Note: Before you begin, you should know that there is much to read before you get to the music section of this entry. If you are here simply to check out new tunes, feel free to skip my rambling idiocy and go to the music section. Thanks, and enjoy.
In a recent visit to my parent's place in Boulder, Colorado, I was stunned to discover that my hometown had been taken over by wealthy white people. And not just regular wealthy white people, the worst kind of wealthy white people: good looking,wealthy white people. Actually, to be fair, my sister made a good distinction with regard to this last point. It's not that everyone is good looking, it's that everyone is well- kempt: exercised, tanned, and dressed with a self-conscious attention to detail. It's like a right of passage in Boulder. Not "really" a part of the wealthy white elite? Don't fret! You, too, can exercise and tan and debt yourself into the upper middle class. Just buy clothing and accessories you can't afford, stay up on the bland offerings of pop culture and consumer-described liberal media, and regurgitate opinions you'd recognize as inane if you took two minutes to think about them critically. Not to mention (as my roommate pointed out) who are these people kidding? Aren't they all members of a fairly wealthy middle class already? When you already have a blackberry but can't afford an iPhone, aren't we simply splitting hairs? By the time I left to return to Cambridge, Boulder felt further from home than it had when I was a brooding high school student who couldn't wait to get out. I thought back on some of my experiences at home.
"Where did all these white people with Mac's and iPhones come from?" I asked myself as I walked into a local art-walled coffee shop with my Mac and iPhone. As I sat down with my green tea and waited for my friend to meet me, I realized just how close I'd come to a homogenous disaster of epic proportions. Boulder has a reputation for being extremely liberal and progressive. It is consistently voted as one of the best places in the country to live. It is touted as one of the best places in the country to be single, home to the country's fittest people, and surrounded by the unparalleled natural beauty of the Rocky Mountains. In many ways these accolades are well-deserved and accurate. Boulder leads the way in responsible urban growth, alternative fuels, recycling programs, and votes overwhelmingly democratic. There are 80 miles of walking and biking paths within the city itself, and hundreds of miles of permanently dedicated open space surrounding the city that include trails, climbing areas, and wilderness. The population is less than 95,000 and decidedly younger than the national average. The town is home to the University of Colorado and Naropa, a self described "Buddhist-inspired, ecumenical and nonsectarian rather than Buddhist" University. The people in Boulder are, for the most part, incredibly open and friendly. As I had done for years, other Boulderites would likely describe themselves as open-minded, tolerant, and earnest supporters of diversity. But something was amiss when last I visited the town of bleached progressives. Something that told me, without a doubt, that the self-assigned traits of open-mindedness, tolerance, and diversity were, ironically, nothing more than products of homogeneity and economic prosperity. Furthermore, what was amiss, I realized as I sipped my tea and surveyed the other patrons, was not a change that had occurred in my hometown, but a change that had occurred in me. I had begun to ask questions I hardly knew existed with regard to real diversity, both racial and economic. Why is Boulder considered progressive? Who benefits from this progressiveness? How can a town, so insulated from economic and racial diversity, consider itself open-minded and in support of diversity? And (reluctantly) who am I to judge people for these things when I have, and continue to, engage in many of them myself?
I continue to have a difficult time answering these questions. Not because they are difficult to answer--to the contrary, the answers are very straightforward. I have a difficult time answering them because I want desperately for my hometown to remain forever emblazoned as a true bastion of liberal ideals. I do not want to look in the mirror and realize that I am as bad as the rest. Yet, if I allow myself to take into account the undeniable evidence--that Boulder is one of the wealthiest, whitest towns in the world; that it's easy for a town with almost no crime, no racial or ethnic diversity, and no sense of hardship to maintain a progressive posturing; that real open-mindedness only results from experiencing real difference--I might jostle Boulder from its position of greatness in my mind, thereby losing a piece of my identity along the way. But I cannot ignore what my own experiences in a truly diverse public high school have taught me about open-mindedness. I have learned that tolerance and open-mindedness cannot be taught. They can be fostered, and they can be encouraged, but they cannot be taught. They can only be learned by experiencing difference and diversity first hand, by confronting one's own subconscious prejudices and, perhaps equally important, by confronting others about theirs. It is easy for the fat-bellied king to claim he understands the plight of his starving subjects, but he will not truly understand until he is confronted by his own swollen, malnourished belly.
The high school at which I work is the only public high school in Cambridge. This fact often surprises people, as Cambridge is synonymous in many-a-mind with world class academic institutions and a progressive leaning population: both Harvard and MIT are within only a few miles of one another, and the city's mayor is an openly gay woman who married while in office. I learn a lot about a person when I divulge this little-known fact. The surprise one projects upon learning this often betrays one of two things (or likely both)--the economic echelon in which she exists, or the lack of experience he has in pondering the often pronounced socio-economic disparities that exist in affluent, educated cities. Please understand that I am not, by any means, judging or otherwise disparaging people who react in this way. I am subject to the same, slow realizations, and I continue to unearth my own ignorance each day as I teach in classrooms in which I am the minority. I am surrounded by students from Africa, Haiti, Trinidad, Puerto Rico, Brazil, Jamaica, Cape Verde, Dominican Republic, Portugal, El Salvador, and many other countries. I co-teach with a wonderful and intelligent woman from Haiti. When I walk the halls it is not that I stand out as a chalky mark on a blackboard, but rather, I simply become part of the living collage that constitutes the student body. It is nothing if not eye-opening, humbling, and perspective changing. I have had to confront my own prejudices and assumptions about different cultures and races, many of which I developed without even realizing I had done so. It is a privilege and a challenge, and work in this area is never finished; it is only improved. My students are victims, leaders, survivors, saviors, and teachers. Many have seen more hardship, have experienced more tragedy, have been subject to more discrimination by the age of 14 than I will see in a lifetime.
In Boulder there are six trailer parks spread throughout the city. Now, most people don't even realize that we have trailer parks in Boulder. The multi-million dollar homes, posh downtown shopping mall, and sprinkling of upscale restaurants seem, for some reason, to monopolize people's attention. But they're there all right. And do you know why people don't see these trailer parks? Because the city has put up "natural buffers" between the trailer parks and the adjacent properties. If you're wondering, "natural buffer" is a euphemism for, "Let's plant a shitload of pretty trees so we can keep this eyesore out of sight and out of mind." The only diversity that exists in Boulder, both economic and racial, is sequestered within these buffered trailer parks. They are occupied by mostly Mexican and Central American Immigrants. These are the people who mow our lawns, paint our houses, and plant the beautiful flowers all the rich white people look at as they walk down the Pearl Street Mall in the spring and spend $50 on a T-shirt. These are the people that make the wonderful Endive Salad "you simply must try" when you go to that new restaurant. And these people are without a voice. Open-minded? Please. I work with 14 year-olds who are more aware of social and economic disparity. They pay lip service to diversity in a way that only a homogenous community can get away with. I should ask myself, however, which homogenous community is worse: the one that at promotes awareness of diversity and open-mindedness even though there is no diversity, or the one that it shamelessly bigoted and prejudiced?
Irregardless, it is for these many reasons that this post continues on my previous, Ralph-Ellison inspired theme of making invisible things visible. I want to show how music helps frame my understanding of variety, voice, and homogeneity. How, much like my trip to New York City and viewing of Fela! reminded me, music is an artform that gives voice to voiceless, story to the stifled, and hope to those who find themselves sequestered within and behind the dominant culture's "natural buffer's". I recently finished reading a novel called The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga. Adiga is an Indian born author who uses a biting sense of humor and understated sarcasm to scrutinize and attack the social and economic class system in India (all while telling a great story). I found this quote to be particularly poignant with regard to my thoughts on making the invisible visible, and on the idea of voice:
"A rich man's body is like a premium cotton pillow, white and soft and blank. Ours are different. My father's spine was a knotted rope, the kind that women use in villages to pull water from wells; the clavicle curved around his neck in high relief, like a dog's collar; cuts and nicks and scars, like little whip marks in his flesh, ran down his chest and waist, reaching down below his hip bones and into his buttocks. The story of a poor man's life is written on his body, in a sharp pen."
Such a beautiful and disturbing image deserved reproduction. In this way Adiga lends a voice to the many unheard of India who have bodies much like the one he described.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Voice," simply defined, is one's "ability to speak or sing."
On Thursday, February 11th, the main branch of the Cambridge Public Library, in conjunction with Cambridge Rindge & Latin, hosted a young, Haitian-American poet in the newly constructed auditorium. I was lucky enough to attend this event with my second period English class of high school sophomores, and I was moved by this woman's performance. Lenelle Moise is a graduate from Cambridge Rindge & Latin and, as I later discovered, from Ithaca College, where I completed my undergraduate degree. It was powerful to see a young, Haitian-American woman give voice to the many issues facing the young students in the audience. She read work on such topics as immigrant life, the guilt of a Haitian living safe in America while her brothers and sisters are dying in her homeland, and confronting the bigotry she has encountered in her own life. She reminded me that voice is not contained within the confines of race, class, and gender. Rather, voice contains these constructs within its bounds, assembles and demolishes them, stifles and amplifies them, and defines and redefines them. The powerful voice, like a political representative, wields the awesome power and tremendous responsibility of lending its voice to its lesser-heard brothers and sisters. It is in this way that variety is allowed to penetrate the vicious homogeneity, that the screams are not drowned out by the majority. I encourage you to check out Ms. Moise website and watch some of her performances:
Also, please take a minute to read some of the poems she performed for us. "Quaking Conversation" is awesome:
Now, for those of you who read this blog for the music and not the ranting nonsense of a twenty-something semi-professional, you might want to start here. I do my best to, as the title of this post suggests, to provide you with a variety of voices in the music world. But I realize that I have not yet reviewed one hip-hop album, there is barely any world music, no classical, and hardly any jazz. I apologize for perpetuating the vicious homogeneity. I'm doing my best. In the meantime, enjoy these albums I've been digging lately.
Artist: Gil Scott Heron
Album: I'm New Here
Don't let the album title fool you: the only thing new about Gil Scott Heron is this latest addition to his extensive discography. Heron is considered by many to be the "Godfather of Rap" because he helped pioneer the spoken word/musical accompaniment revolution during the 1970's. He is perhaps most well-known for his piece entitled "The Revolution Will Not Be Televised" (you can listen to it on his MySpace). In addition to loving this stripped down, 25 minute album, Heron is a man who has made a name for himself by voicing the difficulties of being black in America. During a time when others (Marvin Gaye, Curtis Mayfield) were challenging the mainstream through the less direct avenues of soul and funk, Heron was speaking his mind in a straightforward, uninhibited manner. He was not afraid to be angry. He was not afraid to point out the inconsistencies in the America that was portrayed and the America that was lived. By combining his scathing poetry with minimal jazz, Heron created a unique style that was the antithesis of mainstream culture. But his lyrics are not the only element that lends to his unique voice; his actual voice is seasoned and, as the album cover suggests, coated to perfection with age and the tar of countless cigarettes. Heron last released a studio album in the early 90's, after which he spent time in and out of jail for cocaine possession. This album finds him easing his aging voice into producer Richard Russell's dreamy, eery backdrop. The album's first track, "On Coming From A Broken Home," is a beautiful tribute and confessional, and I thought it fitting to include the lyrics given the topic of this week's post:
"On Coming From A Broken Home (Part I)"
I want to make this a special tribute
to a family that contradicts the concepts
heard the rules but wouldn't accept
and women-folk raised me
and i was full grown before i knew
I came from a broken home
sent to live with my grandma down south
when my uncles was leaving
and my grandfather had just left for heaven
they said and as every-ologist would certainly note
i had no strong male figure right?
But Lily Scott was absolutely not your mail order room service type cast black grandmother
i was moved in with her; temporarily, just until things were patched,
til this was patched and til that was patched
until i became at 3, 4, 5,6 ,7, 8, 9 and 10
the patch that held lily Scott who held me and like them 4
i become one more and I loved her from the absolute marrow of my bones
and we was holdin on,
i come from a broken home
She had more then the 5 senses
she knew more than books could teach
and raised everyone she touched just a little bit higher
and all around her there was a natural sense
as though she sensed what the stars say what the birds say
what the wind and the clouds say
a sensual soul and self that African sense
and she raised me like she raised 4 of her own
and i was hurt and scared and shocked when lily Scott left suddenly one night
and they sent a limousine from heaven to take her to god, if there is one.
So i knew she had gone; and
i came from a broken home
Other standouts on the album include "New York Is Killing Me," and "Running." It's short length makes it perfect for a complete listen. I find that Heron gives voice to many who are unable to speak with such eloquence and experience. Enjoy.
Artist: Local Natives
Album: Gorilla Mannor
I first heard about this band on NRP's All Songs Considered. They played the album's fourth track, "World News," just before playing a track by Freelance Whale's. I was so excited about the Freelance Whale's track that I completely forgot about this album until I was actually listening to it in bed one night. Still, I'm not quite sure why it is I love this album as much as I do. This L.A. indie-rock band treads dangerously close to sounding like a more rocking version of Fleet Foxes (whatever that means, given Fleet Foxe's subdued, harmony-heavy folk). But there's something comforting about their bending guitars, unhinged percussion, and familiar pop-structure that I absolutely love. They allow themselves to build from gentleness to fevered releases (much like Arcade Fire or The Antlers--but more pop-centered and less orchestral). Their 70's style harmonies and distant, etherial production lend an unearned wisdom to the album's lyrics and depth. In particular, the song "Airplane," while not a standout musically, is an ernest and touching re-imagining of the classic breakup song: "I want you back / you back / you back" croons frontman Taylor Rice in the song's chorus. I initially assumed Rice was singing about an ex-girlfriend. Upon subsequent listens however (I didn't have the lyrics in front of me), I heard Rice say, "I did not / know you as well as my / Father, Father / Knew You." I soon realized that Rice was not singing about an ex-girlfriend, but his (presumably) dead mother. Other standouts include "Wide Eyes," and the catchy, "Warning Sign.
Artist: Mark Kozelek / Red House Painters / Sun Kil Moon
Album(s): Songs For A Blue Guitar, Ghosts Of The Great Highway,
I'd been debating about whether or not to include Mark Kozelek in an entry. I've been listening to him since coming across his second incarnation as Sun Kil Moon when my buddy passed it along to me in college (Thanks, Fountain!). But after finally getting my hands on one of his first band's albums, Songs For A Blue Guitar, I couldn't resist. There is something decidedly American about Kozelek's sound. It's not quite right to call him a folk singer, but it's not quite right to call him a rocker, either. He sits somewhere between melancholy and meandering exploration. But whatever you want to say about his actual music, his voice is decidedly striking, smooth, and unique. If Gil Scott Heron's voice is a seasoned, sandpapered cigarette, Kozelek is a seasoned, polished understatement. And although his voice tends to exude sadness, he is not afraid to unhinge with some extended, crunching guitar work (listen to "Make Like Paper"). It is in these moments that one finds it hard to believe artists like Jeff Tweedy (Wilco), did not find inspiration in Kozelek's experimentation. Kozelek is an unsung hero of American folk music, and I can't recommend him more.
Kozelek has a complicated musical past. He began as a solo artist, later formed the band Red House Painters during the 90's, and eventually settled into his current band, Sun Kil Moon. He has released an impressive number of albums, EP's, and limited edition live albums, including a Sun Kil Moon album called Tiny Cities that is comprised entirely of Modest Mouse covers, and a solo EP comprised of three originals, a John Denver cover, and three AC/DC covers. The biggest complaint people have with Kozelek is that "all his stuff sounds the same." While I would accept this argument for most musicians and bands, Kozelek creates with his voice, lyrics, and guitar work a sound I can't get enough of. I recommend checking out the Red House Painter's album, Songs For A Blue Guitar, and the Sun Kil Moon album, Ghosts of the Great Highway.
Artist: Erland & The Carnival
Album: Erland & The Carnival
Click here to listen
Where do I even begin with these guys? Ex Blur/Verve/Good, Bad & Queen multi-instrumentalist teams up with Orcadian folk guitarist/singer and ex Orb/Cult/Fireman drummer/engineer to re-imagine traditional Scottish folk songs in a trippy, freak-folk way only a British band can get away with? That's a mouthful. My first thought while this album played in the background the other night as I cooked dinner was, "Wow, they sound like The Doors." Then I thought, "Wow, they sound like Syd Barret's trippy solo work." But those aren't fair comparison. These guys are using guitars, a zither, a harmonium, various percussives, and painstaking engineering to create trippy, well-crafted songs that sound like they could have been released in the 60's, but could only have been released in 2010. Gawain Erland Cooper, the Orcadian folk guitarist and singer, met Simon Tong and David Nock after spending nearly two years studying Bert Jansch, Davey Graham, and the traditional Scottish and British folk archives of musician/composer Ralph-Vaughn Williams. The three eventually started playing together around London, and went on to record their eponymous debut. I have a feeling these guys will be big, if not popularly, then certainly critically. But more importantly, I have a feeling you'll like the album. It grows on me with each listen, and I can honestly say it's one of the most unique, truly psychedelic albums I've heard in quite a while. I'm not sure which songs on the album are re-workings of traditional songs, but if I find out I'll update you. In the meantime, try to get your hands on a copy of this album and give it a good listen.
NOTE: I've decided to include the remaining reviews in a separate post to be added soon. This post will include a discussion of albums from the following bands: Dr. Dog, Phantogram, Oh No Ono, These New Puritans, Liars, Frightened Rabbit, The Dimes, and Joanna Newsome. Also, I'll be talking about Four-Tet's live show, Wild Beasts' live show, and the Canadian sitcom, Corner Gas. Please continue to check in!!
Ideas in the minds of idiots are like nuclear weapons in the hands of lunatics.
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