There is a Native American village in northern Michigan very near where I spent the summers of my youth. It has improved much in the past twenty years, but when I was a kid it was a very poor collection of shacks and rusted automobiles. The houses were small, and falling apart, the windows broken or boarded up. Doors hung crooked on broken hinges, and in some places you could see sunlight through the gaps in the walls. I remember being very young and seeing happy children in dirty clothes playing in the yards of those places.
When I was 16, I dated a girl who's parents had a lot of money. I mean, my family was not exactly poor, we were fortunate to be able to spend our summers on Lake Michigan, but her folks had REAL money. She grew up in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in the Detroit area, but she went to boarding school in northern Michigan, which is where we met. We had been dating for about 9 months and she was riding with my parents and I when we passed through the Indian village one day.
I can still see the look on her face. It was incredulous. Her eyes were wide, looking around her, but then she started to laugh. She made a few jokes, the kind that a teenage girl might make at the expense of another girl who's sweater does not match her skirt. And I remember I just wanted to crawl into a hole, I couldn't believe that my parents were hearing my girlfriend behave like this. That relationship did not last long beyond that moment.
I know now that it wasn't entirely her fault, she didn't understand American poverty, she had never seen American poverty. It had been hidden from her all her life. That day the veil was drawn back and exposed to her the world of poverty and race in America.
That's what hurricane Katrina did too. When the hurricane ripped apart the gulf coast it tore away that long black veil that we hide poverty behind, and brought the public attention to the problems of class and race in America. President Bush's reaction was, at first, like that 16 year old school girl. He seemed incredulous that people chose to live that way. Even his mother seemed to feel that some of them were lucky to get to improve their situation and live in the relative luxury of the Houston Astrodome for a while.
The death toll of the catastrophe was not just the result of stubborn people refusing to leave their homes. Many simply could not afford to leave. For people that struggle to put food on the table and keep the roof over their heads from falling in, an automobile, and the gas to fuel it, are a faraway dream.
That is the reality of life for many people in communities all over America. That is reality for many here in Michigan. In places like Flint, Detroit, Benton Harbor, and Muskegon Heights, people live in an impoverished situation created by this nation's history of discrimination.
But they are there, obscured behind the long black veil of public indifference, waiting for us to draw it aside.
26 September 2005
19 September 2005
The Folk Process in the Internet Age
Woody Guthrie once said that folk singers took the old gospel songs, and the old traditional ballads, and they "put their own words to them..." But, people called it stealing, plagiarism and other "bad words." That is, until until "Pete (Seeger) come along and renamed it the 'folk process.'"
I am fascinated by what Pete Seeger dubbed "the folk process," the telling of stories and singing of songs, passing them on from one person to another, and from one generation to another, by word of mouth or personal performance. This is the way that people entertained themselves before the age of television and radio. This is the way we learned songs. Through this process a song is changed a little by each performer, adding to it's depth and refining it's character. By studying the known lyrics of the different variations of a song it's progress can be traced across land and through time.
The folk process has been in danger of being overwhelmed by our commercial media. Due to the high cost involved in recording, media moguls will only produce the music that they believe will make the most money. Fortunately, the internet and digital recording technology has the potential to save us from that.
New technology makes it economical to record and share music that would not have been considered commercially viable in the past. For the past ten years Roger McGuinn, the lead singer of "The Byrds," has maintained a web site called "The Folk Den,"where he records and shares a folk song every month as a "Global Community Service."
Other websites, like "The Mudcat Cafe" offer a place where folkies can exchange lyrics.
John Mayer, the Grammy winning singer/songwriter, has done a really cool thing. In a recent issue of Esquire magazine, and online, he has published a handful of incomplete lyrics that he has had rattling around in his head for a while and has offered them to anybody that is interested in completing them and setting them to music. They can record their creations and send them in to Mayer for him to share with the world.
What a great idea that is! And also, what a generous gift. It is the opportunity for aspiring composers to collaborate with a truly great songwriter, and to receive his feedback. It is also a way for John Mayer to contribute to the folk process in a very new and creative way.
So, here I offer my humble attempt at completing Mr. Mayer's lyrics. (His original lyrics are in red, the rest are mine.)Unfortunately, I am lacking the talent gene which is required to compose and record the music.
If you DO posess that gene...Feel free. You might as well add to the folk process too.
Mirror That's Been Turned Toward the Wall
John Mayer and Dan Mulligan
1. I keep a note that I wrote on a taxi receipt
It says, "Don't listen to nobody other than me"
I hit the big time, for a nominal fee.
You lose a friend in the end for every dream that you see come true.
2. I got scars upon scrapes;
I've got bruises on breaks.
Masochistically committed to see how much of this I'll take.
Three years under water,
I ain't even got the shakes.
I'm going deeper, and deeper, and deeper.
3. I've got dreams to remember.
I've got days to forget.
I've got a call in to God, but he ain't called me back yet.
I've got a call in to God, but he ain't called me back yet.
I've got a call in to God. He ain't called me back yet.
(chorus) I'm so far away
in this lonesome city.
I only hear the sounds in the hall.
Alone in the dark, no one sees me.
Like a mirror that's been turned toward the wall.
(Like a mirror that's been turned toward the wall.)
4. I keep my heart in a jar, on a pantry shelf.
It says it don't beat for nobody but you.
I hit the big time.
(It's not worth the fee.)
You lose a friend in the end for every dream that you see come true.
5. We've left tracks in the sand.
We've got our blood on our hands.
Irresistibly drawn to see the end of this plan.
Climbing the mountain, I still can't see the peak.
It's getting steeper, and steeper, and steeper.
6. I've got an old photo
of the day that we met.
I've got my bags packed, but I'm not leaving yet.
I've got my bags packed, but I'm not leaving yet.
I've got my bags packed. I'm not leaving yet.
(chorus)
I am fascinated by what Pete Seeger dubbed "the folk process," the telling of stories and singing of songs, passing them on from one person to another, and from one generation to another, by word of mouth or personal performance. This is the way that people entertained themselves before the age of television and radio. This is the way we learned songs. Through this process a song is changed a little by each performer, adding to it's depth and refining it's character. By studying the known lyrics of the different variations of a song it's progress can be traced across land and through time.
The folk process has been in danger of being overwhelmed by our commercial media. Due to the high cost involved in recording, media moguls will only produce the music that they believe will make the most money. Fortunately, the internet and digital recording technology has the potential to save us from that.
New technology makes it economical to record and share music that would not have been considered commercially viable in the past. For the past ten years Roger McGuinn, the lead singer of "The Byrds," has maintained a web site called "The Folk Den,"where he records and shares a folk song every month as a "Global Community Service."
Other websites, like "The Mudcat Cafe" offer a place where folkies can exchange lyrics.
John Mayer, the Grammy winning singer/songwriter, has done a really cool thing. In a recent issue of Esquire magazine, and online, he has published a handful of incomplete lyrics that he has had rattling around in his head for a while and has offered them to anybody that is interested in completing them and setting them to music. They can record their creations and send them in to Mayer for him to share with the world.
What a great idea that is! And also, what a generous gift. It is the opportunity for aspiring composers to collaborate with a truly great songwriter, and to receive his feedback. It is also a way for John Mayer to contribute to the folk process in a very new and creative way.
So, here I offer my humble attempt at completing Mr. Mayer's lyrics. (His original lyrics are in red, the rest are mine.)Unfortunately, I am lacking the talent gene which is required to compose and record the music.
If you DO posess that gene...Feel free. You might as well add to the folk process too.
Mirror That's Been Turned Toward the Wall
John Mayer and Dan Mulligan
1. I keep a note that I wrote on a taxi receipt
It says, "Don't listen to nobody other than me"
I hit the big time, for a nominal fee.
You lose a friend in the end for every dream that you see come true.
2. I got scars upon scrapes;
I've got bruises on breaks.
Masochistically committed to see how much of this I'll take.
Three years under water,
I ain't even got the shakes.
I'm going deeper, and deeper, and deeper.
3. I've got dreams to remember.
I've got days to forget.
I've got a call in to God, but he ain't called me back yet.
I've got a call in to God, but he ain't called me back yet.
I've got a call in to God. He ain't called me back yet.
(chorus) I'm so far away
in this lonesome city.
I only hear the sounds in the hall.
Alone in the dark, no one sees me.
Like a mirror that's been turned toward the wall.
(Like a mirror that's been turned toward the wall.)
4. I keep my heart in a jar, on a pantry shelf.
It says it don't beat for nobody but you.
I hit the big time.
(It's not worth the fee.)
You lose a friend in the end for every dream that you see come true.
5. We've left tracks in the sand.
We've got our blood on our hands.
Irresistibly drawn to see the end of this plan.
Climbing the mountain, I still can't see the peak.
It's getting steeper, and steeper, and steeper.
6. I've got an old photo
of the day that we met.
I've got my bags packed, but I'm not leaving yet.
I've got my bags packed, but I'm not leaving yet.
I've got my bags packed. I'm not leaving yet.
(chorus)
13 September 2005
A Jazz Funeral
Led by two horses pulling an open carriage carrying the casket, a brass band, dressed in their Sunday best (which are not quite as nice as your Sunday best,) plays a slow, loose, dirge lamenting the loss of one of their own. Suddenly they stop and pause, then burst into a joyous sound, playing a jazz gospel version of the hymn “I’ll Fly Away.” For four straight hours the procession rolls along, with bands playing and people dancing in the streets. Behind the band a group of men dressed in various hues of orange, and carrying umbrellas, dance. The umbrellas whirl with the rhythm of the music. A crowd follows the band, waving their handkerchiefs in the air. Perhaps they are waving goodbye to their parted friend, or perhaps they are signaling to his ancestors that a good friend is coming to join him.
The web site of the Orleans Parish Coroner features a sound file of the coroner, Frank Minyard, playing the jazz trumpet. That seems appropriate. Music and death are deeply connected in New Orleans, and they always have been. The people of New Orleans are the kind of people that, when faced with death, dance.
In New Orleans they say that death is the ultimate celebration of life. It is a time to celebrate a life well lived, so they mark the event with a party. It is a time to rejoice. For blocks and blocks the sound of joy fills the air. How can we lose that now?
I have my doubts that the people of New Orleans are destined to return; the landlords and bankers will be selling their homes for pennies on the dollar. You can't really blame them for attempting to limit their losses. I can just imagine the Donald Trumps of the world wringing their hands in anticipation of the bargains to be had, and the new condos to be built. They may even build them to look like New Orleans, but the people of New Orleans won't be able to afford them.
I have never been to New Orleans, but it seems to me to be the city I know best. It is the city everyone seems to know on a personal level. No other US city is more defined by it's culture and heritage. It is not the wealth of New Orleans nor it's buildings that we know, it is the people that lived there. To rebuild New Orleans without them would be nothing but a movie set, or a theme park. Visiting a New Orleans without her people would be like visiting Epcot to see China.
So I do hope that the people of New Orleans will one day return to their city, but I am afraid that they have been scattered too far. They will be assimilated into the communities that have taken them in. Their culture, too, will be taken in, diluted by the melting pot, much of it lost. I can only hope that their will is strong, and that they change us more than we change them. Perhaps they will teach us to dance.
The web site of the Orleans Parish Coroner features a sound file of the coroner, Frank Minyard, playing the jazz trumpet. That seems appropriate. Music and death are deeply connected in New Orleans, and they always have been. The people of New Orleans are the kind of people that, when faced with death, dance.
In New Orleans they say that death is the ultimate celebration of life. It is a time to celebrate a life well lived, so they mark the event with a party. It is a time to rejoice. For blocks and blocks the sound of joy fills the air. How can we lose that now?
I have my doubts that the people of New Orleans are destined to return; the landlords and bankers will be selling their homes for pennies on the dollar. You can't really blame them for attempting to limit their losses. I can just imagine the Donald Trumps of the world wringing their hands in anticipation of the bargains to be had, and the new condos to be built. They may even build them to look like New Orleans, but the people of New Orleans won't be able to afford them.
I have never been to New Orleans, but it seems to me to be the city I know best. It is the city everyone seems to know on a personal level. No other US city is more defined by it's culture and heritage. It is not the wealth of New Orleans nor it's buildings that we know, it is the people that lived there. To rebuild New Orleans without them would be nothing but a movie set, or a theme park. Visiting a New Orleans without her people would be like visiting Epcot to see China.
So I do hope that the people of New Orleans will one day return to their city, but I am afraid that they have been scattered too far. They will be assimilated into the communities that have taken them in. Their culture, too, will be taken in, diluted by the melting pot, much of it lost. I can only hope that their will is strong, and that they change us more than we change them. Perhaps they will teach us to dance.
09 September 2005
The Family Silver
“Poor George……..he can’t help it, he was born with a silver foot in his mouth!”
Ok, I didn’t say it first, Ann Richards, did. (Ok, maybe she stole the “silver foot” part, but that doesn’t matter, it was a great line.) She said it in 1988, when she was the Texas State Treasurer, during the Democratic National Convention. She was, of course, referring to George the First, and his propensity to say things that seemed to be insensitive coming from someone who led such a privileged life. After all, George was the millionaire son of the millionaire Prescott Bush, who made much of the family fortune as the banker that financed the Nazi military buildup to war in the 1930s. As the son of such a powerful man George Sr. was allowed to become a naval airman at the age of 18. (After the war he was allowed to get a Yale degree in only two years.)
The reason I bring it up is that George 2 seems to have inherited that “silver foot.” He is so out of touch with the common man that last week when talking about how Louisiana would be rebuilt the one example of “loss” that he came up with was: "Out of the rubbles of Trent Lott's house - he's lost his entire house - there's going to be a fantastic house. And I'm looking forward to sitting on the porch."
Trent Lott’s house? Are you kidding me? Thousands of people have lost their lives. Hundreds of thousands have lost their homes and all Bush can muster up is that he looks forward to sipping ice tea on the front porch of his millionaire buddy Trent Lott’s seaside home overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. I am sure that is great comfort to those people that have lost everything to know that Trent’s front porch will rise again.
But it’s ok, according to George’s mom, Barbara; the refugees are being well taken care of. On Monday, while touring the Astrodome, she declared that they did not have it so bad, because, after all, they were already poor to begin with.
She said, " so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this is working very well for them." I am surprised that she didn’t say “so let them eat cake.” She did go on to express her fear that they might actually like their new situation too much: "What I'm hearing, which is sort of scary, is they all want to stay in Texas."
Yeah that is pretty scary Babs. Maybe you can just keep them all on their green cots in the Astro dome, sort of like a zoo, a great place for rich white women to safely view actual poor people.
Ok, I didn’t say it first, Ann Richards, did. (Ok, maybe she stole the “silver foot” part, but that doesn’t matter, it was a great line.) She said it in 1988, when she was the Texas State Treasurer, during the Democratic National Convention. She was, of course, referring to George the First, and his propensity to say things that seemed to be insensitive coming from someone who led such a privileged life. After all, George was the millionaire son of the millionaire Prescott Bush, who made much of the family fortune as the banker that financed the Nazi military buildup to war in the 1930s. As the son of such a powerful man George Sr. was allowed to become a naval airman at the age of 18. (After the war he was allowed to get a Yale degree in only two years.)
The reason I bring it up is that George 2 seems to have inherited that “silver foot.” He is so out of touch with the common man that last week when talking about how Louisiana would be rebuilt the one example of “loss” that he came up with was: "Out of the rubbles of Trent Lott's house - he's lost his entire house - there's going to be a fantastic house. And I'm looking forward to sitting on the porch."
Trent Lott’s house? Are you kidding me? Thousands of people have lost their lives. Hundreds of thousands have lost their homes and all Bush can muster up is that he looks forward to sipping ice tea on the front porch of his millionaire buddy Trent Lott’s seaside home overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. I am sure that is great comfort to those people that have lost everything to know that Trent’s front porch will rise again.
But it’s ok, according to George’s mom, Barbara; the refugees are being well taken care of. On Monday, while touring the Astrodome, she declared that they did not have it so bad, because, after all, they were already poor to begin with.
She said, " so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this is working very well for them." I am surprised that she didn’t say “so let them eat cake.” She did go on to express her fear that they might actually like their new situation too much: "What I'm hearing, which is sort of scary, is they all want to stay in Texas."
Yeah that is pretty scary Babs. Maybe you can just keep them all on their green cots in the Astro dome, sort of like a zoo, a great place for rich white women to safely view actual poor people.
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