Wire from the Bunker: Holiday Edition
In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since. “Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,” he told me, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.”
Well, beam me up, F. Scotty, cuz I’m just not feeling it these days.
This has never been my favorite season. Thanksgiving: an ahistorical, gluttonous charade. Xmas: a monument to merchant capitalism. Add in this year’s sense of impending doom and, voila, a darkened and anxious mood (spell me backwards) prevails down here in the bunker.
Did you sit this one out? If so – and at the risk of engaging in what-about-ism -- may I suggest you consider Genocide George? Where were you then? I get that some of you may not yet have been born but we, my children, are responsible for our forebears.
Butch Hancock reminds us to “love everyone, no exceptions.” I guess part of the idea here is that we should be grateful for those MAGApatamians for teaching us patience. But I dunno. I don’t need those who support a racist, fascist, transphobic, homophobic, misogynist autocrat-wannabe to teach me patience. I have a noisy room for that. Plus, Woody didn’t say that this machine loves fascists. He said it kills them.
I know Butch is right, of course. I just can’t bring myself to reach across the aisle. Still, in the spirit of tolerance, I’ll put this as gently and lovingly as possible: FUCK TRUMP AND FUCK YOU IF YOU VOTED FOR HIM.
Here is a six-pack of holiday cheer for your consideration. Other voices, other rooms.
The Day Before Thanksgiving: Darrell Scott is a rare breed, both a master musician and master songwriter. Those two things almost never collide in one person. I can only think of a handful: Robert Johnson, Blind Willie, Richard Thompson, Peter Case, maybe Marshall Crenshaw. Here Scott takes on that ahistorical charade I was referencing above. “I don't believe the pilgrims sat with Indians for a feast // A self-proclaimed holy sailor doesn't break bread with his beast // But then again he had a musket and the Indian had a knife // And the musket man could make him eat for life.” Wow. Preach it, Darrell! The real story. And then he gets to the gluttony: “So it's turkey breast and stuffing with gravy on the top // Mashed potatoes, peas and dinner rolls, you use them like a mop // Got my position at the table, got a child to say my grace // And a wife and boss that keeps me in my place.” Yikes to that final couplet and no worries on the overserved, oversubscribed dimensions of the meal itself. RFK will make us healthy again. None of Scott’s words would come across were it not for his beautiful melody here and the liquid bass runs and rich voicings he coaxes from his musket … I mean, axe.
Rockin’ the Res: I recently watched a documentary on Hulu called Vow of Silence: The Assassination of Annie Mae. It’s about the killing of a key member of the American Indian Movement (AIM) in the 70s. Wait ‘til you see the twist in this one! I won’t ruin it for you but let’s just say the FBI was involved and not in a good way cf. Killers of the Flower Moon.
The doc reminded me of the great John Trudell – who features heavily in Annie Mae’s story -- perhaps the most important voice to emerge from AIM. A true poet, spoken word performer, philosopher, activist, and a hundred other things too. Rockin’ the Res from his classic AKA Graffiti Man lp is a bit of an outlier for Trudell: it actually has a catchy chorus. Most of his stuff is hard hitting with barely a nod to pop. But I always loved this track. And the video is just about the only thing I could find where Trudell doesn’t look angry AF. He once said that if someone isn’t angry, they’re lying to you. Right on, JT! But, anyway, I love Trudell’s expression throughout this video which includes scenes from Thunderheart -- Trudell appeared in it -- interspersed. Fave line: “Pretending we aren’t stars too // really isn’t very bright.” Hah! Funny stuff but it underlines the importance of Father Sky. Plus, I hear an echo of Springsteen’s “I’m a cool rockin’ daddy in the USA” line in the title: unsettling but celebratory too. Rockin’ our hearts, rockin’ the res, as Johnny Lobo intones.
The Ballad of Ira Hayes: Speaking of rockin’ the res, check out Bob singing to the Tuscarora tribe back in ’75 on the Rolling Thunder Revue. Only Dylan – a huge Trudell fan, by the way -- would have the charisma and cheek to sing this Peter LaFarge classic to a room full of Indians. “Call him drunken Ira Hayes // he won’t answer anymore // not the whiskey drinking Indian // or the Marine who went to war.” He holds the room with just a guitar and his voice, no amplification, no nothing. Try that, kids! Also take a look at Bob’s obvious discomfort at being honored at the end of the video. That’s called self-awareness and humility. Bring it on, Timothy Cham-a-lama-ding-dong!
An Open Letter to Illegal Aliens: You guys know about Roxy Gordon? I doubt it. Confidante of Townes Van Zandt, touted by Leonard Cohen, but pretty much ignored during his lifetime. Roxy, like Trudell, was a gifted song-poet who wrote movingly and incisively of the Indian experience in the good ole USA. He also published his own Outlaw music journal called “Picking Up the Tempo” (after the Willie song) and even worked for perhaps the only true outlaw in the bunch: David Allan Coe cf. https://phawker.com/2020/05/11/wire-from-the-bunker-meet-david-allan-coe/ Michael Hall, in an otherwise cool, informative feature in the Texas Monthly, did a bit of hatchet job on Roxy, dismissively labelling him as some sort of “pretendian.” https://www.texasmonthly.com/being-texan/roxy-gordon-texas-history-music-writer-pretendian/
I don’t know about that. Isn’t everyone a pretendian in one way or another? Plus, Roxy lived on the Assiniboine res and was formally adopted by its people. Doesn’t that count? Roxy, on his album Smaller Circles, has this wonderful song called Indians where he demarcates who and what counts as far as that title goes (note: the term “Native American” is NOT the preferred term of most of the people it describes). Indians, according to Roxy, include Hank Williams, Chuck Berry, Africa, Ft. Worth, Los Angeles, and baseball versus JFK, Michael Jackson, Europe, Dallas, New York City, and football which do not qualify. Here’s what I’ve got: Roxy Gordon: Indian; Michael Hall: not Indian! This “Open Letter” I’ve attached is from Roxy’s Crazy Horse Never Died release from 1988, recently reissued on the great Paradise of Bachelors label. Crazy Horse Never Died was also the name of a chapbook Roxy put out to accompany the album. Introducing this song, he writes, “The overwhelming hypocrisy of a nation descended mostly from a gang of illegal alien thieves, which closes down its borders to latecomers (who themselves are mostly descended from the race that got stolen from) is so obvious that I swear I don’t know how it can get away with it.” Trudell has a basso profundo. Roxy, on the other hand, sounds like a speed-freak evangelist preacher with a nasally, thin whine. Combine that with the doomy synths on this track and you should get the idea that we are dealing with a major artist here.
Another Lonely Christmas: The Artist™ surely digs my mood. I tried to get my pal DJ Tenderloin to add this to his legendary Xmas mix but he declined. “Every Christmas night for seven years now // I drink banana daquaris 'til I'm blind // As long as I can hear you smilin' baby // You won't hear my tears.” Slurpin’ down yuletide daqs is pretty grim, huh? And the two following lines betray an almost Bottom-like derangement of the senses. But Price always does you right: there’s an uplift in the gospel chords that underpin this one. I went up to Paisley Park a few years back to check things out and on the way out the door the guard asked me what I thought. I couldn’t help but express bewilderment that someone so great could die alone in an elevator. The guard shook his head, told me, “It’s a celebration, man!” and turned away. On, no, let’s go.
American Lipstick: I’ll leave you with one that’s a little less dark. John Train recorded this Terry Clarke song as a xmas single last year. I really love what we did with it and the video that Mark Schreiber created. I wrote a full essay about the song at www.trainarmy.com Check it out if you get chance by scrolling down on the homepage. (Editor's note: The song is now available on all of your favorite streaming services.)
John Train returns to Fergie’s on Friday, January 17th at 6pm to begin our usual run of Winter shows.
Happy Holidays y’all!
