She was a cypher, already difficult to know when she became humongous in 2006. As the years went by, what we saw became more and more tacky: wandering half-naked down the London streets, strung-out and incoherent, her bad implants popping out of her skimpy dresses. The continued public bad behavior; the YouTube video of her [...]]]>

She was a cypher, already difficult to know when she became humongous in 2006. As the years went by, what we saw became more and more tacky: wandering half-naked down the London streets, strung-out and incoherent, her bad implants popping out of her skimpy dresses. The continued public bad behavior; the YouTube video of her and Pete Dougherty, both babbling and high; that final sham of a “concert” in Belgrade. The singer turned into a clown.

When she went no one was surprised, least of all her long-suffering family. A pathetic stardom, typical of these times of Facebook/ Twitter, texting, instant gratification and voracious consumption. Virulent drug addiction coupled with the lack of privacy and personal freedom that come as the price of massive fame. Every move of this imperfect life followed by a predatory paparazzi that stalks its prey as quicky and mercilessly as any raptor in a horror movie. How would any of us handle it?

It was almost impossible to see behind the horror show into who she was. Because once upon a time, she was a person to those who truly knew her, and simply someone the rest of us hadn’t met yet. A normal girl with an enormous talent who hit the jackpot once the diverse factors of the entertainment slot machine came into place – musical style, choice of band, hit songs, emblematic ’60s look — and who got lost almost immediately.

In short, the unluckiest girl in the world. May she rest in peace.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i1iu52L9mUk

Video courtesy of Sergio Jungle.

Here’s Rob D., singing Janis’s classic, in Anti-Karaoke Madrid last Wednesday. It was probably the most electric moment in the history of the show.

This was Rob’s last performance at AK because he’s returning to the U.S. I’ll miss him a lot, as much as a friend as a star in the [...]]]>

Video gracias a Sergio Jungle.

Rob D., cantando el clásico de Janis, en Anti-Karaoke Madrid el miércoles pasado. Lo califico como el momento más eléctrico de la historia del show allí.

Fue su última actuación en AK porque vuelve a su tierra natal, EE.UU. Le voy a echar mucho de menos, tanto como amigo como estrella querida del [...]]]>

Video gracias a Sergio Jungle.

Rob D., cantando el clásico de Janis, en Anti-Karaoke Madrid el miércoles pasado. Lo califico como el momento más eléctrico de la historia del show allí.

Fue su última actuación en AK porque vuelve a su tierra natal, EE.UU. Le voy a echar mucho de menos, tanto como amigo como estrella querida del show.

Rob, para mi, es una de esas personas que parece tener tanto alma que me da miedo de que vaya a quebrar. Un maestro del “slow burn” (traducción literal: “quemadura gradual”), Rob convierte cada performance en una catarsis inevitable que te llena de vida. Es cien por cien real y su manera de existir es a tope y emocionante. Como podéis ver por la reacción de la sala, esa emoción era infecciosa esa noche.

Te echaremos de menos, Rob. Dejas un vacío en mi vida, pero pronto se llenará cuando empieces tu nueva vida dentro de poco. Porque sé que tendrás éxito en todos los sentidos. Pero sobre todo, en la alegría y satisfacción personal. Te queremos mucho.

[For maximum enjoyment of this video, I recommend turning the up volume LOUD!]

Schoolhouse Rock was a series of short musical, educational clips that would run on Saturday mornings when I was a kid. They remain immensely popular not only for my generation, but for later generations who didn’t grow up with the series.

Schoolhouse Rock was created [...]]]>

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TEqRo7J_Y0Q

[For maximum enjoyment of this video, I recommend turning the up volume LOUD!]

Schoolhouse Rock was a series of short musical, educational clips that would run on Saturday mornings when I was a kid. They remain immensely popular not only for my generation, but for later generations who didn’t grow up with the series.

Schoolhouse Rock was created in the seventies, at the height of Black pride consciousness. To put it in perspective, Blacks had only recently been granted civil rights. Less than 15 years before, Black Americans couldn’t even vote and were brutally oppressed in daily life. In the seventies, schools were still being desegregated throughout the nation, including my own. Black children had few role models and heroes represented in the popular culture.

For this reason, the Black superhero in the “Verb: That’s What’s Happenin’” clip made a big impression on me. I remember thinking: “Wow! A Black Superman! Cool!” So I can’t even imagine how it must have affected Black kids to finally see a Black Superman, heroically rescuing people and receiving adoration just as any white superhero would.

Other details stand out in this cartoon: the happily integrated movie theater, the young Black protagonist making his way through the world with confidence, encouraged to dream about his future (as Martin Luther King did), climbing mountains, going to the movies alone and returning home safely to the loving arms of his mother. All this hope and optimism reflected in one cartoon, daring to put the dreams of a people into image and music.

I also remember from this era the slogan “Black is beautiful,” in conversation as well as printed on bumper stickers. “Black is beautiful” was the Black community’s attempt at self-healing, an effort to change the negative way white society saw Black people — and to change the way Black people saw themselves — after a couple hundred years of systematic denigration in American society.

I am certain that the Schoolhouse Rock cartoons, along with programs such as Sesame Street and The Electric Company, helped changed the consciousness of America. And that’s why they’ve become not just musical, but beloved cultural and historical artifacts.

Below is an American high-school’s recent interpretation of the same song. In my opinion, the performance lacks a bit of soul, but the students do their best considering that most of them are white and weren’t even born when Schoolhouse Rock was on TeeVee!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=obw5NXzHL9I

Lyrics:

I get my thing in action (Verb!)
To be, to sing, to feel, to live (Verb!)
That’s what’s happenin’

I put my heart in action (Verb!)
To run, to go, to get, to give (Verb!)
(You’re what’s happenin’)

That’s where I find satisfaction, yeah! (Yeah!)
To search, to find, to have, to hold
(Verb! To be bold)
When I use my imagination (Verb!)
I think, I plot, I plan, I dream
Turning in towards creation (Verb!)
I make, I write, I dance, I sing
When I’m feeling really active (Verb!)
I run, I ride, I swim, I fly!
Other times when life is easy
(Oh!) I rest, I sleep, I sit, I lie.

(Verb! That’s what’s happenin’)
I can take a noun and bend it,
Give me a noun -
(Bat, boat, rake, and plow)
Make it a verb and really send it!
(Show me how)
Oh, I don’t know my own power. (Verb!)

I get my thing in action (Verb!)
In being, (Verb!) In doing, (Verb!)
In saying
A verb expresses action, being, or state of being. A verb makes a statement. Yeah, a verb tells it like it is!

(Verb! That’s what’s happenin’.)
I can tell you when it’s happenin’,
(Past, present, future tense)
Ooh! Tell you more about what’s happenin’,
(Say it so it makes some sense)
I can tell you who is happenin’!
(Verb, you’re so intense)
Every sentence has a subject.
(Noun, person, place, or thing)
Find that subject: Where’s the action?
(Verb can make a subject sing)
Take the subject: What is it? (What!)
What’s done to it? (What!)
What does it say?
(Verb, you’re what’s happenin’)

I can question like: What is it?
(Verb, you’re so demanding.)
I can order like: Go get it!
(Verb, you’re so commanding.)
When I hit I need an object
(Verb, hit! Hit the ball!)
When I see, I see the object
(Do you see that furthest wall?)

If you can see it there, put the ball over the fence, man!
Go ahead. Yeah, alright.
What?! He hit it. It’s going, it’s going, it’s gone!
(What!)

I get my thing in action.
(Verb, that’s what’s happenin’)
To work, (Verb!)
To play, (Verb!)
To live, (Verb!)
To love… (Verb!…)

Here’s a personal story in English.

Hoy entierran a mi tío Bernie, en el mismo cementerio donde yo, junto a varios tíos en trajes negros, cargué con el ataúd de mi tío Bobby hace un mes.

Recuerdo que, al entrar en el cementerio, pasamos por la lápida de la mujer de Bernie. En ese momento, Bernie estaba en urgencias [...]]]>

Bernie Arieff, 1928-2009.

Hoy entierran a mi tío Bernie, en el mismo cementerio donde yo, junto a varios tíos en trajes negros, cargué con el ataúd de mi tío Bobby hace un mes.

Recuerdo que, al entrar en el cementerio, pasamos por la lápida de la mujer de Bernie. En ese momento, Bernie estaba en urgencias en el hospital, perdiendo el funeral de su hermano por una “pulmonía” persistente. Recuerdo lo mal que sentía por el pobre Bernie, que había llegado desde Florida para despedirse de su hermano, y ni siquiera podría asistir su funeral. No teníamos ni idea de que era cáncer, ni que él llegaría a ese cementerio un mes después, bajo distintas circunstancias.

Agradezco los comentarios de pésame por la(s) muerte(s) de mi(s) tío(s).  Varios han dicho, como consuelo, que este año acaba pronto, que podré dejarlo atrás.

Es curioso, pero de verdad, no veo nada mal este año. Definitivamente he pasado por mucha tristeza y muchas lágrimas. Pero tengo que reconocer que, hasta que llegó este año, nunca tuve que aguantar la muerte de nadie cercano a mí, con la excepción de mi abuela (y ella se murió con 95 años). Los otros tres abuelos míos ya se habían muerto cuando llegué a este mundo. He tenido la suerte (?) de poder vivir tantos años con la ilusión de que la vida dura mucho tiempo, y que la muerte llega cuando somos viejos y estamos listos para ella.

La muerte está a nuestro lado constantemente, y es sólo una ilusión que somos los dueños de nuestras vidas. La vida es una hipoteca que el banco nos retira en cualquier momento, muchas veces sin ningún aviso. Pero la mayoría de nosotros no somos capaces de vivir con ese reconocimiento porque es inaguantable. Vivimos en una casa prestada, convencidos de que somos los propietarios, y eso hace más feliz la vida, pensando que tenemos control… porque queremos sentirnos así, necesitamos sentirnos así. Es la condición humana.

En fin: a veces, sólo con la muerte de tus seres queridos puedes aprender a apreciarles — si tienes tanta suerte. Por ejemplo, apenas conocí a mi tío Bernie. Vengo de una familia muy bélica que siempre se peleaba uno con el otro, este no hablaba con ese por algo que dijo el otro en el año 1962… En el caso de mi tío Bernie, por motivos que no conozco, pasaron 20 años sin saber nada de él.

Pero cuando se puso enfermo, aprendí cosas bonitas de él: de su historia, de sus seres queridos, de su vida cotidiana, de su personalidad. No bastantes para conocerle bien, pero cosas que cuentan. Por ejemplo, que él tenía el hábito, al presentarse a alguien, decir, “Hola, soy Bernie. Tengo 81 años.” O que él tenía una novia, que le quería mucho. O que, durante sus días finales, encantaba a todas las enfermeras que le cuidaban. Antes era una sombra. Ahora es una persona.

Entonces, sí, este año acaba pronto. ¿Y qué? La muerte estará allí siempre. Hay que aprovecharnos de su presencia para vivir mejor, con más aprecio y felicidad.

Realmente, en vez de cabrearnos cuando la muerte nos quita a nuestros seres queridos, deberíamos estar agradecidos al Mago que nos permite vivir la mayoría de nuestras vidas en un estado de sueño, dentro de una ilusión.

He was almost young enough to be my son in this photo. He joined the army to pay for his college education because there was no money in the family. They sent him down South — Biloxi, I think? — to learn the soldier stuff.

It was weird being a Jew in the South. [...]]]>

He was almost young enough to be my son in this photo. He joined the army to pay for his college education because there was no money in the family. They sent him down South — Biloxi, I think? — to learn the soldier stuff.

It was weird being a Jew in the South. Most of those people had never seen a Jew before. Some of them actually expected him to have horns and a tail. Anyway — according to legend — his job was to drive trucks carrying explosive nitroglycerine through bumpy mountain roads.

Strange to think of him like that. He was the most un-militaristic person I knew. So transparent, emotional and kid-like. But he did it to pay for law school. He became one of Milwaukee’s most well-liked lawyers… if you can imagine such a thing.

We found this photo together, on my penultimate visit to Milwaukee a couple years ago. We were in his dusty storage room and I kept sneezing. I spotted this picture, in the original wooden frame, and he let me have it. I never knew which visit to him would be my last, so I was always taking pictures and videos.

We took a picture together, holding up this photo. I’m glad we did. I still remember that moment.

Barbarah started coming to AK back in the days of Sidecar and has never missed a show unless she was ill or out of town. She is one of those people who lives and breathes to perform.

Whenever I see people like Barbarah onstage, it reminds me of an important moment in my life:

When I was [...]]]>

Barbarah started coming to AK back in the days of Sidecar and has never missed a show unless she was ill or out of town. She is one of those people who lives and breathes to perform.

Whenever I see people like Barbarah onstage, it reminds me of an important moment in my life:

When I was a student at an improv school in L.A., my teacher, the brilliant actress Cynthia Szigeti (Repo Man, Curb Your Enthusiasm, Seinfeld), put two words together in a way I’ll never forget. The words were “girl disease”.

This is what happened: Cynthia called on two people for an improvised acting exercise. “I need two people onstage.” Many men jumped up and headed toward the stage. Many women jumped up, too. But, as soon as the women saw that others had jumped up too, they apologetically shrunk back down into their seats, as if to say, “Oh, excuse me for being so rude and aggressive. I couldn’t possibly take someone else’s place.”

Cynthia had a name for that tendency to be overly accommodating. It was an affliction, a horrible disease. GIRL DISEASE.

After all, so many girls had it. And none of the boys did.

Cynthia let all the women in the class have it. She wasn’t one to mince words. “What the fuck are you doing, women? Don’t you realize how hard life is? Don’t you know that everything in your lives is going to be more difficult to come by, just because of sexist prejudice? Why are you shrinking back when you should be pushing forward? Why do you give it up to the guys, when all your life you’ll have to fight twice as hard for anything a guy gets? Don’t sit back on your asses! Come take what’s yours! Now, I said I NEED FIVE PEOPLE ON STAGE.  NO MORE GODDAMN GIRL DISEASE!”

Now back to Barbarah: The first time I saw Barbarah perform, she was very different than the performer you see in the video. She wore a baseball cap pulled down over her face and directed most of her singing at the music stand, from which she almost never averted her gaze. It was obvious she was a powerful person, but she almost seemed to be hiding herself.

But she had a great voice, husky and with a lot of passion and emotion. I gave her a piece of advice: lose the music stand. Don’t hide. Don’t make yourself smaller. Be strong! Be what you are.

The next few times, she made a point to come to the show with the lyrics memorized, and confront the audience head-on.

The difference between the Barbarah from before and the new Barbarah was like night and day. She was a sensation. Besides being an AK regular, she now sings in a band.

Women are conditioned to wait for someone to give them permission. That’s why I love seeing women like Barbarah triumph on stage. But this isn’t a battle of the sexes. It’s not about men vs. women. In truth, this story doesn’t just apply to women. It applies to anyone who might be shy or frightened about asserting themselves — onstage, at work, or in their family.

My point is this: if you’re a shy person and you have something inside you want to get out, why wait for someone to give you permission? You might spend your whole life waiting for it to come… and wondering, “What if?”

We’re in a plaza in Cádiz on a warm, sunny day. I, along with a sizeable crowd of people, am admiring the old man and his parrot.

He sits alone on the bench, the huge, colorful bird perched on his shoulder. Small children crouch around him, in fear and awe of the parrot. The old man [...]]]>

We’re in a plaza in Cádiz on a warm, sunny day. I, along with a sizeable crowd of people, am admiring the old man and his parrot.

He sits alone on the bench, the huge, colorful bird perched on his shoulder. Small children crouch around him, in fear and awe of the parrot. The old man occasionally strokes the big bird and feeds him a bit of bread. He smiles as he explains how he’s always had animals — for the last few years it’s been the parrot, but he’s also had cats, dogs, even rats and ferrets. His wife doesn’t like animals at all, he says, so she’s had to bear a heavy burden all these years, being married to him. She’s a good woman for putting up with it all, he concludes with a laugh.

I realize that he probably comes to this plaza every day with the parrot and tells this story each time. It’s how he passes the time, putting on this show for the people of Cádiz. It’s his job.

I feel like I’m in a James Stewart-Frank Capra film. The moment is idyllic: the old man, the parrot, the families gathered around, everybody’s happy.

A voice that sounds like a rusted tin can being scraped on the sidewalk says, “I don’t get it. An animal is not a person. Doesn’t anybody know the damn difference anymore?”

It’s not just the words that are shocking, it’s the energy behind them. A supremely malevolent vibration that sends everyone’s hair on end, like a sudden blast of cold wind. We all feel it together.

It’s an old woman who’s said it. She has leathery brown skin from the sun and short, dyed-brown hair. Her lips are painted bright red. Her wrinkled skin makes her look old, but her attitude is so aggressive, so full of resentment and ill will, that I have no idea how old she is. Old people don’t have that kind of rage in them. Teenagers do.

She could be fifty or she could be eighty. I can’t tell.

The old man with the parrot looks around at the crowd and winks. He looks not the least bit surprised or bothered. He seems to know this woman.

“It’s like people with dogs. Those people who let their dogs shit anywhere. You know what I do? I go up to those people and I say, So you let your dog shit here, eh? Well I’m going to shit on you.”

There are gasps from the crowd. The smiles disappear. An oppressive silence hangs in the air. Everyone looks at the old man with the parrot, as if for guidance. He just looks at the floor, still smiling, shaking his head, as if to say, What are you gonna do?

Someone tries to change the subject. “Terrible thing with that Spainair flight. Those poor people, every one of them killed right after the plane takes off the runway.”

The leathery old woman snaps, “That’s just what I mean. People are shit. All of them. Stupid people, getting on a plane that bursts into flames. I say, good riddance. I’m glad they’re dead.”

Groans of collective disappointment travel through the crowd. Parents cover their children’s ears, gently spin them around, and lead them away from the old man with the parrot. Pretty soon the only ones left are the old man and the leathery old woman, who gestures grandly as she talks to the old man. The old man’s smile is still there, but barely. He stares off into the distance and strokes the parrot’s feathers.

I try to figure out the relationship between these two people. I concoct a story in my head about the old man and this leathery woman.

Thirty or forty years before, they had an affair. The woman nagged at him to leave his wife. He led her to believe that he would… or maybe he just never said that he wouldn’t. The years went by. The man was still with his wife, his pets. This leathery old woman had grown bitter from the years of waiting. She changed into something she’d never dreamed she’d be.

It’s a silly, soap-opera story, but sometimes you have to invent some kind of justification for these situations. Otherwise nothing makes sense.