Pundad

January 19, 2007

Bow Tie Ten

COUNTRY & WESTERN MUSIC – PART 2

“Jesus Love You, I Don’t” – There are a lot of subtleties folded into either the title or lyrics of Country and Western Music. In this song there is the unchallenged assumption (among Christians anyway) that Jesus loves everybody, presumably even those who are not Christians. Many of us are familiar with lines: “Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world” and “Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so.” And there are countless others. The female singer here presents the reminder to her dude that on the spiritual or religious level, he may well be loved by Jesus; but on the boyfriend-girlfriend – just us ordinary human beings – level, he is not loved. Thus, the declaration, Jesus loves you, I don’t It’s not known if the realization that the girlfriend has pulled back her affection will cause a behaviour change on his part. It hardly matters. He can and perhaps will continue to find comfort in the uninterrupted loved of Jesus. But as for the vocalist: “Know this, errant dude: whatever Jesus does, Jesus does. But as for me…you’re history!”

~

White Trash With Money – That’s actually the title of a CD. At first I thought it was the name of the group that recorded it as well. I later learned that the artist is Toby Keith, a real popular dude in the world of country and western music. The group is Rascal Flats. Several weeks earlier I heard an interview of the group leader not knowing at the time who he was. He shared how some neighbors in an adjoining, more financially accomplished neighborhood, suggested to him that he and, by extension, his wife, were nothing but “white trash.” But because he was confident that his musical endeavors would be successful, he told the offending neighbor that he was actually “white trash with money.” The cd was a success and, despite his wife’s objections, he kept the name. Not to her objection, however, the money did follow. If anyone would bother keeping track of who laughed first, it wouldn’t be hard to guess who had the last laugh…all the way to we know where. I found the story amusing, but felt a more fitting title would have been, White Trash [although I abhor the expression with the same intensity as I do the equally inexcusable “n” word] With Cash. But nobody asked me either then or now. Besides, they don’t even know I listen to the music.

~

“Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off” – This is a real gas of a song. The dude goes through a list of alcoholic beverages that his lady friend can easily handle. Some of it is pretty powerful stuff but its impact on her is either negligible or nonexistent. But ah, tequila. She starts by kickin’ off her shoes, leaves her jacket in the bathroom stall, she drops an earring in her drink, a contact in the restroom sink, does other rather strange things and comes home wrapped in a table cloth. Oddly enough when told about her displays and demonstrations of the night before, she doesn’t remember a thing. But, pray tell, why? Why on earth would she disrobe like that? And in a “public place” to the extent that a neighbourhood bar warrants that gentle designation. For an answer, we hastily return to the song’s revealing, clever title: (Because) “[It’s] Tequila [That] Makes Her Clothes Come Off.” Now if the very thought of this sequence of events doesn’t prompt a grin, perhaps we need to loosen up a bit with a glass...or two glasses of a beverage. Maybe that will make our smirk come off.

~

“I’m Down in Mississippi and Up to No Good” – The misbehaving woman is a regular topic of Country and Western Music. Moral purists might call them “loose women.” And the songs about what they do are that much more entertaining, to say nothing of convincing, when delivered to us by a female vocalist rather than a pompous, finger-pointing man. All by itself, to talk about one being “down in Mississippi” prompts no special thoughts because that state is located “down south” as we said as kids. So, initially, all we have is a geographic point of reference. The expression “up to no good” is likewise a familiar one suggesting getting into mischief or perhaps even serious trouble. Putting the two together we have to conclude that the merger is nothing short of clever. The singer is sick and tired of the mundane chores to which she is tied. Cookin’, cleanin’ floors and all that traditional stuff (meaning somebody’s gotta do it and it might as well be a woman!). She decides to call, Lisa and Carla Sue, two of her equally fed up lady friends and suggests they 3 of ‘em get out of Dodge or wherever else they were living. [The lyrics: “If anyone should ask and not that they would, I’ll be down in Mississippi and up to no good.”] I don’t remember what she said she did in Mississippi; but the very idea is interesting on the corny end and provocative on the other. We can trust that up to no good does not include knitting or selling Girl Scout cookies! The converse might be to sing about one who is down in the dumps but up in spirits. Then again, it might be best if I leave well enough alone.

~

“Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy” – As an expression, this is one of my favourites. And I suppose the very title is what some might even call risqué. Risqué is actually in a category that is wonderfully distinct from nasty. And the two words are different – just how different is left for debates between moralists who tend to be regular people who happen to be bored. Anyway, there is this dude who is going to the city where the girls are oh so pretty. Were that not the case, why not just stay home? He makes the trip without incident and the cry goes out to save a horse (his horse?) and ride a cowboy (him?) That’s one kicker of a line. We can’t just leave it alone, however. The word analysts in our midst wanna know, what exactly does it mean to save a horse? From whom or what and why? Surely the horse is not on this country’s endangered species list. Then again, I suppose environmentalists and animal rights advocates would not object to the inclusion should we entertain the prospect of saving the horse.

I also wonder, though, why someone would come to the (modern) city on a horse. Even the animal-dependent circus brings its horses to town via truck(s) or train. Ah, but how about this business of riding a cowboy? That’s a surprising reversal to be sure. Now let’s not be too anxious and jump to a “normal” adult conclusion that riding a cowboy ain’t different from having sex with a cowboy. I’m not a cowboy, but if I was, I’d be flattered to know that a song was written to suggest that I’d be worthy catch for bodily frolicking…in preference to my horse! All the same, fun-loving as I might be as a mythic cowboy, during the height of my unbridled passion, I couldn’t help but wonder, “Who’s looking out for my horse?” On the equally serious side (ha!) when I told a friend abut my expanded musical repertoire citing this song in particular, he laughingly referenced the now less talked about movie, “Brokeback Mountain.” To his obvious relief I informed him that the song pre-dated the movie. Whew!

~

“I’m Here for the Party” – The Womanist, feminist, etc., Revolution is less dramatic than it was some years ago; but every now and then a female will make it abundantly clear to a well-meaning, no harm intended male that “things ain’t like they used to be.” So be it. At Antioch I am still reminded by female students that there is no automatic link between the words “female” and “nurturing”. And so be that as well. So I can’t help but admit to any delight when hearing a woman shameless and convincingly say/sing that she is (yup!) “Here for the party.” I love it. And what makes it more groovy, there’s nothing indicated that she required a date (i.e., a dude) to either go/get into whatever place it is presumably a local bar or (and here’s the kicker) to have a good time. Hee haw.

But the plot thickens. After making it abundantly clear that she is here for the party, she just as boldly proclaims, “And I ain’t leavin’ til they throw me out. I’m gonna have fun, gonna get me some… you know I’m here for the party!” To which I humbly add, “You go, Girl!” Or better yet, “You stay, girl!”

~

“That Girl Is a Cowboy” -- Yeah, I know. At first blush it doesn’t get much more sexually (referring to gender rather than it just explored “get me some”) confusing than this! Exactly what are these country and western folks up to? Only they can say; but as an unabashed movie groupee, I can dig it. [Talk about outdated expressions!] Again, there is this unapologetic inclination to challenge standard social expectations mores [as in more rays] or roles. A “girl” (read “woman”) as a cowboy? Like what’s up with that? Surely the wild wild west is infinitely more wild than anyone might have anticipated. But, hold up. Let me share the lyrics in the hope that they might better communicate what’s being said/sung here!

Wow! Just plain wow! Only a woman can (and should) say if a male acquaintance has earned the distinction of be (like) one of the girls. The very thought comes across as rather strange because of our stereotype lock over which we struggle to find the key. A man/male who is accepted as one of the girls cannot possibly be anything but effeminate or gay or, good grief, both. As suggested, let the women address this!

The song gives us these lines: “When I need a friend, she’s the guy I call.” I just gotta linger at this place for a bit. No matter what our so-called position is in life, no matter what our material or non material gains might be, we all fall short of having it made in the elusive shade all the time. It’s that simple; it’s that real. Yet, I dare say that for the most part when we seek a friend, better yet when we need a friend, we tend to be predictable. Meaning what? Just this. We hook up with someone who is very much like whatever if is that we are. Not exactly a clone but not radically different from a clone either. And because of tradition, we do pretty much the same the same thing over and over and then over again. When the going get tough and unbearable, we call upon that traditional friend. And that works. The radical break is to develop and maintain a new alliance. In a word, to “make” a new friend: A female’s best friend is a male and vice versa. When that happens, off on the microscopic sidelines we find a gaggle of lookelews, nosy busy bodies who giggly presume sexual alliances? Yet the song, in defiance, offers this line: “Sometimes the best cowboys aren’t real cowboys after all.”

And then there’s this: “She’s got my back even when it’s against the wall.” As true friendship goes, it doesn’t get much better than that. Again back to yesteryear. We used to say, “A friend in need is a friend indeed.” How true. Or there is the and overworked reassurance that comes from the presumed comfort of, “I got your back.” But again here we have the country and western inclination to rein in the regular, the usual, the expected, the mundane and take it to another level for consideration. To have me one’s back, i.e., to be available and as helpful as possible even when one is at one’s wits end, weak, tired and perhaps even irretrievably frustrated. For a friend to say I’ve got your back even when it’s against the wall in the best, the internal sense clearly means that the friend so in fact the buffer between the troubled person and the wall itself! It doesn’t get more reassuringly intimate or helpful than that. That’s an unusual female cowboy. A willing posse needs to round ’em all up without delay.

“I Love This Bar” -- Huh? We all have fond memories of places that brought delight to our youthful years: a park, a playground, a schoolyard, a beach, etc. The same or a similar list can be developed noting places which bring joy to our adult years. It may be a very similar list. And it would not be melodramatic to admit our love for just such a yesterday or today place. Yet to say, “I love this bar” is to confer on said bar a true mark of distinction. I can easily think of four New Haven bars which, if he would have written the songs, my father would have in mind: The Yellow Lantern, the Monterey (both on Dixwell Avenue), the Elks Street on Goffe Street & Paul and Shorty’s, on Whalley Ave, a scant ½ block from the church we attended. He loved those bars, the characters who frequented them, the incessant noise and endless flow of whatever. To be fond of a (favorite) place is not especially noteworthy. To love a bar is to acknowledge an attachment to a locale not known for its calm ambiance. But a musical genre that urges the saving of a house or pours accolades on a female cowboy, finds no contradiction in proclaiming love for a bar. All I can say is, “Two beers and hold the mayo!”

“My future ain’t what it used to be” -- Here, again, the logic of ordinary discourse has been discarded, the lyrical window of the country and western sensibility has been opened as if to say, good riddance to ordinary yet bad company. That used to be something is the ordinary reference to time passed, however long ago that might be. So to hear the expression “my future ain’t what it used to be” impels us to either scratch our heads wondering if we got the intended message right or raise questions about the sanity of the song writer. But again, that’s over customary logic which, as it turns out, is of little use here. And that’s just as well. At least we give thought, however hasty, to a future that we are positioned to do something about…right now. That’s quite a time-twisting challenge.

Posted by mbowen at 08:39 AM | Comments (0)

December 09, 2005

TOOKIE REFLECTIONS

What seems like centuries ago, I wrote a piece titled “The Night That Hugh
Blew.” The “Hugh” referenced was the Masakela dude. He was playing in
the stadium of Jordan High School in dear old Watts, USA. There was the
“traditional” (now I have to say “Ha!”) concert on the closing evening of
the ANNUAL Watts Summer Festival. Masakela turned the place out and I was
caught up enough with the spirit of the evening to want to write about his
playing’s impact on me and others. I think the reflection appeared in the
Sentinel and/or Liberator magazine. {One of these wishful thinking days
I’ll hire an archivist and then I’ll be able to put my hands on such
historic pieces.]

The cadence of the title came to me recently to the “tune” of “The Lives
That Tookie Took.” Different black men, different time and totally
different circumstances. The ironic connection though is that Tookie was
all about gangbangin’ and the latter is what put a halt to the Festival.

I’ve read most of the positions about Tookie’s pending fate. And I have
to say my concluding gesture is a shoulder shrug. I am “conflicted” only
to the extent that there is the strange luxury of time to consider whether
or not a human being should die. And, that the death has the desired or
(undesired) “blessing” of society. That’s what the law is all about.
It’s a (ever flexible and indespensible) statement about what goes and
what doesn’t. I don’t choose to get into all of the ramifications of the
law’s purpose here except to say that murder is against the law whereas
killing evidently isn’t. wars are all about killing; and as totally
wasteful and immoral as many of us think that war truly is, wars are
legal! Moral arguments and legal arguments are not the same thing.

As for (as we used to say) Mrs. Williams’ son, Tookie, here are my
concluding points.
· If Arnold is truly the Terminator, to what part of him are people making
an appeal in asking that Tookie be spared? Most black folks in California
did not vote for Arnold to be governor, so if he acts from a time-honored
political perspective, why should he listen and/or respond to a
non-constituency?
· Homeless advocate Ted Hayes suggests this: That key black players in Los
Angeles (civic, social, political, religious leaders and heads of gangs)
come together and agree to take fully responsibility for Tookie’s fate.
It would work like this: for every 30 days there are no gang murders,
Tookie gets to live (in prison, of course) for 30 days. Once there is a
slip-up, aka a murder, Tookie dies forthwith. That puts the onus of
Tookie’s fate in the “hands” of those who are both black and concerned.
That puts them in a position in which words and interviews and press
conferences are suddenly useless. They’d be too busy truly keeping the
peace to have time for what they have time for right now.
· Then there is a strange and yet interesting strategy taken by Jerry from
St. John’s. Jerry say that if, from prison, Tookie has such a positive
effect on gangbangers, then he should be set free so he can be even that
much more effective! Totally crazy which is why it makes sense..
· Nobel Prize nominations are appropriately discounted since both Hitler
and Mussolini were once nominated; and they were international gangbangers!
· The incantations about “Thou shalt not kill” come with too little, too
late. Late because this truism should have been whispered or shouted to
Tookie those many years ago when he had the power of life or death. And
now he and others want “the state” to do what he (Tookie) wouldn’t and
didn’t do when the power and implications of choice were his. Tsk tsk.
· And then there is this. I have yet to read that the families of any of
the deceased have forgiven Tookie for his deeds. And, odd as this may
sound, it really doesn’t matter! No, rather I should say it doesn’t
matter in the grand scheme of things. Cold-blooded murder is not simply a
personal one-on-one activity. It is (hold on to your tattered hat) a
crime against an entire civilized community. That is, against all of the
people. Maybe in the old days it was a family or tribal or neighborhood
thing. So be it. The courts, for all their countless misdeeds and even
corruption, are accepted as the arena for (again, I’m not being naïve)
meting out justice. So, no matter what our deep down (humanistic,
emotional, sincere) feelings may be, the harsh reality is that murder
offends the human spirit and destroys the very fabric of what makes a
people (any people!) special or at least civilized. No, it’s not about
the origin or continuation of the Crips or any other unfortunate spin-off
of human ego or madness. It’s about what remains of our sanity and/or our
willingness to both address and resolve terribly difficult challenges.

Tookie may live. Tookie may die. What we call society continues no
matter the outcome. The “issue” is how do or how will we define or
re-define that same society long after the smoke – literally and
figuratively – has cleared.

I really don’t know. I’ll simply shrug.

Posted by mbowen at 07:44 AM | Comments (0)

July 05, 2004

Michael Moore

FLASH!!

Michael Moore is a fat, unkempt slob. He is opinionated and seemingly driven. He eats and talks too much. AND……..

He has made a fantastic film. It is uneven, schmaltzy in parts and poorly edited in others. Often disjointed and making unintended points of view. AND it is a must see!

If ever I was convinced that George Bush is a TOTALLY inappropriate and (perhaps worse than that) INEPT person, here is the living breathing cinematic proof positive. One can even dodge the Moore Syndrome and commentary and still remain able to see that the man in the White House is a shifty-eyed, not even close to being smart asshole. I have used the expression on other occasions. The term renders me as guilty as Moore in harboring my bias; but if the orifice fits, wear it!!

I came away from the movie infinitely more convinced than before that George Bush was a tragic political mistake for this country. But it’s more than simple political differences. (Republicans have no more of a monopoly on “evil” than the Democrats have cornered the “righteous” corner of life.) Other examples of his unfitness (?) could have sufficed but looking at the (best part of the flick) Iraq footage and associated interviews really caps it. What a terrible mistake and waste of human life and lifestyles. Total American-initiated chaos. Without cause, mind you. Weapons of….ahhhh bullshit!!! And irony of ironies: at this very minute Bush and Sadaam are very much alike: both are equally unrepentant! What does that say?

If you haven’t seen the movie, do so. But flick or no flick…VOTE THAT FOOL OUT OF OFFICE!!! Yes it is that serious. Pontificating from the sidelines pre- or post-November is absolutely unforgiving at this clearly unique historical juncture.

By the way, the theater was FULL and there was a line waiting for the next screening. Haven’t known that to happen since Gibson’s “Passion.”

Two points: 1) I will write to Colin Powell (again) before the week is out. Perhaps Condi as well. And, 2) Iraq has the 2nd largest oil reserve in the world.

Final thought: For a graduate management class I am reading Peter Senge’s Fifth Discipline. He talks about reverse cycles, just as a way of getting us to think about life processes from other than a traditional Westernized, linear perspective. So, I am crazily wondering:

How would we feel about 9/11 if the invasion of Iraq had occurred first? (Maybe in the near future, I’ll share another dimension of this question.)

Cheers..And then, peace!

Posted by mbowen at 05:47 PM | Comments (0)

June 24, 2004

A Passion for Gibson’s “Passion”

What I have liked about the Mel Gibson-Danny Glover cinematic duo (“the Lethal Weapon” series) was how dufus they were…both the movies themselves and the primary characters. “Dufus” not meaning stupid, but dufus as in marginally competent, borderline misfits, meandering through their jobs and their lives on a chicken wing and a crossed-finger prayer. As in “to be taken anything but serious!” Just plain entertainment. When I watched their antics on screen I was never enlightened, but always entertained. But I have come to learn that you can’t judge an actor by what he/she does on screen. Huh? I now find that one can make a more accurate assessment from what that same person causes to happen on screen…even when she/he isn’t there. So, Mel took on the story of Christ’s crucifixion. Whew, did he ever take it on!

My appreciation for the film “comes from” a rather strange “place” in my viewing retinue. Years ago I saw the film, “Deliverance” with Burt Reynolds, et alia. There was one scene in which a dude was pierced by an arrow. That scene was e x t e n d e d – or at least I thought so – for quite some time. It made the effect of the injury really strike home. It was lingered, prolonged and anything but the typical “slam bam it’s over ma’am” style of handling on screen violence. And so in Gibson’s depiction we have the courtyard flogging, the wedging of the crown of (what looked like metallic) thorns, the agonizing trek to Golgotha and, finally, the crucifixion itself.

Except for an isolated hint of something to the contrary, the Roman soldiers in the movie are without any socially redeeming qualities. Maybe, in the final analysis, this is true for all soldiers. Our newspaper stories and television heroics notwithstanding, they (soldiers) are hired and trained to kill or otherwise inflict bodily harm on “the enemy.” Period. So their endless fury and banter directed toward Jesus are fitting in the context of what they were instructed to do. So, from the time he is captured, subsequent to the infamous betrayal by Judas, there is no let up from his pain and the suffering. In another writing I explore the “theological implications” of the story; but for now I’ll stick to what’s on screen and not my own beliefs. (By the way, I know nothing about Gibson’s religious convictions.)

I am far from convinced that biblical stories turned into screen representations are easy. When directors take on the big stuff, like the holding back of the Red Sea, special effects triumph over spiritual awe or uplift. All in all, Hollywood cannot help being what it is. Yet there are times (and this, I think, is one of them) when an artist moves beyond the tradition and captures hearts, minds and, yes, souls of the theatre audience. My own “tearing up” at various times is no sure indicator. Heck, I literally boo hooed years ago when I saw the plight of poor little Bambi!! But I am likewise aware when something below or beyond the realm of human tears is taking place. Something more profound and more, as time will bear out, lasting. A psychic or spiritual rumbling, if you will.

As might well be expected, this (also and likewise) will pass away. The world of cinematic impressions is much too dynamic for anything – even significant imagery and dialogue – to last. We grab and, for a time, hold on to displays which mean something to us personally and then we consciously wait or become unexpectedly “exposed” to something else, the newest, the latest. And there is nothing intuitively wrong with that. Yet we should not get so stuck in the now that at same future point we cannot see and accept the life and wisdom of Jesus as represented possibly in feminine form and/or with unmistakably blackdark/brown/Semitic skin. Hmmm. How much passion does that call for?

Posted by mbowen at 05:45 PM | Comments (0)