I’ve been away for several weeks driving around America in a gasoline powered ve-hicle. I’ve seen things.
This I know: While nobody knows how this presidential campaign will play out it is an absolute certainty that like in 1968, the Empire will be shaken to its core.
W. and crew have taken the GOP so far out on a dead limb that they’ve nominated a candidate who they despise. Hillary, having given the okeydoke to “blue collar America” has smashed the LBJ coalition.
Meanwhile that unsinkable ship, the “USS Sole Superpower,” has sunk. A shocked and addled populace drifts on the waves, clinging to its habits and prejudices while sharks circle the wreckage. They face a stark choice: they can swim towards the small island on the horizon (which may not even have any food or water) called “Obama,” or they can stay put and hope to be rescued before the sharks decide to strike.
(Metaphor switch!) Obama, the Mohammed Ali of politics (see? Americans can embrace a Muslim champ) has, against all odds, defeated the hardest hitter around to take the Democratic Title. The Clintons, like George Foreman, foresaw an early knockout, but Obama employed a “rope-a-dope” strategy. He’s taken some thundering shots to the head and body, which is worrisome, and the tireless GOP waits in the wings like Joe Frazier. The ensuing fight won’t be pretty. Furthermore, unlike Ali, Obama didn’t get a knockout. He won on points in a controversial split decision.
Obama will not use the rope-a-dope on McCain. He’ll float like a butterfly and sting like a bee, stick and jab. To win he must fight his fight and bring it.
The greatest obstacle to this would be a Hillary vice-presidency. The Republicans have a warehouse full of ammunition on the Clintons, sitting unused. Obama would be caught flat footed, spending the entire campaign explaining what the Clintons really meant by this or that. You know the drill.
I know for a fact that Republicans are desperately praying (literally) for an Obama-Clinton ticket. For all of their bluster, GOPs know this: Their candidate might win out only if Obama picks Hillary. They know that McCain is no Joe Frazier. No, he is a Scott LeDeaux, a paper tiger with a glass jaw. A Great White Hope, if you will, though even a LeDeaux could land a lucky punch if he catches the Champ flat footed.
So will “blue collar America” ever vote for Obama? (Metaphor switching back!) As we bob on the ocean, surrounded by sharks, something new develops. Amongst the run-of-the-mill sharks, up swims a ravenous 40-foot Great White named “War on Iran!” Maybe, just maybe, America will decide to swim for that island.
These are the (legal) things Marion Kind has done for money: cabbage picker, office clerk, landscaper, ice cream man, injection molder, forklift driver, film and stage actor, drycleaner, comic book artist, truck driver, dishwasher, fanzine putter-outer, bartender, housepainter, singer, UAW shop steward, warehouse and packaging person, courier, waiter, guinea pig, illustrator, poet, writer, fashion model, five instrument recording artist, assembler, construction, cabbie. Not saying he did them well, only that he got paid.
The Liar Next Time
Former Bush administration press secretary Scott McClellan’s memoir about his tenure as spokesman for Cheney Inc., What Happened: Inside the Bush White House and Washington’s Culture of Deception, puts, at first glance, the final touches on the first chapter of the post-Skull-and-Bones-Bildenberg, etc., conspiracy world. According to early reports of McClellan’s book–in stores Monday–he claims he was but a mouthpiece through which the Bush administration dispensed, on a daily basis, the directives by which all branches of the federal government should proceed. McClellan, heretofore considered a “loyalist,” says Bush governed on a “permanent campaign” premise, predicated primarily on “propaganda.” And, says McClellan, he told nothing but lies. The guidelines for his evasive press conference babble were simply the will and vision of the Cheney-Bush cadre. Thanks for coming forward in such a timely fashion there, Scotty.
A cursory retrospective might suggest that George XLIII, by being such a dweeb, ruined the fun for the monarch-capitalist elite, going so ham-handedly about the diabolical duties of titular commander of the U.S.S. Free World that he gave up the jig. He cracked out of turn, as a David Mamet character once said. George XLIII is a fable character of a boy who inherited kingship but did not possess the capacity for comprehending that the sacred charade was to be performed with dignity and that he should, under all circumstances, remain in character so the masses would have an idol on which to train their focus, a hero to whom they could entrust their dreams. But he got up in front of everybody like some vulgar, gangly teenager toasting his elder sister’s wedding, sporting an unconvincing cockiness while mimicking the ritual, and destroyed all illusions of wisdom and solemnity.
Bill Clinton, given his hillbilly roots, could be given a pass for his theatrical blunders. And reportedly George XLI never even planned for George XLIII to be the ascender; it was supposed to be Jeb or Cletus or whatever they call the purportedly smart one. What makes it all so mythical and Shakespearean is that the drama is drawn from the unscripted eventuality of the ascension of the retarded son. Talk about mainstreaming gone completely awry.
This time, the moral of this fable is not, however, America wins again. Pop philosophy superstar, Slavoj Zizek, for all of his dazzling, convoluted intertwining of infinite academic and cultural references, seems to have made at least one clear political point in all of his writing, and that is that the killing off of Stalinist-brand oppressive communism has, by eliminating that vital counter balance, collaterally taken with it the whole of the liberal democratic movement, including the American “left.” Zizek might have hit on something. Our new “face to the world,” Obama–who has all but ceased participation in the Senate–is merely the perfect stall, should his whole impossible dream thing actually come true, a placeholder while they primp the facade on the next chimera.
What’s my point? There is none. There is no conspiracy. The whole thing is done so above board–and since Bush stripped off the veneer–grotesquely so, we cannot accept that the grand reveal is even true. We suffer mass hysterical blindness because we cannot deal with what we are looking at. They–the profiteers, too many to enumerate–do what they want and we can’t or don’t do shit about it. Bush, by buying oil to bolster our emergency reserve at an extremely critical juncture in a market already strained by Middle East instability, deliberately raised oil prices. A story popped up online at the UK’s The Independent site last Friday: Dr. Mamdouh Salameh, an oil economist who advises both the World Bank (a tool of US hegemony) and the UN, says his study concludes that without the war on Iraq, oil would be no more than $40 a barrel, less than a third of its present price, or about what it was before the war. Monitoring of the web for even one American news source who linked to the story has come up empty. It is such a forgone conclusion that it is old news nobody wants to countenance.
The Arabs don’t set oil prices anymore than a titty dancer sets the cover charge. I was lapse in my cynical astuteness assuming G43 waged war for long-range control of the oil supply, but the Bush-Saud cartel are reaping such ludicrous immediate gains that you have to marvel at the pathology behind what enables them to psychologically rock themselves to sleep at night while magazine color photo spreads of amputated soldiers and shrapnel-blinded children litter newsstands and coffee tables from here to, literally, Timbuktu.
Francis Fukuyama, a historian and a target of Zizek’s criticism, contends in his book, The End of History, that the modern advance of democracy and the waning of old school communism indicates that all great historical changes are in the past, that there is no turning back from the global permeation of liberal-democratic government. I am with Zizek; Fukuyama probably missed the point. They have rubbed it in our face that they can conduct extreme and protracted evil, motivated only by vanity and greed for power and profit, and with utter impunity. We showed them that they can shut down the farcical democratic process at whim (election 2000) and we will behave as powerlessly as any subjects of a totalitarian dictatorship. We sit idly by as the feeble and anemic Democratic Party has long abandoned its constituency and comfort ourselves that at least “He” will soon be gone. Well, we might not know what the next version of Him looks like but we know who he’ll working for.
The organization that passes for the Iraqi government has, according to Nation Public Radio’s “All Things Considered”, imposed a ban on a style of hip hop in which the lyrics praise Muqtada al Sadr, the militant Shiite cleric and leader of the Mahdi Army. Al Sadr’s forces are the most visible force of resistance to U.S. troop presence in the unstable Middle Eastern country. The banned music also levels explicit threats of violence on foreign occupying troops–mainly Americans.
Even though violation of the law carries with it the charge of inciting terrorism, Shiite resistance fighters have been seen driving the streets of war-ravaged Sadr City with the banned music blaring from loudspeakers atop their vehicles.
In a country still learning democracy (apparently from studying models such as American organizations like Parents Music Resource Center), the anemic Iraqi ruling body has made it unlawful to perform, distribute or even play tapes or CDs on stereos with songs such as Baha el Suwaedi’s “I Am the IED,” or singer Ali Delfi’s (pictured at left) new hit single, “Taste the IED.”
Recordings of the songs are, of course, available to anyone who can make themselves appear trustworthy enough to convince a street vendor to reach under his table and pass you over a CD, for the equivalence of an American dollar.
According to the “ATC” story, the songs strike a patriotic chord with many Iraqis who use them for cell phone ring tones. Making music “underground” is nothing new to any of the musicians who were active under Saddam Hussein’s regime because he had also banned songs based on Shiite chants.
NPR has videos and translations of lyrics posted on their website .
Officer Sam
BILLY: Hey Willy! Did you hear about the Superpower who started an oil war and invaded and ruined a whole country?
WILLY: No, Billy! What happened?
BILLY: They left without the oil!
WILLY: Really? Why??
BILLY: Cuz they’re so GOOD!
WILLY: HA HA HA!
The World Cop has become the Bad Lieutenant–a twisted, thieving, lascivious oil-swilling bully. To be sure, Officer Sam has never been a model cop. From his earliest days on the beat he’s lined his pockets, planted evidence, and twisted arms and done killings for the Big Boys. But in the last seven years he’s gone berserk while we–his employers–mostly averted our eyes as he’s strolled across the world spying, looting, and torturing on duty. He has ordered up every shiny gadget and every new weapon–on credit–to the point where the entire world economy is teetering on the brink of ruin.
Traditionally content to shake down Third World “ghetto” communities, he has lately taken to rummaging through our trash, breaking into our houses, bugging our phones and computers, looting our bank accounts, and arresting us without charges whilst smearing and destroying anyone who crosses him. Hiding behind the the flag, the sacrifices of his predecessors, and even the cross, Officer Sam has disgraced the force at a time when the world was most vulnerable, going so far as to deputize one Mr. Private Contractor, who answers only to him.
When he finally brought down the Soviet Mafia by means fair and foul, all hopes turned to the World Cop. Would he make things right with those whose lives were ruined or lost during the long struggle? Nope. Instead, Officer Sam promoted himself to Emperor Sam and wallowed in self-righteousness, ignorance, decadence and greed. Now the jig is almost up. At the very least, Emperor Sam will be demoted back to beat cop. What remains to be seen is what happens after that. Will he be forgiven, fired, or forced to resign? If it is one of the latter, will he wear a suit to work in his new life or will he work the drive-thru window?
Even if Barack or Hillary pull us out of Iraq, this won’t be over by a long shot. The crimes have been committed in plain view, and Sam’s “issues” remain–and his enablers have yet to admit the scope of the problems–his and theirs.
These are the (legal) things Marion Kind has done for money: cabbage picker, office clerk, landscaper, ice cream man, injection molder, forklift driver, film and stage actor, drycleaner, comic book artist, truck driver, dishwasher, fanzine putter-outer, bartender, housepainter, singer, UAW shop steward, warehouse and packaging person, courier, waiter, guinea pig, illustrator, poet, writer, fashion model, five instrument recording artist, assembler, construction, cabbie. Not saying he did them well, only that he got paid.
Sublime Frequencies
Seattle label Sublime Frequencies began in 2003, putting out musical recordings and DVD videos of artists from around the world that they had collected during extensive self-funded travels. The label is the avocation of brothers Alan and Richard Bishop, of the band Sun City Girls, along with video documentarian Hisham Mayet. Following their tremendous output of global musical vitality last year, the label was back at it last week with two new offerings from afar.
The CD Bollywood Steel Guitar exhibits 21 tracks of instrumental virtuosity and innovation performed by film studio session players recorded to score films produced in India between 1962 and 1986. There is a lot of heavy-handed drumming and intricate melodic interplay between harmoniums and pedal and lap steel guitars. For anyone charged up and blown away by the footage intercut with the opening title sequence of the 2001 movie Ghost World of the sassy-assed Shankar Jaikishan performing the song “Jan Pechechan Ho,” Bollywood Steel Guitar will bound you over the same instrumental terrain.
Also recently released, on vinyl only, was Shadow Music of Thailand–surfy instrumental guitar and farfisa organ rave-ups. It’s the sort music you expect to be blaring from speakers atop the Tiki bar at a Quentin Tarantino pool party.
The list of titles and the requisite descriptions of all of their releases to date is far too long to indulge in here, however, among my favorites are:
Thai Pop Spectacular (CD 2007)
A marvelously deft and dazzling array of power pop cuts from 19 different Thai artists, compiled by Bay Area archivist and audio innovator Mark Gergis.
Choubi Choubi: Folk and Pop Songs from Iraq (CD 2005)
A mix of modern urban rhythmic tracks and traditional melodies, layered with vocals that pass freely from old world, Middle Eastern moaning to Brooklyn-esque, girl hip hop–with some cuts culled wholesale from Detroit radio broadcasts (a technique common to other Sublime releases)
Guitars of Agadez, by Group Inerane (LP 2007)
A band tagged as part of the “Tuareg Guitar Revolution,” Inerane, from Niger, play electric-guitar desert blues. It is the infusion of their own tradition with distilled elements of the Delta blues that make them so haunting and deep. Inerane, however, eschews all the trappings of the stodgy blues song structure and instead cycle around the beat, causing your pop-radio-indoctrinated and inundated ass to have to continually re-orient yourself to the “1” in the count, which has usually relocated itself to a different spot in the progression. The tunes are topped off with beautiful trills from a backing chorus of female voices.
As with the fabulous Ethiopiques CD series, I sometimes wonder if it is as much the American funk, soul and jazz influence on the elements of music of a distant origin that makes it so appealing. But, as is also the case with Sublime’s releases, it is not merely people from other cultures and traditions playing their traditional music and tossing in American musical clichés for pragmatic measure. These artists are taking American musical forms and inverting them, looking at them through different goggles, refining the meatier components and discarding the fat. Then they spit them back at us saying, “here’s what you could be doing with your own legacy.” Although I’m sure the above statement, however unintentionally, oversimplifies the phenomenon.
I asked the well-traveled Sublime Frequencies co-proprietor Alan Bishop, via email, if his duty to finding new music to record became burdensome to the travel process or impinged upon his enjoyment of being somewhere far from home.
“Of course I don’t always carry the [recording/video] gear around…I always have my detectors on,” Bishop writes, “I find ways to make what I do meditative and relaxing.”
Bishop says Sublime Frequencies tries not to force the issue with their artists. They strive to capture, as unobtrusively as possible, performances of their artists in their most familiar and comfortable circumstances.
Says Bishop, “I think some people believe there is some method to this and that we have a formula. That’s never the case. Each situation is completely different from all the others…we never take groups to a studio or try to pull them from their normal operating procedures. That is not conducive to getting great recordings. Many others seem to think slick sound production is best, so they wheel a group into a studio and ‘produce’ them. I prefer to record them wherever they play, in their own space, where they always perform.”
Personally, I listen to Sublime Frequencies releases with an unfortunate anxiety, fighting off my dread that they will one day run out of new music to find or the energy to go out and get it.
Other recommended Sublime Frequencies titles (all CDs) that are more or less self-introductory:
-Radio Algeria
-Princess Nicotine: Folk and Pop Music of Myanmar
-Radio Palestine: Sounds of the Eastern Mediterranean
-PROIBIDÃO C.V: Forbidden Gang Funk From Rio de Janeiro
And some tasty DVDs:
Musical Brotherhood from the Trans-Saharan Highway
Sumatran Folk Cinema
Nat Pwe: Burma’s Carnival of Spirit Soul
A couple videos: