Lou Reed 1942-2013

After hearing the news today, I find I am still not able to rationally discuss the impact of Lou Reed on my life.

I remember someone once remarked that the Velvet Underground only had about 200 fans, "but every one of them, started a band." And so, the legend was born; Lou was a legend to other legends. It is hard to describe the impact his work had on those of us who felt marginalized, those of us on the outside.

In so many ways, you had to be there.

I got a tattoo inspired by Lou. Early in recovery, I decided I did not want to be that heartless junkie in the middle-section of Street Hassle, who declares he won't wear his heart on his sleeve, will not become emotional when faced with the death of a stranger.

I knew that I did want to be that person, and that desire, that hope, is what prompted me to save my own life, to search for something better.

I do want to wear my heart on my sleeve. And so I got tattoo of a heart there, to remind me.

Goodbye dear friend. It hurts so much to lose you.

~*~



Some people got no choice
and they can never find a voice
To talk with, that they can even call their own
So the first thing that they see
That allows them the right to be
Well, they follow it.

You know, its called
Bad luck.



(from Street Hassle by Lou Reed)

~*~

We will be discussing Lou Reed's life and work on the radio show tomorrow.

And I hope to play this:

Rock and Roll - Velvet Underground



You know her life was saved by rock and roll.

~*~

Edit and Correction, from the New York Times, it was Brian Eno who said it, and here is their direct quote:

The composer Brian Eno, in an often-quoted interview from 1982, suggested that if the [The Velvet Underground]’s first record sold only 30,000 records during its first five years — a figure probably lower than the reality — “everyone who bought one of those 30,000 copies started a band.”

~*~

EDIT AGAIN 10/28/2013: I was really surprised to find this on YouTube, because, well, it just defies description. It's an 8-minute (spoken) story, and ... to say more is to ruin it. (Just one thing: if you start listening, please continue to the end.)

However, I don't mind telling you, I know the whole thing by heart and can recite it verbatim from memory: "Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit..."

I have never before admitted that out loud. But there it is.

The Gift - Velvet Underground



PS: Happy Halloween! ;)

Dirt

Some angry local "Democrat" wrote a nasty, 1445-word (!) hit-piece on me, and has now even outed me with my legal name.

Otherwise, I would link it here and we could brawl further.

But using my name is an unbridled personal attack and here in upstate South Carolina, could even expose me to actual physical danger. I use a pseudonym here and on the air, for good reasons.

About this sordid affair, I will say no more (((sigh))), but its been going on for days now. (This guy obviously has the serious hots for Ann Romney! My radio-show comments about her have made him bloody frantic.) Also, this is my golden opportunity to link the blog Genderratic, where Gingko often discusses the phenomena he calls "damseling"--when men come to women's rescue for ostensibly pseudofeminist reasons; you know, like this "Democrat" defending poor, beleaguered Ann Romney, who needs serious protection from little nobodies like your humble narrator. (Or something like that.)

And it made me think of this song. It just POPPED into my head. :)

I am pretty sure Lou wrote it about Iggy Pop, since Iggy also wrote a song by the same name.

I guess they weren't getting along so well, at that point.

Dirt - Lou Reed



This is my last word on this subject, since I am now banned from this guy's blog (so people can go on to discuss me without me interfering or correcting the copious inaccuracies). Considering what happened to left wing radio host Alan Berg, I am thinking I need to start carrying a weapon myself. After all, South Carolina has lots more white supremacists than Colorado ever did. And this man has deliberately turned me into a target by naming me.

What kind of gun? I'd prefer an M-16, but I don't think it will fit into my purse.

Monday Music: And the cat just finished off the bread

LIVE FROM NEW YORK, 40 years ago... this contains excellent, rare old photos of the band, as well as some blistering guitar solos to wake you up this Monday.

One Way Out - Allman Brothers Band (Live 1971)



~*~

Playing this to commemorate 9/11. Of course, it's significantly dated now, since we have no longer have any Berlin wall. Do the kids understand? (Could they ever?)

"Please don't be waiting for me."

Holidays in the Sun - Sex Pistols (1977)



~*~

"When I see you comin, I just have to run"... he was so funny! Debating if I should use a BDSM tag or not. (Nah.)

Vicious - Lou Reed (1972)



~*~

Who else thinks, "I am a passenger, I stay under glass" is the greatest line ever?

(PS: And now, you will also be earwormed to death with LA LA LA LA LALALA LAAAAAH! for the rest of your day.)

The Passenger - Iggy Pop (1977)



~*~

And this is the song that gives us today's blog post title.

Pinball - Brian Protheroe (1974)

The static hurts my ears

As stated in previous comments, I don't know from tumblr, despite various net-savvy people attempting to explain it's sacred mysteries to me. Therefore, I couldn't respond to the latest charges being lodged. So, I will have to do it here.

For the record, I'd really rather not, but it does appear necessary, at this point. (sigh)

This is from the tumblr blog The View From My Brain:

I didn’t read the post when you linked it before, so I didn’t realise who it was. Daisy Deadhead of Daisy’s Dead Air is a hateful bigoted and privileged asshat.

She is the feminist who literally told me to go die, because my coping methods for my autism issues were not approved by her holy vegan standards. And she did this in a discussion about something completely irrelevant, rather than on the post where my coping method was actually mentioned.

Good God, yall.

I have no idea at all what this refers to. I do not know Jemima Aslana, although I have seen her name before. I have never interacted with her, although I think she may have commented here once or twice. I have commented (in the past) on lots of blogs, but as stated above, have not figured out how to "do" tumblr and Aslana's blog is a tumblr blog. So the comments she refers to could not have been made on her blog. I'd like to know where this (mythical) exchange took place?

As regular readers know, I am not vegan and could not live more than 72 hrs (at most) without cheese--preferably smoked gouda or Tillamook aged cheddar. I think she has me confused with someone else.

Further, "literally" telling people to "go die"--that just isn't me. That is somewhat ungrammatical and unpoetic; I am more likely to quote Lou Reed, "I'm just waiting for [them/you] to hurry up and die," which I've been saying since the release of Sally Can't Dance. Old habits die hard. (I have never quite broken the habit of saying "far out" in, well, far out circumstances.) Simply put, I am not a person who tells people to go die, all while upholding holy vegan standards I don't have.

Of course, Jemima Aslana didn't bother to link to this very incendiary accusation. She was so eager to join the junior-high-school pile-on, she couldn't be bothered to check the facts. And said pile-on does get ugly, as I am enthusiastically called a "total shithead" and suchlike, by people who have never met me... including an individual I once foolishly complimented for their writing. (For some reason, I especially feel like the archetypal dumb hillbilly when someone I have lavishly complimented turns on me.)

As for the other spin-offs from spin-offs from Tweets and Twats and alllll the rest? I can't keep up. It all started here, but I am now getting links from strange corners of tumblrville and beyond. It's like that child's game "Telephone"--now they are writing about the writing about the writing about me, not writing about what I exactly wrote. If that makes sense. This is why I decided to address Jemima's accusation, since it seems to have taken on a life of its own and is getting repeated even more than anything I wrote on Renee's blog [Womanist Musings].

And it simply isn't true.

But I saved the best for last! Jemima's last paragraph:

Believe me, sweetheart, you aren’t getting anywhere with Daisy. She will first derail and if that doesn’t work for then she will assault your mental health until you become suicidal. I advise you to pull out now, because it can never end well with her. Never.

Jemima darlin, I have to say, that paragraph is one of the most bad-ass things ever written about me, and I love it! Thank you!!!

Am I a bad bitch or what?! ((((preens))))

My mother (who would have happily slit all their tires by now) would be so proud of me. Seriously, I wish she had lived long enough for me to read that paragraph to her, since she often considered me a silly, bubbleheaded peacenik and believed I let people walk all over me. Wouldn't she be thrilled to learn that the apple didn't fall far from the tree?

I must end here, on a decidedly positive note. :)

~*~

When the world is running down - The Police



turn on the radio
the static hurts my ears
tell me where would I go?
I ain't been out in years
turn on the stereo
it's played for years and years
an Otis Redding song
it's all I own

when the world is running down
you make the best of what's still around

You'd be surprised there's so much to be done

We pause for FRIDAY RANDOM FOUR!

Yes, I know the meme is officially FRIDAY RANDOM TEN, but I don't have the time for ten and barely have time for four. (Admittedly, I insist on editorializing about my music, which consumes valuable blogging time!)

~*~

Serious movie geeks will recognize the following lines... Mr Daisy and me are currently arguing about who actually wrote them, Orson Welles or Herman Mankiewicz? (Both of us agree that we used to know that stuff.) (((sigh))) I am unable to locate Pauline Kael's invaluable Citizen Kane Book, which every home should own.

Googling, I find that the consensus is Mankiewicz. I think of it as 'the parasol story':

A fellow will remember a lot of things you wouldn't think he'd remember. You take me. One day, back in 1896, I was crossing over to Jersey on the ferry, and as we pulled out, there was another ferry pulling in, and on it there was a girl waiting to get off. A white dress she had on. She was carrying a white parasol. I only saw her for one second. She didn't see me at all, but I'll bet a month hasn't gone by since that I haven't thought of that girl.

And here is mine.

Giving Kenny Loggins all due respect for his wonderfully delightful tune... although I find his various folkie versions somewhat sad and melancholy. The hit version is below, and it's suitably sprightly and sweet, as a childhood melody should be.

I first heard it in 1970; notably, as I was exiting my own childhood... the angst of adolescence was taking over, and I recognized the child-consciousness in the song as something that had passed. I suddenly realized I was no longer a child.

The song is simply a work of art; it has always made me indescribably happy. And you know, I'll bet a month hasn't gone by that I haven't thought of the lines--

You'd be surprised there's so much to be done
Count all the bees in the hive
Chase all the clouds from the sky

House at Pooh Corner - Nitty Gritty Dirt Band (song starts at about 18 seconds in)



~*~

When you cross David Bowie, Bob Dylan, Evelyn Waugh and a multitude of psychedelic drugs, you get the following amazing song.

It only tips over into excessive verbiage once, but it's a whopper. I could do without the Waughish line: He's Chameleon, Comedian, Corinthian and Caricature. Okay, enough British alliterations, we know how smart you are! But since this is from a very early Bowie album, Hunky Dory, I will overlook it, since he was still establishing his genius. He probably felt Waugh impersonations were necessary. (The Dylanesque lines are perfect.)

Although Bowie later claimed the song made no sense, I find that it makes a lot of sense when you learn that Bowie's stepbrother was locked up for schizophrenia (also the subject of the song All the Madmen; caution, disturbing old insane-asylum images on YouTube version)... and BROTHERS is the name of the song, after all. Lots of people have also read a gay subtext into the song.

The Bewlay Brothers is chock-full of lovely, lyrical poetry, such as:

I was Stone and he was Wax
So he could scream and still relax
Unbelievable
And we frightened the small children away

If you have ever had a compatriot or comrade who was brilliant and mercurial... if you ever followed a guru... if you ever belonged to a cult or similarly tight-knit group? This is for you.

And the solid book we wrote can not be found today.

The Bewlay Brothers - David Bowie



We were so turned on
By your lack of conclusions.

~*~

Special dedication time! This is for my own Sister Ray! :)

I was dumbfounded when I saw Lou Reed and Laurie Anderson talking to Charlie Rose, whilst Laurie's little dog sat nestled in her lap. HER DOG. She brings the dog to PBS for an interview? With LOU REED?!? Momentarily confused, since I would not leave my dog with the Velvet Underground, not even in a TV studio.

Then I am reminded of the Buddhist lesson of impermanence, and the fact that the Lou who lives with Laurie (and her dog, presumably), is most assuredly NOT the youthful author of SISTER RAY. (Lord have mercy, are we middle aged or what?)

If you can listen to all 8 minutes and 41 seconds, you are hard core! If not, don't feel bad; usually only punk rockers are completely hypnotized by the song... and if you are into punk? BEHOLD YOUR KING. (And try to forget that this man now lives with a woman who gives interviews with her little terrier on her lap.)

Lyrics kindly linked, in the event you'd like to sing along.

Rosie and Miss Rayon
They're busy waiting for her booster
Who just got back from Carolina
She said she didn't like the weather
They're busy waiting for her sailor
Who's big and dressed in pink and leather

Sister Ray - Velvet Underground (NSFW)



WAVES TO MY BEST BUD SISTER RAY! ;)

~*~

And my semi-official FALL FOR GREENVILLE tune... used at this time and in this space last year.

I wondered why the Swedes in this video weren't acting like Texans, enthusiastically tossing beer cans, thongs and whatnot at ZZ Top, when one of my commenters schooled me about the ways of Swedes: these people are too stoned to move.

Of course, that makes total sense; so sorry I underestimated yall! Party on, Swedes!

Party on the Patio - ZZ Top

Ash Wednesday ruminations on feminism, religion, etc

Because I do not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn
Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope
I no longer strive to strive towards such things
(Why should the aged eagle stretch its wings?)
Why should I mourn
The vanished power of the usual reign?

Because I do not hope to know again
The infirm glory of the positive hour
Because I do not think
Because I know I shall not know
The one veritable transitory power
Because I cannot drink
There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is nothing again

Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are and
I renounce the blessed face
And renounce the voice
Because I cannot hope to turn again
Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something
Upon which to rejoice

And pray to God to have mercy upon us
And pray that I may forget
These matters that with myself I too much discuss
Too much explain
Because I do not hope to turn again
Let these words answer
For what is done, not to be done again
May the judgement not be too heavy upon us

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly
But merely vans to beat the air
The air which is now thoroughly small and dry
Smaller and dryer than the will
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still.

Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death
Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.

--TS Eliot, Ash Wednesday

~*~

In the middle of a very contentious thread titled What if the feminist blogosphere is a form of digital colonialism?--an atheist feminist named The Apostate let loose with the following:

The feminist blogosphere is VERY correct and proper. There is a huge orthodoxy, on race issues, on sexuality issues, on major progressive themes, on language. on religion. I don’t think this is a bad thing, but it makes it hard to embrace outliers like me who might otherwise contribute to the conversation. For instance, I personally violate the religion orthodoxy (I hate Muslims and Islam and religious people in general), I am not all that sensitive about language (once called an Islam-apologist feminist a bitch, insist on continuing to use verboten words like “lame” and I like my gendered insults, such as prick), I refuse to include Sean Bell in my list of feminist issues, I often say I hate men, I am publicly glad when misfortune is visited upon my enemies (anti-choice Andrew Sullivan is HIV positive - yay! Marc Ambinder is ugly - yay!) and other such horrifying things. No wonder nobody links to me!

Haha.

(Yes, she really did add the "Haha"--which I think really makes the post.)

And she was ignored on the thread. Which was good; if her intent was to derail, it didn't work. But I was also disappointed that the comments about religious women and a gay man with HIV, were not challenged. Only Renee (at Womanist Musings) challenged the comment; no one else did.

Why? Did they agree with her? If any other group(s) of people had been insulted with open hate speech, would feminists have remained silent?

Initially, I wrote off Apostate's little tantrum, since I know that she once was Muslim herself, and I well understand that ex-fundamentalists are often traumatized by their upbringing. But hey, aren't we all? I responded to my racist father by becoming an anti-racist activist, for instance. Apostate has responded to her strict upbringing by trashing Islam, and then extending this critique to all religion.

Later in the thread, Apostate proclaimed--"What a lot of petty self righteous assholes the feminist blogosphere is full of," and after her proclamation that she hates most of the women in the world (who ARE religious, take note), I had just had enough. We ended up in an argument on her own blog, and she ended up censoring my comments and banning me permanently.

Admittedly, my first emotion was: thrilled!!! Oh boy!!! Finally, after years of arguing, I was outright BANNED from AN ATHEIST BLOG!!! Hot damn. (I will be linking Apostate for years, she must have known her hits will increase from now on.) Atheists looooove to brag (rightly and correctly) that they get tossed off of religious blogs and boards as soon as they even announce themselves. BAM, gone. I've seen it myself, countless times. And they are pretty proud of that, as well they should be.

On one now-defunct Christian message board I used to frequent, the censorship was particularly aggravating. I was usually having great FUN arguing with the atheist or agnostic, while others would become greatly agitated, and eventually ban the person. I would end up defending them, and on at least two occasions, I left internet bulletin boards over the banning of intelligent, well-mannered atheists, who did nothing more than freak Christians out with tough questions.

And at least twice, I was called on the carpet for my own heresy. Yes, you know what it is, my beloved existentialism, my Kierkegaard, my science fiction and Teilhard de Chardin. From an amalgam of these sources, I employ my standard argument against the atheists, which is one they cannot refute. As far as I am concerned, the only argument. THE argument.

The reason I believe in God/religion/Church/sacraments, etc is an endless variation of these statement ...a riff, if you will:

I like it.

It is fun, it gives pleasure.

It makes me ecstatic/happy/peaceful/optimistic.

It makes me feel better than I would feel otherwise.

It's great. Aesthetically, it's really neat.

I want to be a priest/holy woman myself, I am pretty good at it!

I feel that God listens to me/speaks to me.

Etc.

These statements make no claim for objective truth, as I don't think we can. These statements are MY truth; they are about why I choose to practice as I do. It is about ME. I have taken full responsibility: this is what makes MY life better, gives MY life meaning, this is how I view the world, and how I relate to what I call the high concepts, and you call delusions. I do not care if you like it or not, because I don't do it for you, I do it for me.

If one is a rational atheist, you should be able to admit I am right. If I go to Mass or read a book or meditate or sing or clap my hands and claim to conjure up the living devil--why should you care? Do you care if people go to football games or rock concerts? Do you care what kinds of sex people choose to have? Do you care about which movies they watch and which books they read? Well, why is the choice of belief or religion not the same?

BECAUSE, the atheists intone, RELIGION CLAIMS TO BE TRUE.

Well, duh. The Buckeyes will kick Wolverine ass, and that is TRUE TOO, ask any Buckeyes fan. Ask any diehard fans of STAR WARS or LORD OF THE RINGS which movie is the best, and they will assure you STAR WARS and THAT IS THE TRUTH! If people are having sex and claim to enjoy it, I assume they are telling the truth and I take their word for it that it is true, this is good sex for them. But you know, it might not be good sex for ME.

We all say what we claim to be TRUE, and we constantly disagree with each other about clothes, about shoes, about where to live and how to spend our time. We all testify to the truth as we know and believe it, and yet, religion is somehow a "special" case, something apart from other choices we make, about sexuality, about occupation, about marriage, home ownership, carbon footprints, childbearing. Actually, my contention is that religion is the same type of choice as these other lifestyle choices, that feminists can discuss without hyperventilating (or should be able to). We are not living in the Holy Roman Empire; we have choices. We are no longer forced to be XYZ just because our parents were. And then again, there are lots of characteristics we share with our parents, our families or villages of origin, and this might be another one.

We may have something very special to bring to the table, for this reason.

~*~

Which is better, a Chevy or a Ford?

If we don't know what to believe, we ask someone we respect, someone we think knows about cars: Should I buy a Chevy or a Ford?

Chevy, says the Respected Person authoritatively. Then, you buy the Chevy and it breaks down in rush hour. It costs a fortune to tow it, you have no spare. You are fucking livid. GODDAMN CHEVYS! I WAS TOLD THEY WERE GOOD CARS!!!!!!!

And you know, the guy who told you that, thought they were. Chevys had always been good to him. Not a one had given him trouble, he went coast-to-coast in one and had a blast. Alriiiiite! Took my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry...

New Chevy hater: Don't sing that fucking song around me!

Yes, I just compared God to cars. As Aldous Huxley famously said, Ford's in his Flivver and all is right with the world. It is an excellent analogy. Things do not work the same for everyone. They just don't, and no, I don't know why. (I am currently studying Buddhism, trying to figure out that part.) But why would we expect religion to fit everyone, if we can't even agree on which songs are good, which food is good, if a Ford or Chevy is best? Those are easy. Now, you bring in GOD? And we wonder why we disagree?

Apostate's Chevy might have broken down anyway--maybe her parents had (as I suspect) already driven the damn Chevy into the ground by the time she got it. But my Chevy works well, always has, still is.

Am I an idiot because I got a good Chevy?

You can see how this argument might make very devout Christians (and devout Muslims and any other devout fundamentalist of any type) very upset. They do not want you to suggest that religious truth is not an objective truth, THE truth. They claim they have the truth. And I answer: if it was, it would be self-evident. And it is not.

That is to say, we mostly agree on, say, the color green. We don't know why we do... but if I say, check the green box, most people will.

If I say check the most Godly box? I create chaos immediately.

Religion is therefore in the category of art, music, beauty, love, aesthetics. It is opinion, something experienced, an acquired taste, or maybe something someone has been starved for. Or something someone is very angry with, as in the angry Chevy-buyer. They were promised something, and it didn't deliver. Or it was delivered, rather like Apostate's sedan delivery, by wrecking her whole house with it. (Certainly, that's no way to make a good first-impression.)

The anti-religious people declare religion irrational. Music, art, love and sexual desire also are quite irrational, but they don't seem to want to ban those. And yeah, when I say that, the religious people can get as livid as the atheists. (Often the self-described agnostics are the only folks who stay with me during this discussion, nodding the whole way, agreeing that comparing religion to music makes sense.)

And few people turn against religion as thoroughly and furiously as ex-fundies. I can spot them in a line-up. Know why? Like Apostate, they sound the same. They have exchanged one form of intolerance for another. While they were subscribing to fundamentalism, it was the sinners and infidels and devils and so on, who were bad. After the backslide? You are stupid, ridiculous, sky-fairy believer, idiot, moron. (Apostate called me stupid also.) What gets me is IT'S THE SAME PEOPLE. The religious people who curse me for not being strict enough, fall away from the Church, the Mosque, wherever, and pivot perfectly into the ones who trash me for stupidity as a believer. I am sure when Apostate was a proper, strictly devout Muslim, she would have hated me just as much as she does now. She just uses different words now.

They are the same people. I can't tell them apart without a scorecard. The approach is identical: intolerant, judgmental, finger-pointing, merciless, hateful. If you don't see things their way, you are a fool. Period. I often forget who I am arguing with, and have to stop--wait, is this the atheist or the fundie?

I usually can only tell them apart because the fundies won't say "fuck"--and the atheists will.

There are feminist enclaves literally everywhere. Even in the strictest, most dangerous places on earth for women--there are women strategizing for freedom and access. What bothers me is how they are walled off from each other.

Often, this is because the women hate each other. Their countries are at war with each other; possibly their religions have historically been enemies. But they will not come together for their own rights, there is too much bad blood.

In every religious women's community, Muslim, Christian, Jewish, Hindu, Buddhist, Taoist, Sikh, etc etc... there are feminists. EVERY SINGLE ONE. And they struggle alone, often, because non-religious feminists don't regard them as "real feminists" although these same non-religious feminists live under male governments, work for male companies, vote for males, sleep with males, give birth to males, take money from male daddies and love male brothers, sons, friends, etc... they say religion is unfeminist because men run it. (I know, makes no sense, go figure.) So religious feminists try to get it done within their own faith communities. But in the process, they are not interacting with the larger feminist community, from whom they feel estranged. As a result, they don't learn all the lingo, the habits, the culture of feminism. They are thus easily shocked when they first meet feminist libertines or political radicals. It is my contention that if they were allowed in the coalition, if their presence became commonplace and unchallenged, they would get used to it, as we all get used to everything.

I assume such women, emissaries from their various communities, would be largely like me, pretty tolerant, or older and jaded from having seen a lot already (particularly if they are ordained ministers or professionals). But I can still remember back in the 70s, when Carter Heyward was on the cover of Ms, and all hell broke lose, as atheist and agnostic feminists complained. And I am there saying, wait, doncha know, this is CARTER HEYWARD!!!!

Without stopping to ask who this groundbreaking feminist even IS, just the knowledge that she was a priest, was enough to inflame the atheist rabble. It's the IDEA, you see, that women would put FAITH IN RELIGION (instead of, you know, say, money or the government) and RELIGION OPPRESSES WOMEN. PERIOD.

Money and government, of course, have never oppressed women.

(((sighs heavily)))

And so, the impasse. The small religious feminist communities labor onward, but they are struggling by themselves. They need the authority and influence of the larger feminism, which is too uncomfortable with religion. And the religious women are often too naive and provincial for the larger feminism as well. The problems feed each other.

And I get banned from Apostate's blog, and called stupid.

Maybe I am, since I am ever hopeful we can all get together.

~*~

The Five of Wands, Strife. (from the Rider-Waite Tarot deck)


And in fairness, since I linked Mandy and Brittany's piece above, I suppose I should also link their subsequent apology for writing it, or for how they wrote it, or something. (I am curious if they deliberately chose Ash Wednesday, a day of penance, to apologize, or was that an accident? Great symbolism.)

Initially, I had no problems with the piece, until reading some of the criticisms, particularly Renee's, Sylvia's and Lauren's. I still think their hearts were in the right place, and that does count for something. I am not too fond of the term "token" which as I said on Renee's blog, used to denote something very specific, back in the day. A "token" was someone who shores up the status quo using their minority status; they lend legitimacy to a possibly-illegitimate enterprise. Nowadays, it seems "token" just means any minority-person in majority space, and that is not how I use the term, or how I grew up understanding and relating to it. I have recently been called a token myself, to my puzzlement; it basically meant I was the only _____ in a certain space. No one has ever accused me (and certainly, not Renee!) of perserving the status quo. Ha!

Thus, when first reading the word "token" I assumed this was the "new" meaning: a minority person in majority space. So, I did not criticize the word. However, I now see that the term "token" is meant differently by different people, and People of Color still adhere to the old usage that radicals have historically favored. It is white people who simply mean "a minority person in majority space"! Aha!

With this helpful delineation, I am enlightened. And I understand why minority people would bridle (as I have, in various settings) at this label. And why this piece caused so much strife throughout Feminist Blogdonia.

(NOTE: There were also additional issues over language used in the post, such as the use of an offensive term for transgendered people.)

On the other hand, I found the self-flagellation in the Official Apologia a bit much, even for Ash Wednesday. Is all of this really necessary? Well, maybe so.

In the fallout of the original incendiary discussion, Amber Rhea attempted some discussion of her (mixed-up and confused, which was the whole point) class background, and was flayed for it bigtime. I was shocked. (Do they expect everyone to emerge from their 20s talking like Leon Trotsky, or what?)

Perhaps Apostate has a point--why do we go after each other this way? What good does it do, exactly?

Heart, whom I have had major issues with (as regular readers know), thinks it's the invasion of The Man. I admit, I really go for that 70s talk, and she is all over it:

Regardless the movement, the Man can be depended upon to approach movement people who are the most marketable, the least experienced and therefore the most trusting (and grateful) and the least risky, people he knows will make honest, exploitable, mistakes, and who are already leaders with manipulatable followers. He’s not all that concerned about what the people he chooses actually believe or the quality of their activism; he just wants to make a buck where a buck is to be made. Movement people are virtually always naive about these things, and their leaders often have big heads. They frequently readily believe what their followers have said to and about them and are too quick to believe their own press. They imagine they have been discovered and chosen because of their unusual skills or gifts or something like that, because the Man is impressed by their ideals, dedication and vision, when usually, it’s more that they are marketable, naive and exploitable. They are young, they are pretty or handsome, they are white, they are middle class, they have the right kind of education, they say the right kinds of things in the right kinds of ways and so do their followers, and so, people will buy. That’s all that matters to the Man.

Once the Man gets in, all hell is guaranteed to break loose. Movement people will now fight, not in the productive ways of the past but in the destructive ways that always follow in the Man’s wake. They’ll fight over who was chosen, who wasn’t chosen, why the chosen were chosen and the not-chosen weren’t. They’ll fight over the fact that some who were hardworking weren’t recognized and some who weren’t so hardworking were. They’ll fight over the way the chosen behave, what they do once they have all of that attention, and what they don’t do. They’ll fight over who did and didn’t get the credit for this or that, who stole this and who stole that. The chosen will find themselves — always, guaranteed — in a downward spiral of compromise, because you have to compromise to deal with the Man. The compromises the chosen make will become fodder for ever-worsening, ever-deepening and -intensifying intra-movement conflicts, more blaming, more resentments, increased finger-pointing, increased vigilance. New people who join the movement unaware of the history will defend the wrong people, accuse the wrong people and will get gobbled up by the Man themselves. They won’t understand the hostility they then face from other movement people; after all, they’re not doing anything differently from what others have (apparently) done. And their confusion will be eminently understandable. In the end, everybody will be drinking from the same poisoned well, and everybody will be sick from drinking there.

On this Ash Wednesday, let me say dramatically: SHE IS RIGHT.

Yes, you read it correctly, I just admitted HEART IS RIGHT.

I am reminded of a bunch of girls in high school, clamoring for a place on the cheerleading squad.

Can we please STOP?! Heart thinks it's too late, the thief has entered (nods to Heart, with my Bible reference there)...and I wonder, is she also right about what this means: The End of Feminist Blogging (the title of her post)? Is it already too late? Can we turn this shit around, or will we have eaten each other alive first?

I have criticized the denizens of Feminist Blogdonia as much as the next feminist blogger, and probably will continue whenever I think there have been damaging excesses. But the wholesale evisceration that is more suitable for a radio edition of FOCUS ON THE FAMILY, needs to stop. Going onto a blog where someone is, for example, attempting to clarify their own class consciousness and telling them what they OUGHT TO BE DOING, is not going to help us reach any feminist goals, but will instead cause more women to withdraw from feminism in fear that they cannot possibly measure up.

Time for the Act of Contrition--I have confessed, now it's everyone else's turn.

~*~

My official Dead Air Ash Wednesday hymn, Saving Grace by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, was removed from last year's post, you may have noticed. Warner Music Group (or similar capitalist greedhead swine) strikes again! I found the song performed live, but can't embed it here. Blah. My second choice, Redemption Song by Bob Marley, also has embedding disabled. WHAT IS GOING ON AROUND HERE?!?!? Harumph.

Looking for alternate hymns, I figure yall might like at least ONE of these.

Letter to Hermione - David Bowie



No offense to my beloved Bob, but as we all know, it's often umm, better to find his fabulous songs sung by someone else!

I found this really nice version of "I Shall be Released" by Chrissie Hynde at something called the "30th Anniversary Bob Dylan Concert"--no other details of where the performance was.

I Shall Be Released - Chrissie Hynde



And more Bob! I've been looking for this one forever--it probably won't last out Lent! Better listen now!

"For every hung-up person in the whole wide universe..."

Chimes of Freedom - The Byrds



*NSFW* MAY TRIGGER* ETC*

I defy you to listen to all 10 minutes. It's actually edited down from the original 11 minutes, believe it or not.

I have a tattoo inspired by the line "I'm not gonna wear my heart on my sleeve" at 4:39. (As a result, I do wear my heart on my sleeve.)

Some people got no choice
When they can never find a voice
to talk with that they can even call their own
So the first thing that they see
That allows them the right to be
They follow it
Know what that's called?
Bad luck.

Street Hassle - Lou Reed



Happy Ash Wednesday to you all!

Dead Air Church - I'll be your mirror

If you've never seen Nan Goldin's collection of photographs by the same name, it would serve you well to find them. They are perfectly joined to this song, in my mind. Once you see them, they will be forever connected in your head also. She is amazingly talented.

If you've never seen the movie loosely based on Goldin's life (High Art), please check that out too. Wikipedia says the photos in the movie were based on Goldin's, not really commenting directly on the story itself. (Ally Sheedy, Patricia Clarkson and Radha Mitchell are all quite outstanding as the lead trio!) I've seen the movie maybe, what, a dozen times? (Trailer included below.) I always get something new out of it every time. If you have ever been emotionally involved with an addict (as lover OR friend) this is required viewing; consider it as important as your reading list about co-dependency. (Nan Goldin's first showing/book of photos was titled The Ballad of Sexual Dependency, not surprisingly.)

The lyrics of this song (by Lou Reed) are childlike, sweet, and filled with love. This is what Lou felt for Nico. We know that Nico's life was often tortured and unpleasant, may her soul rest in peace. (Also recommended: Nico Icon) Hers was not a happy life.

Although we can reflect those we love, it is no guarantee they will see themselves as we see them. All we have is our attempt to show them what we see. This song reflects that aching desire, so perfectly.

The desire to be the light on the door, to show that they're home.


~*~

I'll be your mirror
Reflect what you are
in case you don't know
I'll be the wind, the rain and the sunset
The light on your door
to show that you're home

When you think the night has seen your mind
That inside you're twisted and unkind
Let me stand to show that you are blind
Please put down your hands
cause I see you

I find it hard to believe you don't know
The beauty that you are
But if you don't let me be your eyes
A hand in your darkness
so you won't be afraid

When you think the night has seen your mind
That inside you're twisted and unkind
Let me stand to show that you are blind
Please put down your hands
cause I see you

I'll be your mirror

~*~

The Velvet Underground & Nico - I'll be your mirror

[via FoxyTunes / The Velvet Underground]

Trailer - High Art (1998)

Her life was saved by rock and roll

Today: nostalgic musical interludes. Run away now!!!

Looking over my old posts, I was horrified I didn't blog this video for my obituary of the Outlaws' Hughie Thomasson. Then I realized, I didn't yet know how to embed videos!

I know now, so I feel obliged to post it.

Just keep in mind, this isn't just a SONG (there's no video)--it's an ANTHEM, and just like the 1812 Overture or something, it just can't be any shorter. Just so you know.

I assume only the Deadheads and/or southerners will stick around for all 10 minutes! Yall have heard of "dueling banjos"? The last two minutes of this song is "dueling electric guitars"--and a more righteous noise you ain't likely to hear in this lifetime.

Green Grass and High Tides - The Outlaws

[via FoxyTunes / The Outlaws]

~*~

On Sunday, I mentioned my magical thinking.... and this is exactly the kind of thing that reinforces it: I have been looking for the following song since the advent of the net, literally, for well over a decade. I Googled the lyrics; I tried in vain to remember the name of the band. Was I spelling it wrong? No sign of it. It was a favorite of someone I knew, who died in November of 1979. Were we the only two people who heard the song? It was like a phantom. He is gone, the song is gone...and truly, it is like there is no record of him anywhere. If I could find the song, it would prove---what? That he isn't gone either. He is somewhere.

His birthday was June 10th, which started me looking for it all over again.

It was posted for the first time, yesterday, the 11th.

(See, "coincidences" like that are just too MUCH for me!)

And so, for Keith Alan Koon, at long last: Music Eyes.

He had them.

Music Eyes - Heartsfield (1974)



~*~

This song goes out to ex-Plexus (Bay Area feminist newspaper, published approx 1974-1983) news editor Kelly Eve McRae, another person it is virtually impossible to locate. Unfortunately, there is a Christian artist with the name "Kelly McRae"--rendering most searches maddeningly hopeless. (I know they aren't the same person, since they appear to be several decades apart in age.)

If you're out there, drop me a line.

More magical thinking: she wore her hair like this, too.

Temptation - New Order

[via FoxyTunes / New Order]

~*~

And finally, the song featuring the title of this post... I was over five years old (the age of the song's precocious protagonist) when I first heard it, but you know, not by much. If only they had allowed the Velvets on TV, I could have seen Maureen Tucker for myself and known that YES! There are WOMEN DRUMMERS! It might have changed my life. By the time I saw Karen Carpenter, they had already foisted the violin on me. (And besides, they made her stop playing the drums, too.)

The bang-up remake of this song by Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels, inserted "Detroit station" in place of "New York station"--so I guess we all fill in our hometowns, if we identify with the story.

And ain't it the truth?

The Velvet Underground - Rock and Roll

[via FoxyTunes / The Velvet Underground]