Maybe it's about being there...(article)

"Long and Wasted Years"
 

It's been such a long, long time
Since we loved each other and our hearts were true
One time, for one brief day, I was the man for you

Last night I heard you talking in your sleep
Saying things you shouldn't say
Oh baby, you just might have to go to jail someday

Is there a place we can go?
Is there anybody we can see?
Maybe, it's the same for you as it is for me

I ain't seen my family in twenty years
That ain't easy to understand
They may be dead by now
I lost track of them after they lost their land

Shake it up baby twist and shout
You know what it's all about
What are you doing out there in the sun anyway?
Don't you know the sun can burn your brains right out?

My enemy crashed into the dust
Stopped dead in his tracks and he lost his lust
He was run down hard and he broke apart
He died in shame he had an iron heart

I wear dark glasses to cover my eyes
There are secrets in them I can't disguise
Come back baby if I ever hurt your feelings I apologize

Two trains running side by side
Forty miles wide, down the eastern line
You don't have to go
I just came to you because your a friend of mine

I think that when my back was turned
The whole world behind me burned
It's been awhile since we walked down that long, long aisle

We cried on that cold and frosty morn
We cried because our souls were torn
So much for tears, so much for these long and wasted years

_ _ _

For me, there is something to doing things out of posterity. That is, documenting here (on the nebulous web) snippets of my life and my times, simply for sake of the future. It may be important to none other than me but in that it seems very important.

In conversation people who know me understand the importance of music, poetry, art in general and Bob Dylan specifically. It’s merely a perspective but I do believe that Bob Dylan is the Shakespeare of our time and will be immortalized through his recorded work. I challenge anyone to give me the name of someone, anyone born in the in 1560’s…Go ahead…

See?

It’s challenging to make a mark in our own time, our own LIFE. But to have the grace to have been the creator, maker, author of so much creative material astounds. As one who has tried his hand at poetry, prose, music and lyric making I am simply amazed at the notion of the volume of material coming from a single source, a single person. I think we are conditioned to think it’s easy. Turn on the radio and you are inundated with songs, hits, chart-toppers. But how many of these are one-hit wonders? How many will last - how many aren’t simply frivolous articles of fashion? A 50 year recording career, a novel, a biography, at least 3 films, several books of drawings, exhibitions of his paintings all over the world, art installations and a never-ending tour beginning in 1988 that has seen him tour every year since. To say that is creative output is prolific and varied is well below understating it.

On this blog I’ve conceded to the notions of taste and preference and I will do so again – for some, Dylan’s voice is like fingernails on a chalkboard, but I love the sound of his weathered and distinctive wail. However, as with Shakespeare, I believe posterity will have the final word. Not only did people in his time appreciate the Bard’s (Shakespeare's) work, but as time went on more and more did also. This I believe will be the case with Bob Dylan. There will always be an audience of admirer’s of exhibitions Picasso’s paintings and drawings. In any given city there will always several productions of Shakespeare’s dramatic work under way. And I believe there will always be an audience of listeners and musicians to appreciate Dylan’s songs and recording artists continuing to include their versions of his songs on their records. Sure, a person can have a hit. Some have several. Some have greatest hits packages one and two. But no recording artist of our time is as universally covered as Bob Dylan. This means that among his fellow craftsmen and women he is more revered than anybody. Imitation is the purest form of flattery it’s been said. The people who write and record songs themselves consistently dip into the well created by Dylan. I won’t delve into the cultural significance of the artist here because I believe that to be of less import than his truest legacy - an immense body of songs of depth and power.

So it was that last October I waffled though I knew Uncle Bob was playing 3 consecutive nights in Seattle WA., a 3 hour’s drive across the border and south. Could my finances bear it? Who could go with me on such short notice? Were tickets yet available? And now several months later I am so glad I seized upon what may be the last chance I’ll have to see him in concert though I said the same thing in Oct 2001, when the lights went down at the start of his show then, when he was a sprite 61 years old.

I am including his performance and the lyrics to Lost and Wasted Years from TEMPEST, his most recent album of original songs. It’s a wonderful thing that in his 70's he is still composing original songs of startling lyrical intensity and still traversing the world modestly to perform night after night like an old bluesman, like a troubadour. What else was Bob Dylan put here on earth to do? And unlike Shakespeare or Picasso, I got to be in the same room with Bob Dylan several times over the years as he did his thing. There'll never be the likes of him again.

©2015 Champsteen Publishing

   

That's (Real) Showbiz...

Recently, I produced a list of 10 fillems that I insist my daughter Storm see at some point in the next year or so. Note that I refer to these as fillems, not movies. Movies are something different and not important (something full of explosions, CGIs or lame jokes and usually very predictable and not much fun) . I look at it a something of a rite of passage and a way of educating her to some works of celluloid art that have left an indelible mark on me. Late this past summer we viewed The Shining together (was that wrong? – REDRUM!?), which she claimed to enjoy. Last week came a rare and thrilling opportunity to not only watch Smoke Signals together, but also to be among the audience for an interview following the screening with Evan Adams by Duncan McCue. Coast Salish actor Adams, of course played the now-iconic role of Thomas Builds-The Fire (Hey, Victor!) and McCue (Anishnabe) is a nationally re-known CBC television news journalist. The film is based upon characters and stories found in the short story collection, Tonto and the Lone Ranger Fist-Fight In Heaven by Coeur d'Alene writer, Sherman Alexie (another gem and among my favorite literary achievements). For someone like me it was a beautiful opportunity to have Storm experience the power and beauty of a fillem that speaks to the soul and never fails to get me…right here! But it was also a chance for Storm to see demonstrated (more importantly) the generosity of spirit and an authentic exchange of ideas that are the true means to empowerment and community-building.

L to R, Evan Adams, Duncan McCue, Storm Standing-On-The-Road and Loretta Todd

SFU Downtown Campus served as venue and was moderated by (Metis/Cree) film-maker Loretta Todd. My daughter is old pals (through her mother) with McCue and Todd and it was so much fun to listen to the discussion ostensibly on humor and healing but which managed to be full of hilarious insights and poignant reflection by both actor and interviewer. It was also a chance to experience the finest talent in Indian country in a relaxed and intimate setting. Throughout this blog, one of the themes I’ve consistently tried to explore is creativity. Now, obviously the participants mentioned all bear a high profile but what was most evident this night was the natural grace and humility of all involved. This aspect also has found its way frequently into the articles I’ve posted and I believe is a feature, quality or trait found in many, many of the successful persons of profile in the 1st Nations community. It has been my experience over and over again, through the years that typically, a well-known person or someone we may identify as successful is generally down to earth and very approachable. I love this about our people.

Beyond this, Smoke Signals itself is a fillem that is exceptionally moving and utterly guileless in its charm. This means that it’s nearly perfect in its modest (though exquisite) execution and could not have been improved upon with more millions in its production budget or alternate casting choices. It’s a fillem that is tough, tender and whimsical and as I mentioned before, profound. Like all pieces of true art, it remains, timeless.

© 2012 Champsteen Publishing        

Okay, So I CAN'T Sing...(article)

that's not the point...i call myself an artist, as such it's crucial to seek, find and experience the creative process such as i define it. For some, morning pages or keeping a journal...for others different activities do the trick. In my mind it is simply an active way of manifesting various types of creativity that interest me. ALSO, it seems to open up space for more or other kinds of original work.

On another note a friend has opened a personal Youtube page with what i would describe as less-than gripping material on it – a collection of simple videos he shot and posted that have garnered a staggering 2.8 million hits/views...UNBELIEVABLE!!!! - that is until you consider that little teenager justin beiber has over a billion views or hits i read recently...i've never believed more is better (necessarily) or that quantity means quality, it simply means people have the means to access disposable media on a scale that dwarfs anything we knew before. My friend has some degree of literacy and better than moderate awareness of computers and how the Internet works. He is able to assign the proper tag words/posting options/settings/links to other pages so that virtually any search one carries out on the Internet will sooner than later point you to HIS page even if you are looking for something completely unrelated to his page or material located therein. It is simply good manipulation of this form of media. It's small wonder that the corporate hordes are looking for every conceivable way of monetizing your use of the Internet, that is, making money off of what you choose to look at on the Internet. I am providing Free-Blogger with a very small stream of advertising by placing my material here and having (mostly) people I know visit, but the majority of the people coming here are pals of mine who are simply curious and i have at present no strategy for or interest in pulling in more readers/viewers...well...perhaps i could at least post something remotely interesting.

*(added Jan 17th, 2011) according to Pingdom, an Internet tracking service, here are some mind-boggling stats): there are presently 1.97 billion Internet users - there are approximately 294 billion e-mails sent per day (89% are spam) - there 152 million Blogs, if "...bottom lines and wet noodles..." can be considered completely average, then there are roughly 76 million blogs out there that you would probably find MORE interesting than this one...(better get started, i'll wait here)...

on the Internet you have the potential to get an artist's best (and worst) stuff

as for songwriting, it's one of the greatest creative challenges there is for me. i'll always be an aspiring songwriter and guitar player...it's one of creator's ways of allowing me to speak to the universe. There's at least a couple songs i'm proud of so i'll keep right on working on them...it's good for the soul...


copyright 2011 Champsteen Publishing

….It Was Twenty Years Ago Today…

I begin with the opening line to the iconic Beatles track (Sgt, Pepper’s…) in an attempt to convey the sense of wonder, discovery and historic significance of what was for me a profound and unforgettable little Indian adventure. 20 years ago (Nov 12- 1989) I was on an island in Greece with a backpack (a wad of traveler’s cheques) and several friends I had made while on the road. On a television we saw that the Berlin Wall was coming down and as of November 9 that year hundreds of thousands (if not millions) of people were euphorically flooding the streets of Berlin (Germany, not to be officially reunified for another year or so). We knew we had to be there, so over the next 3 days and nights we traveled by boat and rail to arrive in Berlin. It was like nothing I had ever experienced before (or since) and we got lucky (a theme in my life) and found a pension to rent at reasonable rate with a old woman I had stayed with on an earlier visit (2 months prior). Jubilant crowds of revellers and newly freed East German citizens paraded daily, not only at the Brandenburg Gate or Checkpoint Charlie but at all points throughout the German city and countryside where previously had stood the notorious wall. In today’s political climate and age of information overload and for those of a generation born after mine, it may be hard to give sufficient context or description to THE WALL.
I will not provide a history lesson here but briefly, the German city of Berlin was divided into east-west sectors and administered (run) by the victorious allied powers following WWII: East Berlin (Soviet Russia), West Berlin (Britain, France, America) – of course almost immediately after the war tension arose between the previously allied nations and thus began the Cold War. Both the Soviet Union and the US became mighty nations, one under capitalism the other communism. The city of Berlin was almost overnight divided between east and west and eventually the Berlin Wall was constructed to prevent citizens from escaping to the west. For years The Berlin Wall stood before the rest of the world a symbol between East and West, between Communism and Democracy, between tyranny and freedom…

Over the years people were shot and killed trying to escape the East German side and in fact one of the reasons we traveled to the East German side during our first visit was to peer into the gaping jaws of oppression – knowing full well we would be welcome to cross back over later in the day (and have our passports returned) and continue with our innocent wide-eyed hosteling journey. In retrospect, we experienced only the illusion of danger but at the time it did seem a subversive act…imagine, an Indian in Soviet Occupied East Germany. During the initial visit in late September we left our passports at Checkpoint Charlie on the West Berlin side, paid a small fee and were granted foot passage across No-mans Land, that is, the land-mined, barbed wire-lined, gunner-towered area between the two enclaves. I admit I had no idea one could even go the `East`side and our doing so was rather passé for West Germans but for me…a 20 year old Indian kid from Hobbema, who grew up in Cowtown and watched cool fillems like Force Ten from Naverone, The Big Red One, The Great Escape, A Bridge Too Far and on and on, setting foot in a place like occupied East Germany was more than a rite of passage, it was a heroic feat. I had never known or met anyone prior who had said they too had been inside East Germany. Coming of age through the seventies and eighties had left the indelible impression on me that the Soviet Union and its territories were dark and imposing and in all ways they were located at the edge of the world, beyond was terror, imprisonment and even execution. After all, at that point in my life-experience I was only vaguely aware of the horrors people like them (the Commies, the Reds) had visited upon their own people (though I had witnessed China violently crushing dissention at Tiananamen Square on TV previously that year in summer). It seemed rather inconceivable that oppression to that scale existed anywhere close to my reality or within the realm of my experience. At that point in my life I knew my people (Native people) struggled but “oppression” took place in some faraway “other.”

(That was then)

Of course the truth is far more complex and grim 20 years later but the fact remains that at that point in the history of “me” the Berlin Wall was as close to anything tangibly dangerous as I could possibly imagine. It was beyond the protective reach of anything I knew. Real or imagined, I felt as though I was embarking on a defiant act of bravery which would transform me from yahoo backpacker to experienced sojourner. I had in my possession the earliest version of the Sony HandyCam and proceeded to record many significant sights and sounds…the most impressive, the formal changing of the guards.

But as they will (all of them) this experiment in power dynamics failed and the will of the East German people to know freedom was too great and external pressure from influences outside its borders proved too much to bear for East German authorities. Initially a few citizens were granted temporary visas to visit the west, then the trickle became a flood and soon millions were streaming through various checkpoints along the entire length of the wall. By the time we reached the city on November 12th, the celebrations were in full swing. The streets were packed, all of them. Restaurants, inns, taverns were all full and many were free. The parks and all green spaces were full of tents and pitched sleeping spots and the train station was full as hundreds of people were allowed to sleep on the floors nightly and then ushered along during the day by security. Millions of East Germans had arrived with only the shirt on their back, unsure of how long the apparent freedom would last and how imminent it might be the wall and its restrictions would once again be enforced. Many were taking no chances and were fleeing on the first available trains, disappearing into the varied depths of continental Europe or elsewhere in the densely populated German countryside. The actual, physical destruction of the wall was well underway and by the time I arrived, the industrious had already established and staked out “Berlin Wall Souvenir” businesses and access to various sections of the wall. Primarily Americans it seemed had already found ways of transporting segments of the Berlin Wall back overseas in pieces that ranged from almond to brick-sized (I can only imagine how many fake souvenir pieces of wall are fondly kept around the world). But it was deeply stirring to the soul to see the profound joy and gratitude in the faces of the newly freed German people. People walked arm in arm singing songs, waving banners marching throughout the city proclaiming victory. It was not uncommon to find people in tears hugging family members not seen in 20 years. Ordinary citizens opened their homes and businesses to everyone. Many restaurants were free as were many pubs and inns. The atmosphere was euphoric but not chaotic. This struck me. Everywhere you went people were jubilant, ecstatic even rapturous but at no point was it unsafe to be walking the streets. It was interesting to observe what was for all intents and purposes a temporarily functioning fully free-state operated by the people.
Late one morning near our rented room we groggily walked along a section of wall that was still very much intact though there were fissures, chinks and gaping crevices along reinforcement-bar lines. My companions and I stood beside the wall smoking cigarettes and talking, probably nursing beer and we noticed that through the cracks in the wall there stood uniformed East German soldiers directly on the other side (It should be noted that the wall was still manned by armed guards at most points along the barrier who seemed unsure of what their role now was – previous to this they had had shoot to kill orders and were probably nervous to join us and leave their posts). I began capturing footage with my video camera and aimed it at the guards through a crack several inches wide. There the four of them stood hovering round the peek-through spot and they appeared young and not much older than me. They wore thick wool military coats and rifles over their shoulders. They too were smoking cigarettes and taking turns observing us. When it became obvious to them that they were being filmed, they began to mug and ham it up for the camera. I thought it was cool that they were being so playful despite the fact they were soldiers and wore rifles when just then a snowball landed at our feet. We scanned around and saw no one else was around and when the next snowball landed on the ground moments later we grinned realizing where they came from. In the next instant we had lobbed our own snowballs over the wall and for the next couple minutes we enjoyed a good natured little battle of our own. At some point in my life I will be able to say in all seriousness to my grandchildren that this Indian had a snowball fight with East German soldiers over the Berlin Wall (there will be many more examples, like this, of what I refer to as: Larry’s Brown Forrest Gump experiences).

Media crews were everywhere. Surely this was the most important global event of the day and like everything else, the good spirit and meaning behind those first days was lost. The country did eventually become unified, the fall of the Berlin Wall served as a catalyst for all of Eastern Europe and Soviet Russia. In the next few years communism crumbled and dozens of nations declared independence. None were to experience the euphoria of Berlin but that was because it was the first and was the most obvious example to the West of Soviet policy and few saw it coming. Once it did happen, though, communist power structures in countries all across the east fell like dominoes and it could not even be stopped in the USSR. Very interesting to observe the lustre of democracy being lost in most (if not all) of those countries today as they struggle with weak economies, age old ethnic conflicts and the diminishing opportunities of a globalized world. While gangsters and corrupt government officials replaced autocratic regimes, Democracy and capitalism have arrived but the same oppressive quality of life seems to be the reward for new generations of free citizens. The backlash in Berlin was loud and demonstrative, the economy bottomed out and could not support the exodus of new citizens as it also had to cope with an influx of immigrants determined to try their luck in the new and prosperous free land. West Germans placed blame squarely on the shoulders of “outsiders” (which at this time includes former East Germans) and there is currently a loud, active and influential voice within the German political power structure that advocates for a Germany free of “mongrelized influence”…it couldn’t possibly happen again of course…of course it couldn’t because we always learn from our mistakes...that's what's so reassuring.

The spirit of those few days is what stays with me though and the perspective I presently carry is coloured by what I experienced first hand 20 years ago. The following year the Oka crisis would unfold and would profoundly change the way some Indians (like me) all across the land thought about Canada. (you do realize the military force engaged at Oka was far larger than was deployed in the first war in Iraq? – Canada sent more soldiers to Oka than it did to protect its “freedom” in the Middle East). So when you think about the intent of certain actions, policies or statements you must consider the literal meaning and the implied or symbolic meaning behind these same things. One must consider the relativity of statements such as freedom, democracy and power. What is legal and what is just…who decides?

I keep the memories of my time in Berlin safe and cherished and count myself lucky to have been there as I have learned many things that carry meaning for me have been about my “being there” – as active participant, moral supporter…as witness.
.
** It bears mentioning that “the barrier” (wall) erected by Israel in the West Bank (and loudly supported by conspicuous silence by all other western powers) that dangerously hampers movement by Palestinians is a structure far larger in terms of scale and construction than the Berlin Wall ever was. The powers that be in the West don’t seem to have the same philosophical disdain for such action and symbols that they once did – they apparently have developed “the stomach” for such things

*(written November 12, 2009)
© Champsteen Publishing