Dear God, did I EMBED a FB post and PUT it here in my blog?! I did! Can I join the 21st century yet? Here’s the post. Click thru to get yr tickets early! Please pass the word to everybody.
Category: Blog
This blog contains music, cats, and things of less importance.
I'm With The Women
The other morning I saw this issue of Time and it made my day. Here’s the article, from January 29. It’s an inspiring read. Let the “Blue Wave” of 2018 be massive and decisive. I thought I had more to say right now, but I don’t. It’s all in this picture.
I'm With The Kids
Sometimes you just know there’s a shift going on. It may be hard to see all dimensions of the time we are living in, especially in times of great flux. Later in hindsight maybe we gather more understanding and say “A-ha, that is what was going on!”
Well in the third week of February, 2018, the youth of America decided to mobilize, and throw out the old greedy bastards who love money and guns more than they love children. This is what the kids are saying, I am just quoting them. Paraphrasing, rather. I agree with them. I am on their side. I think we should all be.
All they want, is to have their rights protected. Their rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Do those items ring a bell? The entire GOP, and certainly also many Democrats, accept money from the NRA. Together, they work to deprive innocent young people of their lives. Their liberty. Their pursuit of happiness.
As such the kids standing up are patriots claiming their rights, and those who oppose them are simply in the wrong. Remember right and wrong? Those are things. The kids remember the concept of right and wrong, and the servants of the NRA apparently do not. Or if they do remember, then they have simply chosen to be evil.
Right and wrong. Good and evil. Choices.
I’m with the kids.
Once In A Blue Moon UPTONES Gig!
The stars lined up, and we are playing, April 22nd, a Sunday afternoon gig at Ashkenaz. You can read deets and how this came about, on this post at our newly re-fangled webbysite ->
http://uptones.com/we-are-listening/
I’ll plop the show poster here too. Bring the fam! And yr dancin’ shoes!
Blasting With The Blasters
Saw The Blasters last night at Hopmonk in Novato and they blew the roof off. They’ve been playing for about 40 years now and still have most of their original lineup. The rhythm section is preposterous. One of the best rock and roll drum (Bill Bateman) and bass (John Bazz) teams you’ll ever find. There’s so much subtlety and dynamics and power in their playing – the kind of tightness you get from spending most of your life on the road. The only other time I saw them was in the 1980’s, and I had fond memories of that gig, so naturally I went last night with high expectations. The band exceeded them tenfold. Phil Alvin is in great voice, and lead guitarist Keith Wyatt is an absolute maniac. He played an old gold-top Les Paul through a small combo amp and just went berserk. A completely committed player, he took some long solos that only built in energy and fire and kept building when I thought there was no higher to go. The band scorched along for an hour and ten minutes or so and by the end I had a smile I couldn’t erase if I tried. I went with my old friend and musical partner in crime, Michael Valladares, and after the show we ran into Bateman and Wyatt out back on our way to our ride. We went full fan-boy on ’em and gushed because what else was there to do? We thanked them for a soul-lifting no-bullshit rock n’ roll experience and floated home. Absent was Dave Alvin, who wrote many of their songs, but he was present nonetheless in his songs. A deep catalog of heartfelt rockabilly and rock n’ roll anthems, many of them penned in his youth in Downey, California. There’s something uniquely special about a group of older musicians doing something they’ve spent their lives doing, with joy and abandon, live in concert, in a smallish venue with great sound. One of the best shows I’ve seen in a while. Catch ’em if you can! That is all.
Humble To Be Human
A peculiar observation of Vice President Pence: he’s white. I mean, white people aren’t usually white, as such. We can be sort of tan, or pink, orange even, but not white. Pence is white. White like a piece of white paper. There’s no pigment. He must bleach himself. No one can be that white. It’s unnatural. He and Jeff Sessions must go to the same bleaching spa. It must be a thing. They are of course also White Men in another sense. Champions of the expiring monsters of idiot patriarchy, white supremacy, theocracy, Pat Boone and every other bad thing on earth. They oppose all forms of freedom for anyone but themselves. And perhaps for other old men who also attend the bleaching salon. But even the bleached old men are sniping at each other now, as their rusted ship of bigoted fools plows at full steam for the jagged rocks of destiny’s shore.
Ahem. I’m white, according to convention. European-American. English, Scottish, Scandinavian, German. I took the mail-in spit-test, perhaps hoping for a surprise, but nope. Alabaster. Lily. Caucasian. Typical of straight white males, I didn’t spend much time thinking about my gender or race, while growing up. You’re born into your skin and gender and that’s it. Fate dealt me these privileged cards, and I don’t worry much about getting shot if I happen to get pulled over by the police. I was actually mistaken for a bank robber once, faced a small army of police with their guns drawn on me, and I survived. I’ll save that story for another post, it’s amusing. But we can’t escape our race, can we? It strikes me as odd, because it’s a fiction that we are different. That our worths are different. That our lives matter more or less. All of it is human-manufactured fiction that goes back centuries. In ancient Rome more than a third of the people were slaves. Our little baby nation practiced slavery just a few generations ago, yet some say “get over it” like it were anything less than a catastrophic crime against humanity that lasted for centuries. We’re all still affected by its legacy, our souls wrestle with it daily in myriad ways.
The weird kids screeching “you will not replace us” with tiki-torches last year displayed something I naively thought was gone. I thought that was in the past. These are kids who want to attend the bleaching salon, but can’t afford it! They want to be privileged slave-owning masters and they wont be. They want women to be second-class citizens again, and they wont be. Mike Pence probably sees “The Handmaids Tale” as a blueprint rather than a cautionary tale. But he is in a tiny minority. The United States of America are vast and multivarious. Our diversity is our strength. Bigotry will not win out. But its poison causes harm every day and its champions are in power for this dreadful moment.
I sometimes laugh at the comedy playing out in DC. It’s bloody entertaining, to see this lumbering wreckage, this blovious orange farce of a man, pretending to be president, and his clown men fanning him. It’s funny. It’s funny, but the harm it causes is anything but funny. Our poor country. Our poor world. It’s so sad.
What do I do, as a white man? This garbage presidency has shifted the context of whiteness, and of maleness, a bit. Religion, too. Oh, I left out Christian, in my self-privilege-assessment. Protestant. Lutheran and whatnot. Not practicing, mind you! But that’s my heritage, my background. Other than vote and try and be fair and kind in my affairs, I don’t know what to do. I don’t have answers. I have questions.
Why did people think we couldn’t elect a Catholic president? Kennedy sorted that out. Why did people tell me, when I supported Barack Obama’s campaign from the very day he announced, that he couldn’t win in this country? That we hadn’t evolved that far yet? Why also did people say more recently that Bernie Sanders could not win because he’s Jewish, or too old? A female president is as inevitable as the dawn, and Hillary Clinton won the popular vote by about 3 million.
For all of our flaws, our terrible history, our wars, our bigotries and our mistakes, this country is and will remain a nation of diversity, a nation of immigrants from all over the world. Unless you are a Native American you can only be several generations down from immigrants here, so the exclusionary rhetoric of division and fear vomited on us by the orange buffoon is patently absurd.
And what of racial pride? Why do we do that? Am I proud to be white? Am I proud to be straight? Am I proud to be an American? Or am I ashamed of these things? No, goddammit! I’m proud to be a human being! I am proud to share this precious and improbable world with humans, and critters, and plants and oceans and trees and air and joy and love! I am proud to be under the stars in a canopy of oxygen and nitrogen just right for breathing, and walking and swimming and running and playing music and living! And I’ve never hated a person in my life, least of all for their gender or race! Because why would you ever? What could be more boring, or impoverishing, or unpleasant, than that? To live that way, in fear, in bitterness, in grief, in the sadness and isolation and ignorance that bigotry requires. Why? Why choose that horrible darkness, when there is so much glory and light?
The “greatest nation on earth.” When did we start saying that? “One nation under God.” What unmitigated and utter bollocks. The presidents all ending their speeches with “God bless the United States of America.” Ridiculous. God bless the world. And everyone in it. That, ladies and gentlemen, is my interpretation, of the “American way.” God bless the whole world. Whatever your interpretation or understanding of God may or may not be, we can all rest assured, He, She, Them or It does not recognize our silly borders. Does not favor a race, or a gender or a country. Or a species, or anything for that matter. God is everything, and God is love. God does not discriminate. So why should we?
I am more pleased, than proud, I think. Amazed to have eyes and ears and senses and a body, with which to perceive the short time I have on this magnificent planet in an infinite and incomprehensible universe. Proud? Sure, I can be proud. But maybe humble is the better path? Humble to be American. Humble to be my race and gender. Humble to be human. Yes, I like that better.
I love humanity and I am humble to be in it, and you will never find me at the bleaching salon.
God bless You.
Dr. King Was Not Selling Trucks
This morning I listened to Democracy Now’s coverage of the automobile advertisement that ran during the Super Bowl, featuring the voice of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., excerpted from his speech of February 4, 1968. On the anniversary of that speech, an ad for RAM trucks used King’s voice. How ever did we come to a place, where a corporation, their ad agency, the broadcasting network, everyone in every step along the way, allowed a thing like that to be produced, and aired? Certainly someone, in one of those meetings where this was conceived, must have shouted, had a meltdown, protested, refused? They took King’s words not merely out of context, but in direct contradiction to the very points he made, in that very speech. DN! breaks it down pretty well, you can check out their segment on it here.
Where has our collective conscience gone? How tolerant of untruths have we become? In the eagerness to make a buck, not merely the corporations and individuals that made the advertisement went along with it, but someone representing the King estate must have, as well. It’s their right, legally. They can license his words and voice and likeness, any which way they choose to. But why? To what end? Have they abdicated responsibility, or did somehow they think this was an appropriate use of Dr. King’s recorded words?
It’s one thing when a song you love gets dumped into a commercial. And who can be mad at anyone who owns a copyright, wanting to cash in on it if they can? Everyone needs money. Now more than ever. Capitalism not merely won but it won with a vengeance, glorifying consumerism and greed and making a mockery of basic human values like compassion and brotherhood. Nature bats last and nature is at bat, swinging for the fences, and instead of an intelligent, science-based and community-based federal government, the United States is squatted upon by a political party with no apparent values whatsoever, other than meanness and greed. It is in this context that The Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, a biblical figure, a hero if there ever was one, one of the most important human voices of the Twentieth or any century, has his voice appropriated to glorify a goddamn truck. Using images of soldiers, for God’s sake. They couldn’t be more perverse in their violation of the meaning and intent of Dr. King’s words if they tried.
All this, while the most prominent voice in our country now, is one which only lies, all of the time, only self-glorifies, only belittles and insults, only disgraces himself and humanity with his every shallow poisoned breath, morning and night. The precise moral opposite of a Martin Luther King has been made the loudest voice, by our system of broadcast and advertising revenue, of click-bait, worship of spectacle, failure of imagination, apathy, laziness, and acute, howling stupidity.
This year I celebrated King’s birthday consciously. This year, for me, it wasn’t just a day when the schools and banks are closed, which is the depth to which I usually observe a holiday. This year I happened to listen, coincidentally, to the very speech in question here, and marveled at its prescience, its relevance, its power.
I just found it again on YouTube, so I will post it here. I’m listening again as I write. Appreciating and savoring the words of an intellectual, a man of conscience, a man of moral courage, whose voice calls us together, and inspires, and heals. Re-tasking this recording to sell cars surpasses irony and tastelessness to such a degree, I don’t even know if there’s a word for it. But such are these times. Thankfully, this recording survives intact, its intention clear, its meaning immortal.
There are some glitches in the audio there, it sounds like it was copied from a vinyl record which skips a bit, but mostly it’s intact.

Profanity and What Is Profane
NPR just published an article explaining their decision to publish the word shithole. Grownups. Had a discussion. About the pros and cons. Of saying “shithole.” In a news broadcast. “Shithole” was on the cover of a bunch of respectable papers and magazines yesterday. Because the context was so egregious, and because it came from the president of the United States. What an accomplishment. Again we are embarrassed and made a pariah to the world. The shithole presidency.
When I was a young kid in the 70’s I associated conservatives with our neighbors down the street, a nice old retired couple I knew only as the Hamiltons. I never got their first names. He was Mr. and she was Mrs. Hamilton and they let us come over and watch cartoons. They never used “curse words,” as he called them, and foul language was forbidden in their house. They flew the American flag on the appropriate days, and they voted conservative. I think he was a war veteran. She made cookies. We ate them. It was the closest thing to a “white picket fence” household I encountered in my oh-so-Berkeley youth. I really liked the Hamiltons. I was happy to mind my words and respect their house rules. Those were good cookies. These were good neighbors.
Lenny Bruce died in 1966, a year after I was born. In my teens I discovered his story and his work and he became a hero to me. His use of “profanity” got him arrested and persecuted, and precipitated a discussion on what is profane, what is freedom of speech, what is freedom of expression. He used whatever words he wanted to as part of his art. He wasn’t going to censor himself for anyone. It was brave, and dangerous, for him. He won, ultimately, at great personal cost, clearing the path for Richard Pryor and Bill Hicks and countless others who came after. But what do those words mean now?
I try to avoid them, in my own language, unless they’re really necessary to make a particular point. Using the “seven words you can’t say on television” that George Carlin spoke of, hasn’t seemed particularly rebellious or dangerous or interesting to me, in decades. There came a point when it seemed that stand-up comedians spent half their stage-time saying f- this and mother-f that. Eddie Murphy did a hilarious bit imitating Bill Cosby berating him and then Richard Pryor berating Cosby in response on this subject.. google it if you like, it’s quite funny. That was back in the 80’s. That’s how old this is. After Rage Against The Machine hit in the 90’s, I noticed bands yelling “motherfucker” constantly, and it seemed so.. frat house-y by then! And tedious. Like it had gone full circle, from rebellion to conformity. Movies endlessly flogging the four-letter words like there’s still any cultural point to it. Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton would be appalled. I just find it boring and unimaginative.
Maybe proper language is the new edgy. Maybe the infestation of the white house by a foul-mouthed bigot has rendered four-letter words obsolete. Maybe Lenny Bruce would consider them un-cool now, and speak in an elegant, even formal way? Maybe the Hamiltons would vote for Bernie Sanders! I don’t think they’d vote for the “curse words” guy. They’d have him wash his mouth out with soap.
Presidents are supposed to set a good example. Say smart, presidential things, and demonstrate dignity, respect, and class. 45 does the opposite. What is profane is his statement about “shithole countries.” What is profane is the attitude behind it. What is profane is racism and bigotry and small-mindedness and willful ignorance. What is profane is the GOP that allowed and still allows this.
Here are a few organizations you can engage, for effective ways to help reduce the profanity in our 2018 mid-term elections:
and of course berniesanders.com
Here are some words which are not profane.
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
MOTHER OF EXILES. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!
-Emma Lazarus
Baby Baby Baby Baby Baby Happy New Year!
Making this song summed up the second half of 2017 for me somehow. It’s redundant to say I’ve had enough of last year, who hasn’t?! I’m looking forward to good doings in 2018! Let’s go.
I wrote and recorded that in October right after the North Bay fires. BandCamp didn’t make me shorten the title, bless their hearts. I had to shorten it to distribute to the streaming services. Oh the humanity!
My fellow Uptone Mike Stevens played drums. I played acoustic guitars and sang. There’s just one electric guitar part on the song, the 8 bar solo in the middle. We turned Mikey’s old Champ amp up to eleven and I let ‘er rip on the same mutant “Tele” hybrid I’ve been playing since 1983. This thing:
The guitar, not the cat. The cat helped me do overdubs at home later.
A Frog Symphony, God's Mercy, And Sweet Home Alabama
It’s fair to say that I like the sound of winter. Cold air seems to carry sound waves differently than warm air. I don’t know the physics of it but it must be true just as sound carries differently in water. I could google the science of it but why spoil the mystery. I could put a question mark on that last sentence for proper grammar but that would spoil the meaning. In fact when one writes one can do whatever one wants and punctuate or not at whim. Re-task words to suit one’s porpoise. Art is the same way. Freedom.
One of the most beautiful symphonies I’ve heard was performed by frogs. In a large meadow after a spring rain and they were making more frogs. Or discussing it. It was a large group discussion among many frogs. They would reach crescendos of chirpling in a sort of rhythm that became united and then separated in fractal deliciousness and occasionally fall silent. Then one frog would chirp and another across the meadow would chime in and then a thousand frogs would sing and echo through the valley and then they’d fall silent and the cycle would repeat. I forgot to mention the creek. There’s a creek in the middle of the meadow and in the pauses between choruses the little waterfalls set the stage for the next passage. All of this is true.
There’s so damn much ugliness in the world these days. The US government is on ugly-overdrive. Patriarchy is having an ugly-fit, grappling desperately to hold onto its ugly past. It won’t work. Women are announcing their candidacies for office in record numbers from sea to shining sea. May they win and may this ugliness wane for the love of god. God. There’s a fascinating term. The gross hypocrisy of the GOP and its professed allegiance to Jesus Christ, champion of the poor and downtrodden, while acting in stark opposite to what Jesus would ever do. I am so very glad the swine in Alabama LOST and that Doug Jones won. I liked Doug Jones’ victory speech too, quoting Martin Luther King, very promising.
I have friends who should run for office. I bet you do too. Maybe you should. Democracy will belong to those who show up. It will never ever be perfect. We make a terrible mistake if we want perfection. The whole point of Democracy is it’s an attempt at a most not bad society. If only corporations and villains show up, then its dystopia and misery and doom. Those things are bad. So yes, we should get rid of the Electoral College, a racist anachronism which disproportionately favors red states and reduces California voters’ influence in national campaigns. Yes, we should repeal “Citizens United” which is the precise opposite of its Orwellian name. Yes, gerrymandering and voter suppression and all these things can make the game seem hopeless, and we won’t fix all of them at once, we may not fix all of them at all, politics was and will remain corrupt and ugly, BUT! Doug Jones won. Doug Jones won because black women and men (and enough progressive white folks) in Alabama made him win. And that is NOT ugly! It’s beautiful, and it can be repeated in races throughout the country.
The mid-term elections are soon, now. Mercifully they are less than a year away. Amid all the disasters of the last two years, storms and fires and the sometimes overwhelming mounting horror of a government that has chosen to deny that climate change is upon us, while embracing white supremacy and misogyny and bigotry of every kind, oh, and while reaching into the pockets of working men and women, removing their wallets and handing them to the very goddamn super-rich, while doubling down on fossil fuels and making us an embarrassment and pariah on the world stage, IT IS PRETTY EASY TO FALL INTO DESPAIR! But we don’t have to, and we ought not to. And I for one am going to think of the voters of Alabama, God bless their sweet hearts, the ones who rejected every foul thing embodied in Roy Moore and those who endorsed him, this in the state where much of the civil rights and voting rights movement played out and people died for the right to vote in the 1960s, yes I am going to think of them, when I need a dose of positivity and optimism, and I am going to CHOOSE to be active and participate and live and give and thrive, because this world belongs to all of us, and we can make it better for ourselves and each other.
That and I’m going to release a song in the next few days for the holidays. I didn’t do any Christmas shopping this year, I made a song and I’m giving it to all my friends and fam near and far by means of Interwebs. I’m excited to share it. It has “Love” in the title, which will surprise no one who knows me. It also contains rock and roll.
Them’s all my thoughts this morning, just felt like sharing. Run for office! I’ll vote for you! Let’s do this.
Here’s a porpoise.
And what the hell, this, because hell yes.