Archive for July, 2009

“Post Grad”

Thursday, July 23rd, 2009

Add to the growing body of noteworthy soundtrack albums released by the legendary ABKCO Records label (including “The Darjeeling Limited” and “I Love You, Beth Cooper,” in addition to ABKCO’s classic album catalog starring the likes of Sam Cooke, Rolling Stones and Phil Spector) that of the upcoming “Post Grad,” starring Alexis Bledel and Zach Gilford.

In keeping with the young adult comedy, the soundtrack boasts established new artists like Lily Allen (“Take What You Take” is a lively leftover from her “Alright, Still” debut album) and Gym Class Heroes (“The Queen and I,” lead track from the group’s hit album “As Cruel as School Children”), along with such noteworthy newomers as Nashville-based singer-songwriter Erin McCarley, whose lovely “Pony (It’s OK)” is the soundtrack album opener, and Cleveland folk-rocker Joshua Radin (his “Brand New Day” no doubt fits into a key “Post Grad” scene).

But Lucy Schwartz really wrote “Turn Back Around” for “Post Grad,” and the International Songwriting Competition award winner not only turns in the set’s best song, but likely the most relevant.

Walter Cronkite

Saturday, July 18th, 2009

I was a CBS Evening News junkie growing up and remained so through the troubled Dan Rather news anchor regime. He and his predcecessor Walter Cronkite were my heroes, along with Eric Sevareid, and later, Bob Simon.

I highly recommend renting Good Night, and Good Luck to learn about the great tradition of CBS News—a tradition that is sadly long gone. It focuses on the legendary Edward R. Murrow, the man who virtually built the CBS broadcast news division. Murrow recruited the iconic Cronkite, who would host the network’s evening news from 1962 to 1981 and become known as “the most trusted man in America.”

I saw him in person three times.

The first time was at a record store signing of a box set of vinyl LPs that he was involved in, historic moments of the 1960s, I think. The second was a press promotion for a home video documentary about the first moon landing. He spoke about the 1969 event–which he covered, of course—and said something to the effect that it was the most important story he had ever covered, or the one he was proudest of, or the one that was his favorite.

I was deeply disappointed.

I tried to track him down after his presentation to complain but to no avail. But luck struck some time later, when I attended what must have been Rolling Stone publisher Jann Wenner’s 40th birthday party, in 1986.
I didn’t know Jann and I wasn’t invited. But he had the good sense to hire my friends Beausoleil, the premiere Cajun band, to perform, and I went in with them. It was at some trendy restaurant downtown that didn’t have any outer signage saying what it was or even the address. I was way out of my element.

All the big record company people were there, and the literary likes of Norman Mailer, George Plimpton, Tom Wolfe. I was very excited to meet the late Israeli singer Ofra Haza there. And to get a second crack at Walter Cronkite.

I went up to him and introduced myself and told him I had seen him at the moon landing home video press gathering. I told him how he had been such a hero, such that I could not accept his citing the moon landing over his momentous coverage of Vietnam (his famous commentary expressing doubts about the chances of winning the war, which he made on camera in 1968 after returning from a trip to Vietnam, was a major turning point in popular opinion) and the Middle East (he brought Israeli Prime Minister Menachem Begin and Egyptian President Anwar Sadat together to launch the peace process).

His response was unforgettable, if to this day enigmatic.

“Well,” he said, pausing. I think he was embarrassed. I probably should have been.

“Asking what my favorite story is, it’s kind of like asking, ‘What’s your favorite soup?’”

Examiner.com

Saturday, July 11th, 2009

I’ve started writing regularly for examiner.com, covering music.

My first feature is about Barry Danielian, one of my martial arts teachers at Five Points Academy in Soho. Barry is also a top trumpet player, and the piece, “A Manhattan maestro’s mix of music and martial arts,” is about the similarities between teaching and playing jazz and martial arts.

Barry teaches the esoteric, weapons-oriented arts of Filipino kali and Indonesian silat. He took a great picture for the story, which can be found at http://bit.ly/T6k4Q.

I’ll be writing for Examiner two or three times a week.

Neda and the Other Alison Krauss

Wednesday, July 1st, 2009

I’d been thinking about it the last couple days or so, since seeing the horrific video of Neda getting gunned down in Tehran, than seeing the stills of the heartbreakingly beautiful girl, Neda Agha-Soltan, 26, who “enjoyed music and was looking forward to learning how to play the piano,” according to one caption.

The pictures sear the mind as did The Picture from Kent State, as its called on one web site. The picture taken by one John Filo, “a young undergraduate working in the Kent State photo lab,” was taken when he took a break on May 4, 1970—right in the middle of the latest round of nationwide campus anti-war protests, this time following President Nixon’s April 30 announcement that the US military had invaded Cambodia and 150,000 more troops would soon be drafted.

After rioting in downtown Kent, Ohio, on the evening of May 1, the Ohio National Guard had been called in to maintain order. A protest rally was scheduled for noon at the University on Monday, May 4, and Filo took his camera to see if he could come up with an interesting shot. What he came up with—a picture of a young girl kneeling in augnuish over the body of one of the four students slain in a fusillade of National Guard rifle fire—won a Pulitzer Prize and is forever embedded in much of my generation’s collective memory.

Lest they be forgotten, the girl was Mary Vecchio. The dead student was Jeffrey Miller. The others who were killed were Sandra Scheuer, William Knox and Allison Krause (being a close friend of the great bluegrass artist Alison Krauss, who would be born just over a year later, I sometimes refer to Allison Krause as “the other Alison Krauss”).

I was a senior in high school in May, 1970, at James Madison Memorial in Madison, Wisconsin. I used to march in all the big demonstrations downtown at the University of Wisconsin campus, often coming home at night with my clothes reeking of tear gas. I’d jump in the shower and the gas would seep out of my long hair and into my eyes.

One night I ran right into an exploding can of pepper gas and I had to be treated at a nearby First Aid facility. Another time I hid in the bushes along the campus banks of Lake Mendota, a National Guard chopper hovering above and shining floodlights on protesters for on-ground Guardsmen to kick the shit out of.

The day after the Kent State shootings—or massacre, as it was also called, linking it with the Boston Massacre of Revolutionary War times—I and 100 others were suspended from school for protesting. The Memorial 101, they called us—the one group I’ll always be proud of being a part of.

And now that another young student is slain by her state’s agents of repression as she protested its repressive policies, I hear the righteous outcry by our politicans against that state—and against our president for trying to exercise caution and restraint in his remarks so as not to further incite those forces of repression. And I wonder, Where were they in 1970?

Among the most vocal is John McCain, who was a POW in North Vietnam after being shot down while bombing Hanoi—the type of action that engendered the anti-war protest movement to begin with. I don’t know what his thoughts are on Kent State or if he senses the same connection between Neda and Allison as I do. But I happened to attend Fox News Channel’s “Huckabee” show taping Saturday afternoon, and heard its host (and McCain’s vanquished Republican presidential rival) Mike Huckabee’s disturbing link of Neda’s murder and “the massacre of Tehran” with the Boston Massacre.

The Boston Massacre had occurred in 1770–200 years before Kent State–when five people died after British troops fired into a large crowd of civilians, some of whom were hurling snowballs at them. Huckabee termed these and the Tehran fatalities as “pathetic victims,” and surmised that they might not have been so victimized had they enjoyed the right to bear arms—as Americans do today.

By extension, of course, had the Kent State students been as well-armed as the Ohio Guardsmen, they might not have been so pathetically victimized—though I very much doubt that this is what Huck, a very nice guy, had in mind.

Like the Iranian demonstrators, some of the Kent State students threw rocks at their opposing heavily armed and willing enforcers of the state (the Bostonians threw small objects at the Brits, too, in addition to snowballs). And like the Iranians (and the Bostonians before them), they were no match for firemans.

“When dissent turns to violence, it invited tragedy,” rationalized Nixon’s press secretary Ron Ziegler after the Kent State killings, which led to the closing of some 450 colleges in the U.S. due to the campus protests they engendered. For Ziegler and Nixon and those who sided with them, the kids brought it on themselves. And now Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad is calling Neda’s killing “suspicious,” with the country’s ambassador to Mexico Mohammad Hassan Ghadiri suggesting  that it was carried out by U.S. intelligence.

Back in my day, the political establishment blamed it on “outside agitators,” generally meaning communists and/or Jews from out-of-state. But back in my day, too, there was Johnny Cash.

I was at “Huckabee” as a guest of Larry Gatlin, who performed his new hit “Johnny Cash is Dead and His House Burned Down”—an ironically-titled but terrific tribute to his friend and mentor Cash and his immortal music.

Cash had gone to Vietnam at the height of the war to entertain the troops and came back with “Singin’ in Vietnam Talkin’ Blues,” his horrific take on “that little trip into livin’ hell.” Then in 1970 he had a Top 20 pop hit with “What is Truth,” in which a father explains to his three-year-old son that war is simply a place “where people fight and die,” before Cash himself asks, “Can you blame the voice of youth for asking ‘What is truth?’”

It was the same year as Kent State. I very much doubt that country music fan Huck, or anyone else of his ilk, confronted the Man in Black then on moral grounds–or any other. Whether or not they recognize the lonely voice of Tehran youth as descendents of Kent State is another thing.