of "Indians" meeting Indians intrigues me. Folks have been confusing one for the other ever since Columbus' error centuries ago. Why not put them together and see what happens.

In my research so far, I found that a series of wars and rebellions in India in the mid 19th century had several parallels with the Indain Wars in th American West. These include massacres, the playing off of one group of natives agains the other, natives loyal to the colonial forces, a heavy dose of racism ans romanticism, etc. Perhaps by telling this fictional story I can bring up issues of colonailism, "white man's burden" issues, loyalty, honor, fairness, and justice.


What do you think?



Tuesday, December 20, 2016

Thoughts About the Election - in Verse

2.6 million is the number by which
Hillary Clinton would have won in a stitch
If "one man one vote" were the hard and fast rule
And this nation a democracy were hard and true.
But a republic true is this land where we live,
And rights to the states are a thing we must give.
So regional diferences can be respected,
Their limited sovereignty must be protected.
So our election compromises
People with states of various sizes,
And just a few votes in certain key states
Can seal a popular candidate's fate.

Now we'll have a president who won where he had,
And fans of the other are really quite mad.
"Mandate, my ass," a singer once said
About the election of a man now dead.
But if we respect our constitution's intention,
This quirk of the rules does deserve mention.
The loser has won, and the winner has lost,
We have to accept in this season of frost.
But before off to the White House he goes,
The one going there must look at the no's
And realize that although the message is clear,
There are lots of people who do want him there,
There's others who just wanted his rival out,
or see that regime change would come about.
Yes, far from a landslide was the result.
The USA is not your personal cult.

So give him a chance, but stay on your guard.
Give him an inch, but not the whole yard.
Call out his bluffs so that all will know
That he cannot give us a job that is snow.
But if he should happen to say something smart,
Please do not act like he just laid a fart.
And if he does something that is flat out wrong,
Be sure all will hear you cry out loud and strong.

Now if you wish to respond to this post,
Remember to follow the rule I love most.
You may think it's better, you may think it's worse,
But all of your comments must be in verse.

Two million "illegal votes"? Really, Donald?

Posted to Facebook November 28th, 2016

Really, Donald? Landslide? You got fewer electoral votes than any winning president since the 1970's except G.W. Bush, and do you really, really think that there were as many as two million "illegal" votes? In your heart of hearts? There are fewer than two million transgender people in the US and people living in Detroit combined! Is this how to unite the country?

I was really having hopes that your practicality would lead you to a much more moderate path than some of your supporters were hoping, especially after some of the moderation of some of your campaign promises this past week. But then you go and say (tweet) things like this...


https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/the-fix/wp/2016/11/27/donald-trump-i-won-the-popular-vote-if-you-deduct-the-millions-of-people-who-voted-illegally/

"Professional protestors incited by media"? Really?

I posted this on Facebook on November 11, 2016:

I was really, really hoping that Trump would not do something like this for at least a day.

"Professional protestors"? Really? The last time I heard something like that was from Reagan about the No Nukes rally on June 12, 1982! He said that the nearly one million people who marched from the UN to Central park were working under Moscow's orders.

"Incited by media"? Really? I am going to go out on a limb here and say that the only "inciting" that the media had to do was report that Trump won the election. Are you really surprised that the folks who did not want you to be president are acting with a level of passion commensurate with the level of vitriol spewed against Obama and Hillary by Trump and his supporters?

You know, after Trump sued because a voting district in a largely-Latino community allowed people to vote when they had gotten on line before closing, and his daughter-in-law actually said that Hillary was under criminal investigation on CNN ON ELECTION DAY and had to be corrected by the journalist interviewing her, I really wonder if I should be surprised.

Fear and Loathing in 2016 - The Presidential Election

Mostly I sharethings on Facebook these days. But sometimes I post something that I want to have in a more public forum. Though I have far, far fewer followers on Blogspot than on Facebook, search engines are more likely to find things here than there. So with that in mind, I am going to share some things that got their first exposure on FB.

I originally posted this as the election results came in and it looked clear that Donald Trump was going to be the next president of the United States of America:

When I was in high school, it was the height of the Reagan-era Cold War. As a boy growing up on the Upper East Side of Manhattan to an adult college-student mom in an aggressively social-engineered elementary school that promoted diversity, understanding, and peace, Reagan was the boogieman. He made threatening comments against the Russians. The Doomsday Clock clicked closer to midnight. And all the advances in social justice and environmental responsibility were doomed to be rolled back by his presence.

I campaigned for Mondale in 1984. I wore Mondale buttons and handed out literature in Grand Central Terminal. I drew a cartoon of Reagan's face on a Ghostbusters button and wore it on my hat. And I truly believed that the missiles would fly if Reagan was re-elected. In Stuyvesant High School, most of my friends shared that feeling.

On the night of the election I was doing my homework when the results came in. Shortly after the election was called, I heard a roar in the sky outside my window. I honestly feared that it was a nuclear ICBM, and checked my clock to see how long before the counter-strike would come.
I have never felt as scared after a presidential election since then. Disappointed, yes. Upset, occasionally, but never scared.

But his year, as CNN tallies up the votes, I am even more scared. the electoral process has disappointed me at every turn, but the worst is how a person that is so divisive, so unsympathetic, so vitriolic in his message of hate, anger, and intolerance, that it took the messiest party convention I have seen to get him nominated, could come so close to winning.

I have been surfing YouTube a lot this year. I have always had a fascination for the history of World War II. It may be a bit of a stretch to call Trump America's Hitler (some of us said the same thing about Reagan back in the day), but things he has said, his pattern of behavior, has opened up a world of negative possibility for the future.

I fear for the safety of our democracy. Up until the end of the 20th century, thus history could be generalized as a "March to Freedom," a history of expanding rights to all people in the US, towards a greater realization of the American dream.

Since then, however there has been a re-fracturing of our society as those who are comfortable with their place in the status quo do whatever they can to keep it, and fear is an easier card to play than hope. So identifying a boogeyman and defining your role in society as a leader against that boogieman is a safe bet, if you are willing to ride it all the way with no holding back.

The trouble with "not holding back" is that it takes you into modes of behavior and the doing of deeds that are beyond the bounds of what we call civility, courtesy, respect, politeness, and all that makes it possible for people to get along despite their differences and prejudices.

In a nation of "E Pluribus Unum" ("of many, one") figuring out how to get along is the path to survival. Being uncompromising is admirable when standing up for that which you believe, but believing in compromise is not sexy, and willingness to get along is seen as a sign of weakness. This is true especially when you have gotten where you are by being uncompromising.

So as the vote counting drags on I have a fear that this may be the last election in this country, and the ideals of this great nation, tested in so many ways over these past 240 years, to the point where they are almost illusory, will become corrupted to the point of being forgotten, and ultimately disappear, never to inspire social progress again. That is what scares me.

Now Trump is making his acceptance speech. So far he is saying all the right things about being president for all of us and uniting people. Whether or not he achieves this remains to be seen. We have four years. Keep the faith.

Thursday, June 30, 2016

Report from SCA 50 Year Anniversary - Part 3

(Continued from 2 days ago)
The next day I spent most of the morning repairing armor, but managed to make it to a “boat battle.” This was a rollicking affair in which simulated “boats” carried fighters to an “island” on which “booty” was stashed. The different teams of fighters fought to collect the booty and bring them back to their “docks.”

This was absurd, ridiculous, and fun. My team actually won one of the engagements, collecting the most valuable booty. Here is a video of some of the action. https://youtu.be/3cgEcDRBkRE

After that I attended a lecture on “The Psychology of Fighting” by Duke Talymar. IT was an interesting summation of the progression of a SCA fighter's career and options, how to break through plateaus, and guidance for fighters. After the lecture, the floor was opened to questions. There were some interesting points brought up. Among the most discussion-inspiring ones were how to deal with a student who refuses to learn, and what to do when someone has lost the thrill he used to have and how to help him get it back.

I found this to be an interesting topic. I have had periods in which I felt myself lacking the thrill for the SCA that I used to have. AS a result I wound up gravitating to other things like Brazilian jiu jitsu, pro wrestling, filmmaking, and the Battle of the Nations - Armored Combat League world. I contributed that I have felt the thrill fade, that I didn't fit in to my local fighting group quite as well as I used to. In my case, what I did was simply focus on what it was that I liked about it that was still there. In my case, it was the fact that even though I hate almost everything involved with fighting (pack the gear, carrying it, putting it on, the exertion, carrying the stuff home, being sore and tired), I do it because I love being able to say that I did it.

After a bunch more comments and discussion, one other thing came to my mind, so I shared it: The SCA is a hobby. If you think you will get more satisfaction by saving the whales, or getting involved in local politics, or finishing high school, or starting grad school, or spending time with the wife and kids, do it.

After all that was done, I noticed gnats or fleas flitting around me. I felt hot, sweaty, and itchy, but my armor needed fixing. I took all my armor off and fixed the three rivets that needed fixing before going back to camp for dinner. I showered all the sweat and bugs off, but it turned out it wasn;t me, there were bugs all over the place that day.

(to be continued)