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.

 

Pop's basement

     When I was a very small kid one of the most wonderous adventures I had was going to my grandmother's farm in Bear Creek, Alabama. It was small but it was so different from the neighborhood existence I normally lived in that it seemed huge to me. Every aspect of it was a mystery.
     There was the big pond where I caught my first and, subsequently, what seemed like millions of fish over the period of my life. There was also a barn with a few farm animals, a chicken house, acres of gardens (not row crops but flowers they raised for sale) and most of all, the basement.
     My grandmother married Chester Gover later in life. He was a railroad signal worker for the L&N line and seemed to know how to do a little bit of everything. In fact, he made the dining room table, buffet and china cabinet that is sitting in our dining room right now. Everyone in the family called him Pop except my grandma. She called him Gover.
     His basement was an adventure like going on a treasure hunt. It had a coal bin, power tools on workbenches and stacks of scrap lumber. It also had feral cats that came and went as they pleased. I once named one Figaro and cornered and picked it up to pet it. I do not recommend this practice to anyone.
     But the most important thing in Pop's basement was the pirate's chest. Well, actually, the chest was just a big old wooden box that Pop threw odds and ends in. It would have a little toy whistle and a bent, rusty nail and maybe a piece of scrap metal he had dug up in the chicken yard. But to me, sifting through the items in the chest was as amazing as digging up Blackbeard's treasure.
     Pop never said much to me. I remember him as being stoic and stern, which would characterize most of the men and women who grew up in America during World War I and beyond. I do remember him saying "Don't shoot my redbirds" to me as I walked out with my Daisy Winchester model 94 BB gun on a big game safari one day.
    But in retrospect, I think Pop talked to me through the box. He had no other reason to save penny whistles and little army men he found around the place or a big old cat eye shooter marble except for me. The items were kind of like the toys Boo Radley stuck in the hollow tree for Scout and Jem to find in To Kill A Mockingbird. They were a secret dialog with someone who didn't know me that well and didn't really know how to have a conversation.
     Now I have a very young grandson. He seems to have a pretty vivid imagination like me. And as soon as he was born I started tossing little odds and ends into his chest for him to explore when he visits. We don't have a coal bin but, remembering the way I looked when I got in, that's probably a good thing.

Diggin' Up Bones

For as long as I can remember, almost every white person I ever met proudly claimed somewhere between 1/16^th and 1/64^th native American ancestry bloodline. It seems that in a scant 100 years those tribes have gone from being considered slightly above animals in importance to some kind of fierce and proud race of warrior people who make us white people more noble when we can trace our ancestry to them. The real lesson is how much anecdotal information we accept as fact from our aging relatives who have a tendency to remember all the good connections and accomplishments in our families and leave out all the drunks, horse thieves and other sorts of rascals we all more than likely had a few of.

Around St. Patrick’s Day, there is a shift towards everyone claiming their Irish roots. Once again, they were largely reviled by the mostly Protestant people who had settled in the US because of Ireland's predominantly Catholic faith. It is now fashionable to be Irish, though, and everyone who can mathematically claim it wears their “Kiss Me, I’m Irish” button on the 17^th.

I recently became more interested in my family genealogy. I don’t really know why but I think it was a combination of going to some antique auctions and considering the people that used those old items and running across an ad for a DNA testing kit that allowed you to send in a saliva sample and have a lab determine the percentages of your heritage (European, Asian, African, etc.) I realized that I’d like to know where I came from.

This all lead me to join ancestry.com, a genealogical network that matches people, the information they can post on their own and huge databases of census, birth and death records, immigration documents and so on. By pooling information people can learn a lot about their connections relatively quickly. It also can become addictive to see how far back you can trace each branch of your tree. Consequently, there are a fair amount of wrong connections claimed just so people can keep “connecting” back further through generations hundreds of years ago.

The first thing to keep in mind is how fast the previous generations multiply! You have 2 parents, 4 grandparents, 8 great grandparents and so on. The idea that “my family came over from Ireland (or any other specific place)” is pretty crazy due to the fact that in order to trace your roots back to the mid-1600s or so, when most immigrants began to come to America, you have to remember that it was about 9 or 10 generations ago. That means that the average American had between 500 and 1000 ancestors that made the crossing. That’s just in your direct line. It’s a pretty safe bet there were folks from England, Ireland, Wales, Scotland, Germany, Sweden and anywhere else that had a boat big enough to cross the ocean because land was plentiful and so were opportunities here.

I traced the Aldridge line back, predictably, to England. Aldridge, Alldredge, Aldrich, Allred, Aleswich and a few other variations are thought to have come from the days when surnames described the person. John of the Old Ridge or John on Alder Ridge would have described where a person lived. Many names, of course, described vocations. John the Miller, John the Smith and John the Tailor are examples of origins of those names. I even connected my bloodline to Sir Nicholas The Crusader de Aldryche, who was a knight during the holy crusades supposedly renowned for his bravery. The cynic in me wonders if that means he chopped off the heads of innocent Muslims and Jews who did not run to embrace his particular brand of faith….

Sure enough, 8 generations back in the Walsh line (my mother’s father) I found Chief William Davis. He was actually a white man who married an “Indian princess”. She was the daughter of Chief Black Fox, son of Chief Attakullakulla, son of White Owl Raven, son of Chief Taminad, etc. All were of the Cherokee tribe in the southeastern region of the US. I was able to find out that Black Fox had sided with Chief Doublehead, a Cherokee chief widely known here in North Alabama, on some treaty points and ultimately lost power because of it.

If you do the math, that makes me 1/512^th Cherokee. Most of the other 511 parts of me are from the United Kingdom. My mother’s namesakes came from Wales and Ireland and my father’s from England and Scotland. If you are an Aldridge, McCulley, Baughn, Walsh, Key, McClendon, Frazier or Parker we may be pretty closely related.

So when it’s time to celebrate native Americans I reckon I will claim my connection to them through my 6^th great grandfather Chief Black Fox. When it’s St. Patty’s Day I will be Irish, the seed of my 3^rd great grandfather Thomas Walsh. The rest of the time I will just be what we all pretty much are: mutt.

September Song

It's impossible. It can't be September already. This is the summer I had that long list of things I wanted to do while school was out...
But here I am pulling up butter beans and getting ready to store the canoe we didn't ever get out in. I guess it's time to put those white shoes and Hawaiian shirts up for another year.
I always think of the great Weill/Anderson song with that title. Not only is it a haunting melody, it is a poignant lyric about a man who finds himself getting to the autumn of his life and knowing the days are picking up speed. "When autumn weather turns leaves to flame one hasn't got time for the waiting game". Man, is that ever true.
I wrote a lot of songs, traveled a lot with Steph and played a lot of shows this summer. Went to New York, Las Vegas, Miami, Myrtle Beach, Atlanta, Alaska and Nashville 12 or 15 times.
My garden underachieved. My yard still has the Johnson grass I was going to dig up by hand. I had the best of intentions, though.
In the end, there is just never enough time, is there? Do yourself a favor and take the time to go to YouTube and listen to "September Song" by Frank Sinatra. A great song, great singer, great arrangement and great recording.

Why Muscle Shoals?

I wonder how many times I have been asked that question. Why did great music happen in Muscle Shoals? Was it something in the river? Was it just such a small place there was nothing else to do but make records?
I've always reacted in several ways. First, when people talk about Muscle Shoals music they are, by and large, talking about the glory years. That period from the early to mid 60s that spanned about 10 years to the mid 70s is what is best remembered. Well, guess what? That period is the timeline of what any pop music historian would say was when the best music was made everywhere. It began around the British Invasion and lasted until the birth of disco. It encompassed The Beatles, Rolling Stones, James Brown, Stevie Wonder, Led Zeppelin, Sly and The Family Stone, Janis Joplin, The Allman Brothers and most of the really exciting and cool music that is still bought today. It was a convergence of influences, rebelliousness, technology and experimentalism that created the artists that, many of whom, are still the biggest concert tickets out there close to FIFTY years later.
Secondly, music was not just being recorded in New York, Los Angeles and Muscle Shoals. Phenomenal music came during that period from Stax in Memphis and Motown in Detroit. It was happening in Macon and Jackson. Philadelphia had people all over the world joining hands and forming a Love Train. It was even happening in Miami with Henry Stone and Steve Alaimo and Buck Owens and Merle Haggard were reinventing country music in Bakersfield. Great music oozed out of the pores of the entire world for one, groovy 10 year span of time. It was not subjected to so many filters yet. It was unfettered and fearless.
Labels looked around for interesting and cheaper alternatives for music and found it all over the place. Recorded music was still a cottage industry where dreamers with a guitar and 25 bucks to pay a radio station to let them use their mics could make a recording.
In large part, the labels came to Muscle Shoals for the same thing they went to all the other places to find: a pool of good musicians and writers who would work cheap. And there was usually a ringleader in place that congregated the people. They were part musician, part salesman. They had talents as showmen and hucksters. Some saw them as visionaries and some as megalomaniacs. Their names were Berry Gordy or Sam Phillips or Al Bell or Kenneth Gamble or Leon Huff or Phil Walden or Henry Stone or Rick Hall or something else. But they were important as an interface between the musicians, artists and writers and the record labels. They knew how to talk to all of them. Because they had been record store owners and radio guys and car salesmen in previous lives, they knew the art of the deal. And in music in those days, the deal was king.
The real question that people should ask is this: Why is it STILL happening in Muscle Shoals? Stax in Memphis and Hitsville in Detroit are museums now. Macon is gone. No more Sound of Philadelphia. Nothing but crickets and tumbleweeds in most of these places now.
But after those other places were shuttered up, probably another 50 number one songs were written by Muscle Shoals folks. When the glory days were over, most of us around the Shoals were just getting started. Hits were about to be penned by Tommy Brasfield, Robert Byrne, Mac McAnally, Jerry Wallace, Terry Skinner, Ken Bell, Lenny LeBlanc, Ava Aldridge, Gary Baker, Steven Dale Jones, Brad Crisler, Mark Narmore, James LeBlanc, John Paul White, George Jackson, Eddie Struzick, Donny Lowery, Chris Tompkins, Mickey Buckins, George Soule, Darryl Worley, Mike McGuire and the list goes on.
And these days a wave of indy music is also affiliated with the Shoals. The Alabama Shakes, The Civil Wars, Jason Isbell, The Secret Sisters, The Drive By Truckers and other up and coming acts all have members calling the Shoals their home base.
For me the question is not only "Why did a music scene get started in a room over a drugstore in Florence, Alabama and grow into famous recordings by Aretha Franklin and The Rolling Stones and Wilson Pickett and Bob Dylan?" -not that it was not amazing and unusual for such a small, out of the way place. The million dollar end to the question is "And why is it not dead yet?"

American History (best I can remember)

 I guess it’s because there is now a global audience for everyone who has a thought to express it (including me) but it is downright alarming how many folks seem perfectly ready to jump off the nearest bridge over the latest election returns. Some of the things that people say make me wonder if human beings have lost their collective minds or just want to rant because they suddenly have a big microphone.

  You people who have lived a little bit have no excuse. But for the sake of you youngsters…

   I was born in the ‘50s when Eisenhower was president. He was a Republican who was, generally, well thought of. He had the distinction of being an ex-general war hero and the US was at war with Korea. All in all, he is ranked as a good president but a sharp recession before the election of 1960 probably hurt his popularity and Democrat John Kennedy was elected.

  You may have heard something about JFK other than the fact that he was assassinated. There was turmoil brewing in the US. Anti-communism sentiment was at a fever pitch after McCarthy’s witch trials and much of the time we were afraid Russia would attack us through bases setup at Cuba. This lead to something called the Bay of Pigs you should read up on. The Civil Rights Movement was building rapidly. The Berlin Wall was built and the space race was big news. Ultimately, someone hated his politics enough to shoot him in the head. It is still widely speculated that it may have been a conspiracy and not just a lone gunner.

  He was replaced by his vice president, Lyndon Johnson. Johnson was a domineering guy who was known to squash those who were his political adversaries by whatever means necessary. His term brought the upholding of some “social government” that was widely condemned by Republicans at the time, including laws to guarantee Medicare, Medicaid, civil rights and public broadcasting. He also escalated US involvement in the unpopular Viet Nam War from 16,000 troops to 550,000 by 1968. By the end of his terms, anti-war sentiment was so high he was doomed.

  The answer was to elect Republican Richard Nixon. Initially, he increased American involvement in the war. But then he began to de-escalate our presence there after massive pressure, particularly from young people. After his first term he was re-elected in a landslide. This was due to popular actions such as making a trip to “Red” China to begin to open lines of diplomacy, starting the Environmental Protection Agency and initiating wars on cancer and drugs.

  After his re-election, bi-partisan politics was rampant, with Democrats and Republicans fighting in ways that people had never imagined possible in the good old USA. When it was determined that Nixon had authorized the covert breaking into the Democratic Headquarters in the Watergate Building in Washington and that he had attempted to lie and cover up his involvement he was pressured into resigning as president. He left the office of president in disgrace and the country disillusioned about our commander in chiefs.

  His successor was Republican Gerald Ford. During his term our economy was at an all time sustained level of weakness with recession deeper than the US had seen since the Great Depression. Honestly, I don’t remember much about him other than he did take steps to end the Cold War with the Soviet Union and he pardoned Richard Nixon.

  He was replaced by a southern Democrat named Jimmy Carter. Carter is remembered as a humanitarian who received the Nobel Peace prize years after his presidency. His popularity eroded gradually through his term due to a hostage crisis with Iran that lasted a year and a half, the nuclear accident at Three Mile Island and growing unrest due to Soviet aggression towards Afghanistan. Ironically, the 52 American hostages in Iran that had hurt Carter’s popularity were released just minutes after his term in office ended.

  Next was two terms with Republican Ronald Reagan. His economic philosophies (called Reaganomics at the time) had the effect of reducing taxes and government spending. He did spend a lot of tax money on the arms race against the Soviets (who he openly called the Evil Empire). All in all, he was a very popular president other than being criticized for being old and unable to focus in meetings. It was revealed after his presidency that he had been in the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s disease while president.

  He was succeeded by Republican George Bush, Sr. Bush pushed hard for progress with foreign policy. He reneged on his classic 1988 campaign promise “Read my lips- I will NOT increase taxes.” This proved to play a prominent part in his losing a re-election bid to Democrat Bill Clinton.

  You are probably old enough to remember the scandal surrounding Clinton and sex with a White House intern named Monica Lewinsky. But during his two terms he got high numbers of approval from all but the conservatives in the US. He is credited with instigating welfare and health care reform and the congress even reported a surplus during his last three years of office.

He was impeached for perjury but acquitted by congress and has the distinction of serving during the longest period of sustained peacetime prosperity in the US in my lifetime.

  Republican George Bush, Jr. was next in line. Only 8 months into his first term on September 11, 2001, the terrorist attacks of 9/11 occurred. This lead to the war in Iraq which pretty much dominated his first term. Beginning in the 2^nd term of his presidency, we slid into the longest, post World War 2 period of economic recession. Events like the Financial Crisis of 2008 and his apparent mishandling of the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina lead to a fall in favor with Americans and the election of Democrat Barack Obama.

  If you are reading this in the US, it’s a safe bet you woke up this morning to something other than the sound of tanks rolling down the street, goose stepping troops outside or screaming and pandemonium as folks lit themselves on fire in despair. Life goes on and the apocalypse has not come and gone with the re-election of Obama.

  It is good to have opinions when they are rooted in fact and reasonable arguments, as opposed to parroting something you read somewhere. Read your history. Engage in meaningful political discussion- not incessant ranting or regurgitating something you heard. History will likely judge President Obama as a pretty good president who did not grow up in Kenya and is not a Muslim. To me, he’s just another one in a growing line of guys who got it a little right and a little wrong.

  Think, people. And most importantly…vote. You may not always like the results but the pendulum swings and the will of the people is enacted. My guess is we will have 4 more years of Obama and then somebody else will get a crack at it. Life will go on. Through it all, try your best to understand the views of those who do not agree with you. They are not stupid, necessarily wrong or to be scorned just because they do not share your ideology. You only show your ignorance if you believe your party, religion or traditions enlighten you in some way that others are not privy to. Those are the same misguided beliefs that lead someone to crash airplanes into buildings and kill thousands of innocent people who have the misfortune of not believing what they do.

  Our nation was founded on the principle of compromise. It is the purpose of term limits, two parties and having both a House and Senate. It’s up to you how you want to proceed. We can bicker and rant or we can sit down and try to find solutions. Either way, God bless America.