Tuesday, October 22, 2013

What's In A Name? - Hip No More or The Tragically Idle (editorial)...

* what's a blog for if not to get a few things off one's chest and as I've always said: you'll never please everyone - I've also come to embrace my contrary nature, as I've also often said: if everybody's doing something it can't be that good - this is more of a flippant generalization but seems unfortunately to hold true often enough from the lens through which I view the world. 


The Tragically Hip? Great band, terrible name. I'd bet my left one they (the guys in the band, that is) feel the same way. There are those of us who could never figure out why they could never crack the American market, but with a novelty name that seems to go for the ironic, detached aloofness the guys are well-known for, I remember early interviews with Gord Downie (see, me and my pals saw them at a hotel club in Calgary way back when they were a mostly cover band and we had gone because of the ironic name, they had to be a novelty act) after a couple records when taking the world by storm seemed imminent and he would decry the fact that, at that point, playing in the US always meant a loud and demonstrably proud contingent of Canadians seemed to follow their every move. He was already by that point clearly less than enthralled by such solid support from fellow Canadians, he seemed in fact to take it for granted that, critically speaking, Canadians were blindly cheering fellow citizens rather than responding in the affirmative to what they might be regarding as good music. Well, all these years later, and The Tragically Hip could easily sellout multiple dates at every fifteen  thousand seat arena in every major city in Canada (all 10 or so of em) yet they have failed to garner a notable following in the US market outside of Detroit/Winsdor, a single American city that geographically is actually located north of Windsor Ontario by strange circumstance and Hip shows are comprised mainly of Canadians. Everywhere else in the states, the Hip play small clubs the size of The Commodore ballroom or smaller. But it's hard to market a glib-sounding name like The Tragically Hip, what does a name like that do to your imagination? And, let's face it, Downie's stream-of-conscienceness, likely, meaning little-or-nothing lyrics are hard to find real meaning in. Yeah, I know, patriotic hosers at this point will defend their heroes as representative of pure Canadiana, that is, lyrical content full of references to Hugh Maclenan, hockey, hockey players and various if obscure Canadian geography (I'm sure Bobcaygeon Ontario is prepared to name a street after them if they haven't done so already) - but the references are vague and if people want to write university papers on Hip songs citing their relevance and importance, be my guest, but I'll bet my right one, Uni professors won't be as open-minded on the subject - don't get me wrong, some of their songs are timeless, original and they have a vibe full of ominous character and vitality - and they rock!. If they haven't by now, it seems less than likely that The Hip (as they probably wish they were called) will break ever internationally or have any notable following outside Canada. It is tragically so.

Now, the one that's going to have people all across Indian country PO'd  - Idle No More? Great time in history for a movement, absolutely terrible name for one...Idle No More is poor choice of name for any kind of active political or cultural movement (or this one in particular). It's because, without subtext, the phrase Idle No More implies so many negative ideas and notions and seems to validate so many ill-formed and preconceived conclusions about Native people already at work in the mainstream consciousness. If I didn't know that the movement's name came about because a few individuals spontaneously called their message thread Idle No More on the Internet, I'd almost think it was created by non-native media manipulators with an agenda. First off, the name implies (that means: seems to mean) that Native people have been idle (not-active) until this point in history. The mainstream mindset believes this about native people anyways and it is the rhetorical argument you always have thrown out in any discussion with someone who's mind is already made up and is completely unwilling to consider any historical background, circumstances or cause and effect scenarios. In my mind countless Native people have been working their asses off lo these many years (and generations) to defend, educate, protest and ensure that there is ANYTHING left of Indian people, culture, history and that there is even a need to not be idle any longer as the name seems to imply. The idea that in 2012-13, Native are perhaps, for the first time, somehow, coming to an awareness that things are not fair and injustice is manifest must come as a surprise or a symbolic slap in the face to the families of George Manuel, Vera Kirkness, Elijah Harper, Big Bear, Jeanette Armstrong, Harold Cardinal, Alanis Obamsawin, John Trudell, Winona Laduke, Vine Deloria, Anna Mae Aquash, Luthee Standing Bear, Louis Riel and so many others. For anyone not to acknowledge the tireless commitment to their own and all Native people by so many before our time is ignorance pure and simple and disrespectful. 

That the current groundswell (though, it's debatable whether at the time of this writing the movement is already a spent force) seem to believe they invented activism is not surprising. Every generation seems to believe they invented indignation, seems to think they are the first to experience inequity, injustice, intolerance or any other socially negative experience or circumstance. Idle-No-More in my neck of the woods seemed to represent more of an opportunity to see and be seen rather than a hot bed of ideas around organizing and political or grassroots strategies. The idea that Native people are generally waking up for the first time to racist, exploitive and inhumane policy is simply not true. And one also need consider the men and women all across the land who today educate, organize, heal, nurture and demonstrate either within their own sphere of influence or in some larger communal capacity or those who simply live exemplary, dignified lives and work hard each day to do so.

It is always a good thing to get lots of Indians together so in this regard I love what Idle-No-More represents - but mostly, I believe, there are tons and tons of Native people out there who have NEVER BEEN IDLE.


© 2013 Champsteen Publishing




Sir Paul in Seattle

...The age old question: The Beatles or The Rolling Stones?...you can't be both (you can't) and my soul was won over by the swagger, menace and sheer defiance of The Stones a long time ago. But one cannot argue with the immense cultural significance that the four lads from Liverpool had on contemporary society and culture as we know it.


 
I have only ever owned a single Beatles record, have never owned a Wings record and though I did have tickets to his show in Rotterdam in '89 (didn't go, thought the fall of the Berlin Wall happening the same time as McCartney's show in Holland would be more of an event...it was!), I had never given much thought to attending a Paul McCartney show all these years. But the chance to see him in Seattle this past summer presented itself and knowing that the man is 71 years old, I knew there wouldn't be too many more opportunities and I went. A warm Friday night in July, me and my baby, an enthusiastic crowd, about 40 songs and the chance to actually hear the man who wrote some of the most familiar and popular songs of our time, sing them - Yesterday, Hey Jude, Eleanor Rigby, Get Back, Back In The USSR. I did see Ringo Starr perform many years ago and it was sublime but McCartney is surely one of the most influential, prolific and popular song-writers in human history and just the chance to be there was sublime. As usual, the philosophy frequently stated on this blog...it's about being there.


© 2013 Champsteen Publishing

Friday, June 28, 2013

What Matters (audio poem)...

   What Matters

 
music: Spiegle Im Spiegle by Arvo Pรคrt



on a lawn
we sit across from one another
in conversation
veiled by circumstance

the scent
of fresh-cut grass and your skin
rid the well of tedium
and half-truths

as behind you
a summer moon
arcs it’s way
to a distant tomorrow

in these moments
i am struck by the essentials

it’s not the thought
of the small of your back
though it does confound me

nor is it the delicate steel
in your gaze
where
when it’s true
i feel strong

it isn’t the memory of your body
rising at the hint of my breath

it can’t merely be
the silhouette of your bareness
during nights with you
in soft light
though, at times,
it is

no

what matters
are the lines in your face
which speak of things
you can and cannot say

it is that you understand
losing everything
still means
you can always lose a little more

it is the fresh wind of your voice
which blows through my hands

mostly,
it is that
although we are born here
and we’ll die here,

you still feel
the sweet ache of things
we’ve never wanted
so badly







© 2013 Champsteen Publishing




Sunday, February 24, 2013

Elegy by A Cree Sojourner (poem)




















I am not afraid of being poor, being homeless…I’ve done that…
I am not afraid of breaking ribs (twice), my neck, my ankle, my skull…
been there done that…and feeling much better now
I am not afraid of having a gun pointed at me (3 times)
cause only one ever actually pulled the trigger…and he missed

I am not afraid of my mother going away, or my father or all my grandparents…
for those things happened a long time ago

I cannot say if in his lifetime, my father ever knew freedom
but in mine…he is free

It could be true that like history, it is by now well-established
that I am, as they say: an open book
and thankfully subject to revision
brother can you spare a dime?
hey man, change comes from within!

There is no longer fear of a broken heart or abandoned love
I know what those things are
I confess to the mercenary intentions
of having her soft lips on mine
there, I said it
what am I but one among this rogue species

like the mountains I have been shaped by time
in fact, I am here because of those long-gone, graceful ones
who somehow walk beside me still
in memory, in spirit
guiding me safely
through the no man’s land of my own good intentions,
to yet more meaningful ways of being
helping locate a measure of grace
during damp arthritic coastal mornings
learning to care for this temple bruised and battered through 43 winters,
grasping that there are surely now more sunsets
in the rear-view mirror than lie before me…
(but you never know)
yes, their presence comforts me
as I experience these fearsome markers of time

most days I have transcended my ancient wounds
free of that kind of pain
though the psychic tissue of scars will always remain,
just out of sight
clung to and kept in my own place of sacred things
summoned when needed to inform, to illuminate,
to be together during your own long dark night of the soul
for why else are we here?

and I stand shoulder to shoulder with front-line helpers and healers
who do the heavy lifting,
who understand that we will only heal together or die one by one
alone as individuals

as a man of the plains it is ironic that I am once again at the frontier
only this time at the borderline of the imagination
standing opposed to ones who elevate human constructs above the natural world
people unable or unwilling to understand
that the way you think about something changes the way it works –
I oppose worshipers at the altar of the holy market
with their inflationary interest in histories’ latest empire
they seem induced by some archaic voice stranded in time
a voice spouting authoritative versions of events
tenure-tracked versions of events
second-hand, borrowed and stolen knowledge
with concerns somehow vested
in salacious accounts of quote-unquote history

ideas are the currency in my trade
in this most crucial reclamation project

for some reason
the challenge seems to be to respect the ancestors and celebrate the living

do you see that it is the very rugged and elemental nature of this hard land
that makes the Indian heart and spirit so pliable?
It’s tough love from our first mother
I have no illusions of permanence and little time for regret,
despair is a sin against the imagination in places like this

my destiny is no longer shaped by others without shame
or without reverence for the things I am…I am the elements…
my life is a subterranean call, no – it is a demand for justice

I am not…but the way? -
the way is righteous
the truth is righteous

even in the city
I know places where can I sit alone among stones polished by mild-mannered rain
I can always locate a vantage point to watch the crows
and be moved by their nightly, spectral pilgrimage
through the great nation that is the sky

even in the city
I hear creator
in my daughter tapping keys on a piano in the next room

there are stations, thresholds and bridges
constructed by others before me that I cross
to arrive in places I could not possibly have gotten to on my own

I keep frequent company with other ways of thinking
road men and matriarchs who have all walked the long road
when necessary developed other modes of orienting themselves in
social and spiritual space
I seek counsel with those happily immersed in old-growth forests of the mind
who may yet teach me other ways
of interacting at all times with the earth itself
I am touched by these warriors of the heart and road

in this company there is space for you
in this company may you find watershed thoughts
of the sacred heart of the world –
come know what love is really like

and dream of worlds to come


© 2013 Champsteen Publishing