Memorial Day

As I approach the gates of heaven;
St. Peter I will tell;
One more soldier reporting sir;
I've served my time in hell.
Mark Anthony Gresswell.

Old Time Rock and Roll and Politically Correct Speech

President Obama caught some flak recently for inviting a pop singer to the White House who had either written or sang a song sympathetic to a cop killer. Elites in this country have always scorned the music or movie industry for peddling lyrics that are not in tune with mainstream thinking. Call it a form of censorship but it is a strain in the American experience that will never go away. I recall sometime in 1969 or 70, Spiro Agnew gave a speech that ripped into Easy Rider for its promotion of illicit drug use. That seems rather comical today in that its major protagonist, Jack Nicholson, spends most of his public time sitting with his long time friend Lou Adler courtside at Lakers' games looking a lot more weather beaten than Agnew ever did.


You can fast forward this narrative to Tipper Gore in the late 80's testifying before Congress on the dangers of rap music and then Bill Clinton tearing into Sister Souljah for her lyrics. My daughters, when they were teenagers, had all sorts of racist songs on their Ipods. The infamous "N" word was thrown around like pennies in an arcade. That most of these songs were sung by black performers seemed to make it all acceptable. I have very little knowledge of any of these songs because, thanks to Apple and Itunes, my universe of music begins circa 1900 with Scott Joplin and ends with Robert Palmer's Addicted to Love around 1985. About a week ago, I was listening to my collection of Rolling Stones music and when Brown Sugar was played, it got me to thinking. Even though I have listened to this song at least 500 times, I never did understand the lyrics. As with most songs of the era, that does not matter. You simply interpose your own fantasies into the beat and then enjoy the ride. So I Googled the lyrics and here they are:

Gold coast slave ship bound for cotton fields,
Sold in a market down in new orleans.
Scarred old slaver know he's doin alright.
Hear him whip the women just around midnight.
Ah brown sugar how come you taste so good
(a-ha) brown sugar, just like a young girl should
A-huh.

Drums beating, cold english blood runs hot,
Lady of the house wondrin where it's gonna stop.
House boy knows that he's doin alright.
You should a heard him just around midnight.
Ah brown sugar how come you taste so good
(a-ha) brown sugar, just like a black girl should
A-huh.

I bet your mama was a tent show queen, and all her boy
Friends were sweet sixteen.
Im no schoolboy but I know what I like,
You should have heard me just around midnight.

Ah brown sugar how come you taste so good
(a-ha) brown sugar, just like a young girl should.

I said yeah, I said yeah, I said yeah, I said
Oh just like a, just like a black girl should.

I said yeah, I said yeah, I said yeah, I said
Oh just like, just like a black girl should.
What we have here is a song about a slave trader bringing in a shipment of black women to New Orleans, literally whipping them into shape and then raping them at night in a whorehouse. And this is all supposed to be "just like a black girl should." If that is not enough, fasten your seat belt and check this out:



Gotta love Jagger. It amazes me that this song never was controversial. I guess the Stones could get away with it. Imagine Pat Boone or Loretta Lynn singing this ode. I doubt they would have pulled it off. Looking back at it, I have to congratulate myself. I always thought the self appointed morality police were full of themselves. Their warnings of moral decay were all hot air used to pump up their own political careers. Like the French say, plus ca la change, plus ca la meme chose. The more things change, the more they remain the same.

IRONY

Irony is the source of humor. It is also provides a lense through which events can be judged in proper perspective. I was reading the Wall Street Journal yesterday (yes, the print version) and could not help but be amazed at this picture and caption.


We have the following:
1. "Accounting for Evil."
2. "28,060 deaths."
3. "helping murder nearly 30,000.00 people."
To which add:
4. "a 5 year sentence" and
5. "He was freed, pending an appeal."
There were more pictures of him in a wheelchair leaving the courthouse which only adds to the spectacle.

I wonder how many people showed up at his "camp" (another grotesque literary misnomer) crippled, maimed, or sick and were shot on sight and then discarded like yesterday's garbage. In any event, if you are going to account for evil, account for evil.

Commander Cody

I was driving home last night on I95 and some kid rocketed past me in a small car that sounded like it was carrying 12 cylinders. Had to have been going at least 110. It felt like a 747 missed its landing on the runway nearby. Kind of thing you see almost every day now on a motorcycle. Made me wonder about the youth of today. Of course, now that I am in my mid 50's such a display of depravity got me to using language and expressing feelings that my father did in the early 70's when I was letting my hair grow and doing everything I could to piss him off. As that car blasted away with no cop in sight, inexplicably the following words crossed my mind: "son, you're going to drive me to drinking if you don't stop driving that HOT ROD LINCOLN." I was so fixated on this that I logged onto Itunes via my Iphone with the other hand on the wheel and bought the song (only 69 cents). And here it is:

Good old Commander Cody. Sort of a Chuck Berry on Steroids. Listening to the lyrics, I now have a much better appreciation for adults of that era who swore that my generation was destined for a permanent place in hell. At least for me, my place in Satan's home will be earned not for anything I did as a kid but for what I did and thought of doing when I was old enough to know better. In my jaded mind, I juxtaposed the lyrics against the rantings of many in gentile society in the past 20 years about the dangers of hip hop and rap music. My knowledge of the former is restricted to the damage they do on South Beach every Memorial Day weekend and the latter to the constant use of the "N" word that would shout from both my daughters' Ipods when they were younger. But the rap lyrics are nothing compared to the Commander. I guess there was a time when there was nothing more American than driving down the road at 100 mph while knocking down your neighbors' mailboxes tossing empty cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon out the window onto their lawns.

Houston Person And The Joys Of The Saxophone

I love listening to saxophone jazz music. Two months ago I read Nat Hentoff's review of the life of Houston Person. Fifteen years ago, I would have read it and made a mental note to myself that if I ever came upon the music in a record store I would buy it. In other words, it would never happen. But thanks to the wonders of modern technology, I went right to my Itunes account and voila, in 90 seconds 30 of his songs were in my Ipod. I listen to his collection at least once a week, usually on Saturday or Sunday morning. If you like the sax, his music is highly recommended. Read Hentoff's review. It reinforces my conviction that African American music(as well as every other kind of music) reached its peak in this country in the late 1950's. Life was tough and that unfortunate fact was reflected in some very good music.

Bob Hayes and Thanksgiving Memories

I was reading the Wall Street Journal or The Sun Sentinel yesterday and there was a post of four sportswriters who opined about their favorite Thanksgiving football memories. Most were recent (last 25 years). It got me to thinking. I have vivid memories of being at my grandparents' house at Thanksgiving circa 1966/67 and watching Bob Hayes return a punt against St. Louis without ever being touched. So I did some quick internet research, and voila, my memory did not let me down. Here is the link: http://www.pro-football-reference.com/boxscores/196711230dal.htm. He in fact returned a punt for 69 yards. There is no youtube tape. I remember Hayes well. The called him Bullet Bob. He was a track star before becoming a standout wide receiver for the Cowboy teams of the late 60's. He was in the twilight of his career when the Cowboys beat the Dolphins in the 71 SB. Hayes later did time for narcotics violations and then became a born again Christian and motivational speaker. In case anyone thinks football was better and cleaner without the likes of Randy Moss and others who gain notoriety for actions off the field as well as on, Hayes' fellow wide receiver, Lance Rentzel, was arrested for exposing himself to a minor. Add to this collection the Raiders' then standout wide receiver, Warren Wells, who did time for stabbing his wife, and former Heisman Trophy winner Johnny Rodger (armed robbery), and you can see that the old adage, the more things change the more they remain the same, has not lost its luster.

Congratulations New York!

A big congratulations to the New York Giants for beating the expansion Washington Senators. I watched the series and while the Giants' move to SF predated my addiction to baseball, the Senators move to Texas was in the prime of my career when I was free basing Strat O Matic on an hourly basis. Every time I watch them play, I cannot erase the thought that they are really the expansion Washington Senators. The "real" Senators left DC in 1961 for Minnesota and four years later took Koufax and the Dodgers to game 7 before succumbing to the best pitcher God ever assembled (at least from 1963 through 1966). And speaking of images permanently embedded in one's mind, every time I hear "Dallas" I think not of JR Ewing, the Cowboys, but of JFK. Don't know why but as soon as the city is mentioned, I think Parkland Hospital, Grassy Knoll, Manlicher Carcano rifle, and Texas school book depository.