Wrong Bullets

It’s another morning of waking up to headlines about more senseless killing. These are the 5 Dallas policemen killed randomly in response to viral videos of unimaginable police brutality perpetrated on what appear to be innocent African American victims. The world seems to have completely gone crazy sometimes. Americans have become desensitized to more lives lost now. It must be like being an Israeli seeing yet another bombing in a public place.

Some would blame guns. I tend to think that argument is as empty as blaming cars for automobile accidents. Others are quick to point at whoever the politicians holding office are. I do believe our elected officials are big on promises and small on results but I’m not sure where the blame lies for that. Still others blame radicalized religious and racial groups. Who really knows?

I grew up in the 60s and 70s- another time of great social upheaval. The Viet Nam War accounted for over 60,000 dead and 150,000 wounded and no one could tell us exactly why we were at war. Blatant racism was fighting to remain a way of life in many cities. Young people were asking why leaders seemed to have the interest of big corporations and not American citizens at heart.

So, to the point I want to make. Through it all, music lead the way. It voiced concern, shouted in anger and called to action. It affected change. It convicted us to “Reach out and touch somebody’s hand and make this world a better place if you can”, “put a little love in your heart” and “what the world needs now is love, sweet love”. The Beatles declared that “all you need is love”. We were called to “get ready for a train a’comin”. It was a peace train or a love train. There were songs for peace and unity and change.

These were not protest songs reserved only for folk clubs in the Village in New York or a hippie club in San Francisco. They were main stream, top 40, huge hit songs that we all heard on our radios in heavy rotation. The words of the songs made us believe in the idea that love could change our world for the better and that it had to start with each individual.

There are probably songs like these in niche markets of alt rock or folk artists today. But modern pop, top 40, country and urban artists sing about sex, dancing and doing whatever it takes to feel good now. The songs are the most disposable, vapid and unimportant renderings I believe have ever been written. The subjects are booties, dancing all night, anacondas and other equally embarrassingly shallow topics. Is this the sum of all abilities for modern artists to think or are they just so afraid they might not get their song on the radio and be wildly popular with their social media slurping, selfie taking fans?

 Sure, there were silly ditties when I grew up. In fact, there were a lot of them. There have always been silly songs on our radios like “Yes, We Have No Bananas” or “You Ain’t Nothing but A Hound Dog” or “Supercalifragilisticexpealadocious”. But along with all that side of the entertainment cube were the meaningful songs. The words are as needed today as ever.

When rap music swept over the world like a tidal wave it originated in the anger and angst of inner city despondence and hopelessness. It voiced injustice and gave white America a real glimpse at how African Americans felt. It rode to massive success on the swell of human emotion and pathos.

For any readers who are making art or aspiring to it I implore you to do your best to matter with the words you say. The time span that most artists have in the public eye is very short. Make your time there count. We need wisdom and guidance more than ever. When the Youngbloods finished recording their hit “Get Together” in the late 60s they sent a copy to all senators and congress representatives. The words cried “Come on people now- smile on your brother everybody get together, try to love one another right now”. Whether you support an organized religion or a spiritual self awareness you must believe in the power of people getting together and loving one another and how much better our world would be if that happened. Americans are firing the wrong bullets. And you musical creators and artists of our time are either unconcerned or you have absolutely no idea the power you have at your fingertips.

Words. They are now and forever the building blocks or wrecking balls we can change the world with. Sing about peace, shout about peace, blog about peace. If you are one of the chosen ones who has an audience and the power to implement change shame on you if the best you can do is write words about staying up all night to get lucky without an occasional call for everyone to love each other.

Connections

Lately I have been struggling with whether or not to sell my 1992 Ford Ranger truck. I have an F 150 that is roomier, has more muscle and has all the bells and whistles I like. But the Ranger was my dad’s. He’s been gone a little over three years now and it makes me feel connected to him.

It’s amazing how things connect us to people, places and other times. Maybe it’s an old Case knife or a ring or a piece of glassware you inherited. I have guitars that attach me to songs which attach me to the people I wrote them with and the time and place we wrote a particular song. I have old duck decoys that connect me to hunting pals and sunrises over marshes when the cold morning dripped icicles off those decoys’ bills.

Sometimes just picking up an old baseball glove transports me instantly to a game of catch with one of my daughters or further back in time when I still had dreams of being Sandy Koufax or Mickey Mantle. Maybe this is the motivation for all the little collections I have: staying connected.

There is a box full of snowglobes in my attic. I used to pick one up everywhere I went. And I also have a book full of Do Not Disturb signs from hotels from all over the world. I have collections of autographed photos and collections or musical instruments. My gun collection is pretty small compared to some of my friends. But, importantly, it includes my first Daisy BB gun as well as my first Remington semi auto. An important piece of that collection is my dad’s Browning Sweet 16. I cannot begin to tell all the memories I associate with that gun and being a youngster sitting by my father and learning to watch and listen to the woods.

I have old baseball, football and basketball cards that I keep in hopes a grandson will be interested someday. Many of the cards are fairly valuable. But their real value to me is the fact that I was the one who carefully chose the pack, opened it up, chewed the bubble gum and saved those cards all this time.

My latest collection I have begun is old bibles. You can find them overseas at booksellers or auction sites (in Europe a 200 year old book is not nearly as coveted as it would be here). I like to think about the people who opened them and read the words or gathered them up and went to Sunday services on the wagon with the book beside them. One of the bibles I bought is a little pocket bible that belonged to a Civil War soldier. The American Bible Society made thousands of them to pass out and because of their compact nature many became an important part of the contents of a knapsack when I young boy headed off to muster in to the army. The one I have has a lot of illegible pencil writing but I can make out the name Collins. And there is a poem written in it that looks like it might have been part of a presentation. It says “Apples are good, but peaches are better, if you love me rite me a letter” it is signed “Sara”. It is easy for me to imagine a 17 year old boy named Collins leaving for war and his girl Sara giving him this as an important parting gift.

Having opened the bible I am now connected to these two people. And having read this, so are you. We’ll probably never know the real story. But the book is a connection to people and places and another time. That is the whole motivation that drives collectors.