Showing posts with label People. Show all posts
Showing posts with label People. Show all posts

21 May 2010

Susan Van Haitsma : Biking for Life

Susan's dad, on his trusty steed. Photo from Susan Van Haitsma / The Rag Blog.

Biking for life:
How cool is my dad?


By Susan Van Haitsma / The Rag Blog / May 21, 2010

It’s National Bike Month, and I’m thinking about my dad. He’s 82 and still riding. In fact, he’s still riding the same three-speed Schwinn bicycle that he purchased, used, from a student soon after he began his teaching career at a small college in Wisconsin about 50 years ago.

We lived just six blocks from his office on campus, so he walked to work if there was snow or rain, but otherwise, he preferred to bike because it was faster and easier to carry his satchel of books and files in his big wire baskets. In the years since he retired, he’s continued to bike all around town to do his local business, becoming a loved and familiar figure on that classic Schwinn.

I realized with some surprise that my dad has never locked his bike. Parked almost daily along a busy road near his office for 35 years, his faithful bike remained untethered and unstolen. The frame is rusty, perhaps acting as a theft deterrent, but he’s kept the gears oiled and the tires filled. Over the years, he’s replaced the tires a few times, the brake pads and the pedals, but most other parts are original.

When it comes to carbon footprint, I figure that the resources used to manufacture, maintain, and operate his bike have been amortized over 50 years to zero. Meanwhile, the benefits to the planet have accumulated to produce a rather elegant history of one man taking seriously the promise of a sturdy, green machine to last a lifetime.

My dad hasn’t thought of himself as a bicycle activist. He owns and drives a car and is not keen on the idea of giving that up someday. He has considered his bike use mainly a practical measure to save money, move relatively quickly around a compact downtown, and work out the kinks from grading papers. But, as the years have gone by and the earth has suffered its oil wounds, I’ve come to see my dad’s example as a green beacon of possibility.

When we are urged by local and national governments to take whatever steps we can in our daily lives to reduce our use of fossil fuels, I picture my dad cruising down the driveway on his three-speed, headed to a Kiwanis meeting. If he can do this at age 82, the possibilities for most people to make at least some of their local trips by bicycle are endless. Bike to Work Day could be, as it was for my father, an ordinary day.

While my dad has ridden a single bike through five decades of bicycle design transformation, the evolution from cruiser to racer to mountain to hybrid to cruiser turned a perfect revolution as his 1950s-style model came back into fashion. Without meaning to, my dad became cool.

Actually, he was cool all along. Teaching is best done by example, and his quiet daily practice was an environmental lesson on the leading edge of green living. Chugging up and down hills helped preserve his health and the health of those hills. I’m proud of my cool dad. Happy Bike Half-Century to everyone who has rolled along with him!

[Susan Van Haitsma is active in Austin with Nonmilitary Options for Youth and CodePink. She also blogs at makingpeace.]

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30 April 2010

Citizen-Journalist Bill Moyers : Salute to a Colleague

Bill Moyers. Image from Cincinnati.com

Final entry:
Closing the book on Bill Moyers' Journal


By Danny Schechter / April 30, 2010

I salute our colleague, our friend, our mentor and role model, Bill Moyers, who airs his last Journal program tonight on PBS.

Throughout his long career, from his days in Texas through his stint at the Johnson White House, to his role as Publisher of Newsday, to his commentaries on CBS, to his amazing track record as documentary filmmaker and talk show host, Bill has demonstrated a range of probing intellectual interests, and a deep and unwavering commitment to democratic discourse.

He went from a being a servant of power to a critic of power, from an insider to an outsider in traditional TV terms, from the networks to public broadcasting, to become an engaged citizen-journalist and then a patron and supporter of media reform lobbying, campaign finance reform, and so much more.

He was admired by his colleagues but also tolerated by a far more centrist and often cowardly crew of comfortably sinecured public TV executives because he became an institution, one of public media’s few revered legends, in part because he was damn good on the air as an issue-raiser and, also, as a fundraiser for just about every public TV station, as well as for his own work which attracted, it seemed, unlimited foundation support and even a corporate sponsor who stayed with him over the years.

Bill knows how to work the system and the room. His southern twang, charm, and charisma has kept audiences coming back, week after week, year after year, even when he was relegated to a Friday night public affairs ghetto air slot. He resigned at age 76, but the PBS Gods used the opportunity praise him to the skies while quietly killing the excellent magazine show NOW which he created. Why? Do we really need another show hosted by a corporate editor who just turned an issue of Newsweek into an uncritical praise poem for a resurgent America?

Bill is now firmly in the pantheon of TV greats -- still alive, praise the lord, and right up there with Edward R. Murrow, Cronkite and so many more.

Long live!

Bill and me

Bill was always friendly towards me, occasionally quoting me in his speeches and emailing back and forth, but I felt he was basically uncomfortable with my more independent approach. Perhaps it was my funkier style, outspoken criticisms of the PBS system, and activist proclivities.

When my dad was dying, he sent him copies of his series on death and dying and a beautiful personal letter. It so moved him that he wrote several drafts of letters to respond but none of them were quite right or said all he wanted to say. My dad had a religious devotion to his program. It was his church and, or, schul.

Moyers and I never worked together really, even though I tried. I understood his need to cover his back and to attract guests among the high and mightier.

I wish him and his thoughtful colleague and wife, Judith, every blessing as he transitions out of the public spotlight. My hunch is he will be back in public life sooner than later. The relentless “detached” advocate may soon come out of the closet as an up-front activist.

[Danny Schechter, "The News Dissector," has been offering a counter narrative to news and perspectives on global issues, politics, and culture since 1970 -- on radio, TV and, for the last decade, on his blog. Danny edits MediaChannel.org and writes articles, commentaries, polemics, screeds, rants, and books. His latest book is Plunder: Investigating Our Economic Calamity and the Subprime Scandal.]

Source / News Dissector

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28 January 2010

People's Historian : The Singular Legacy of Howard Zinn

Historian and activist Howard Zinn, 1922-2010.

How the great Howard Zinn
Made all our lives better
No American historian has had a more lasting positive impact on our understanding of the true nature of our country...
By Harvey Wasserman / The Rag Blog / January 28, 2010

Howard Zinn was above all a gentleman of unflagging grace, humility, and compassion.

No American historian has had a more lasting positive impact on our understanding of the true nature of our country, mainly because his books reflect a soul possessed of limitless depth.

Howard’s People's History of the United States will not be surpassed. As time goes on new chapters will be written in its spirit to extend its reach.

But his timeless masterpiece broke astonishing new ground both in its point of view and its comprehensive nature. The very idea of presenting the American story from the point of view of the common citizen was itself revolutionary. That he pulled it off with such apparent ease and readability borders on the miraculous. That at least a million Americans have bought and read it means that its on-going influence is immense. It is truly a history book that has and will continue to change history for the better.

But that doesn’t begin to account for Howard’s personal influence. He was a warm, unfailingly friendly compadre. He shared a beautiful partnership with his wonderful wife Roz, a brilliant, thoroughly committed social worker about whom he once said: “You and I just talk about changing the world. She actually does it.”

But Howard was no ivory tower academic. His lectures were engaging, exciting, and inspirational. But they took on an added dimension because he was personally engaged, committed, and effective. He chose to write books and articles in ways that could impact the world in which they were published. He showed up when he was needed, and always had a sixth sense about exactly what to say, and how.

Perhaps the most meaningful tribute to pay this amazing man is to say how he affected us directly. Here are two stories I know intimately:

In 1974, my organic commune-mate Sam Lovejoy toppled a weather tower as a protest against the coming of a nuclear power plant. When Sam needed someone to testify on how this act of civil disobedience fit into the fabric of our nation’s history, Howard did not hesitate. His testimony in that Springfield, Massachusetts courtroom (see Lovejoy’s Nuclear War) remains a classic discourse on the sanctity of non-violent direct action and its place in our national soul. (Sam was acquitted, and we stopped that nuke!)

Three years earlier I sent Howard a rambling 300-page manuscript under the absurdly presumptuous title A People's History of the United States, 1860-1920. Written in a drafty communal garage in the Massachusetts hills by a long-haired 20-something graduate school dropout, the manuscript had been rejected by virtually every publisher in America, often accompanied with nasty notes to the tune of: “NEVER send us anything like this again.”

But I sent a copy to Howard, whom I had never met. He replied with a cordial note typed on a single sheet of yellow paper, which I still treasure. I showed it to Hugh Van Dusen at Harper & Row, who basically said Harper had no idea why anyone would ever read such a book, but that if Howard Zinn would write an introduction, they’d publish it (though under a more appropriate title).

He did, and they did…and my life was changed forever.

Thankfully, Hugh then had the good sense to ask Howard to write a REAL people’s history by someone -- the ONLY one -- who could handle the job. He did… and ALL our lives have been changed forever.

Howard labored long and hard on his masterpiece, always retaining that astonishing mixture of humor and humility that made him such a unique and irreplaceable treasure. No one ever wrote or spoke with a greater instinct for the True and Vital. His unfailing instinct for what is just and important never failed him -- or us. The gentle, lilting sound of his voice put it all to unforgettable music that will resonate through the ages.

A few days ago I wrote Howard asking if he’d consider working on a film about the great Socialist labor leader Eugene V. Debs, whose story Howard's books have uniquely illuminated.

Eugene V. Debs was beloved by millions of Americans who treasured not only his clarity of a shared vision for this nation, but his unshakable honesty and unquestioned integrity.

Debs ran five times for president. He conducted his last campaign from a federal prison cell in Atlanta, where he was locked up by Woodrow Wilson. He got a million votes (that we know of). “While there is a soul in prison,” he said, unforgettably, “I am not free.”

Debs had deeply shaken Wilson with his brilliant, immeasurably powerful opposition to America’s foolish and unjust entry into World War I, and his demands for a society in which all fairly shared. In the course of his magnificent decades as our preeminent labor leader, Debs established a clear vision of where this nation could and should go for a just, sustainable future. Enshrined in Howard’s histories, it remains a shining beacon of what remains to be done.

Through his decades as our preeminent people’s historian, through his activism, his clarity, and his warm genius, Howard Zinn was also an American Mahatma, a truly great soul, capable of affecting us all.

Like Eugene V. Debs, it is no cliché to say that Howard Zinn truly lives uniquely on at the core of our national soul. His People's History and the gift of his being just who he was, remains an immeasurable, irreplaceable treasure.

Thanks, Howard, for more than we can begin to say.

[Harvey Wasserman is senior editor at www.freepress.org, where this article also appears.]

Find:
The following excellent videos were posted by The Nation:






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23 January 2010

Songbird Kate McGarrigle : Heart Like a Wheel

Kate McGarrigle. Photo from BeatCrave courtesy McGarrigles.com

Kate McGarrigle:
The fading art of singing together
“Some say the heart is just like a wheel, once you bend it, you just can’t mend it...”
By Carl R. Hultberg / The Rag Blog / January 23, 2010
See Video of Kate and Anna McGarrigle singing 'Heart Like a Wheel,' Below.
Growing up with music in the home is a lost tradition. Not kids with iPods at the dinner table, but whole families singing together. No one will ever know how much we have lost not singing in the home. We’re not singing weekly at church much either. Wouldn’t we get worried if the birds stopped singing? Maybe the canary in the coal mine is us.

One family that never had that problem was the Canadian McGarrigles. Living 50 miles north of Montreal, Frank liked the old parlor songs, Stephen Foster, the mid 19th century folk/pop tradition leading up to ragtime. “Oh Susannah,” “Jimmy Crack Corn,” “Old Black Joe.” Plantation music delivered by music publishers, eventually Tin Pan Alley in New York city. Frank’s wife Gaby played organ in the church and old French Canadian songs at home. And of course they all sang together at regular family gatherings.

As the 1960s ground down into the 1970s, the singer songwriter phenomenon was upon us. Folks like James Taylor (of the singing Taylor family), Joni Mitchell, Laura Nyro, Carole King and many others used elements of folk, rock, show music, soul to create “personal statements.” The me “decade(s)” were here and the narcissistic singer songwriters were either its most benign aspect or a just another part of the overall problem.

One of the artists whose singer songwriter contributions never veered far from the pure folk Americana roots yet who still managed to reach a large audience with her deep personal statements would have to be Kate McGarrigle, sister singer with Anna McGarrigle in the McGarrigle Sisters. Obviously the children of Frank and Gaby who lived north of Montreal. Their first release, “Kate and Anna McGarrigle” (1976) was a welcome breath of northern fresh air in a punk- and discoed-out dismal period for music. Over the decades more sweet music followed.

Kate’s soul searching compositions and the sisters’ warm yet ghostly harmonies brought back memories of the phenomenal Boswell Sisters from the early 1930s. The Boswells were a wonderful singing trio from New Orleans who mixed old folk harmonies with incredibly clever jazz scat arrangements, largely the creative work of arranger/lead singer Connie Boswell.

The Boswell Sisters.

Saying the McGarrigle Sisters were reminiscent of the Boswell Sisters is high praise indeed. There is an intuitive quality to true native sibling harmony that predates everything else humanity has ever come up with. Kate and Anna’s songs breathe with the life of sentiment and sincerity, like music from an age when those words had deep human meanings. Like Stephen Foster.

Success in the pop/folk world can be a mixed blessing. For Kate, marriage to ultra clever American singer songwriter Loudon Wainwright III ended in divorce after they produced two offspring. Mr. Wainwright must have thought he was being extremely clever when he released a song about his breast feeding son: “Rufus is a Tit Man.” Rufus Wainwright grew up to defy his dad on that score (as clever children often do), by becoming perhaps the premier U.S. gay singer hearthrob. Daughter Martha Wainwright has also courted scandal occasionally in her quest for fame as a singer. Many people may know Kate McGarrigle nowadays as the mom of her notorious kids, Rufus and Martha.

But of course, that’s just today’s news. Yesterday’s news is often far more interesting, and believe it or not, can also be much more relevant. The McGarrigle Sisters won’t be making any more new music together in this realm because this week Kate passed away at age 63. But one extremely persuasive theory has it that music is eternal.
Certainly the music Kate McGarrigle tapped into with her sister was of that variety. Listen now and you’re sure to hear one of their sweet plaintive songs:

“Some say the heart is just like a wheel, once you bend it, you just can’t mend it...”

[Carl R. Hultberg's grandfather, Rudi Blesh, was a noted jazz critic and music historian, and Carl was raised in that tradition. After spending many years as a music archivist and social activist in New York's Greenwich Village, he now lives in an old abandoned foundry in Danbury, New Hampshire, where he runs the Ragtime Society.]


Kate and Anna McGarrigle: Heart Like a Wheel



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17 January 2010

Willie Mitchell and Mary Daly : Partners in Demise

Above, Willie Mitchell with his axe and, below, Mary Daly with hers (a labrys, a traditional symbol of the Goddess).

Intertwined obit:
Soul man and radical feminist leave the stage


By Carl R. Hultberg / The Rag Blog / January 17, 2010

Life has a strange way of intertwining existences in ways that defy human reason. Like puns or anagrams that seem to reveal hidden meanings, passings away are also open to interpretation. Like the tea leaves, our leavings are also readable.

What I mean to say is that people die in pairs, creating accidental(?) marriages, pairings on the obituary page. Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis and George Balanchine. Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson. Despite all our efforts on our own behalf, dying, like jury duty, puts us back in the mix.

Who will we end up sitting next to on the bench outside St. Peter’s office in Heaven (or equivalent)? Even atheists and agnostics may have to admit to some degree of posthumous mortification looking back at their obits in the newspapers.

So who are the latest couple to have left together to go to tell their human stories to Whomever? None other than Willie Mitchell and Mary Daly. Who? Let’s just say this may be one of the oddest obit couples ever, or perhaps we are distilling ourselves somehow as Humanity.

Willie Mitchell was the trumpeter, bandleader and producer who brought us the third (and final) wave of sweet soul music from Memphis. As you probably know, Memphis sits at the top of the Mississippi Delta, the gateway from the Deep South to the North. The city that brought us Elvis (like Willie Mitchell from neighboring Mississippi), Sun Records (Elvis, Carl Perkins, Jerry Lee Lewis, Johnny Cash, Howling Wolf), Stax Records (Booker T & the MGs, Otis Redding, Isaac Hayes). Originally it was W.C. Handy, another trumpeter/bandleader who “discovered” the Blues in Memphis. That would have been about a hundred years ago.

Willie Mitchell had a sweet band but he was looking to break into record production. He found an awkward kid from Michigan who had a great voice but still hadn’t found his style. Al Green could sound like Marvin Gaye, or Wilson Pickett. Willie Mitchell’s advice was simple: try sounding like Al Green.

The result, “Let’s Stay Together” (from 1971) on Hi Records is perhaps the sweetest soul song ever laid down. Willie Mitchell continued as Al Green’s producer/mentor for years during the periods when Al (like Little Richard) switched from sacred to secular styles. Willie Mitchell produced sweet soul music after the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King (also in Memphis).

That was a miracle.

His deathmate couldn’t have been more different. Mary Daly was the quintessential radical lesbian separatist. Instead of “Let’s Stay Together” her message was surely: men stay away. She was a white Jesuit theologian who, once she had been granted tenure at Boston College, defied the Catholic Church to create a woman-based Wicca movement within the university’s teaching environment. It took decades for the school to finally get rid of her.

By that time she had published many books in her own super creative woman language, an alternative to male dominant Indo-European usages. Words like "hag" and "crone" took on new meanings. You can be sure that if this had been the Middle Ages and not the 1960s, Mary Daly would have burned at the stake. Or maybe been dunked to death. Instead she was able to teach a separatist feminist course at a formerly all male seminary and totally exclude men from her classes.

Yes, this was one tough woman.

In some ways her life was reminiscent of that of Anne Lee, who created the Shaker Church in America as a feminist/separatist experiment in the 1780s. Ms. Lee was beaten to death by angry Massachusetts witch hunters but her movement flourished for almost 100 years.

Mary Daly lived to see her defiance of the Catholic Church and her open lesbianism flow into the mainsteam. Perhaps not a remnant of the original all-embracing matriarchy from the ancient past, more like another quasi-male intellectual academic bent on self-differentiation. Still, Mary Daly hit a note that resonated with many other women totally sick of the male world. May their Circle someday open up for all of us...

You’d have to say that Mary Daly and Willie Mitchell represented two totally honest aspects of our life. Hopefully as they journey together through eternity, born in the same year, leaving two days apart, forever wedded together, their spirits can find a way to reinspire us to do both things: stay together, and relearn how to truly respect women.

[Carl R. Hultberg's grandfather, Rudi Blesh, was a noted jazz critic and music historian, and Carl was raised in that tradition. After spending many years as a music archivist and social activist in New York's Greenwich Village, he now lives in an old abandoned foundry in Danbury, New Hampshire, where he runs the Ragtime Society.]

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02 January 2010

South Africa's Dennis Brutus : A Poet for Human Rights

Dennis Brutus. Photos by Victor Dlamini / Flickr.

He will be remembered for his art and for his life:

Liberation poet Dennis Brutus (1924-2009)

By Mariann G. Wizard / The Rag Blog / January 2, 2010
See 'The Poetic Justice of Dennis Brutus,' by Amy Goodman, Below.
South African liberation poet Dennis Brutus passed away during the recent holidays. Of several online obituaries and tributes, the following, from Amy Goodman, best illustrates Brutus' importance to poets and human rights activists worldwide.

At the Rag Blog, some felt a special kinship with the deceased through his connection with our sister, imprisoned anti-imperialist activist and poet Marilyn Buck. Marilyn's CD, Wild Poppies (2004, Freedom Archives), was recorded while she was -- as she still is -- in a federal prison in California. She recorded some of her work for the CD, over the telephone -- recording equipment is not allowed in prison visiting rooms -- with the chaos and pain around her adding their ragged, random accompaniment.

Many other poets (myself included) contributed to Wild Poppies by reading Buck's poems for her; Dennis Brutus was by far the best-known. (Kwame Ture, the former Stokely Carmichael, voices a tribute to Buck on the CD.)

Some poets who participated read their own poems, touching on themes that pervade Marilyn's work, or poems Marilyn has translated from Spanish, but the South African Poet Laureate read one of her poems ("One-Hour Yard Poem") -- a very fine compliment from this man who was himself a prisoner of conscience and of apartheid, alongside Nelson Mandela. He also read one of his own ("Letter #18"). (Listen to Dennis Brutus reading these two poems, below.)

Like the great Chilean poet Pablo Neruda, Brutus will be remembered for his life and times as well as his lines, a poet lucky enough to witness extraordinary events, using his gift to open not only prison doors, but the doors of perception.


From Marilyn Buck's Wild Poppies:

Dennis Brutus reads Marilyn Buck's 'One Hour Yard Poem':

Dennis Brutus reads his 'Letter #18':


Photo by Victor Dlamini / Flickr.

There will come a time
There will come a time we believe
When the shape of the planet
and the divisions of the land
Will be less important;
We will be caught in a glow of friendship
a red star of hope
will illuminate our lives
A star of hope
A star of joy
A star of freedom

-- Dennis Brutus, Caracas, October 18, 2008

The poetic justice of Dennis Brutus
We are going to say to the world: There’s too much of profit, too much of greed, too much of suffering by the poor... -- Dennis Brutus
By Amy Goodman / December 29, 2010

Dennis Brutus broke rocks next to Nelson Mandela when they were imprisoned together on notorious Robben Island. His crime, like Mandela’s, was fighting the injustice of racism, challenging South Africa’s apartheid regime. Brutus’ weapons were his words: soaring, searing, poetic. He was banned, he was censored, he was shot. But this poet’s commitment and activism, his advocacy on behalf of the poor, never flagged.

Brutus died in his sleep early on December 26 in Cape Town, at the age of 85, but he lived with his eyes wide open. His life encapsulated the 20th century, and even up until his final days, he inspired, guided and rallied people toward the fight for justice in the 21st century.

Oddly, for this elfin poet and intellectual, it was rugby that early on nagged him about the racial injustice of his homeland. Brutus recalled being sarcastically referred to by a white man as a “future Springbok.”

The Springboks were the national rugby team, and Brutus knew that nonwhites could never be on the team. “It stuck with me, until years later, when I began to challenge the whole barrier -- questioning why blacks can’t be on the team.” This issue is depicted in Clint Eastwood’s new feature film, Invictus. President Mandela, played by Morgan Freeman, embraces the Springboks during the 1995 World Cup, admitting that until then blacks always knew whom to root for: any team playing against the Springboks.

In the late 1950s, Brutus was penning a sports column under the pseudonym “A. de Bruin” -- meaning “A brown” in Afrikaans. Brutus wrote, “The column... was ostensibly about sports results, but also about the politics of race and sports.” He was banned, an apartheid practice that imposed restrictions on movement, meeting, publishing, and more. In 1963, while attempting to flee police custody, he was shot. He almost died on a Johannesburg street while waiting for an ambulance restricted to blacks.

Brutus spent 18 months in prison, in the same section of Robben Island as Nelson Mandela, where he wrote his first collection of poems, Sirens, Knuckles, Boots. His poem “Sharpeville” described the March 21, 1960, massacre in which South African police opened fire, killing 69 civilians, an event which radicalized him:
Remember Sharpeville
bullet-in-the-back day
Because it epitomized oppression
and the nature of society
more clearly than anything else;
it was the classic event
After prison, Brutus began life as a political refugee. He formed the South African Non-Racial Olympic Committee to leverage sports into a high-profile, global anti-apartheid campaign. He succeeded in getting South Africa banned from the Olympic Games in 1970. Brutus moved to the United States, where he remained as a university professor and anti-apartheid leader, despite efforts by the Reagan administration to deny him continued status as a political refugee and deport him.

After the fall of apartheid and ascension to power of the African National Congress, Brutus remained true to his calling. He told me,
As water is privatized, as electricity is privatized, as people are evicted even from their shacks because they can’t afford to pay the rent of the shacks, the situation becomes worse... The South African government, under the ANC... has chosen to adopt a corporate solution.
He went on:
We come out of apartheid into global apartheid. We’re in a world now where, in fact, wealth is concentrated in the hands of a few; the mass of the people are still poor... a society which is geared to protect the rich and the corporations and actually is hammering the poor, increasing their burden, this is the reverse of what we thought was going to happen under the ANC government.
Many young activists know Dennis Brutus not for his anti-apartheid work but as a campaigner for global justice, ever present at mass mobilizations against the World Trade Organization, the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund -- and, most recently, although not present, giving inspiration to the protesters at the UN climate summit in Copenhagen.

He said, on his 85th birthday, days before the climate talks were to commence: “We are in serious difficulty all over the planet. We are going to say to the world: There’s too much of profit, too much of greed, too much of suffering by the poor... The people of the planet must be in action.”

[Amy Goodman is the host of “Democracy Now!,” a daily international TV/radio news hour airing on more than 800 stations in North America. She is the author of Breaking the Sound Barrier, recently released in paperback and now a New York Times best-seller. Denis Moynihan contributed research to this column.]

© 2009 Amy Goodman

Distributed by King Features Syndicate

Source / truthdig

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24 December 2009

Lester 'Red' Rodney : The Sportswriter Who Helped Break Baseball's Color Line

Sportswriter Lester "Red" Rodney, September 2007. Photograph by Byron LaGoy / Wikipedia Commons.

More than a sportswriter:
Lester 'Red' Rodney: 1911-2009

By Dave Zirin / December 24, 2009

It didn't make SportsCenter, but one of history's most influential sportswriters died this week at the age of 98. His name was Lester Rodney.

Lester was one of the first people to write about a young Negro League prospect named Jackie Robinson. He was the last living journalist to cover the famous 1938 fight at Yankee Stadium between "The Brown Bomber" Joe Louis and Hitler favorite, Max Schmeling. He crusaded against baseball's color line when almost every other journalist pretended it didn't exist. He edited a political sports page that engaged his audience in how to fight for a more just sports world.

His writing, which could describe the beauty of a well-turned double play in one sentence and blast injustice in the next, is still bracing and ahead of its time. He should be in the Baseball Hall of Fame. Instead he was largely erased from the books.

If you have never heard of Lester Rodney, there is a very simple reason why: the newspaper he worked at from 1936-1958 was the Daily Worker, the party press of the U.S. Communist Party. Lester used his paper to launch the first campaign to end the color line in Major League Baseball. I spoke to Lester about this in 2004 and he said to me,
It's amazing. You go back and you read the great newspapers in the thirties, you'll find no editorials saying, 'What's going on here? This is America, land of the free and people with the wrong pigmentation of skin can't play baseball?' Nothing like that. No challenges to the league, to the commissioner, no talking about Satchel Paige and Josh Gibson, who were obviously of superstar caliber. So it was this tremendous vacuum waiting.

I spoke to the leaders of the YCL [the Young Communist League]. We talked about circulating the paper [at ballparks]. It just evolved as we talked about the color line and some kids in the YCL suggested, 'Why don't we go to the ballparks -- to Yankee Stadium, Ebbets Field, the Polo Grounds -- with petitions?' We wound up with at least a million and a half signatures that we delivered straight to the desk of [baseball commissioner] Judge Landis.
As Lester fought to end the color ban, he also never stopped highlighting and covering the Negro League teams, giving them press at a time when they were invisible men outside of the African American press.

Jackie Robinson.

But it was Jackie Robinson who captured Lester's imagination. Armed with a press pass to the Ebbets Field locker room, he saw up close the way Robinson was told to "just shut up and play" despite the constant harassment during his inaugural 1947 campaign. "Jackie was suppressing his very being, his personality," said Lester. "He was a fiercely intelligent man. He knew his role and he accepted it. And the black players who followed him knew what he meant too."

Lester saw the way their play -- and their courage -- helped inspire the struggle for civil rights, especially in the South. Lester told me about a dramatic exhibition game in Atlanta where all the dynamics of the Black freedom struggle were on display.
This exhibition game wound up with the Black fans being allowed in because they had overflowed the segregated stands, they had poured in from outlying districts to see the first integrated game in Georgia history. The Klan had said, 'This must not happen.'

That night there was this tremendous sight of Robinson, [Dodgers African American players] Don Newcombe, and Roy Campanella coming out and the black fans behind the ropes and in the stands standing and roaring their greeting. A large sector of whites were just sitting and booing. Then other white people, hesitantly at first, stood up and consciously differentiated themselves from the booers and clapped. This was an amazing spectacle.

This was the Deep South many years before the words civil rights were widely known. So it had its impact... Roy Campanella, once said to me something like, 'Without the Brooklyn Dodgers you don't have Brown v. Board of Education.' I laughed, I thought he was joking but he was stubborn. He said, 'All I know is we were the first ones on the trains, we were the first ones down South not to go around the back of the restaurant, first ones in the hotels.' He said, 'We were like the teachers of the whole integration thing.'
Lester would still become emotional when he recalls Jackie Robinson and his impact.
There are very few people of whom you can say with certainty that they made this a somewhat better country. Without doubt you can say that about Jackie Robinson. His legacy was not, 'Hooray, we did it,' but 'Buddy, there's still unfinished work out there'

He was a continuing militant, and that's why the Dodgers never considered this brilliant baseball man as a manager or coach. It's because he was outspoken and unafraid. That's the kind of person he was. In fact, the first time he was asked to play at an old-timers' game at Yankee Stadium, he said 'I must sorrowfully refuse until I see more progress being made off the playing field on the coaching lines and in the managerial departments.'

He made people uncomfortable. In fact it was that very quality which made him something special. He always made you feel that 'Buddy, there's still unfinished work out there.'
We can absolutely say the same about Lester Rodney, albeit with a twist. Yes, Lester made you feel like there was unfinished work out there. But he also made you feel like the great fun in life was in trying to get it done. That and seeing a perfectly turned 6-4-3 double play.

[Dave Zirin is The Nation's sports editor. His column, Edge of Sports, appears on Sports Illustrated's website and he is the host of a weekly show on XM satellite radio. He is the author of Welcome to the Terrordome: the Pain, Politics and Promise of Sports (Haymarket) and A People's History of Sports in the United States (The New Press). He was named one of Utne Reader's 50 Visionaries who are Changing Your World for 2009.]

Source / Smirking ChimpThanks to Jeffrey Segal / The Rag Blog

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04 December 2009

RIP Bobby Keane : The Rise and Fall of a Music Man

Ritchie Valens, left, and Bob Keane, then president of Del-Fi Records, on TV show in Los Angeles, 1958. Photo from Michael Ochs Archives / Getty Images.

Musician and music biz progidy:
The ill-starred life of Bobby Keane


By Carl R. Hultberg / The Rag Blog / December 4, 2009

Bobby Kuhn was born in California in 1922, at Manhattan Beach, later famous for its surf scene. Since the surfers hadn’t discovered the waves yet, Bobby was crazy for the Benny Goodman Band. Everyone was.

For one thing, Benny had an interracial unit when that really meant something back in the 1930s. It was Goodman’s wild experimental trad clarinet mixed up with all kinds of modern ideas, like black blues-jazz electric guitar (Charlie Christian), jazz vibraphone (Lionel Hampton), a teenage sensation white drummer (Gene Krupa). This was the future, man!

But first World War II, so Bobby Kuhn learned to fly and taught other U.S. Army Air Corps pilots to do the same. Before the war, Bobby had been the nation’s youngest jazz bandleader at age 17. After the war he substituted for Artie Shaw in that big band and later went on to create and perform music for early television. Somewhere along the line he changed his name first to Bobby Keene, than later, Bobby Keane.

The success his early promise had foretold had not been realized, so he decided to go into the record business. It was the mid-1950s and the teenage rock and roll scene was just taking off. His first big discovery was none other than Sam Cooke, who Keane picked out of the lineup of the Gospel singing Soul Stirrers. Cooke’s original hit, “You Send Me,” was recorded for Keane’s Keen Records label. But Bob Keane was pushed out of Keen Records as soon as Mr. Cooke’s success became a reality. Probably by the Mob, because soon Allen Klein was in charge of Sam Cooke’s career.

A year later (1958), Bob Keane discovered a burly Mexican American teenager driving some teenage girls crazy with an electric guitar at a show before a movie in LA. At Keane’s urging the kid changed his name to Richie Valens and, with Bob’s tutelage and grooming, soon became a top ten recording star. A year later, Richie Valens (along with Buddy Holly and the Big Bopper) was killed in a tragic plane crash.

Meanwhile Bob Keane, the producer, gave some future stars their first breaks. Soul singer Brenda Holloway, for example. Young recording studio prodigy Frank Zappa had just been busted for creating a soundtrack for a porno movie when he got to place some of his surf guitar and doo wop recordings with Keane’s new record company venture Del-Fi in 1963. Other Surf groups had recorded on this label, including the genre defining Surfaris. Here Bob was recording music from groups operating out of the beach town he had been born in.

But after all the tragic disappointments and small time success Bob Keane had suffered through in the record business, by the mid 1960s he was sure he’d found the big act he had been looking for. The Bobby Fuller Four, out of Texas, had it all. For one thing, in many ways they were the spitting musical image of Buddy Holly’s Crickets. Their first hit was a cover of Buddy’s “Love’s Made a Fool of You.” The group’s leader, singer, guitarist was the ultra clean cut non druggy but still somewhat wild, charismatic and soulful Bobby Fuller. The group could easily be as big as Paul Revere and the Raiders, for example.

Bobby Fuller: mob hit?

Bobby Fuller proved his worth soon thereafter in 1966 going right into the Top Ten with “I Fought the Law,” a song written by Sonny Curtis, one of the Crickets. This was it. Bob Keane had finally hit the big time with a solid group on his Del-Fi label. The promise he had shown in those early years, after all those discoveries he never got to benefit from, would surely be borne out when the Bobby Fuller Four created their legacy under his guidance.

But something went terribly wrong. Perhaps the cocky Bobby Fuller did something he shouldn’t have done. Like maybe ask the wrong people where his royalty money went. Whatever happened, later in 1966 young Bobby Fuller was found dead in his car near his house, the victim of (probably forced) gasoline ingestion. Don’t mess with the Mob.

So that was it for Bob Keane’s career in the big time music business. He went on to selling things door to door and managing his son’s rock band. It just goes to show that talent will get you nowhere if you don’t get and keep the right connections. The most amazing thing is that in the midst of this cesspool of greed, fear and exploitation some great music actually comes out once and a while.

Bob Keane was one of the guys who fought for talent, and though he ultimately lost all his commercial battles and his discoveries were mostly all doomed, the great music he recorded is with us still. Maybe Bob Keane knew that’s all that really matters,

RIP.

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19 November 2009

R.I.P. Bill Narum : Legendary Artist of the Texas Counterculture

Below, cover of Space City!, June 1, 1971. Illustration and design by Bill Narum.
Bill Narum was a dear friend of The Rag Blog and my personal friend and colleague for more than four decades. He was art director at Space City!, the pioneering underground paper we published in Houston in the late Sixties and early Seventies. He was a major force in the Houston underground radio scene -- at KLOL and KPFT -- and became one of the most important graphic designers and poster artists in the Texas counterculture. And he was still going strong.

He was also an activist, deeply committed to social justice, to basic political and cultural change, but -- as with most things in his life -- he did it without bombast or bluster.

Bill Narum was an exceptional talent; he was also a calm and gentle human being. His death leaves a void that cannot ever be filled.

Thorne Dreyer / The Rag Blog / November 19, 2009
R.I.P. Bill Narum:
Legendary Texas counterculture artist,
underground radio pioneer


By Chris Gray / November 19, 2009
See gallery of Bill Narum art, Below.
Bill Narum, a key figure in Houston's counterculture in the late 1960s and early '70s, passed away Wednesday night, November 18, 2009, at his home in Austin. The cause of death was an "apparent heart attack or something that took him quickly while sitting in his studio at the art table in his chair," said Narum's close friend Margaret Moser, who profiled him for the Austin Chronicle in 2005.

Austin native Narum, who was in his early 60s, grew up in Houston and discovered his talent for graphic design early on. "In the fifth grade, I'd been drawing girlie cartoons from Playboy in a notebook, and I left it in my desk after class," he told the Chronicle. "The next day I was reprimanded for disrupting class because they were passing around my notebook."

In the late '60s, Narum co-founded Houston free-form FM rock station KLOL and worked as an illustrator for underground newspaper Space City News. He struck up a long-lasting friendship with a band then just starting out, which had recently rechristened itself ZZ Top. Narum would go on to become ZZ's house graphic artist, moving from posters and album covers such as 1976's Tejas to epic murals for the band's fleet of semis and the famous cactus-and-cattle-skull stage design for the trio's legendary 1975-76 "Worldwide Texas" tour.

Bill Narum, from left, with Houston underground radio pioneers Dan Earhart and Larry Yurdin. Photo by Gloria Hill, Austin, 2008.

After moving back to his hometown in the '70s, Narum continued designing posters for venues such as Antone's and Armadillo World Headquarters, and explored a budding interest in both video and computer-game design. In 2005, he was elected president of the board of directors of Austin folk-art storehouse the South Austin Museum of Popular Culture around the same time his 40-year retrospective, "You Call That Art," opened at the museum.

Speaking of Narum's many achievements, SAMOPC director Leea Mechling told the Austin Chronicle: "He's a major contributor to the cultural dynamics of not only Austin, but Texas, the United States, and the world."

Source / Houston Press

Senator John (Corn Dog) Cornyn, R-Texas, aka Lapdog to President Bush. Graphic by Bill Narum / The Rag Blog / May 23, 2008.





Also see:The Rag Blog

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04 November 2009

Claude Lévi-Strauss : 'La Pensée Sauvage'

Anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss: dead at 100.

Anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss:
Making sense of la pensée sauvage

By Carl R. Hultberg / The Rag Blog / November 4, 2009

In French sauvage means wild, not necessarily savage. In our language savage means aggressive, a value judgment left over from centuries of exterminations.

Heathens, savages, primitive people, natives. All these words describe a certain section of humanity, but they all mean something different. If confusion about our ancestral past is the price we pay to be modern, then so called “primitive man” will always be a source of much uneasiness. After the period when natives must be displaced and killed off, what do we derive from our relationship with them? Do we try in sad little ways to imitate their rituals at Boy Scout camp or on a football team?

For years the details of primitive people’s lives were catalogued by observers, anthropologists. But it wasn’t until the 1950s that one of these anthropologists, a Frenchman working for the Rockefeller Foundation, began to draw parallels from all the studies that had been made worldwide.

Claude Lévi-Strauss in the Brazilian Amazon, 1936. Photo by Apic / Getty Images.

To Claude Lévi-Strauss, the mind of the “primitive” was not a disorganized collection of confused myths and superstitions, but was in its own way searching for objective reality like all the rest of us. And the vast collection of mythology collected around the world from these types of populations could be catalogued and searched over for commonalities.

Lévi-Strauss himself did some of this pattern work, creating a new school of Western thought known as structuralism. Of course what structuralism points back to is what certain philosophers, psychologists, and poets have claimed all along: the existence of a universal human element, an originating unified matriarchy, one source and one basic pattern for all disparate human myths.

What Claude Lévi-Strauss succeeded in doing was bringing anthropology as a science to the brink of being able to understand human origins. The fact that he himself backed off before embracing the full Rousseau (Noble Savage), the absolute Carl Jung (Universal Unconscious) or the mother of all mythbreakers, Robert Graves (White Goddess), tells you right away he went too far. Two steps further and Levi-Strauss would have been back in alchemy land.

So it was that structuralism was attacked as simplistic, finally superseded by, you guessed it, “post-structuralism.” All male dominant science is ultimately one big ego-driven pissing contest. Truth can never flourish for long if we are to have neverending “progress” and new succeeding generations of intellectual leaders.

Claude Lévi-Strauss, the father of the structuralist school of anthropology died this week. He was a hundred years old.

The Rag Blog

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31 October 2009

Photographer Roy DeCarava : 'The Sound I Saw'

Photographer Roy DeCarava. Photo by triggahappy76 / Flickr.

Roy DeCarava : 1919-2009
Photographer Roy DeCarava, who died Oct. 27 at age 89, dedicated his 60-year career to capturing images of African Americans. His subjects ranged from daily life in his hometown of Harlem to the Civil Rights movement, but his most noted work featured photographs of jazz greats like Duke Ellington, Thelonious Monk, Billie Holiday and Louis Armstrong...

The first black photographer to win a Guggenheim Fellowship, DeCarava was also awarded the National Medal of Arts... In 1996, his work was the subject of a major traveling retrospective organized by the Museum of Modern Art in New York City.

NPR / October 30, 2009
"pepsi," 1964. Photo by Roy DeCarava.

The Sound I Saw:
Photography from a black point of view


By Carl R. Hultberg / The Rag Blog / October 31, 2009

Pictures of a man leaving the subway, of a saxophone, a black woman’s face. John Coltrane. Langston Hughes. The black New York City photographer who captured this Harlem history in its latter heyday was Roy DeCarava.

Educated at Cooper Union, and struggling to survive working as an illustrator, Mr. DeCarava always managed to find time to photograph ordinary life in his neighborhood. Whether it was the murky view out a dirty window from a cheap room, or the iconic image of a (now) Jazz Giant, Roy had a way of ennobling everything he snapped. But not in the usual style of strictly European art based traditions or sentimentality. It was as if the simple objects portrayed were the same as the faces of the people, of the Jazz musicians -- all possessing a story to tell.

What Roy DeCarava accomplished, and what we now take for granted, is a black point of view. What English word do we use to describe this type of vision? Good question. Perhaps it is better that it doesn’t have a name like “Soul” that could be easily turned into advertising copy and lose all meaning. What Roy DeCarava photographed was the tenderness and quiet pride flowing through everyday Harlem life, the smoldering Jazz solo across a smoke filled club, the structural beauty of a black person’s face.

Included in the seminal photo collection The Family of Man (1955), DeCarava was still mostly intolerant of the white art world. Although he received a Guggenheim Grant in 1952, Roy felt no need to acknowledge that art world or participate in the mainstream art scene. Instead he turned his own apartment in Harlem into a gallery for a few years, exhibiting the work of other art photographers. Instead of working for Life Magazine full time like black photo pioneer Gordon Parks, Roy DeCarava sponsored a protest against the publication.

Roy was also a great photography teacher (at Hunter College), sending hundreds of student camera eyes out into the streets in search of poetic truth. Roy DeCaravara’s great cultural accomplishment was to equate black street life with black Jazz, seemingly in an effort to ensure that one would not rise without the other. It was all about timing, whether it was Jazz, or Photography, or Life.

Asked what he saw in the Jazz performance that made it like photography he said: "I improvise. Improvisation is all about individual interpretations, individual expression. And that's what I'm doing." He also said: “in between that one-fifteenth of a second, there is a thickness.” That was a poet speaking. Roy DeCarava passed on this week, but his photographs are still telling their simple eloquent stories of black life.

Also see:The Rag Blog

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19 October 2009

Mariann G. Wizard : Danger Found Code Blue

Cody Ryan Patterson on graduation day from basic training. Family photo.

Army Spec. Cody Ryan Patterson:
Danger found him in his own home
He was a proud, happy soldier of the Imperium when he died, had never been under hostile fire nor killed another human being.
By Mariann G. Wizard / The Rag Blog / October 19, 2009

Those of you who read The Rag Blog compulsively, even unto the Comments, may have seen one or two such in which I've mentioned, without naming him completely, my nephew from North Central Texas, serving with the U.S. Army in Iraq.

Army Spec. Cody Ryan Patterson corresponded with his Auntie M. a bit, when he had Internet access. He sent me a piece of spam at one point, an arrogant, militaristic set of instructions to U.S. civilians on how service personnel should be treated when encountered here at home; it basically said that if a person had some issue with the mission, to keep it to him or herself or risk an "ass-kicking."

I wrote back that I would turn Cody Ryan over my knee when he was home on leave! "If you're not over there protecting my right to think and say what my conscience tells me, buster, you shouldn't be wearing the uniform!"

He came right back at me, like a (very young) man, having what may have been one of his first sustained intellectual arguments with an adult relative. I sent him a Rag Blog story about Army resister Victor Agosto, and he was totally appalled by it; felt that Victor must be a coward and was glad he didn't have anyone who felt that way in his unit, since they would be a danger to him.

He argued for duty and contractual obligation, and I argued for individual responsibility. But we ended each e-mail with hugs and kisses, reminders of the bond we shared.

Cody and I met when my youngest brother married his Mom, who came to us with a son and a daughter. He was a bright, mischievous, totally typical brown-eyed boy, and, like his sister and little-brother-to-come, an outgoing, affectionate kid who never said "Good-bye" to his aunts or his grandma without also saying, "I love you," and giving a hearty kiss and hug. My affectionate nickname for him became "Code Blue," for some reason I no longer recall.

He was a natural-born fisherman, but was allergic to fish. I bought him a copy of the first Harry Potter book when it was published, at the apparently perfect time to spark his interest in reading for a while, but it didn't last. After my brother and Cody's Mom split up, not what you'd call amicably, I didn't see much of him.

Later, with no college-oriented funds, prospects, or ambitions, he left high school and went to work, but couldn't find a job in Hill or Johnson counties that paid enough to get his own place, buy a reliable truck, and do the other things young men need to do. He would have gone to the Marines, but an old eye injury kept him out, and the Army got him instead.

Cody came home on leave a week ago. He was to have deployed to Afghanistan on Oct. 28. I'd hoped to see him and hug his neck before he left Texas again. But danger found him at 5 a.m. Saturday morning in his mother's house in Blum. Cody was killed by someone he trusted. It was not a member of his family. The murder appears to have been premeditated, and a young woman has been arrested in connection with the crime

Cody was Army strong. He made it to the door of his mother's room before collapsing against it, calling, "I've been shot" as he fell. Cody was dead before the ambulance and the police arrived. His sister and his Mom's boyfriend both did CPR on him but to no avail.

I could go into a lot more detail here about the regular rural po'folks who are my family, could make it seem even more sordid, senseless, sad. But what is the difference, for a 20-year old boy-man, in dying in a village quarrel in Texas or in one halfway around the world, in somebody else's village? What is the difference in hearing your son's last gasps as he dies in your arms and in imagining them every night he is in harm's way?

Army recruiters sealed their deal with Cody when they had him come to see them in Ft. Worth and put him up on the next-to-penthouse floor of a downtown hotel. He'd never been that far off the ground before.

After basic training, he called my brother, his former step-dad, to thank him for his efforts in requiring young Cody to be responsible, to do chores, and for extensive camping and hunting experiences; he felt infinitely more prepared than some of the guys he'd met in basic, who apparently cried for their blankies at night and ain't never kilt a rabbit.

He was a proud, happy soldier of the Imperium when he died, had never been under hostile fire nor killed another human being.

No one in Cody's family can escape knowing that whatever facts may emerge, the young woman arrested is somebody's child, and also somebody's mother. We're not naive enough to seek "closure," or imagine that further tragedy will mitigate this one. But we will be looking for justice. That may be the only real difference between Blum and any hamlet of 300 souls in "Afraq."

Some Rag Blog readers who'd read about my recent exchanges with Cody expressed good wishes for his upcoming deployment, that he would come home OK, with both his life and his sacred honor intact. I appreciated those good wishes for this good kid, and wanted to let you know, as his Mom reportedly said yesterday in her grief, that we "don't have to worry for him anymore."

[Editor’s note: This article has been revised, and a portion redacted, at the author’s request, due to concerns from the immediate family and in the interest of a continuing criminal investigation.

In the words of Mariann Wizard: "Last night, I made a mistake. I allowed speculation to creep into an otherwise factual story about my nephew's life and death. I should have waited before submitting this article, should have run it by Cody's family first, and I apologize for not having done so. I let my emotions carry me away. Thanks to all those who responded.”]


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19 June 2009

Tina Marsh : Requiem for a Jazz Angel

Photo by Michael Fuentes.

Vissi d’arte:
Requiem for Tina Marsh, golden-voiced jazz angel

and fearless explorer of far-flung musical frontiers
Tina Marsh lived for art, and on Tuesday, June 16, she died for art in her South Austin home surrounded by family and friends. Tina was 55 years young.
By James Retherford / The Rag Blog / June 19, 2009

A personal reflection on the passing of an extraordinary woman …

I worked with Tina Marsh as graphic designer for the Creative Opportunity Orchestra from the beginning in 1980 for the next dozen years or so. The pay wasn't good, but the overall artistic rewards were priceless.

Tina's transcendent musicianship and vocality never failed to astonish me. How could a voice emerging from a place so deep and mysterious belong to a mere mortal? I often could not help but wonder whether -- like Sun Ra, another musical explorer who visited and left this planet before her -– she had come from another world, another plane of aural reality.

Tina's message of peace, love, and community belies a career fraught with struggle, setbacks, and disappointments, both professionally and personally. As I realized after a recent candid conversation with Tina's longtime friend and collaborator Alex Coke, a dedicated jazz artist in Austin is always about one illness or a couple cancelled gigs from homelessness. Tina's own hardships seemed to give her musical voice more urgency, more authenticity.

That voice is irreplaceable, but her work and her indomitable spirit can and must prevail.

Peace, love, and community.
Why don't you go down old Hannah,
well, well, well,
Don't you rise no more, don't you rise no more,
Why don't you go down old Hannah,
Hannah, don't you rise no more.

-- Leadbelly, “Go Down, Ol’ Hannah”

Heaven has added a shining new voice to the Celestial Choir, and, to honor the occasion, Gabriel is blowing hot triple-tongued riffs blessed by Louis, Dizzy, and Miles while angels arrayed in rainbow raiments dance on ribbons of light. Gene Ramey and Martin Banks sit in beside the Almighty Bandleader, saying “You go, Tina. You go, girl.”

Meanwhile here in Austin and the world, we lost a mostly underappreciated muse, but that’s how it is with our earthbound muses, and the teary-eyed children in and among us will huddle and embrace, humming a Huddie Ledbetter dirge.

Tina Marsh was a jazz adventurer, vocal explorer, orchestra leader and community builder, tireless messenger of harmony and hope. To borrow from one of her far-too-infrequent recordings, a simple pure-voiced rendition of Tosca’s evocative anthem, “Vissi d’arte,” Tina lived for art, and on Tuesday, June 16, she died for art in her South Austin home surrounded by family and friends. Tina was 55 years young.

Marsh was born in Annapolis, MD, in 1954, and arrived in Austin in 1977 after a short-lived East Coast career in musical theatre. Inspired by her friend and mentor, Roscoe Mitchell of the Art Ensemble of Chicago, Tina reached out and embraced the freedom of musical expression called jazz. Inspired by Mitchell’s groundbreaking jazz collective, Chicago’s Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians (AACM), she then reached out and touched Austin’s struggling jazz community with a bold sense of possibility. In 1980, with co-founder Carl Michel, Marsh launched Austin’s venerable music cooperative of composer-improvisers, the Creative Opportunity Orchestra, and dared to venture into an unknown Texas frontier where avant garde jazz and free-form improvisational music had never stepped before.

When Michel departed for a teaching career in Minnesota after the first season, Marsh, by sheer force of will, kept CO2 moving ahead, writing and securing grants, seeking out and charming local benefactors, scheduling events and venues, coordinating travel and rehearsal schedules for 18-20 musicians (some from as far away as L.A. and NYC), reviewing new scores, composing, performing, teaching, overseeing CO2 community outreach programs to develop an audience for the music, planning promotional and advertising efforts, and all the while raising her two sons, Clay and Diamond Zeke -- and for more than a decade battling breast cancer.

Almost 30 years later, the Creative Opportunity Orchestra has performed locally, toured nationally, and garnered acclaim internationally. CO2 has produced five critically praised (but commercially less than successful) recordings, including 1994’s masterful “The Heaven Line.” More than 200 musicians have performed under the orchestra’s banner, including guest artists such as Mitchell, Carla Bley, Steve Swallow, Billy Hart, and Kenny Wheeler. From 2002-2006, CO2 produced an annual New Jazz Series, featuring national artists such as Hamiet Bluiett, Fred Hess, Ron Miles, Sue Mingus, and Boris Koslov producing and performing music with the orchestra.

Under Marsh’s direction, CO2 also produced model outreach programs for young people throughout Texas. The first, an after-school project at South Austin’s once-struggling Becker Elementary where Marsh was for many years artist-in-education, established classes in percussion, urban dance, simple wind instruments, and more. At the end of the school year, the children, joined by such well-known local musicians and artists as Oliver Rajamani, the late Martin Banks, Nicholas Young, Joel Guzman, and Marsh, staged a gala performance for parents and peers.

More than a decade ago, Marsh used her outreach experience to conceive and produce Circle of Light, an extraordinarily successful multicultural holiday program featuring Austin musicians performing the songs and dances of Christmas, Las Posadas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Diwali, and Ramadan in Austin schools and local venues. For a video feature on the Circle of Light school workshops, click here. For a preview of the film-in-progress about Circle of Light, click here.


Just as the Creative Opportunity Orchestra’s repertoire was not confined to performance, Tina’s creative interests were not confined to the orchestra. She composed, arranged, and performed music for choreographers Deborah Hay, Yacov Sharir and José Luis Bustamante, and her longtime friend Sally Jacques. She has performed and recorded with composer/saxophonist Alex Coke on Alex’s early 1980s gem, “New Visions” (whose album cover I designed), the Leadbelly Legacy Band (1989), the masterful 2002 “New Texas Swing” (featuring a soulful rendering of Leadbelly’s “Go Down Ol’ Hannah”), the powerful 2005 performances and recording of “Iraqnophobia/Wake Up Dead Man” (in collaboration with photographer Alan Pogue), and a recent highly experimental trio called “It’s Possible” (2008).

A 2000 session with New York pianist Bob Rodriguez, bassist Ken Filiano, and drummer Ron Glick produced a sterling performance of Marsh’s superb “Mezzaluna, Too.” More recently, in 2006, Tina teamed with pianist Eddy Hobizal and cellist Terry Muir to record “Inside the Breaking,” a haunting offering of arias, pop standards, and songs, including the aforementioned Puccini, Leonard Cohen’s “Anthem,” and Ornette Coleman’s beautiful “Lonely Woman.” A performance with Tosca String Quartet, celebrating the group’s 10th anniversary of “estrogen-driven musicality, “ can be seen here.

Marsh was inducted into Texas Music Hall of Fame in 2001 and the Austin Artists Hall of Fame in 2008, but, as noted jazz journalist Howard Mandel understates, “she has received woefully inadequate press attention outside her immediate locale -- much less than her music deserves, as it is always warm, penetrating or provocative, and satisfying.”


To call Tina Marsh a musical adventurer is nigh axiomatic. The Austin Chronicle's Raoul Hernandez once described her as "Billie Holliday meets Diamanda Galas for a drink at the Broken Spoke." On her MySpace page, Marsh lists Ella Fitzgerald, Sheila Jordan, Yma Sumac, Meredith Monk, and Nancy Wilson as her influences.

Mandel recently called Tina “a pure-voiced vocalist who employs extended techniques in dramatic interpretations of songs… with brilliant control for deep effect but who has also conducted a wild ‘n’ wooly ensemble through open structures to fine result and [has] been described as singing ‘scat to the highest power.’”

Austin American-Statesman writer Brad Buchholtz, in his
excellent tribute on Wednesday, noted that Tina, “as she demonstrated in her treatment of a song such as… Coleman’s 'Lonely Woman,' was in equal measure a 'vocalist' and 'singer.'"

“She could scat,” Buchholz wrote, “but her wordless vocal lines were more sophisticated than that. Marsh used her voice as an instrument to convey literal effects -- the coo of birds, the flutter of wings -- and in other contexts approximate the figurative: turbulence, vastness or longing.”

Tina’s sister, Val, told Buchholz, “I’m no expert. But when I sing and reach a pure note, I feel as close to God as I can get. And I know Tina was doing that all the time. It was like her constant prayer or chant or meditation. But beyond that, she had the genius and capacity to carry an audience with her.”

If there is a heaven, Tina Marsh already is carrying a new audience with her. Gene and Martin are proud.
Tina Marsh Memorial Service

Tina Marsh's Memorial Service celebrating her life, will be held this Saturday, June 20, 2009, from 4:30-6:30 p.m. at The One World Theatre, 7701 Bee Cave Rd, Austin, generously donated by proprietors, Nada and Hartt. Tina's CDs will be available for sale with proceeds going to the family for medical expenses. Donations are welcome as well. The service will be Quaker Style with a designated time for sharing a few words about Tina. There will be a pot luck reception following the ceremony at One World beginning at 6:30. -- Donna Menthol
A Tribute to Tina Marsh

CO2, CreOp Muse, and Sally Jacques’ Blue Lapis Light will present A Tribute to Tina Marsh at 7 p.m., Sunday, June 21, at the J.J. Pickle Federal Building, 300 E. Eighth Street in Austin. The tribute will precede Blue Lapis Light's new aerial ballet performance, “Impermanence.”

Pianist Eddy Hobizal and cellist Terry Muir, the Zeke Zimmerman Band, and past and present participants in Marsh's Circle of Light project will perform. A suggested donation of $10 will go toward paying Marsh's medical expenses. Anyone wishing to stay for the 9:15 p .m. performance of “Impermanence,” which is also dedicated to Marsh, may do so for an additional pay-as-you-wish price (suggested $10).

Requiem: Tina Marsh with pianist Eddy Hobizal and cellist Terry Muir




Seven YouTube offerings of a Tina Marsh live performance featuring pianist Eddie Hobizal and cellist Terry Muir:Tina Marsh directs her composition, “Milky Way Dreaming,” with Diane Moser’s Composers Big Band, Montclair, NJ, July 2007:The Rag Blog

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