"Don't tase me, bro."
Yes, yes, we've all heard it. By now it needs no context in this medium. In fact, this meme has already begun to come unstuck from it's context in a decidedly postmodern (that is, quite common) manner. That part's not that interesting.
For the sake of argument, I'm going to adopt a cynical position and assume the UF tasering incident was a set-up, a fiction, a piece of performance art. I'm going to assume the police acted in a perfectly rational manner, and that Andrew Meyer somehow "deserved" to be treated like a violent criminal. Take away all the political and social and legal issues awash in daylight after this video, and the meme remains: "Don't tase me, bro."
I'm sorry, let's add ONE piece of context. What we have here is 2 people, one a "citizen" and one to whom some kind of "authority" has been granted.* This authority allowed one of these people to painfully shock the other person in public, in front of hundreds of others while (and this is key) the recipient of the shock said, loud and clear, "don't tase me, bro." A very obvious imperative, softened and humanized by the familiar term of equality and peace. With apologies for the patriarchal language, if we are brothers, is there any way to morally justify treating our brother as anything less? Would YOU tase your brother when he said to your face, "Don't?" If anyone is calm and clear enough to form a simple sentence, and invoke brotherhood in his request, is that not a clear, universal sign to STOP?
And yet, back in context, there are still those talking about "he deserved it" and "had it coming" and "avoid by submitting." These may be these same folks who celebrate brutal conditions in overcrowded prisons, who champion walls around "nations" to keep people out/in. Those who feel hurt or violated, who need to extract revenge. This is our personal pit of snakes here in the US. I live in one of the most consciously liberal parts of the world here in Portland, and still I swim in violence every day. Even friends consider me extremist for truly believing in nonviolence as a revolutionary way of life.
So, please, don't tase me, bro. Pass it on.
*I use the passive voice there to indicate that I do not know "who" or "what" granted the police this authority. This, however, is another question altogether.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
All-Star Band (Rock's 1st Generation)
It is a still, humid night in Biloxi, Mississippi in the 1950s. A keen ear could hear the bass guitar from a quarter mile in either direction along Highway 90. Tonight, the local road house is hosting a fantasy band. It's a moment that never actually happened, but could have. The band in question is The Powerhouse, a classic R & B outfit guaranteed to leave every audience member sweaty and smiling by the end of the evening.
Based in the blues, the rhythm section of The Powerhouse consists of drummer Sam Lay, and bassist Willie Dixon. Both Lay and Dixon participated in the electrification of the blues: Lay played drums on Bob Dylan's first full-band rock album, Highway 61 Revisited, and Dixon was a producer for Chess records, as Chicago electrified the Delta Blues sound. Dixon's Southern style and Lay's irresistible shuffle beats resonate with the Mississippi fans, a salt-and-pepper mixture of young people brought together by the music.
Two musicians occupy more than their fair share of the stage tonight. Grinning broadly and turned to face the audience, Fats Domino's arms bounce up and down on his piano's keys. His compatriot, saxophonist and rabble-rouser Louis Jordan dances on the stage. Jordan hollers at the audience between sax solos, but never misses a beat when his break is next. He swings his saxophone back and forth, playing short bursts of lively notes and looking Domino in the eye, daring him to try and respond. Domino answers easily, amplifying Jordan's phrases with energetic boogie-woogie runs up and down the keyboard.
The only white performer on stage, Scotty Moore stands stage right with his feet together. He is as calm as Domino and Jordan are frantic, but his hands are faster than anything else on stage. Moore's fingers find ever higher notes in the scale, never missing a step. He relaxes between instrumental bars, strums the rhythm for a while, then flicks a switch and starts the next solo. His guitar echoes back and forth within the crowd, sounding like it's coming from everywhere at once. The noise is tremendous, and the crowd can't get enough. Moore finishes a solo, takes a step back, and smiles at Domino and Jordan, who nod and fill in the space left behind with their playful melodies.
At the center of the stage, like the eye of the storm, stands Willie Mae "Big Mama" Thornton, swinging her arms and hips to the beat of Lay and Dixon. She is singing a song written by Dixon, but no one in the audience knows. To the kids bouncing and shaking in front of the stage, Big Mama is the Reverend, and one does well to heed her words, regardless of author. A gospel veteran, Big Mama is used to their attention. She channels it, breathes deep, and belts out the next verse. Her voice is so deep it's almost a growl, and she never holds back. In fact, Big Mama's voice is so powerful she stands two full steps back from the microphone, and still fills the venue.
The Powerhouse have reached the song's climax, and Big Mama turns and glances at Dixon. Lay notices the signal, and he doubles his shuffle beat as Dixon changes keys. Domino and Moore will take solos soon, but first Jordan has something to say. Jordan lets his sax dangle, and jumps to the front of the stage. Without a microphone, Jordan entices to clap along. He hoots and hollers, "Louder!" as he begins his solo. Jordan's improvised melody dances around Dixon's walking bass line; Big Mama can be heard humming along in approval although she is nowhere near a microphone. Jordan holds the last note of his solo into the next measure, and Domino picks up the cue. He plays all over the bass line like Jordan, but he hits the keys fast enough to keep up with Lay's double shuffle. The crowd loves this: not a single person in the road house is sitting down. Following Jordan's lead, he plays just a little too long, signaling to Moore that it's his turn. Moore turns, looks at Big Mama with reverence, and pulls his shoulders up as he doubles and triples Dixon's bass notes. It's clear now why there is one white musician in an all black R & B band: this man has soul. Big Mama is obviously pleased with Moore's chops, and joins the audience in clapping along, again at the insistence of Jordan.
A slight relaxing in Moore's form signals the final, familiar blues-style turnaround ending. The Powerhouse follows suit, holding on to the tension of the song for just another moment. All six musicians are alert and on time, breathing deep into their respective instruments. They are focused on keeping the song alive, and they are all consummate professionals at this task. The kids hope it will never end.
Based in the blues, the rhythm section of The Powerhouse consists of drummer Sam Lay, and bassist Willie Dixon. Both Lay and Dixon participated in the electrification of the blues: Lay played drums on Bob Dylan's first full-band rock album, Highway 61 Revisited, and Dixon was a producer for Chess records, as Chicago electrified the Delta Blues sound. Dixon's Southern style and Lay's irresistible shuffle beats resonate with the Mississippi fans, a salt-and-pepper mixture of young people brought together by the music.
Two musicians occupy more than their fair share of the stage tonight. Grinning broadly and turned to face the audience, Fats Domino's arms bounce up and down on his piano's keys. His compatriot, saxophonist and rabble-rouser Louis Jordan dances on the stage. Jordan hollers at the audience between sax solos, but never misses a beat when his break is next. He swings his saxophone back and forth, playing short bursts of lively notes and looking Domino in the eye, daring him to try and respond. Domino answers easily, amplifying Jordan's phrases with energetic boogie-woogie runs up and down the keyboard.
The only white performer on stage, Scotty Moore stands stage right with his feet together. He is as calm as Domino and Jordan are frantic, but his hands are faster than anything else on stage. Moore's fingers find ever higher notes in the scale, never missing a step. He relaxes between instrumental bars, strums the rhythm for a while, then flicks a switch and starts the next solo. His guitar echoes back and forth within the crowd, sounding like it's coming from everywhere at once. The noise is tremendous, and the crowd can't get enough. Moore finishes a solo, takes a step back, and smiles at Domino and Jordan, who nod and fill in the space left behind with their playful melodies.
At the center of the stage, like the eye of the storm, stands Willie Mae "Big Mama" Thornton, swinging her arms and hips to the beat of Lay and Dixon. She is singing a song written by Dixon, but no one in the audience knows. To the kids bouncing and shaking in front of the stage, Big Mama is the Reverend, and one does well to heed her words, regardless of author. A gospel veteran, Big Mama is used to their attention. She channels it, breathes deep, and belts out the next verse. Her voice is so deep it's almost a growl, and she never holds back. In fact, Big Mama's voice is so powerful she stands two full steps back from the microphone, and still fills the venue.
The Powerhouse have reached the song's climax, and Big Mama turns and glances at Dixon. Lay notices the signal, and he doubles his shuffle beat as Dixon changes keys. Domino and Moore will take solos soon, but first Jordan has something to say. Jordan lets his sax dangle, and jumps to the front of the stage. Without a microphone, Jordan entices to clap along. He hoots and hollers, "Louder!" as he begins his solo. Jordan's improvised melody dances around Dixon's walking bass line; Big Mama can be heard humming along in approval although she is nowhere near a microphone. Jordan holds the last note of his solo into the next measure, and Domino picks up the cue. He plays all over the bass line like Jordan, but he hits the keys fast enough to keep up with Lay's double shuffle. The crowd loves this: not a single person in the road house is sitting down. Following Jordan's lead, he plays just a little too long, signaling to Moore that it's his turn. Moore turns, looks at Big Mama with reverence, and pulls his shoulders up as he doubles and triples Dixon's bass notes. It's clear now why there is one white musician in an all black R & B band: this man has soul. Big Mama is obviously pleased with Moore's chops, and joins the audience in clapping along, again at the insistence of Jordan.
A slight relaxing in Moore's form signals the final, familiar blues-style turnaround ending. The Powerhouse follows suit, holding on to the tension of the song for just another moment. All six musicians are alert and on time, breathing deep into their respective instruments. They are focused on keeping the song alive, and they are all consummate professionals at this task. The kids hope it will never end.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Fresh Air
Presidential Candidates Sen. Mike Gravel and Rep. Ron Paul both visited YouTuber James Kotecki's dorm room recently. This is an amazing and beautiful thing, because these appearances put a seriously human face on next year's election. I hope the next year holds many similar moments of distributed information freedom. It'd be a really fantastic experience to participate in a real national discussion via MySpace and YouTube. However, I really hope these two guys find a way to distance themselves from the two big parties. Truth be told, I think a third-party ticket with Gravel and Paul could have a real chance of winning. My real hesitation has everything to do with awareness of unearned privilege: how can I vote for a white man if I can symbolically vote for change by voting for a black man or a woman. Because as much as I like Barack, I'm cynical because I liked Bill Clinton in the same way, and I felt a little let down by his politics in the end.
As in the last election, though, I really wish there was a stronger anti-war voice. Not just an anti-this-war voice, which seems to be plentiful, now that it's statistically popular. It's hard for me to trust any politician who was in support of the Iraq war only until they heard it wasn't cool anymore. Where are the candidates who have concrete ideas about our national educational system? Where are the candidates willing to talk about the negative influence of fundamentalist Christianity on American scientists, not to mention global health initiatives? Where are the candidates willing to say words like deescalation, voluntary disarming, self-defense-only, or peace dividend?
Maybe the underlying question is wondering: Where are the candidates not tied to multinational corporate interests? Check out these two videos, and let's talk about whether either of these men would make good presidents.
PS: The ads are just an experiment for a bigger project. We'll see..
As in the last election, though, I really wish there was a stronger anti-war voice. Not just an anti-this-war voice, which seems to be plentiful, now that it's statistically popular. It's hard for me to trust any politician who was in support of the Iraq war only until they heard it wasn't cool anymore. Where are the candidates who have concrete ideas about our national educational system? Where are the candidates willing to talk about the negative influence of fundamentalist Christianity on American scientists, not to mention global health initiatives? Where are the candidates willing to say words like deescalation, voluntary disarming, self-defense-only, or peace dividend?
Maybe the underlying question is wondering: Where are the candidates not tied to multinational corporate interests? Check out these two videos, and let's talk about whether either of these men would make good presidents.
PS: The ads are just an experiment for a bigger project. We'll see..
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Be careful, I think it's contagious
After my last entry, I slept, and woke feeling not really myself. It seemed like it would just be one of those days when I was unable to find my happy. No blame or object for the feeling, some days are just like that. I'm sure you're familiar with this product. I got up, had breakfast, and went to class anyway. Later, though, Eric Clapton came on my mp3 player, singing Sonny Thompson's "I'm Tore Down," and a nice little smile lept to my face, seemingly without my invoking it. That's when I realized how I had been feeling all day: I had The Blues! Spend all afternoon listening to Elmore James, and wake up the next morning in a funk curable only by raucous slide guitar and the familiar 12 bars. I guess really feeling the blues is a worthwhile part of learning the history of rock music.
A friend here in our apartment building has fallen on some hard times, and it's quite sad to see. If he didn't have family in Boston, or a working car to drive East, today would be his first day living homeless. The landlord's people are here cleaning out a seeming lifetime's worth of stuff, and he's not even close to ready to leave. I feel quite helpless in the face of the sort of things this man is facing. All I know is there but for Grace go I. I did what I could for a brother, shared my web connection for months, patronized his yard sales, invited him to every party we've had, and chatted with him every day. He was the longest resident of the building, something like 10 years here. I wish you safe, happy travels, and a renewed life in Boston.
A friend here in our apartment building has fallen on some hard times, and it's quite sad to see. If he didn't have family in Boston, or a working car to drive East, today would be his first day living homeless. The landlord's people are here cleaning out a seeming lifetime's worth of stuff, and he's not even close to ready to leave. I feel quite helpless in the face of the sort of things this man is facing. All I know is there but for Grace go I. I did what I could for a brother, shared my web connection for months, patronized his yard sales, invited him to every party we've had, and chatted with him every day. He was the longest resident of the building, something like 10 years here. I wish you safe, happy travels, and a renewed life in Boston.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Rock and Roll is hard work!
I just wrote a review of Elmore James album "Dust My Broom" for my History of Rock and Roll class. We have to write in the historical present, as if the album just came out, and not reference other artists. This is a big challenge, to describe the music on it's own merits, so it was a great exercise in creativity. I got to know the album pretty well, as well, of course, and found a few gems I seriously enjoyed. This damn thing took me forever, though, which is fine. Sure was great to listen to this dope odl blues, though!
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Kurt and Kurt
It's not often I'm moved by the death of a celebrity, and even less often that I am inclined to comment on said death. As I'm sure you know, Kurt Vonnegut died yesterday. I read all his books up to "Timequake," and I remember them as a single body of funny, insightful, sincere writing. His passage is bittersweet, for by the day of his death he had lived to see his art having real meaning in a culture suffering from a dearth thereof.
I'm reminded of the last time I was moved by the death of a celebrity. Kurt Cobain died in 1993, and I cried that day, too. Cobain left us a body of insightful, sincere writing as well, although it was too sincere to ever really be funny. I'm sure fans of both Cobain and Vonnegut will take exception to my daring to compare them, but at 30 I happen to be the perfect age to be feeling the influence of these two artists, each of whom, in their own way, perfectly describe the modern age as what happens when great hope and great fear must learn to coexist. When they coexist well, we get art like "Smells Like Teen Spirit" and "Breakfast of Champions," and when they do not, we get art like "Scentless Apprentice" and "Player Piano." I believe Vonnegut and Cobain saw no ultimate difference between contemporary hope and contemporary fear. This vision sustained Vonnegut through a lifetime of whiskey, allowing his creations time to mature and ferment, but it killed Cobain as soon as he tried to raise a child. I make to claim to understanding why Vonnegut lived so long and well, and Cobain so short and painfully. I simply observe that this is so, and listen to what Kurt and Kurt have said.
So Cheers to you both, Kurt Vonnegut and Kurt Cobain. Thanks for all the fantastic art. My life is better, more interesting and more colorful because you were here.
I'm reminded of the last time I was moved by the death of a celebrity. Kurt Cobain died in 1993, and I cried that day, too. Cobain left us a body of insightful, sincere writing as well, although it was too sincere to ever really be funny. I'm sure fans of both Cobain and Vonnegut will take exception to my daring to compare them, but at 30 I happen to be the perfect age to be feeling the influence of these two artists, each of whom, in their own way, perfectly describe the modern age as what happens when great hope and great fear must learn to coexist. When they coexist well, we get art like "Smells Like Teen Spirit" and "Breakfast of Champions," and when they do not, we get art like "Scentless Apprentice" and "Player Piano." I believe Vonnegut and Cobain saw no ultimate difference between contemporary hope and contemporary fear. This vision sustained Vonnegut through a lifetime of whiskey, allowing his creations time to mature and ferment, but it killed Cobain as soon as he tried to raise a child. I make to claim to understanding why Vonnegut lived so long and well, and Cobain so short and painfully. I simply observe that this is so, and listen to what Kurt and Kurt have said.
So Cheers to you both, Kurt Vonnegut and Kurt Cobain. Thanks for all the fantastic art. My life is better, more interesting and more colorful because you were here.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Ultimate
This is the last day of my "twenties," and I couldn't be cooler with that. I feel like I've done my 20s, and done them well. I'll continue to count my blessings through this celebration, and the future is quite exciting!
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Uncomitted
I'm here, in school, and it's back in full swing. Thankfully there's lots of outlets in the cafeteria, and lots of cool geeks around. Classes rule, and I haven't even gotten to the cushy one yet (at least I hope it's cushy). I'm happy about the topics I've met even after one lecture, and actually looking forward to my homework. Truthfully, I'm just not comitted yet - I'm distracted with thoughts of visiting brothers and milestone karaoke songs. What makes it okay is that since this is the first week I'm shirking, there's not really any chance of running up against deadlines. No, I intend to learn a lot this term. Just as soon as I celebrate being alive!
Monday, January 08, 2007
Well, today is my first day back at school, and I'm totally fighting it. I do want to go, but I don't - I'm sure you know what I mean. My schedule's great, the walk will be nice, and all that - I just enjoyed being on vacation. Of course, vacation is necessary, but won't take care of my circumstance. Many allowances are afforded me as a student, long vacation included. Taking care of my circumstance means walking into the greyness over to campus and surrenduring to the educational process. It's yet to fail me, and I've proven pretty good at it. I've got plenty of rock and roll on my audio player, so that's a good buffer between vacation's big beats and school's acid jazz.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
This morning I woke up, happy to be out of herb, and looking forward to a different kind of day. My body clearly has other plans, so i am heavily bundled and parked horizontally in front ot the TV with my favorite book, my laptop, water, and a handful of cough drops within easy reach. Thankfully Mozo is looking after me by gracing me with her warm, purring presence. Sickness begone!
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