EMMYLOU AND YOU
Am I confused again? (Again? Still, some would swear.) As to which day it is, which column I’m writing, the political CURIOUS CITY or the musical NOTEWORTHY?
Often they intersect, art and politics. Emmylou Harris made that point a couple of times at her concert Saturday at Disney Hall. She didn’t dive into any pontificating, just a couple of gentle declarations scattered between songs that made the point and let us know she is informed and cares about the state of our society. I’ve always thought that is the best approach. A little goes a long way. People come for a concert, not a lecture. But artists have a platform, and influence, and they should use it, for good. Too few do. Sadly, it’s often about bank accounts. Take a stand and you may lose part of your audience.
I did a little digging and found out Harris has been pretty active for certain causes, for years, such as animal welfare. (Which she did not mention that night.) I’ve loved Emmylou ever since I first heard her in the early ‘70s with Gram Parsons’ Fallen Angels, and have paid attention to her many albums over the years. I was fortunate enough to see her up close at the Palomino years ago. When she was a brunette. She now sports magnificent silver-white hair and looks 30 years younger than her 75.
She is an accomplished songwriter, guitarist and interpreter of others’ songs, but mainly, that voice. I’m happy to report she still has it, especially in the upper registers. So strong. I don’t think she’s lost a thing. And she still wraps that voice around a phrase or word like no other.
EMMETT TILL
A decade ago she wrote a song about the horrible murder of a 14-year-old black boy in Mississippi in 1955. After singing it here, she acknowledged that “we have come a long way. But we still have a long way to go.”
Visiting relatives from his home in Chicago, Emmett didn’t understand that down there, a black boy or man should not even speak to a white woman. She accused him of whistling at her, and that night he was dragged from his uncle’s house and brutally beaten, cut, shot, tortured, lynched and thrown into the river. Not the first time in the South. His murderers were acquitted, of course.
But this time, the world paid attention because his mother was brave enough to defy authorities, call in the press, and leave his casket open during the funeral, for all to see what had been done to her precious boy. Thousands filed by the casket and the photos were widely circulated, making Till and his mother early heroes of the nascent civil rights movement.
His body was so destroyed that the only way Mamie Till Mobley knew it was her son was because of the ring on his finger. And that brings me to the brutality and insanity of present-day America.
Am I bumming you out? Casting a shadow over your sunshiny SoCal day? Gosh, I hope so, because we need some radical changes and we need them now and it may be only the extreme discomfort and pain of the actual reality, not the news reports, that will make that happen.
It is terrible enough to have your child murdered, or your spouse or parent or sibling, for that matter. It never leaves you. But when it is a young child, such as in Uvalde or Sandy Hook or even Parkland, somehow the pain of that loss is magnified.
Now, if you have to view and identify your child’s body, mutilated and destroyed by the insane power of assault rifle bullets – well, most of us can’t even imagine. And we don’t even want to think about it.
BUT MAYBE THAT’S THE ANSWER
To getting something done. To real, radical change. It seems everyone is moaning about nothing being done, not even the most common-sense gun laws that 90% of the US population favors and is begging for, to the deaf ears in DC that are plugged up with NRA cash to keep them in power. Thoughts and prayers. Repeat the cycle.
Quite a few op-eds have come on line since Uvalde suggesting that what we need is an Emmett Till moment. I agree.
Every so often I see those little green sneakers, with the heart on the right toe, and each time my heart breaks. According to actor Mathew McConaughey, speaking at the White House as a native of Uvalde, they belonged to 10-year-old Maite Rodriguez, murdered at her school. He said those favorite shoes of hers were the only way her family could identify her, because her small body was literally destroyed by the power of the AR-15.
I know, I know, a lot of you already stopped reading. But if it is tough to mention it, to think about it, think about Maite’s parents. Who had to look at what was left of their precious daughter. This is insane, and beyond cruel.
It looks like Congress will pass a handful of needed but completely inadequate new gun regulations. That’s good. But so short of what is needed. This country banned assault weapons for 10 years. And then under President W, that law was allowed to lapse, and now banning assault rifles doesn’t have the chance of a snowball in the Uvalde, TX sun. Only in America.
I do think that if every Senator and Representative in Washington were forced to walk by open caskets of the children of Uvalde, we might have a different story. If it were broadcast, we might have a much stronger public opinion. Because then it wouldn’t be thoughts and prayers, it would be the horrific reality that those parents had to look at, of what an assault rifle can do to a small body of a precious child.
ANYBODY STILL WITH ME?
One of the Parkland survivors, Emma Gonzales, gave a tearful, impassioned speech shortly after her classmates were murdered, ending with challenging all the ridiculous reasons why “nothing can be done,” by leading the crowd in yelling, “We call BS!” It continues to amaze me how many politicians who run nonsense up the flagpoles to see how many salute. Jan. 6 was just a political rally. We need to call BS. Before the gullible start to buy it. Before more children are dead and our democracy disintegrated.
So much BS. Globally, nationally, statewide and certainly right here in Bay City. We have to start calling it, all of us, not just the brave hearts like Emma, Greta, Malala. And doing things very, very differently.
As Charles Andrews has lived in Santa Monica for 36 years and wouldn’t live anywhere else in the world. Really. Send love and/or rebuke to him at therealmrmusic@gmail.com
