Splain These Lyrics Willya?

I've written before about what Motown meant to me in high school. Saved my life, at one critical point really. And helped get me get my act back together after a rough patch. And I love it still. But that doesn't stop the occasional enigmas. Like for example on a couple tunes it's like I'm hearing the lyrics for the first time. And it's the same with this group, the Stylistics. It's a catchy hook and kind of urban so if you just go with it it has a definite groove going on.

But the other day I downloaded it to my iPod and listened... I mean really listened to it. And, like a couple others I'm hearing for the "first time," I'm not getting it at all.

It starts out with this safe kind of Bert Bacharat (or however you spell him) / Dionne Warwick vibe. Sort of people in their older twenties, 1960-ish, sophisticated whatever the hell. It like steals a whole riff from one or the other of their songs. Then the words get... odd.

Here's what I mean, plus my notes...

Trashmen didn't get my trash today
Oh, why? Because they want more pay <---ok not so bad, urban stuff
Buses on strike want a raise in fare
So they can help pollute the air <---um, mass transit reduces smog

But that's what makes the world go 'round <--- Just the bad stuff?
The up and down's a carousel
Changing people's heads around
Go underground, young man <--- wait... WHAT??
People make the world go 'round <--- is that good or bad??

Wall Street losin' dough on ev'ry share
They're blaming it on longer hair <--- it's true. you had to be there
Big men smokin' in their easy chairs
On a fat cigar without a care <--- not if shares are going down. Um...

But that's what makes the world go 'round
The up and down's a carousel<-- but where's the UP?
Changing people's heads around
Go underground, young man <--- Yeah but... wtf??
People make the world go 'round

See what I mean. Something isn't jiving. You have this cool, pleasant, slick thing going on but the words are basically, you know, "go underground and fight the powers that be because, you know, the people that make the world go 'round are bad and smoke cigars. Or something."

I'm lost. I mean I like this a lot (and Spike Lee used it beautifully as the opening for the movie "Crooklyn" too!), but I'm scratching my head.

Listen for yourself...

Pack Rat

I don't know how it is I end up being such a pack-rat, aka slob. Just spent the better part of the evening straightening up my office and carted a full regular-sized garbage bag downstairs for the Monday trash.

Catalogs for stamp auctions I participated in and are OVER (again, I'll brook no ridicule that I collect stamps. I can live off them for a while if worse ever comes to worse. So wimp this, sucker).

Bits and sheets and napkins and notebook rip-outs I've used to write things on for stuff I am currently or want to eventually write. Worse because they've already long ago been put into the work and I don't need them any more.

More bits and sheets and napkins and notebook tear-outs I've used to give numerical values to baseball players for fantasy leagues, horse racing figures and notes I'll use for going to the OTB. Worse because I've used all the info already (and am ahead for the year, horse racing-wise).

Notes I've written to myself LAST YEAR about music I want to add to my holy iPod.

Recipes I've already transferred to my recipe book a long time ago, for Chrise sakes.

Unattended sheets from the tear-off daily calendar on my desk. Dude, seriously?

Plus all the usual whatnot.

Then there's the stuff I keep for whatever reason and just needed to organize.

My collection of anarchist publications and brochures which were all over the place. Including my correspondence with Fred Woodworth.

A list of places I'd rather be living in than the USA. I put this is my journal. Yes I keep a journal and, no, none of that ever sees the light of day here. Then I threw it away because I already know where I'd go if I ever could, because I love America but can't stand Americans. So never mind.

Movie and TV show CD cases that have been separated from their disks, plus the disks that wind up here and there. It's a pet peeve of mine - CDs not returned to their cases. And I - as it turns out - am the biggest criminal in that regard.

Mail that should have been mailed last week.

The cards from the 1911 baseball season purchased from Strat-O a couple years ago which, in the wee hours of some mornings as I live this insane schedule, sometimes gets its schedule played and games recorded, solitaire, and ends up here and there. Ty Cobb's Tigers on top of a history of the Negro Leagues. Oh the irony!

My 3rd grade reading book that I found on Ebay and won. I have no idea why it is under the stack of New Yorkers I subscribe to. Nor do I understand how my model train parts catalog ended up under all the Thrice copies. Sheesh.

Not to mention the Minutes from Western Yearly Meeting I've been bringing home and never reading.

More whatnot, of the keeping variety.

I look at this stuff and I wonder just who the hell I am sometimes. There's so much contradictory stuff.

Not only that, but I still think Spike Lee's Malcolm X is one of the best American movies ever made. Here's a scene near the end just before the Nation of Islam guns him down...

Gang Nations

Really, what's the difference between nations and street gangs?

Both mark off territory and work to defend it. One old school word calls "turf" what another calls "spheres of influence." They have colors, uniforms and hierarchies. They each even have their own version of taxation. Each takes a part of the world and marks it off as "theirs." They can both extol extensive "histories" that belong to them alone. There are citizens and there are homies. They regulate trade and economic activity. They both have systems of "justice" to mitigate any disputes within their realms. Both control by force and compulsion. See what happens if you refuse to pay your taxes. Or your protection money. Declare yourself independent of the larger powers that surround you and you'll find out - from both entities - how far you'll get and how long you'll get to do it. How long has the US been the Crips to Russia's Bloods?

The difference, of course, is seen as one of legitimacy. But what state doesn't coerce its legitimacy? Might makes right. The power dictates. The capacity to redress grievances may differ, but that also differs between nations. You may be able to appeal certain things in the USA, but try to get redress for your concerns in Syria. It's just a matter of degree, really. A neighborhood under the oppression of local gun thugs in Los Angeles or Chicago is the same as being in some countries.

Is it because our "gang" has nicer uniforms and a flag that makes us, or any nation, "better" than a mere gang? Is this only a matter of degree as well? We're proud of our soldiers. So are some neighborhoods I know of. We're proud of our kids when they participate in the life of the nation. We cheer them on and point to them as examples. But the same thing happens in the world of gangs. Some gang members are third and fourth generation already.

And if we feel a rival nation is threatening us, what do we do? Isn't organized warfare between nations the same thing as gang war, when you come right down to it? So what is the difference, if not only a matter of degree?

In the realm of philosophical anarchism - i.e., anarchism separated from the bomb-throwing connotation and seen in the light of an individual's relationship to their community instead - this view raises questions about human nature. What do we construct around ourselves? It's a question of how we become groups, and how these groups interact.

You can't have pure anarchism, at least not for long. Any void will be filled and, in the case of power wrenched from what is established, it will probably be filled by those who have the means and resources to inflict a new level of control. If there were no states, states would form. Take away the controlling power and that vacuum would be filled by another kind of controlling power.

Give that some thought the next time you rise to sing the National Anthem. Hand over heart. Cap off. Gang signs.

Love Me I'm A Liberal

Last night on PBS they ran a new American Masters program on Phil Ochs (you can watch the trailer at the site).I'm pretty certain most folks under 50 won't know about him, any more than they knew what it was really like during the Viet Nam War era - seeing as how there's just so much ignorance and outright revisionism about that time going on. And as for his songs they are probably even more forgotten by what passes for collective memory any more. If you get a chance to see it in rerun go ahead and see what you think. I was sort of reminded about a lot of things I forgot.

Probably two of his most remembered songs are "There But For Fortune" and "I Ain't Marching Anymore." (I must have killed a million men and now they want me back again but I ain't marchin' anymore.").

Anyhow, if you could say that Bob Dylan wrote protest ballads, it would be Ochs who did the anthems. And there's an argument to be made that Dylan didn't really do much beyond a few iconic things that were more or less co-opted by the Left. Ochs organized civil actions in between songs, and was the only performer who came to the Democratic Convention in 68 to perform when all the other acts begged off because it was looking too dangerous.

Phil was not a liberal. He was an unabashed radical. He felt the same way about liberals as, say, Rush Limbaugh feels about them - only from the other direction. I'd forgotten this song, which I shouldn't have; because I do recall being suspicious of liberals when I was sporting the black flag to school every day. I'd forgotten, in my dotage, where that had come from.

This song was the one I liked best.

Ochs succumbed to manic depression and committed suicide in the 70's. In the documentary Billy Bragg does a magnificent rendition of "I Dreamed I Saw Phil Ochs Last Night," a take-off on the song about Joe Hill, and he's in perfect voice with it too.

A person is supposed to be a radical in their youth and grow more conservative as they age. I'm trying my best to do the opposite because nowadays it seems to be the other way around. I get so sad looking at all these young people trying to act like libertarians. Kinda makes me ill thinking I may have somehow helped in some small way to promote that ridiculous, unworkable philosophy.

It was good to see some of the old faces from those times. Abbie Hoffman, Jerry Rubin, Pete Seeger, and a host of other old activists and roustabouts. You might like them, even if your a freaking Tea Party apologist because none of these people were liberals either.

We need to sing this song again.

Oh look! It's Charlize Theron!

A Strange Relationship With Conversation

When you are talking and people look away in mid-sentence and start talking to somebody else, this is a bad sign. That happened for weeks in meetings I used to have at one job a while back, and I eventually got fired from that place too. Same thing is true for letters and emails. You'll be going along back and forth with someone and then - slam - they just stop answering, and there were still plenty of things to give and take on.

It takes me so long to warm up to a conversation, whether in person or privately, that when it just stops or gets clamped down or whatever - and it isn't over yet - I have a tendency to say "ok, I won't bother you any more." Because, if you really knew me you'd recognize that I'd rather not have engaged with you in the first place. I'm the kind of person who wants to go home, be home, and stay home. To go out and mingle is something I have to kind of prepare for. In many social settings I usually start out being the guy who waits and watches before jumping in.* So to finally get in on things only to watch the process of communication fumbled, just sort of reinforces my initial desire to have stayed in the background observing in the first place.

I find it's like that with people you talk to where you say "we should get together some time, go out to dinner or whatnot," and it ends there. I guess I'm the type of person who, when I hear that, thinks "ok, we're going to get together soon. Cool." Either getting back to one's life means everything caves back in on you so that you don't follow up with stuff you said you were going to do or you sit there and go "well, they're probably busy so I won't bother them." And all that positive feeling you had when you were actually with the person gets kind of trashed. Either that or the comment wasn't actually sincere in the first place - which is a hundred times worse.

These are exactly the kind of machinations that make me want to be a recluse. I think people should say what they say and mean what they mean. This includes me, because I can well imagine I've done the same things to other people and should just get a mirror before I start whacking at folks. But the fact remains; the stumbling way we communicate with each other - insincerity, insecurity, people who talk and never listen, or folks who are all "oh we just like everything you do," or "I'm looking at you but I don't know what the hell you're talking about and don't care enough to delve into your brain to find out" - is the biggest reason I have a tendency to walk away, go inside, shutter up, and let you have at yourself.

So it takes a while to get me in, and then alienates me when - once I'm in - we're going to stop altogether.

Makes me want to shut the door and turn on an old movie and to hell with you. Sucker me in and then disappear like that. Hmph. How dare you.

Humans bug the snot out of me. Makes me glad I'm glad I'm inhuman...

EDIT TO ADD; And on the subject of hosting and being in my home and whatnot... people need to realize that if I don't care, then you don't get an invite or you don't have the nod that there's an open door, come anytime. If you're here, you're in. And if you're in that means you are welcome and welcomed here. So don't get all stifled. You don't come into my house unless I want you here. So if you're here... you're in. Did that make any sense?

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* - Unless you are in my home, at which point I transform into the perfect host, making sure everyone feels welcome - another skill that has been lost in the 21st century; being a good host to ALL your guests.

Happy Halloween

Only If You Want To Know

The photo on the right was taken in the 80's. It includes the Beat revival trio known as the Washington Squares and a fellow by the name of Abbie Hoffman.

I post this because I'm a fan of the Squares for a long time. Though folky/acoustic/retro in all aspects (they like to sing old union songs... or did) they also opened for people like Joan Jett and the Ramones back in those days. And I just downloaded one of my favorite tunes of theirs from their rather small book, and I was just browsing into their past a little and up comes a picture of them and Abbie.

Which reminded me of the very very first blogger meet-up I ever in my life attended here in Chicago wherein I happened to mention Abbie Hoffman and drew blank stares from absolutely everyone at the round table. Nobody knew who he was - or had been. And nobody knew what I was talking about when I tried to explain.

Which sticks in my mind (and in my craw) unto this day not because of anyone's ignorance (they all had their priorities straight, after all) but because I realized at that moment that there were aspects of my past that folks just... hey... not interested in. As in what's the big deal? And they'd probably be right.

So I'm home this week just cruisin' for burgers like Farco Barnes and doing my chores and getting stuff in order for the big time change (I'll be working overnight starting next week) and doing a lot of writing too and this struck me as something to say. Notice no links to Abbie's story. It's out there if you want to know. If not, no worries. Oh and I'm not making any $ from the link to the mp3. It's listed because the Squares have one of the weakest internet presences of any nationally distributed groups I ever saw. Blink and you miss 'em.

Okay now I'm going to wait for the city water dept. to come by and try to figure out why they're not getting a water meter signal back at their HQ. Psst - we stopped our house phone line Jan. 1 and went 100% to cell phones, that's why. I'm sure this has happened to your dept. before, dude. I'm sure this isn't the first time you've seen it.

All for now.

See There's This Little Island

in the North Sea that has been an independent country since around the 7th century and a long time ago they were attacked by Vikings and they were pretty defenseless until this one king called Ulf the Hermit (because he stayed in a room for almost his whole reign on account of he was so ugly and mean and never washed) decided right after one invasion had left to build a monster maze with twenty foot high walls that they overlaid the whole island with and the next time the Vikings attacked they got lost and starved and eventually they stopped invading because the people would always change where the walls were so nobody could map it but over the centuries they didn't need the maze any more and what with weathering and a couple world wars and nobody taking care of it it wore down to just a few remnants here and there around the island and nobody paid much attention to it until somebody realized that touching the old walls of the maze would cure certain illnesses but then humans being humans they abused it because when they weren't sick they could get high by touching the stones and so a kind of cult developed that the government which by 1980 had become a secret hidden entity wherein nobody even knew what the name of the leader was wanted to clamp down on so they started taking all the leftover walls down.

One night an old friend of a private detective wants to have a meeting at a tavern to talk about his particular case but because his body is literally falling apart (at one point a glass eye pops out of his head and lands in his martini right next to his olive) and as his nurse wheels him out all he can say is "find a way to stop this" but the detective has to find out what he was talking about so he gets on the case by using his Magic 8 Ball which tells him what leads to follow and what to look for and he winds up connecting the maze wall remnants with his friend's terrible affliction but as he gets deeper into the case he comes into contact with a dangerous group of fascists who want to overthrow the government nobody can find and restore the rightful place of the maze in the country's history and stop the destruction of it and they even have armbands with a maze outline that almost looks like a swastika.

And then there's the mountain made up of dead bodies where people are playing a great big game of King of the Hill by trying to get to the top after killing everybody else they can.

Not to mention the little people who live inside the cuckoo clock.

I wonder how it will turn out.

Answered

The man on the right is Salvador Dali.
The movie was called Un Chien Andalou and it is the first surrealist film ever made (1928). David Lynch once cited it as an influence on his work. It was directed by Luis Bunuel and Dali conspired on it as well.

It's a sixteen-minute long silent short made in 1928. You can actually watch it right here.

Or you can read all about it at the font of all that is known.

Outside of that there really are no right answers in the meme. Except the other one.

Think Fast Meme

Answer as it occurs to you. Don't ponder too long. Think fast.

***

1. The Money
How much money would it take for you to step out of yourself?
You are a single, unattached woman. A non-threatening man you only know somewhat, clean, not weird, not unpleasant looking, a matter-of-fact kind of fellow, but no one you've ever "checked out," tells you he is dying. He then offers you money on a monthly basis to have sex with him once every other week. He offers to pay you $500 a month. No fetishes. No costumes. Basic stuff only.

Would you contemplate it? Would $500 be enough? What is your first reaction: Disgust? Amusement? Shock? Something else?

You are a guy reading this. Do you think it is a reasonable, non-threatening, non-invasive, straight business proposition? Can you see harm in the question? Or not?
_________________________________
2. The Critic
I know of a fellow who is sick and tired of "aesthetes" and "artistes" and pretentious poets. He sez, about one in particular...

"The tossed hair and wayward look in the eye, as if you're contemplating the final truth in the world. Projecting oneself so no one can dare be mistaken. How can we miss it? Yes - by heavens - this person is a poet without question. Just look. Can't you see the regard for beauty and brutality in the caring pout? The vacant stare? The mind deep in thought somewhere up the hill, over the river, beyond the trees? How can you miss it? Every move she makes says she has this need to live poetically? To even walk poetically. Talk poetically. Sneeze poetically. Shit poetically. Imagine the bundle of poetics everywhere in the house. Imagine the poetic things left about her rooms. Tossed out with the wet potato skins. The smell of poetry earnestly drifting through the air. Yes. Of course. I Am A Poet; see me, regard me, fear me. Dear me... can we make it just a little less painfully obvious, please? Can you be just a non-poet person for a while, just a little while? And, you know, just shut up? Or eat too much and belch? Put a foot wrong? Get mad at the neighbors? Like a human? Just once?"

Do you like this fellow, or do you think even he took it a bit too far?
_________________________________

3. Lunchroom Ladies

When they talk about European money they call it "gyros."
They believe there are cameras everywhere.
Most are certain there is a worldwide government we know precious little of.
Some of their husbands are certain the country is going socialist & they talk about that.
Gossip gets the best of them most times.
Some have hygiene problems. One smells like she uses Raid as a deodorant.
When they see black people walking in their direction they get very worried. Even if the guy is wearing a suit and tie.
When one of them, or someone they know, or even just hear of, is facing a hardship or a personal crisis they respond with unbelievable sympathy and action that is exceptionally breathtaking in its warmth and concern, and they never fail to make a positive impact if only on the victim's morale and attitude. Money, time, food, clothing; it doesn't matter what is needed. they get it. In short, their honest charity is both sincere and useful.

What about these ladies? How do you interact when they talk to you?

Would your reaction be different if you didn't know the last part?
_________________________________

4. The Dreamer

There is not a chance in hell that she can make it happen. The odds are astronomical-to-1. She's too old. Too naive. Too uninformed. Too innocent. Under-educated. A walking mark if there ever was one. But she's selling everything, cashing out all she has, and going for it. You are not allowed to ask a follow-up question here. What about her?
_________________________________

5. What movie is that picture from anyway??

What would you do if...

1. The couple right upstairs was always very loud and unrestrained in their frequent lovemaking sessions.

2. You've got a little boy. He shows you his butterfly collection. Plus the killing jar.

3. You were the only one on your block who never had a fingerbox.

4. You got a windfall of $100,000.

5. The police had a warrant and confiscated your computer.

6. At a bar, a person of the same sex you swear you never met before knows everything about you.

7. On your way to the art gallery you see yourself walking the other way with a wrapped painting under your arm.

8. You had it wrong all along.

9. The search engine tells you exactly the best brand name product to use for that problem but when you search for the brand name product no search engine you use can find it.

10. Kenneth actually told you the frequency.

More From That Odd Little Collection

Well let's see. I've turned you on to Henry Darger, the janitor from Chicago. And there's always been the ghost of B. Traven in just about every blog I've done.

I'll let you find out about Chicago's own Wesley Willis (known as part of the savant-garde) on your own, if you've never heard of him. A lot of his lyrics are pretty NSFW and his post-punk punk rave schizophrenic music and art / cityscapes lifestyle rant madness is really something you should experience probably at night. Later.

Since we're coming up to the Halloween season - which means I will be inserting Nosferatu in the machine for when the kiddies stop by - I thought about Max Schreck, the guy who played Count Orlok in that movie.

What's strange about this guy is that so very little is actually known. Outside of his small body of work and his marriage to Fannie (another silent film "star") there is a huge blank space where a biography should be.

There aren't any written because nobody knows enough about him to put in a book. And that gets my bells and whistles... er... belling and whistling... the minute I see it.

(Enlarge the picture. Go ahead.)

And, of course, since there is all this blank space, what it gets filled with is dubious. People say that during any filming no one would ever see him unless he was in full make-up. He had a "strange and obscure" sense of humor. He even "took long walks in dark forests for recreation." And so forth. Who knows?

It has been remarked by contemporaries that he had a special talent for getting across the plight and condition of people who were "different." You could expect perhaps someone like that having had bad experiences growing up and then transferring that understanding to his acting. But nobody knows because nothing is known of his childhood or his young home life. At all. There is still a theory that there was no such person as Max Schreck (the name means "fright" in German). That it was the concoction of one or more people who perpetrated a hoax on the movie going public of the era. That's been shown to be a stretch, but you know how things sort of linger.

What Schreck does in Nosferatu is command attention. I love the movie - and I consider myself a minor silent film buff - but it is typical silent-movie turgid and absolutely bland EXCEPT when Schrek is on screen. It's like two different movies.

To say he "inhabits" the role of the vampire doesn't even come close to being "it". The plain fact is that, when he's on screen, there is no disbelief to suspend. It's just real. That's all I can say. And that scene where Harker accidentally cuts his finger with a knife at dinner while sitting next to the Count and starts to bleed a little....... yeeeeech is that ever creepy. And I'm a cynical 50ish old crud.

There's a marked difference between eras in horror films. Pretty much because we can, there's always got to be the ugly, brutal, blood-curdling reveal somewhere along the way. And that's the genre. But we should also pay homage to the suggested presence of horror as having a special power all it's own. Though that suggestion always happens in the horror genre, I'm talking about where the awesome "reveal" doesn't happen. Where the continued suggestion of dread is the horror. And then it lingers. I think those kind of atmospheric yarns are more in my league. And Schreck was perfect for it. Whoever he really was.

Mwa ha ha...