First Draft

WWTFUS: telling the children to rock for their choices

If there is anything queerer than a Band Queer, it's a Choir Queer.

Which is why I adore every single one of these guys:

For those unfamiliar with the tune, live version of the original

Even though Athenae has killed journalism, newspapers still wonderful

via Daily Art Fixx, the paper sculpture of Nick Geogiou:

Georgiou’s work is inspired by “the death of the printed word/world, economic collapse, political and environmental uncertainty.

Georgiou states: “Books and newspapers are becoming artifacts of the 21st century. Whatever we used to read off paper, we’re now reading off digital screens. Our way of interacting with text is changing. My work is not only about the decline of the printed word in today’s society but its rebirth as art.”

The view from underneath the bus

via Salon, but Jealous also spun the same story on Maddow, and she didn't challenge it, which I found disappointing.

Said NAACP President Ben Jealous in the new statement:

With regard to the initial media coverage of the resignation of USDA Official Shirley Sherrod, we have come to the conclusion we were snookered by Fox News and Tea Party Activist Andrew Breitbart into believing she had harmed white farmers because of racial bias.

Having reviewed the full tape, spoken to Ms. Sherrod, and most importantly heard the testimony of the white farmers mentioned in this story, we now believe the organization that edited the documents did so with the intention of deceiving millions of Americans. 

<...>

This is the same Jealous who said Monday he was "appalled" by Sherrod's "abuse of power." Good for the NAACP for admitting a mistake.

No, not good. 

Because they admitted the wrong mistake. No one believes for one minute that Jealous, or Vilsack, and whoever in the administration allowed or ordered Vilsack to carry the ball on urging Sherrod to step down, was "snookered" or "hoodwinked."  No one at that level of political power listens to Fox or Breitbart and falls for it.  Fox News manipulating a story?  Andrew Breitbart lying? Gosh, who in the White House press office would expect that?

They made a bet on the response that was calculated to cause the least amount of damage, and now, in addition to losing big to the rabid assholes who started all this, they are throwing table scraps to the public and pretending they didn't do something cynical and paranoid and contrived at the expense of a public servant with a long career of civil rights advocacy who committed the grave error of speaking in public about a matter of moral complexity that happened a quarter of a century ago.

Breitbart and Fox are scumbags and they deserve every bit of blame getting thrown at them for this. But come the fuck on, in what nine-dimensional, 12-steps-ahead, crystal-ball-PR-chess game did the Obama administration, the USDA, and the NAACP arrive at the decision that the correct first course of action, the very best first thing was to condemn and jettison Sherrod right off the bat?  In what universe does no one in the administration pause and consider that their actions will make them look like chumps and losers - again- to the people who put them in power? In what game book is that preferable when it's written across the sky in black smoke that everyone on the other side hates your guts anyway and no one over there will ever be convinced anything you do is right?

There'll be more statements, maybe an apology, maybe some attempt to walk part of this back.  I don't care what they do because none of it will bear any resemblance to the truth and it certainly won't look like winning. I am so weary of this shit.

And don't even get me started on the Washington Post story.

That sums it up nicely

"Water."

This, after pulling over the bottle, spilling water all over the table, then rolling the bottle off the table onto the floor. In the tiny sweet voice he tends to use immediately after he's done something bratty.

The Fourth of July in my mind

Yeah, this one's a bit early but I only get the keys on Wednesdays.

The tiny little place where I live really goes all out on Fourth of July (and also on Halloween, but that's a different post). Everything shuts down and everyone goes down to the town square or as close as they can get to it. That is, everyone who isn't in the parade. It's a toss up whether there's more people marching or watching from the sidelines but the important thing is, everyone goes: the old people, the high school Shakespeare troupe, hippies young and old, ranchers and artists, yuppies and tourists, everyone shows up.

The video below is from a few years ago when I marched with my naturalist group — I was in the kazoo corps. We were behind a float carrying Mother Nature and a bunch of other folks sitting on bales of hay. Immediately after the parade, a huge rainstorm hit, so everyone in town was caught in it at the same time, which was almost as much fun as the parade. It was a good time and I get a catch in my throat watching this because there's something so uncomplicated about it, even though it's not without irony, or even absurdity.

It's not everyone's storybook ideal, but it's damn close to what I used to think Fourth of July should be. Even though it's completely impossible to forget a great many things that have torn that ideal all to hell for me, I can't help reflexively pledging allegiance to the whole crazy, raggedy, imperfect mess.

More kazoo awesomeness here.

Several days late but still proud

This is the first year in a while I didn't do a big bunch of Pride blogging. So as not to let the holiday completely slip by, here's my favorite queer comedy routine, even though I can't embed it. The comic is Erin Foley, btw.

What will happen to them in October, BP?

A whooping crane in the wild is an astounding sight. If you're lucky to be close enough to view one without binoculars, the first thing that strikes you is the size. An adult whooper stands 5 feet tall and has a wing span of 7.5 feet, blindingly white body plumage, black wingtips, a striking red and black mask, and large dark beak. They are magnificent animals and getting to watch them in their winter habitat at Aransas National Wildlife Refuge, near where I grew up, made an indelible impression on me as a kid. Without a doubt, that's one of the reasons I became a naturalist. It made a difference in how I saw the world, to see these birds, knowing there were literally just a handful left on the planet, that an animal so majestic and large (bigger than me at the time) was so vulnerable, that we humans had been so careless with such a treasure. 

The population has grown since then and the establishment of a second flock and eastern migration led by ultra-light aircraft is a monumental success story in wildlife management. Still though, as of January this year, there were only 398 birds alive in the wild,150 in captive breeding programs. Less than 600 on the planet. 

Of those in the wild, most will winter at Aransas, and the others in Florida. That will be in October.

Four months, with a hurricane season between then and now. Where will the oil be then? What will happen between then and now to the brackish marshes and estuaries this species is dependent on for survival? Last year, the drought in central Texas so impacted the flow of the Guadalupe River that the salinity of San Antonio Bay increased, and 23 Aransas whoopers died of malnutrition from the lack of blue crabs, wolfberries and fresh water. That's how delicate their supporting ecosystem is already, without BP's oil destroying it. The situation in Florida is even more dire, threatening to destroy two decades of work toward establishing the eastern migratory flyway between Florida and Wisconsin.

Ever since the first instant I heard about the Deepwater Horizon blowout, I have had a couple of recurring thoughts that won't go away.  First, selfishly, I am truly grateful that my father is dead and can't see what's happened to the Gulf, his real home as well as his workplace. (He ate and slept at the house, sure, but he couldn't wait to get back out on the water every day.)

Second, and more urgently, what will happen to the whooping cranes? What happens to us if we let them be destroyed?

Sadly not real

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

W.W.T.F.U.S: It was ignorance more than pretension

Down here in Texas the heat has settled down on us in earnest and everything moves slower, if at all. Anything from the late, great Freakwater is always a good choice no matter the temperature but I think they sound even better in hot weather.

And for the record, Catherine Irwin is one of America's greatest under-appreciated songwriters. I wish she was more prolific:

I guess nobody needs to look too far about something to get either incredibly pissed off or just despondent about. The way that the government and the country are headed, they're certainly not trying to make me happy. It's not that they're thinking: "Hmm, little girl from Kentucky, why so sad? Why you think so often of death?" They're not thinking of me, and what would make me feel like perhaps things are looking up - less starving people or less petroleum-coated otters. Just everything's awful, and it's just more and more awful. The people that really are concerned about it, their heads must be beaten to a pulp from pounding them against the wall.

So what keeps you from feeling like you're beating your head against a wall?

CI: Well, I don't think I can. There's just a sense of outrage that's just a little bit ... aerobic or something. Everything's just awful, but I don't know what else I would do musically, really. If I was younger, and I was just learning how to play guitar, this would be a really excellent time for really hateful punk rock. It's always kind of funny to me, these questions about the themes in country music, because I guess they just don't seem that different to me than the themes in any popular music. Maybe it's because the lyrics are so much more prominent, and so much easier to understand because of the way the records are produced - it's more story-oriented. But a lot of Black Sabbath songs, aren't they talking about death? More babes, but also death. I mean, Led Zeppelin: elves, and death. Trade unions and elves. Stuff like that. It's all grim.

Catblogging: now we are three

Us guest posters don't typically do much critter blogging but I hope you'll indulge me this once.

I moved into my home during the summer four years ago, so I always think of summer as my anniversary of single living. I moved in with all but one of the animal roommates. The last one, Alfie, joined us the following summer. Below, the tiny ball of fluff he was at the beginning, compared to the big palooka he's grown into: definitely the biggest, heaviest, most muscular cat I've ever had. He's actually bigger this year than he was a year ago but I think he's finally stopped growing. In addition to his size, he's also the most gregarious, dog-like feline I've been around.

He's a funny guy. 

 

WWTFUS: before they turn the summer into dust

Don't know about you, but music is one of the things getting me through right now. It sure is a hard time to find something to hold onto. How are you taking care of yourself?

W.W.T.F.U.S: Sound advice for these troubled times in which we find ourselves:

Don't ever forget the Foghat Rule, man.

WWTFUS: You said it was night inside my heart, it was

Good stuff from last weekend's landmark livestream event, The National Live at BAM, directed by the famed team of Chris Hegedus and DA Pennebaker, highlighting the group's brand new release, High Violet, one of dozens of great new albums falling out of the sky this month. All videos (beautiful, high quality) from the show are here. Proceeds from the event benefited the Red Hot Organization.

I haven't fallen in instant love with this one yet the way I did with Boxer and Alligator, but it's starting to work on me, I can tell. Love that neurasthenic white boy music.

Twitterbomb alert: Tell the children the truth!

If you are on Twitter, set an alarm for 9 a.m. tomorrow. Go do it right now, we'll wait. [Jeopardy music interstitial] Okay, now that you're back, this is what you're going to do tomorrow at 9 a.m., and why:

Send the following to the Texas Education Agency (TEA):

".@teainfo Do right by TX kids& public school kids everywhere. Reject distorted Social Studies curriculum changes. #SaveHistory" 

Why? Because the usual suspects at the State Board of Education (SBOE), continuing their slash and burn pillage of state curriculum standards, have proposed a social studies curriculum so egregiously out of touch with actual historical fact and so literally "whitewashed" that not even founding father Thomas Jefferson makes the cut, not to mention prominent civil and human rights leaders from more recent eras.

After curriculum teams of qualified subject area experts presented a draft of revised state standards for the Board's consideration earlier this spring,

the board’s far-right members made substantial changes to the standards. Among those changes: removing Thomas Jefferson from a world history standard about important Enlightenment thinkers, exaggerating religious influences on the Founders and the founding documents; watering down instruction about the civil rights movement; requiring that students learn about the political positions of conservative leaders and icons, such as Phyllis Schlafly, Moral Majority and New Gingrich; portraying Sen. Joseph McCarthy’s reckless smears in the 1950s as having been justified; and even removing the concepts of justice and responsibility for the common good from a list of characteristics of good citizenship. They even rejected an amendment requiring students to learn that the Founders barred government from promoting or disfavoring any particular religion over all others.

Why should you care what happens in Texas?  Because despite the increase of digital technology and online learning resources, paper still prevails in the textbook market, and Texas buys so many textbooks that publishers write all their books to meet this state’s standards. 

I've posted here before about how critical the tenacious Texas Freedom Network is to the fight against the the conservative agenda of the S.B.O.E. In addition to supporting TFN, what else can you do?

Donate directly to the campaigns. Support two candidates running for the SBOE by donating directly to their campaigns.  Dr. Judy Jennings (running for SBOE District 10) and Dr. Rebecca Bell-Metereau (running for SBOE District 5) are running in districts that - if you put the two districts together - are geographically the size of Mississippi and total about 1.8 million registered voters.  Judy and Rebecca are both committed to Saving History and you can donate to both candidates at their Save History ActBlue site. 

Help spread the word through Facebook, Twitter and your blog of choice.  Those of us supporting Judy, Rebecca and others in Texas are using the #savehistory hashtag on twitter, as well as using that same tag on our posts.

WWTFUS: Will the love you’ve given take the morning seat right next to you tonight?

Some sunshine for Andy and Emily and Weezy, who are loved.

from Visqueen's Message to Garcia.

"Only in the last moment of human history has the delusion arisen that people can flourish apart from the rest of the living world." *

After four decades, the Brown Pelican was taken off the endangered list last year. Pelicans currently nesting on Gulf Coast barrier islands are right in the bulls-eye for the oil spill as it drifts shoreward.

Brown pelican, Caspian tern, royal tern, Sandwich tern, least tern, laughing gull, black skimmer, American oystercatcher, Wilson's plover, snowy plover, reddish egret, roseate spoonbill, mottled duck, clapper rail, black rail, seaside sparrow, red-cockaded woodpecker, sandhill cranes, and all other species of plovers, sandpipers, ibises, herons, egrets, warblers, orioles, buntings, flycatchers, swallows, marsh-dwelling songbirds, ospreys, hawks, eagles.

Those are just the birds. 

All other animals in the marine, estuarine, riparian, and terrestrial habitats along the Gulf Coast are at risk from the oil and spill-related pollutants: plankton, marine invertebrates, sea turtles, all fishes, crustaceans, reptiles, and amphibians. Alligators, river otters, manatees, dolphins, whales.

Something you can do right now:

text "WILDLIFE" to 20222 to donate $10 to the National Wildlife Foundation.

Or donate to other rescue and volunteer efforts:

Audobon Society

International Bird Rescue Research Center

Lousiana Gulf Response

Sierra Club

Mobile Baykeeper

Matter of Trust (hair and nylon collection)

You can find other resource, rescue, and volunteer organizations here.

*E. O. Wilson

WWTFUS: this thing you pushed with all your might

By this time next week, I want everyone here to have mastered this routine, okay?

Now, get to work! 

Blaine Thurier talks about creating the video.

W.W.T.F.U.S: we hang in the balance

Truer words were never spoken:

W.W.T.F.U.S: Sittin' in La La

If you're not watching Treme, you should be. I'm not saying you have to subscribe to premium cable, but make a note because the DVDs will be out sooner or later. In the meantime maybe you can just persuade someone to record it for you, or invite you over for dinner on Sundays. It's worth it, because like The Wire, it's not just a story about one particular city. It's about the stuff you read on this blog, it's about this country we all live in. Not for nothing, there's a hell of a lot of great music in it too.

Sunday's "Right Place, Wrong Time" was arguably the best episode so far. The first two were certainly not all fun and games but in this one, shit got real. As Maitri commented right after it ended, the sense of dread was palpable.  Whether they're working hard to get their life back on track or just going through the motions, most of the characters end up someplace they didn't intend to be. In jail, in exile, in bed with the wrong person, drinking alone, staring bewildered at the Disaster Tour bus rolling through a moment of private grief. 

In the most poignant scene of the episode, two story arcs collide when trombonist Antoine, drunk and stumbling homeward after a stripclub gig, comes around the corner where buskers Annie and Sonny are performing. Weaving back and forth, he sings along, escaping into a memory. I don't stand a ghost of a chance ... and just like that, he's a different character than who we knew before, no longer just the tomcatting clown we've come to depend on for comic relief.  

The Dr. John classic the title comes from, used as a source cue as well as episode theme, serves as an apt metaphor for life after one's world has been picked up, shaken, and thrown back down, by trauma, by natural disaster, or by both entwined.  In "Right Place, Wrong Time," post-K New Orleans is a purgatory where polarities have been reversed, nothing works the way it used to, things can't get back to normal because normal doesn't live there anymore either.

Which brings me to today's WWTFUS, which is not by Lee Dorsey or Dr. John.  Also which, while stirring, is not exactly cheery.

The Continental Drifters used to call New Orleans home, and the storm and its aftermath were especially cruel to the band's extended family. In a rambling remembrance written after the body of his ex-brother-in-law Barry Cowsill was finally found months after Katrina, Peter Holsapple mentions "the purgatorial zone" so many Katrina survivors ended up in. But this song pre-dates Katrina by a few years, so it's not about the storm or any of that.

Except that it is, inasmuch as it's about being in limbo:

Nobody's home.

Drive downtown

to this bar I know

Drinking alone

won't get me where I wanna go

I listened to this a lot when I was in my own fugue state following a life-altering trauma. It didn't make me feel better but it helped me recognize where I was. I especially related to the cynicism of the title because even though I sometimes allowed myself to hope things would work out just fine, when other people said stuff like that I wanted to slap them.

Not unlike Antoine wandering home from Bourbon Street, the singer (Mark Walton, who also wrote the song) lurches through the lyrics. Spaghetti-surf guitar pushes along under poppy-gorgeous choruses in contrast with minor key accordion noir and the slurred despair of the vocals. It's Nick Cave meets the Mamas and the Papas. It's the bardo. It's where you're left after your old life is gone but before you come to recognize the stranger that's taken your place.

W.W.T.F.U.S: If destruction be our lot we must ourselves be its author and finisher

Today's WWTFUS begins with a recitation of an excerpt from Lincoln's 1838 Address Before the Young Men's Lyceum of Springfield, Illinois. In the address, a very young Lincoln warns his audience of the threats, not from foreign enemies but from "amongst us," to the "perpetuation of our political institutions," calling for reason and sobriety over passion and mob rule. The emphasis below is my own.

By such examples, by instances of the perpetrators of such acts going unpunished, the lawless in spirit are encouraged to become lawless in practice; and having been used to no restraint but dread of punishment, they thus become absolutely unrestrained. Having ever regarded government as their deadliest bane, they make a jubilee of the suspension of its operations, and pray for nothing so much as its total annihilation. While, on the other hand, good men, men who love tranquility, who desire to abide by the laws and enjoy their benefits, who would gladly spill their blood in the defense of their country, seeing their property destroyed, their families insulted, and their lives endangered, their persons injured, and seeing nothing in prospect that forebodes a change for the better, become tired of and disgusted with a government that offers them no protection, and are not much averse to a change in which they imagine they have nothing to lose. Thus, then, by the operation of this mobocratic spirit which all must admit is now abroad in the land, the strongest bulwark of any government, and particularly of those constituted like ours, may effectually be broken down and destroyed — I mean the attachment of the people.

As for the song itself, it's "A More Perfect Union," by Titus Andronicus. See, Liprap requested something a bit more raucous this week. Hence, not just raucous but obnoxious, ambitious, and mighty damned glorious. And yes, "well lubricated, loud, sloppy, and defiant." Oh yes.

Stickles is pissed off about everything - his lousy life, the poisonous state of New Jersey, the broken promises of his elders, the American Dream that has degenerated into the American nightmare - and he howls his debauched tales in much the same manner as Paul Westerburg and Joe Strummer did, elderly rebels before him. His band sounds well lubricated, loud, sloppy, and defiant, and these songs - most of which stretch beyond the seven minute mark, and one of which extends beyond the fourteen minute mark - set out to be nothing less than the definitive Anthems of Disaffected Youth. To say that they are overblown and indulgent largely misses the point. Of course they’re overblown and indulgent. But they pack a wallop, both lyrically and sonically, and they seethe with righteous indignation

Note the middle-finger/homage to both Billy Bragg and Springsteen in a single verse.

*W.W.T.F.U.S. — The Fourteenth of April, That is Ruination Day

Lincoln, the Titanic, Black Sunday, and now Palin and Boston Tea Partiers.

                                                                                                                       Patrick Semansky/Bloomberg News

Let's be extra careful out there today, people. The crazy is strong with them, and yea verily I say unto thee, their batshit runs deep as does a mighty river.

Let us also fervently hope this week passes without becoming even more ruinous.

April is cruel enough already.

*Wednesday Wake the F*ck Up Song

"Winter dead, that was buried near the pole beans"

degenerate, washed by weather cycles

degenerate, bleach the deadly night shades

degenerate, prepare to take the profit

oh degenerate, oh degenerate

We moved from New York back to Texas right after Thanksgiving. That first winter, in an old house that hadn't been lived in for years, was cold and dusty and full of bitter arguments and second guessing the whole crazy idea of coming back home after 10 years away.

Then spring happened. I remember crying a lot without warning, for no good reason. I cried when the trees started to leaf out. I stopped the car, backed up to the clump of mountain laurel I had just driven past and cried at the sweet grape-koolaid smell.  I teared up at the first sight of a scissortail flycatcher. I thought my heart was going to break open when the bluebonnets bloomed, and then I realized that it was. The awful, sad winter was over and dead, and in retrospect, some of what was "us" had died with it. New York was farther away than ever but the ache was bearable.  El Niño had arrived during the fall and brought a crazy wild riot of spring with it that made it hard to think, about the past, about anything. The leaves couldn't bust out quick enough, there didn't seem to be enough room on the roadsides for the wildflowers.

And now it's happened again. Another el Niño, and Spring 2010 has come on like a speedfreak, from one week to the next. On my way across campus to the office, I cross three bridges, one over the San Marcos River, rushing high and fast and clear, then through the park, cross at the light, and  two flat spans stretch low across ponds full of turtles and catfish, egrets stalking around the cypress knees after minnows. The resident corps of geese and ducks has expanded, bunches of tiny spotted puffballs march the banks in wobbly formations. It's ridiculous and manic and glorious and when I'm out in it, I can't even think straight. Which is fine. There's been way too much to think about this week, to try and make sense of, and I've failed every time I've tried. At my desk, I stare out the window and wait till I can go back out again — a big dumb animal, one of many, happy to be alive for no good reason.

La Danse de Mardi Gras (via Passion Fish)

W.W.T.F.U.S.*

This ain't from it, but Ms. Jones got a brand new album dropping right now.

*Wednesday Wake the F*ck Up Song

Variations on a theme: Scott Brown raises money for MSNBC advertisers

It doesn't have the flair or depth of the ACORN hoax (let's hope it doesn't have the shelf life) but Scott Brown's attempt to raise funds by scaring Massachusetts conservatives into believing that Rachel Maddow is after his seat runs on the same fuel. Or fumes.

1. Brown sends out letter to constituents:

It's only been a couple of months since I've been in office, and before I've even settled into my new job, the political machine in Massachusetts is looking for someone to run against me. And you're not going to believe who they are supposedly trying to recruit -- liberal MSNBC anchor Rachel Maddow. 

2. Maddow denies it in amusing fashion on air. (worth watching just for hilarious chyrons)

3. As long as free publicity is on the buffet, a bunch of people, including Brown's spokespeople, say apeshit stupid things.

Walsh has said he won’t disclose who the “tweet” was meant for until he gets 1,000 Twitter followers, but he never tamped down rampant speculation it was Maddow.

Walsh refused to clear the air last night, saying he’s never spoken to Maddow.

“Rachel Maddow can handle her own battles,” he told the Herald. “The goofy speculation on my tweet is a pretty thin excuse for a fund-raising letter.”

Enter Gov. Deval Patrick, who told reporters Wednesday that he found a possible Maddow-Brown showdown “very intriguing” - and the host herself “fabulous.”

As for Brown, his spokesman Eric Fehrnstrom said: “It was an open secret that the Democrats were trying to recruit Rachel Maddow to run against Scott Brown in 2012. Now that she’s said no, I’m sure they’ll scurry around looking for someone else. Maybe Keith Olbermann’s available.”

4. Maddow buys full page ad denouncing Brown,calls him a creep, asks him to stop.

5. Brown responds hilariously. 

'With all due respect, I'm going to continue to fight and do my job and work hard to do just that. And, er, bring her on. I don't care.'"

6. Rinse, repeat.

Good morning

Enough coffee, or not enough?

Pancakes with a side of Hendrix

First up, I got nothing against Jakob Dylan. He's written some very decent songs. Also, one cannot argue with genetics — man's got a sweet voice that's weathered smoothly over time, solid musical instincts, and not for nothing, he's awful nice to look at. (see: "dyke, not blind")

When I read that T-Bone Burnett, Academy Award winner, definitely on the short list of greatest producer/songwriter/performer genius guys around, had signed on to produce a second album with Dylan, I thought it sounded like a cool idea but didn't think much more about it. What got my attention was when I saw they wanted not only Neko Case but powerhouse sidekick Kelly Hogan on 8 of the 10 tracks. That meant I'd most likely buy said album, Women & Country, or at least 8 tracks of it. 

Then came the announcement that "Jakob Dylan and Three Legs, with Neko Case and Kelly Hogan," would be all over SXSW, just down the road from me this week, including some of the free no-wristband-required events.  I was tempted to go at first, even more when I found out that "Three Legs" was actually the rest of Case's band, every one of them kickass players, especially Paul Rigby (on guitar below). Case's last two albums have been in high rotation in the "fabric of my life" playlist this last year, but I have yet to see a live performance.

So, tempted, yes — my favorite ingredients were there — but frustratingly, not in the proportions I wanted:

To listen to Neko Case recorded is an incredible experience, but to actually watch her sing is breathtaking. While the audience (and sometimes the rest of the band) gasps in awe, struggling to draw enough air to yell into a friend's ear "can you believe her voice"?!, Neko simply opens her mouth and lets loose an auditory assault. In a good way. The English language needs a new verb to describe the manner in which Neko produces sound. It is not singing. It is some peculiar form of channeling, in which her vocal chords become conduit for a blend of Linda Ronstadt's, Patsy Cline's and Ozzy Osbourne's voices, driven through a Marshall amp with all the knobs turned to 10.   

And as if that voice isn't enough, add in "secret assassin" Kelly Hogan, described by Case as "the best singer I know." Two enormous voices ... used here as background, as accent. Splashed on like aftershave. And it's gorgeous — in my headphones. Badass chef T-Bone Burnett serves up a mouthwatering appetizer. Case is the caviar, Hogan's the crème fraîche, we'll call the band smoked salmon, and Jakob Dylan is the pancake.

I love musical collaborations, have nothing against cross-marketing, but when it comes to the billing for a live performance, I have a different expectation of that word "with," so my expectations and I stayed home. Many of those who did stand in line for a few hours to see Jakob Dylan with Neko Case ended up underwhelmed. Even middle-of-the-road Entertainment Weekly found Case "sadly underused," describing the shows as "disappointingly snoozy."  On Twitter, of the many "WTF?" livetweets I saw, this was my favorite:

"Seeing Neko Case sing backup vocals for Jakob Dylan is like watching Jimi Hendricks play rhythm guitar for Ringo Starr."

Jakob Dylan is a nice enough pancake, and talented. I wish him the best, I just don't find him the most interesting thing on the plate:

You can download Dylan's new single Nothing But the Whole Wide World for free here. And, btw, the New Pornographers just announced tour dates for their about-to-be released album Together.

America's Greatest Living Poet* Breaks it Down for You

"You did not start it and you are not going to finish it."

All of this has happened before and it will all happen again.

Good advice for all of us, not just performers.

*as famously described in 1967 by "I'm just a song and dance man" Bob Dylan

Soul Deep: RIP Alex Chilton

Stunningly sad news just breaking that Alex Chilton died this afternoon of a heart attack.

Chilton was truly one of the big ones, an impossibly, ridiculously, talented writer and performer.  As Whet just noted on Twitter, of the uber-hit The Letter:

alex chilton: SIXTEEN WHEN HE RECORDED THIS

I remember in the early awful days of Katrina aftermath, Chilton was one of the NOLA musicians whose whereabouts no one was able to confirm for a few days. I remember what a gift it felt like, in the middle of that huge sad story, to hear he was okay after all. When I heard the news tonight, I immediately hoped this story would have the same ending, but his death appears to have been confirmed.

Pop hitmaker, cult hero, and Memphis rock iconoclast Alex Chilton has died.

The singer and guitarist, best known as a member of '60s pop-soul act the Box Tops and the '70s power-pop act Big Star, died today at a hospital in New Orleans. Chilton, 59, had been complaining of about his health earlier today. He was taken by paramedics to the emergency room where he was pronounced dead. The cause of death is believed to be a heart attack.

His Big Star bandmate Jody Stephens confirmed the news this evening. "Alex passed away a couple of hours ago," Stephens said from Austin, Texas, where the band was to play Saturday at the annual South By Southwest Festival. "I don’t have a lot of particulars, but they kind of suspect that it was a heart attack."

UPDATED: for those who may not be familiar with Chilton, who don't understand why this is such a big loss, Balk over at The Awl sums it up perfectly, without exaggerating one bit:

Alex Chilton, who pretty much influenced everything that influenced the music you listen to now, has died of a heart attack at the age of 59.

Back of Town blog

Treme.

It's coming.

And Maitri's fixin' to blog it.

I didn't think it was possible for me to like Heineken any more than I already do

We're going to open an old wound here, so get ready. It will be worth it.

Remember those sexist Super Bowl ads that pissed us off? That's a rhetorical question because I know you do. 

Of the six car ads run during the Super Bowl, that chauvinistic Dodge Charger "Man's Last Stand" ad was scored as the least effective across the board.  It also, surprising no one, came in dead last in with female viewers, per the 2010 Hoffman/York PURSEuasion Report on Super Bowl advertising effectiveness to women. According to a report from Kelley Blue Book, while the ad got very high ratings on a quick poll asking Bowl viewers to name favorite ads, that didn't translate into increased traffic on kbb.com's model information pages, which is used as a measure of ad effectiveness in generating auto sales. On that scale, again the Dodge Charger came in on the bottom. 

Keep that in mind as we take a look at this.

1136 victims in total were snagged, with over 1.5 million users watching their reactions live on SKY Sport. The two weeks following the event, the Heineken subsite received over 5 million unique visitors, plenty of blog and news coverage, and some seriously heavy YouTube/socnet love.

Okay, so beer and cars is maybe an apple/oranges comparison. Generating interest in buying a car is a different proposition than making people spend money on booze, sure. And what about the question of further the "domineering women controlling their men" stereotype in advertising? Well, Heineken's approach with its American advertising has leaned toward the less offensive men and women sure are different stereotype but remember the "soccer swindle" ad was aimed at an Italian market where sexism is more entrenched. Even still, though,  the Italian ad "punchline" not only relies on a feel-good surprise, it turns the tired "us vs. them" conflict on its ear, saying, literally,  "Let's all enjoy this together!"  This, as opposed to the reinforcement of chauvinistic resentment that fueled the Dodge ad fail. 

So, hey, if you're going to spend a gabillion dollars on a single ad, why not end up with something that's not only massively effective, not only twists a stereotype, but leaves everyone involved with a smile on their face?

What they're afraid of

In keeping with A's post earlier.

via Joe.My.God

"You have a little crush on her"

First, never forget that Liz Cheney (or Bill Kristol) hired this guy.

“I was excited about Palin; I’m more excited about Liz,” he says. “The same sort of excitement you get when you hear her father, except she’s this petite blonde with five kids … There’s just something about her. You see that response across the activist portion of the party. It’s the response you saw to Palin … She gets people worked up. She connects to people. She is in harmony with where the base seems to be. She’s right on the issues."

But, of course, what political consultant hack Michael Goldfarb said next ended up being the money quote:

“You have a little crush on her,” he gushes. “It’s hard not to.”

So, yeah, ewwwwww, sure. And yeah, ha ha, what a dork. But remember, he's a hired dork, on the Keep America Safe, aka Liz Cheney (for something, somewhere) in 2012, PAC money payroll.

And this is how he's selling her, and it's creepy as shit. This is the message this base can truly understand — What a hot little brood mare! She's just like her sweet ol' dad, all Terrorism this, Terrorism that, Obama's soft on Terror, al Qaeda's hiding behind your shower curtain, but even better, she has a working uterus! Isn't that hawt?

And to the base, it really, really, is.

Damn, I miss Freakwater

This explains a lot actually

This has gotten quite a bit of play but it's deserved. One of the better bits of punditry from the Massa trainwreck, triggered by Massa's disclosure that he employed the present participle of "frak" whilst drunkenly tousling the hair of his male staffer, from Ana Marie Cox:

Real change in the real world

This is the most interesting thing I've encountered all week. I'm fascinated by how people have an effect, how they move events and issues toward a discernible goal, how they produce, how they are viable, what lessons they can teach.

It's true: we need all kinds of minds. Temple Grandin's TED talk:

"He'll have that scar on his chin forever"

First off, this is not merely an attempt to suck up to the boss lady. Rather, it's a confession that, once again, I fail miserably at "getting" hockey. Even during the US/Canada match the other night, I was more interested and amused by the online response of the faithful who were live tweeting it than I was in the actual game. (I wonder, do "real" hockey fans even use Twitter?)

I don't know, maybe I should try more than just every four years, or actually attend a live game. Meantime, in my defense, I can offer that two songs I absolutely love are about hockey. Below, the dearly departed Warren Zevon's Hit Somebody:

Of course, Zevon was no slouch; still I can't help it — Jane Siberry's Hockey is my favorite of the two. Surely, we can all agree that this is a lyric for the ages:

"This stick was signed by Jean Beliveau

so don't fuckin' tell me where to fuckin' go" 

In the spirit of full disclosure, the folks I've shared the song with who actually are hockey fans find it far too twee. One of them even said the use of the word "benched" with respect to Richard's historic suspension was downright revisionist history that completely invalidated it as an artistic effort.

See? You guys are hardcore! I'm gonna stick with figure skating...

He rocked the tassel

Not gonna embrace all of Johnny's silliness, and I can't ignore his irresponsibility with respect to wearing fur, nor do I agree "he wuz robbed" by the judges.

But for the first time during this whole overdone, and certainly over-commercialized, week of Olympic spectacle, with all the flag waving and all the heartwarming interstitial backstories, with all the drama real and imagined, I stood up and cheered for one of my people last night. 

Finally, Johnny Weir is here! He is wearing a costume that conjures a late night vampire raid on Frederick's of Hollywood. His neckline ends somewhere around his bellybutton. He has a slit in one arm, and a pink tassel on one shoulder. His hair is elaborately styled. His torso is corset-like, with bubble-gum pink threads criss-crossing. Ahh, Johnny. The outfit is frankly awful, but how do you not root for the man who ignores the conventions of his hopelessly conventional sport, and claims to be a role model for freaks?

Weir nails his first jump combination. Yes! Nails his triple axel! Yes! Nails his last jump! Hurray! Now it's time for the pouty faces and the jazz hands and the come-hither looks, all of which he masters. Great spins, great choreography, and ends with a kiss blown to the judges. "He rocked the tassel!" blurts Hamilton.

The video (not embeddable) from last night in Vancouver is here.  The one below, from the US Championships, features the same routine and costume.

Happy Democrat photo: Once more, with context

VICE PRESIDENT JOE BIDEN: Well, I-- I-- I would hope I-- look, it's one thing to be outspoken. It's another thing to be outspoken in a way that misrepresents the facts. And I-- I guess-- again, I-- it's almost like Dick is trying to rewrite history. I can understand where the-- why that would be-- you know, an impulse. And maybe he isn't-- literally, I'm not being facetious. Maybe he's not fully informed of what's going on. I mean, the progress we have made. There has never been as much emphasis and resources brought against Al Qaeda. The success rate exceeds anything that occurred in the last Administration. And they did their best. I'm not-- I'm not impugning their effort. It's simply not true that the President of the United States is not prosecuting the war against Al Qaeda with a vigor that's never been seen before. It's real. It's deep. It's successful. (emphasis mine)

"Exceeds anything that occurred in the last Administration."

Context:

We've had Mullah Abdul Ghani Baradar in custody in Karachi since last week, Dick. 

More is needed here than the best of intentions

I was a fat kid, a fat baby even. As were all the cousins and aunts on one side of my family.   Since third grade, I've lost more weight than most people I know put together, going down by 100 pounds twice as an adult, then back up in a few years.  Even when I was at a "normal" weight, I was overweight by the public standard (which, in America, is fucked up, not to mention confusing).

This whole topic is difficult for me to discuss intelligently, and not because of the reasons others think.  Newsflash:  I'm not ashamed, I'm not stupid, I'm not in denial. This isn't defensiveness, it's just that I have spent way too much time having to filter other people's crap ideas and thinly disguised disgust.

It's difficult because this is a fucking complicated minefield. I've got my own stuff and I'm trying to decode their stuff about it, because whether someone's a twig or a fattie, they've got stuff about it.  It's all I can do to keep myself sane about my stuff and what I'm doing to change what I can and to accept what the endocrinologist tells me I can't. Other people's stuff about what they see as "my" problem is not in the least bit interesting to me, nor does it motivate me to do anything, other than want to stick a pencil in someone's eye.

All of which is to say is I'm glad Kate's on the job, re Michelle Obama's plan against childhood obesity:

It's all well and good to say you don't intend to shame fat kids or their parents, but the reality is, by framing this as an obesity prevention initiative rather than one with benefits for children of all sizes, by emphasizing BMI over fitness and setting a goal of, quite literally eliminating fat children -- could you send a clearer message to big kids that they're unwanted? -- you're tapping into a deep vein of fat hatred running through this culture.

<...>

As long as fat people remain scapegoats for everyone's fears about overconsumption, illness and mortality, our health will remain at risk because of ignorance and prejudice as well as physical illnesses correlated with obesity. And by framing this as a strategy to eliminate childhood obesity rather than a positive nutrition and fitness strategy for people of all sizes, you're contributing to the problem. You're using people's fear and disgust of fatties to sell this project -- because who could get excited about simply making nutritious food more accessible or increasing opportunities for physical activity because it would be good for all of us? No, history has shown that the public only gets excited about boring stuff like that if you tell them it will rid us of the monstrous scourge of obesity. So hey, who cares if it means more fat kids get bullied by gym teachers and fellow students, and berated by parents who are ashamed of their inability to produce "normal" children, and harangued by medical professionals who think fat is not just dangerous but repulsive?

I'm completely enthusiastic about the FLOTUS and her emphasis on health and better eating, fresh local foods and exercise. Go for it, I will support you all the way.  But "singling out", painting a bulls-eye on fat kids instead of targeting behaviors, conditioning, nutrition, etc, is a ham-fisted single-focus approach to an overlapping set of causal factors.  You want healthy kids, focus your very considerable resources on complex strategies to get kids healthy and keep them active.

And if you're worried about fat kids getting bullied and ridiculed, focus on stopping the fucking bullies and haters.

"You're not made out of stone, you're made out of honey"

I've heard a lot of people say this about sex, and in my experience it's true: as you get older, you may not have it as much but it tends to be a hell of a lot more intense when you do.

Music's a lot like that for me too. It's always been in my life, if I'm lucky, it always will be, but when I was younger I was a real collector of it. I had a lot, I listened to a lot, I read about it a lot, I saw so many live shows I literally can't tell you how many or who all I've seen. It's easier for me to remember who I haven't seen. Not surprisingly I guess, I married someone who was the same way, though our tastes varied wildly.

Somewhere along the line, I lost that urgency for getting my hands on all the music I could find, knowing what new album was due and who was coming to town and poring over minutiae in liner notes and interviews. That zeal to consume it all. It coincided with aging but I am not sure it was a result of it. While I still like all kinds of music, even stuff I'm supposed to be too old for, my interest in the chase, the completionist fetish to seek out new artists or trends for the sake of adventure, is just not there.

My emotional connection to much of the music that does come into my life has deepened to an extent I seldom experienced before, though. The impact of connection to artists or new songs and genres, and the places those connections take me, the new sounds I discover as a result of those journeys, well, it's just an entirely different organic experience, much more of a relationship. Like getting to know a new lover or moving to a new house, going to a new town. It's intense, and whatever made it happen, I'm thankful.

My latest new flame is Youngblood Blues, the latest from Alynda Lee Segarra and Hurray for the Riff Raff. I don't know where you NOLA peeps been hiding these folks away but damn, they're good. I can't stop listening to this album.

Que es mas macho?

      

So what is our POTUS thinking about right this minute?

Jobs.

No, not jobs like work.  Jobs, like Steve. Obama is totally wishing he had Steve's job, I bet.  "Fucking Jobs!  He's got it easy. People WANT to hear what he has to say. He's had his most profitable year ever.  Damn, I hate that guy." 

In fact, according to this poll, 69% of respondents thought today's unveiling of the Apple Tablet was more important than the State of the Union address tonight, which only 27% believed was bigger.

The moral of this highly un-serious story?  We need shinier, more awesome Democrats.

What a dick

Scott Brown's response to President Obama calling to congratulate him last night:

"The first thing I said ... would you like me to drive the truck down to Washington so you can see it?"

It was clearly the verbal equivalent of grabbing his dick, and why shouldn't he? He is, after all, the only American candidate in history to win a Senate seat AFTER his nude pictures were made public.

Of course it was the same guy that giggled when a supporter screamed "Shove a curling iron up her butt" about Coakley, referencing an infamous rape case that Coakley screwed up while she was a  Attorney General. 

Also the same guy that joked about his daughters being up for grabs during his acceptance speech.  Classy, huh?

Where Brown comes from, there's a name for guys like this. They call 'em Massholes.

UPDATED: As Jenga points out in the comments, the "curling iron" comment references a case that Coakley, by many accounts, mismanaged while she was Attorney General.  My apologies for the error.

Till I Rise No More: RIP Kate McGarrigle

Legendary Canadian folk music icon Kate McGarrigle, sister to Anna, mother to Rufus and Martha Wainwright, ex-wife of Loudon Wainwright, died of cancer Monday evening at the age of 63.

From the McGarrigle Sisters website:

“Sadly our sweet Kate had to leave us last night. She departed in a haze of song and love surrounded by family and good friends. She is irreplaceable and we are broken-hearted. Til we meet again dear sister."

What a wonderful musician she was, and what a life well-lived she had, full of beautiful music. 

Kate & Anna McGarrigle -Talk To Me of Mendocino

Well, that didn't take long

Predictably, Pat Robertson has jumped up and laid blame for the earthquake on Haiti's supposedly sinful and cursed past.

Schmuck.

via Media Matters

Boy Thinking, or Rich Inner Lives

The photo's not the best, I just thought "hostage event parking" was sort of funny.  The institution where I work is home to a well-known center that trains hostage negotiators, SWAT personnel, law enforcement first responders, and their ilk. Said center is hosting a big conference right now. So big it took me a lot longer than usual to find parking amidst all the police vehicles and rent-a-cars.  I thought to myself, damn I hope there aren't any real life hostage situations or shootings anywhere because all the people who know what to do in a situation like that seem to be occupied.

 

The more I learn about these experienced and well-trained people, the more grateful I am for their service,  their knowledge, and commitment to a calm, measured response.

And what really scares me about any kind of dramatic and dangerous crisis is this:  there are plenty of folks who just think they know what to do. Because they've been waiting for just such a crisis, be it a hostage situation, a campus shooter, or full scale terrorist invasion. There are far too many regular civilians out there whose inexperience and lack of training doesn't keep them from imagining something like that, longing for it even. That came to mind after reading this by Steve M.

I see this among gun zealots -- some people simply like guns, or like hunting, or legitimately need a gun for protection, but then there are those who utterly savor the notion that marauding hordes of criminals (1980s version) or jackbooted big-gummint fascists (modern version) will invade the Real America, and only handguns will prevent Good People from having to submit to Evil.

But Steve isn't talking about just any ordinary garden variety freepers here. The post is about the recent New York Times profile of Roger Ailes. About how when, not if, al Quaeda invades Fox News Headquarters, Roger (and one can only assume, Hannity, Doocy, and I guess Palin now) are going to stay and fight off the brown hordes, mano a mano. 

But, see, Ailes here isn't just expressing his fears -- he's expressing his fantasies. He wants to see himself as a guy al-Qaeda would like to target, and he wants to see himself as a guy who'd kick al-Qaeda's ass. It's fear, but it's also daydreaming.

And yeah, that's a hoot. Sort of. Okay, not so much.

This fantasy was dangerous enough a generation ago when it was just a law-and-order pipe dream; now, in its politicized form, it's practically the entire belief system of the tea party movement, with the caveat that the teabaggers might not need to lock-'n'-load if the next couple of election cycles go the right way. But it's all about imagining yourself as a hero, as a tough guy, as someone whose life has real meaning. It's boy thinking. And it's a major undercurrent of our politics.

Yeah, sure, this isn't new. We talk about it a lot. Hell, Tommy's made a vocation of it.  But there is a significant distinction that we can't ever lose track of, and that we need to fight hard to strategically exploit. We knew they would go nuts if they lost, that they'd raise hell, but the extent to which the crazy has taken over, is driving their bus, isn't diminishing, and lord knows the media isn't going to help us, because freak shows make great entertainment.

This isn't about mere wingnuttery. It's not just macho posturing. It's mayhem they want.

Do something to help

Six things you can do right now to help the relief effort in Haiti, even if you don't have much cash or time. Please do what you can.

via Chis Sacca's blog What is Left

The Weight

This sketch, the beginning of it anyway, is the first thing I thought of when I heard Brit Hume's comments on the superiority of Christianity over other spiritual paths.

As for the rest of the sketch, I think we can agree that the preacher character is as useful to politics as it is to stand up comedy, no?

Over

Soon, each one of us will be taken

By dark powers under this ground

That drove us here, that warped us.

Not one of us got it his own way.

Nothing like any one of us

Will be seen again, forever.

Each of us held some noble shape in mind.

It seemed better that we kept alive.

—  W. D. Snodgrass, 1926-2009

2009, I won't miss you much. What a long, hard, greedy year you were.

At least, that's how it seemed to me these past few months, though I guess that's just another construct, personalizing one span of time, the most recent of so many. Like one year is that different from any other. People die every day, notable or not, and others get born.

Struggle, strife, glory and celebration, a continuum. Maybe you gave as good as you took away, 2009.

A toast to all of those gone, to all the newly arrived, and to each of us somewhere in between. And to Athenae and the rest of you, the First Draft family, thanks for making this digital gathering place so warm and bright.

Tell us about your year: what you celebrated, what you lost, what you won't be sorry to leave behind, what you'll miss the most, what you'll remember forever.

Cheers.

Voter engagement no longer required

To the extent my opinions matter, and it's not much of an extent, I agree with those in the let's-take-what-we-can-salvage-and-quit camp on HCR, because there's a few decent pieces left. Do I think that's realistic? Yeah, you know why? Because it's the only fucking option we're going to get.

An important symbolic corner's been turned here. The idea that what we voters —the ones who sent these guys up to the show — really want, really think, has obviously already been devalued.  

It's sorta weird, really, because on most subjects it's the first thing they think of, both about the policy itself and the myriad imaginary attack ads that can be run based on the policy. If voters don't like this thing, it'll likely be repealed before most of it even takes effect, either because Republicans take over or because frightened members of a Dem controlled Congress do so. Sure, there's the optimistic view that it could be "made better" instead of repealed, but I'm not really feeling all that hopey.

The POTUS can say, with a straight face, that we all just misunderstood what we all fucking saw with our own eyes.

"Nowhere has there been a bigger gap between the perceptions of compromise and the realities of compromise than in the health-care bill," Obama said. "Every single criteria for reform I put forward is in this bill."

Whoever he's talking to there, it's not us. 

Say what you will about White House advisors, they aren't stupid. They knew, the POTUS knew, that when he said he didn't campaign on the public option, that the claim could, and would, be instantly countered.

And that just doesn't matter to them.

How it catches you from falling and how it slips away

December: not my favorite month.

During the best of Decembers, I've usually kept my head down, trying to just plow through it. And there hasn't been a really great December in a couple of years, though I have to say, with respect to the country, the last one felt better than today.

A year ago, we were pissed about Rick Warren at the inauguration, we struggled to accept that Cheney, Bush & Co. would never pay for their 8 year spree, we laughed at Blagojevich's hair. I was cautiously optimistic about the year ahead. Yeah, we knew the right would lose their minds, we kept reminding ourselves the new POTUS was at best a centrist, we knew it wasn't going to come up all roses, but if you had told me then where we'd be today, with a Democratic majority and a Democratic President, watching health care circle the drain, I would have chided you for being cynical.

You raise your glass and may exclaim

"I'll put my hands on the truth by God"

but it's faster, love, than you and me

faster than the speed of gravity

Xmas video war: insipid Friday drone strike edition

As irritating as it is charmless.