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Kim Kardashian, The Mother of Fame, Versus Chaney, Goodman, and Schwerner, the Mothers of Freedom

November 13, 2014

Yesterday, the media/interweb obsession with Kim Kardashian reached a kind of panic-like fury that could only have been equaled if a 168-foot tall Kim had appeared in Columbus Circle and blown the rampaging Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man.

Also this week in The United States of America: It was announced that the Presidential Medal of Freedom is going to be presented, posthumously, to James Chaney, Andrew Goodman, and Michael Schwerner.

First, here’s what I think of the whole Kardashian Kerfuffle:

50 years ago, James Chaney, Andrew Goodman, and Michael Schwerner went to the American South to protect African Americans’ constitutionally guaranteed right to vote. They were 21, 20, and 24 years old. Although the American Civil War had technically ended 100 years earlier, in 1964, most descendants of slaves living in the American South were still prevented, by law, by intimidation, and by force, from voting; and virtually all descendants of slaves living in the American South did not have anything remotely like equal access to education or jobs. In one of the final, most important, and most violent battles of the American Civil War, Cheney, Schwerner, and Goodman, ages 21, 20, and 24, were tortured and murdered by people who wanted to continue to deny African Americans the right to vote and equal access to jobs and education, and who resented these brave young men’s efforts to peacefully address this equality.

Unless Kim Kardashian is photographed digging up the corpses of the men who committed these crimes and pissing on their bones, I do not want to hear her freaking name.

Unless Kim Kardashian makes it her personal mission to find the surviving men involved in this crime and personally accompany them to Washington to see a black President present the Medal of Freedom to the survivors of Chaney, Goodman, and Schwerner, I do not want to hear her freaking name.

Michael Schwerner, James Chaney, and Andrew Goodman.

We know no heroes like James Chaney, Andrew Goodman, and Michael Schwerner, who died, without touching fame, at age 21, 20, and 24. Fame was a foreign country to them, and they had no desire for a passport; they only wanted to peacefully address a savage inequality that existed in America far, far longer than it should have. They did not want to sacrifice their lives to re-address this abomination, but they were willing to. Ask yourself, who do you know who would be willing to sacrifice their lives to change something that did not necessarily effect them personally? Chaney, Schwerner, and Goodman could have stayed in college, listened to music and drank cheap beer and had clumsy sex with supple college girls and gone on to live rich, productive, and rewarding lives without choosing to risk their lives to protect the constitutional rights of millions of Americans. But they did. And they were tortured and died doing so.

What would Bono die for? What would Kim Kardashian die for? What would Dave Grohl or Michael Bloomberg or Joni Ernst die for?

Do you know what groups of people are generally willing to die for someone else? Mothers. Mothers are almost always willing to put the lives of their children before their own lives. Mothers will, most frequently, be willing to die for their children.

James Chaney, Andrew Goodman, and Michael Schwerner are the Mothers of American Freedom. And we Americans should honor Mothers, and that kind of sacrifice, not fame.

Another grinning, gigantic-assed abomination

It is a grotesque myth that the American Civil War ended at Appomattox Court House on April 9, 1865. At the end of the War, no system was set in place to establish anything remotely resembling equal rights or equal opportunities for the former slaves and their descendents; Reconstruction, which was (very) partially supposed to address those issues, was extremely flawed to begin with, and completely abandoned after the extraordinary Presidential election of 1876. In that election, the Democrat Samuel Tilden defeated the Republican, Rutherford B. Hayes; but the Democrats – remember, please, the Democrats were the Party of the South and the financial and political interests of the Southern white powerbase – agreed to “throw” the election to the Republicans and Hayes in exchange for the end of Reconstruction, and any attempt by the Republicans and the North to re-address the economic and social inequality of Southern African Americans. It was one of the most stunning and important moments in American history, and insured that the Southern status quo established prior to the Civil War would continue for nearly another century.

Lyndon Johnson, the President who ended the Civil War, no matter what your schoolbooks said

The Civil War effectively and realistically ended in 1964 and 1965, when Lyndon Johnson, responding to the better angels of his nature, the weight of history, and the highly public murders of people like Chaney, Goodman, and Schwerner, signed the Civil Rights Act and the Voters Rights Act, thereby announcing that, for the first time in the Nation’s history, there would be genuine Federal accountability for anyone or any system that prevented an American from voting; these actions also initiated the still-brewing battle to provide disenfranchised Americans, especially the descendants of slaves, with an equal shot at decent education, housing, employment opportunities, and the American dream. Johnson did what Lincoln, and every President since him, had been unable to do: End the Civil War and announce that the Federal government had a responsibility to honor its’ constitution and provide African Americans with the chance to partake in the American dream. It really sucks about Vietnam, because without it, Lyndon Johnson would have gone down as one of the greatest Presidents on American history, and even with the deeply troubling and murderous error that was America’s involvement in South East Asia, the steps Johnson took to finally end the Civil War probably merit him that honor.

The last and fiercest battles of the Civil Wars were fought in the early and mid 1960s by Americans who loved peace, who didn’t fight back, and were willing to die so that other Americans could vote, go to college, and have equal opportunity in the workplace. Americans like James Chaney, Andrew Goodman, and Michael Schwerner. They died for the constitution, as if they were the mothers of the constitution.

Kim Kardashian, what battle did you fight today? What battle will fight tomorrow? Kim Kardashian, how did you honor the Mothers of Freedom today?

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The Way We Hear Music Has Changed. Now Change it Some More.

November 5, 2014

A lot of buzz out there about Taylor Swift abandoning Spotify (what a very odd name – Taylor Swift ¬– vaguely reminiscent of a late 19th century fop, or the last “bachelor” son of a 1830s Southern Plantation Family, or some Goyim Law firm in Columbia, South Carolina) Now, even if she (or her handlers) are doing it for the wrong reason – there’s fairly credible chatter that it’s a move to boost her hard-CD sales in preparation for some kind of sell-off of her record company – it’s the right move. It also brings to mind the much-chatted about notion that existing streaming and sales-download models may (somewhat) work for the listener, but they ain’t working for the musician, at least not in terms of reasonable renumeration for services. Is renumeration a word? It isn’t, is it? So what am I thinking of? AH, it’s REMUNERATION I’m after. So there.

Have you slipped in a supermarket lately? Rear-ended by someone who didn’t have insurance? Been abused or insulted in the workplace? Call Taylor, Swift, & Harmon, serving the Capitol since 1979! Go ‘Cocks!

And it’s true. There’s not a single independent musician out there who has any real hope that they are going to get paid for their music. As I have written earlier, if you’re giving it away for free, at LEAST fuck some shit up and make it mean something…and I don’t see a LOT of that, either. So there’s a lot not working here. Time to change. Time to figure out a way where music either a) isn’t free or b) if it’s free, have it MEAN something.

Virtually every musician wants to change the streaming/download-sales model, but is anyone actually doing anything about it? Probably Bandcamp, right? But there’s room for more, no doubt. So…here’s an idea. An idea for change. Perhaps it’s filled with beautiful ignorance, but why not? Many people will tell me why this can’t happen, but possibly someone out there will tell me why it can.

Musicians: You don’t like the current stream/download/sales model? ABANDON IT. Here’s a suggestion:

Working in union with artists of every level and with people who have the skill to get projects like this online, I want to create an interface for selling downloads/streaming music. I mean THAT’S Step Bloody One. Don’t like the way Spotify etcetera handle it (and, unlike the Swiftian Taylor we spoke of earlier, you can’t count on selling a zillion CD’s)? THERE’S SOMEONE OUT THERE, probably a friend of yours, who can figure out a way you can put up a site to stream and sell downloads. TRUE, if it’s just YOU it won’t make much of a difference. BUT THERE’S POWER IN NUMBERS. So let’s put together United New Streamers or something (god knows what) to join together to sell exclusive download/streams on a NEW site. God knows I don’t know how to do this, but I am quite damn sure there are plenty of people out there who do.

Next, I want to find artists willing to commit themselves to selling downloads/streams EXCLUSIVELY on this site – i.e., these songs/albums/projects will NOT be available on any other download sales/stream site. That’s key, I think.

WHAT WOULD BE THE BIG DEAL IF EVERYONE JUST PULLED THEIR SHIT OFF OF SPOTIFY etcetera, and put it up on their own page, OR BETTER YET, A PAGE THEY SET UP WITH LIKE-MINDED MUSICIANS? The EXISTING model is NOT working. It’s like continuing to eat at a segregated diner because it’s the only diner in town. Set up a NEW lunch wagon that serves EVERYONE. I mean, Spotify etcetera works fine IF you’re looking for an old Hollies or Stranglers track, but it doesn’t work if YOU’RE THE ONE MAKING THE MUSIC. In the old days, when we saw one of our CD’s (or albums or tapes) in a store, we had some genuine belief that AT SOME POINT AT THE END OF THE CONSUMER-RETAILER TRANSACTION we would see a CERTAIN AMOUNT of money if someone actually bought our work. But that belief is now gone.

Next idea: Everyone who is part of this thing (I’m going with the United New Streamers because I can’t think of anything else, but I’m sure something better/more clever will emerge) should agree to give a certain amount – say, one-fourth – of EVERY download sale to a “cause” or charity of the artists’ own designation. ASPCA, voter registration, Planned Parenthood, whatever. Frankly, it could even be the NRA, I just want artists to commit to the idea of using a minority portion of their sales for activism.

What we need: Artists willing to GO OUTSIDE THE SYSTEM and commit one song, or many songs, to the idea of creating a NEW interface for download sales/streaming that both CORRECTS the economic inequality of the existing models, not ONE of which was created from an “artists” perspective, AND a model that commits to the idea of marrying music to activism.

What we need: Computer geek-types and folks with some music business awareness willing to commit their expertise to setting up the infrastructure for this kind of project.

What we need: an army of musicians and computer-geek types and a few organizational sorts to commit to doing this sort of thing.

Alternative: Find your favorite cause, charity, independent bookstore, independent record store. OFFER THEM YOUR MUSIC TO SELL or give away ON THEIR SITE. Or let’s set up a formal organization that acts as an interface between musicians and causes, matches songs with sites that would think that the sales or attention was actually meaningful, as opposed to meaningless. As stated, if you’re going to give it away for free, anyway, GIVE IT AWAY IN A MANNER THAT HAS SOME MEANING.

Bob’s your uncle.

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Acker Bilk and Instrumentals of Exquisite Melancholy

November 4, 2014

In his masterpiece The Tin Drum, author Gunther Grass writes of a character who is able to “turn feelings into soup.” The ability to summon an emotional response out of inanimate materials isn’t solely the province of Herr Grass’s fictional chef. Musicians can do this, too, though it is a rare and gifted musician who has the ability to use instruments, sans vocals or lyrics, to evoke deep emotion.

Mr. Acker Bilk.

Mr. Acker Bilk was one of those so gifted, and he passed this weekend. Bilk is (largely) recalled for one song, a swooning, evocative, tender piece of instrumental magic called “Stranger on the Shore” (1961). You hear its sighing, sepia-toned melody, with a faint tinge of friction implied by the ever-so-slightly hoarse and almost human tone of Bilk’s clarinet, and you feel something. I have always contended that a great instrumental has more ability to convey an emotion than a song with a lyric vocal, and “Stranger on the Shore” is an superb example of that.

In addition to it’s extraordinary musical character, the track is also notable for having stayed in the British singles charts for fifty weeks, and it was the first single by a British artist in the modern era to top the American charts (“Telstar” by the Tornados/Joe Meek came about a year later).

Now, there’s a lot more to say about Acker Bilk, but the primary reason I wanted to memorialize him is because “Stranger on the Shore” is a perfect example of a kind of recording that the British seem to do very, very well: Instrumentals of Exquisite Melancholy. See, British musicians seem to have a remarkable aptitude to produce instrumental tracks that evoke ones’ most tender and elegiac memories; simply hearing a song like “Stranger on the Shore,” Tony Hatch’s theme from the British soap “Crossroads,” or Fleetwood Mac’s “Albatross” captures the feeling of gray early-winter Sundays, rain drops snaking down a windowpane, and an old letter from a childhood lover in your hand. NO ONE DOES THIS SORT OF THING LIKE THE BRITISH DO, so I want to review some of the best of these, with some theories as to why our British friends do this sort of thing so well.

(None of this is to say that Americans can’t write splendid instrumentals, too – Jack Nitzsche’s “The Lonely Surfer” or Love Tractor’s “Fun to be Happy” are fantastic examples, and Percy Faith’s “Theme From A Summer Place” is basically the greatest recording of all time – I’m just saying there’s a particular type of instrumental that the British, with their grey skies and early pub-closing times and lingering stale-burp of wartime rationing, are masters of.)

Tony Hatch’s theme from “Crossroads” (1964) is an excellent example of an IEM, and it’s worth noting for a number of reasons: First, Tony Hatch is an effing genius, one of the great music producers of our time, and he belongs alongside Spector, George Martin, Jack Nitzsche, Shadow Morton, and all the great and near-great freaks who made the ‘60s an explosive and artful time for studio-based music. Just listen to any of his work for Petula Clark – much less any of the stuff he released under his own name, which mixes ‘60s state-of-the-high techniques with easy listening wide screen cinematics — and you will be sold that Hatch is one of the GREATS.

(Damn, if you’ve never heard this, you are in for a TREAT)

Also, the “Crossroads” theme underlines why I theorize the British are so freaking good at Instrumentals of Exquisite Melancholy. The British have a long and truly remarkable tradition of winsome, bittersweet television themes. American television favored upbeat, racing, peppy orchestral grins of forced merriment (think of The Adventures of Ozzy and Harriet or Leave It To Beaver) or mildly amusing numbers with lyrics that told the backstory of the show (Gilligan’s Island, Surfside 6).

But the British have a plethora of enchanting and evocative purely-instrumental TV themes that really dare the listener to feel something, be that excitement and anticipation with a hint of mystery (like the Doctor Who theme), sadness with an overlay of “our best time was a few decades ago” (like the Eastenders theme), or put-away-the-knives-and-stop-looking-at-the-pictures-of-old-girlfriends late-afternoon nostalgic gloom, like the theme to The Last of the Summer Wine. This created a tradition and inspiration for creating and appreciating IEM’s.

To our list of A-list IEMs, lets add one more TV theme: the theme to the long-running British nighttime soap, Coronation Street, written by Eric Spear, and first heard in 1960. It’s likely this influenced Bilk’s’ “Stranger on the Shore” (originally written as the theme to another short-lived soap of the same name). It’s impossible to listen to this without thinking of a gray day in the North of England; it sounds like what Morrissey is thinking when one of those ASPCA commercials comes on.

Next on our tour of IEMs, here’s Fleetwood Mac’s “Albatross.”

“Albatross,” recorded in 1968 by the quasi-original Mac line-up of guitarists Peter Green, Jeremy Spencer, and Danny Kirwan, bassist John McVie, and drummer Mick Fleetwood, is such a pure and original piece of majestic, evocative genius and simplicity that it almost defies description; it is a sigh set to music, the wrap of soft down comforter at the end of a long day. Sounding like a version of Santo & Johnny’s “Sleep Walk” on opium, it was significantly – hell, litigiously – lifted by the Beatles for their “Sun King” (though even if ISIS was threatening to behead Ringo Starr’s grandchildren, he could never play with half the subtlety and majestic simplicity that Mick Fleetwood employs on “Albatross”).

Finally…let’s end our visit to the World of IEM’s with Durutti Column’s “Otis” (which I have praised, almost without bounds, elsewhere). “Otis” appears to be a little sunnier than some of these other tracks, but I think that’s deceptive: something about this song instantly bespeaks of memory; and honestly, unless one is completely schooled and subsumed by the lessons of impermanence and non-existence the Buddhist masters teach us, is there such a thing as a “happy” memory? Because all memories, especially the happiest ones, make us recognize what is gone and never to be again.

Drive safely!

Sting: Still a Tool

Sting is still a tool!

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The Beastie Boys and Rick Rubin (second from left) around the time this story takes place.  In 1985, Rick wanted me to temporary take his role as DJ in the band.
Arts and Entertainment, Brooklyn Bugle, Existential Stuff, Music

1985: I Turn Down My Chance to Become a (temporary) Beastie Boy

November 3, 2014

In the middle of 1985, the Beastie Boys were on the precipice of breaking big. The “Rock Hard” single was getting a lot of attention, License to Ill was soon to be released, and the band had just been invited by Madonna to be the opening act on her Like A Virgin tour, Madonna’s first tour as a national arena-act. By this point, I had known the Beasties for almost four years; I have detailed this elsewhere, but I had been integrally involved in the beginning of their career, given them their first radio airplay, gotten them their first gig, etcetera.

The Beastie Boys and Rick Rubin (second from left) around the time this story takes place. In 1985, Rick wanted me to temporary take his role as DJ in the band.

Also at this time, I was a close friend with Rick Rubin, and Rick and I frequently discussed Beasties strategy. In fact, around this time Rick, a TV writer named Mike Dugan, and I were tossing around ideas for a Beastie Boys movie (it was a variation on the standard guys-who-need-to-stay-in-haunted-house-to-inherit-money plot; it was going to be called The Beastie Boys are Scared Shitless, and that incredible title alone would have made it instantly superior to all other films of that milieu).

In 1985, I was working with MTV News, in their music news department. We generated music news copy that was read, with relative degrees of competence or indifference, by the original MTV VJ’s (Martha, Mark, JJ, Nina, and Alan). There were five or six of us newswriters in a medium-sized office/bullpen; we spent our days talking to managers and publicists and rapping out 60 word stories about upcoming Scorpion tours, occasionally slipping in items about Fela or Robyn Hitchcock to amuse ourselves. It was a delightful place to work. A fellow named Doug Herzog ran the Music News department. He was a truly spectacular boss who was extremely tolerant of my extracurricular interests. These involved not infrequent touring with the Glen Branca Ensemble (I was a permanent member of the group from late 1983 to mid 1986), nightly rehearsals and numerous gigs with my own band, Hugo Largo, and creating elaborate hoaxes that usually involved the office Xerox machine and near-criminal abuse of the concept of the inter-office memo.

Doug Herzog, my wonderful boss at MTV. Doug is the one on the right. Doug is thinking “This is kind of cool, but I’d much rather be standing next to The Mad Professor.”

One day, Rick Rubin asked me to meet him for dinner. Rick and I saw each other fairly often, so there was nothing remotely off about this invitation. We would usually discuss grandiose concepts to take over the music industry, sometimes involving an idea we had for a super-aggressive, super-political hardcore metal/punk band that was to be called The Jews. Rick was reading a lot of Meir Kahane in those days, and around this time he solemnly presented me with a copy of Kahane’s Time To Go Home. The idea of integrating that kind of philosophy into punk rock intrigued us.

We met at a Chinese place Rick favored on University Place, where he always ordered the General Tso’s chicken. Rick told me that the Beasties had definitely decided to do the Madonna tour, and that this was a huge break for them. He then patiently explained that the Beasties were still kids, and a little bit out of control; Rick added that he was too busy to go on the road with them, and that he needed someone he trusted to keep an eye on them.

It did make a little sense that Rick would ask me to be a tour manager; the Beasties liked me, and I had some experience with touring (both due to the time I had spent touring with Branca, and because I had spent a lot of time on the road with different bands when I was a journalist — I had worked actively as a journalist from 1978 to 1983). Rick was also well aware of my connection to MTV News, and I am sure he thought that it would help to have an MTV employee actively involved with the Beasties.

However, what Rick asked me next surprised me.

“The band also needs a DJ,” he explained. “So I want you to tour manage and be on stage with them as a DJ.”

Despite the fact that I had DJ’ed extensively at clubs in the early 1980s, I had never done any sort of rap/scratching DJ’ing before. I told him I didn’t think I could do it.

“Not a problem,” Rick cheerfully answered. “I can teach you everything you need to know in an afternoon.”

General Tso’s Chicken, a favorite dish of Rick Rubin in the mid-1980s.

I was definitely intrigued. Every 23-year-old has to dream, at some point, of going on a big rock’n’roll tour (Hugo Largo, at that point, were just playing small-ish clubs and performance art spaces). At rehearsal that evening, I told my band about it, and they seemed sufficiently amused by the whole idea, and didn’t think that the time away would hurt us too much. So I was inclined to take the gig, but didn’t know how it might affect my job. Somehow, because Doug had allowed me a week or ten days off here and there to tour with Branca, I though he might be amenable to working something out, especially because Madonna was involved.

The next day, I spoke to Doug. Doug’s office was attached, via glass wall, to the main newsroom.

Doug patiently listened to me. He then courteously but firmly explained that he didn’t think he could hold my job for the six or eight weeks I would be away. Now, I was making fairly decent money at MTV News — in fact, it seemed like a LOT of money for a musician who lived in a $475 railroad flat in Hoboken — and I also quite liked my job there. Doug, sensing my confusion, then told me “Look… it will almost certainly cost you your job here, and what will you get in return? Okay, maybe you’ll get to see Madonna’s tits, and you’ll probably have a good time, but Tim, remember…there are no Xerox machines on a tour bus.”

Then, with exquisite timing, Doug held up my most recent artfully honed piece of hoaxery: A picture of a baseball team, each face carefully replaced by the face of grotesque child star Mason Reese, along with an accompanying fake memo asking people to join the MTV softball team. This has appeared in the mailbox of every employee at the entire network.

I agreed to stay, and didn’t leave MTV news until I went full time with Hugo Largo about a year and a half later (I had a later stint with MTV after Hugo Largo’s defenestration in mid 1989, but that’s another story).

So, sadly, I didn’t become a temporary Beastie Boy.

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