toli: n. 1. A juicy piece of news. 2. The latest word or gossip. 3. The talk of the town, typically a salacious or risque tale of intrigue, corruption or foolishness. (Ga language, Ghana, West Africa)
The last holdouts, it's come to this
The Walker brothers would be leaving this place
Yes, they'd delayed the purchase for months and strung things out
But now time was up, they had to move out of the house
At least the two of them had made a stand
Scrap dealers, their hustle was hard
The mountain of bikes scavenged for parts
Machinery under the tarp
Old man Jackson would be the very last holdout
His house on the other side of the tracks
Specialist in all styles, you had to respect him
The end of an era, and now it's come to this
...
Down by the train tracks, the very last patch
On the east side, past the highway
Bad soil, badlands
Bordered by the railway and the creek
Cul-de-sac
Halfway houses
Depression era bungalows
Functional and plain homes for our kind of folk
Featuring Terry's stealth restaurant in one of the backyards
One of his jook joint ideas that didn't go nowhere
Left with barbecues, conversation and soul food
Frankie Beverly and Maze blaring,
Cheap malt, it was all good
And now the blues grinder is over, it's come to this
...
Bars, heavy iron burglar bars over the windows
During the crack years it wasn't far from a combat zone
Drugs, man, I tell you, a hell of a thing
Charnel houses, dens of iniquity, they saw it all
And if it wasn't dope, well all vices could be bought
Mind you, there were fifteen churches within the six blocks
Sin and redemption were the nosy neighbors
It was hard to tell which you would end up crashing with
The churches too are moving out, it's come to this
...
Now that the trail has been done up, it's come to this
The developers have their eye on things
It's the American way, we understand cold cash
Someone expert with the building code, real estate
A couple of miles from downtown, it's a no-brainer
Multiple units or townhouses with the right contractor
An offer you can't refuse, a fateful decision
Suburbia here we come, some call it gentrification
First on the scene, smell of sulfur
Spent cartridges, overturned tables
Kicked a hand grenade, it was live
Luck. Tonight was not my time
Out of the darkness, a mess
The bodies, the bodies. Look
No time to check for vital signs
Training kicked in, adrenaline
Secure the premises
Clear. Damage assessment
The bodies, the bodies. Count
Then blood, first aid. Hurry
Flesh distorted, unnatural positions
Wrenching. Anatomy lessons
The sounds, such sounds
Gasps. Screams. Sobs
The bodies, the bodies. Damn
The brutality of field triage
Tourniquets fashioned
Technique. Muscle memory
Blood, so much blood, a new smell
Broken glass, splinters
Eyes darting. Holding hands
Stay with me. Help is coming
The bodies, the bodies. Hold on
Out on the street, male cadaver
Too late, he lay in the gutter
Looked around, table cloth
Makeshift shroud, best you could do
Back inside. The golden hour. Help
First time for everything, terrorism
You'll never forget the bodies
First responder. Life and death
The bodies, the bodies. Baptism
So apparently I've been writing at this joint for 20 years
To all who've been reading, a head nod in your direction
An interruption perhaps to your regular programming here
A head nod, twenty years is worth a little commemorating...
I've found that, when it comes to the heart of the matter,
The typical toli intervention still adheres to the old formula
The ingredients are well known: some prose, a poem, and a playlist
I vary things as enthusiasms ebb and flow, even on technicaltopics
But it seems that poetry has taken over these past few years:
Even book reviews are escaping in virtual ink dressed in verse
The slightest thing sends me into significations and wonders
But the muse wills what she wants, who am I to question her?
The poetry started to flow, as it were, for want of a bolt
First a golden encounter (a hungry man offered me some gold)
Then a broken lawnmower turned out to be the proximate cause
Now, having settled into a groove, I've been steadily adding to the vault
Hell, I've got things scheduled out for the next six years and more
I tend to cover mostly familiar topics: Small things, whimsy and darkmatters
Albeit the arrival of parenthood affected the quantity of toli chatter
Some were concerned at the prolonged absences; I told them
"Sleep deprivation will only get you so far"
And trusted that the fallow years of writing would soon come to pass
I'm firing on all cylinders these days, Covering humanity's curriculum
Writing from the torrid zone, A far region of the mind under the sun
Meanwhile, I dream in hypertext. My books of toli all start with a link
So, again, a head nod in your direction, Dear Reader,
Do let me know what you think
Blinking lights, funeral procession
The police escort slowly led the way
The motorbike rider up front occasionally blowing the horn
The long parade of cars followed from Mission funeral home
Frustrated. A couple of stragglers, delayed by a red light
Stopped and faced the onlooker at the crosswalk
Eyes red after the earlier mourning
Newfangled mask pulled under the chin
In that minute, a wordless exchange
A head nod, then a gesture to the heart
A smile, and a head nod in return
Solidarity
The light changed, they revved to catch up
Onward to the last rites at the cemetery
They cut deeper, they do They hurt more than the unvarnished ones
Sure, you can make your peace with the white lies,
The garden variety deceptions
And deal with the untruths And the artful omissions
The distinctions without a difference, The what-have-yous
But it's hard to cope with the goddamn lies
You are well familiar with the symphony of deceit
Intimate even, with the ways of evasion
The instinctive lies The barefaced ones
The reflexive ones The rank denials
The wholly unnecessary ones The exaggerations
The diversionary ones The outright fabrications
But it's hard to abide with the goddamn lies
And what, you may ask, elevates a lie into that august territory
Moving forward, worthy of that emphatic qualifier?
The texture of a goddamn lie is of the nature of a wound
A goddamn lie aims for, and achieves, infamy
Its essential quality goes far beyond shame
A goddamn lie rises above the highest peaks of untruths
It is of a piece with the surreal, devastating and brazen,
A goddamn lie summons irony, borne as it is out of its bed of hypocrisy
Most of all, a goddamn lie celebrates the lie qua lie
A goddamn lie dances on the grave of its achievement
II.
Politicians, as a matter of course, are avid connoisseurs of the lie
Indeed we expect a close acquaintance of it of most of their breed
Some breathe it with a naturalness that is often unnerving
Grifters too are students and daily practitioners of its corruption
And deploy it in a manner that is all too self-serving
But it is the rarest beast that achieves the goddamn lie
All cultures have their own folklore, Often at the expense of others
Founding myths, origin stories, Their striking legends soaked in blood
Erecting statues of the colossus, Destinies manifest and men's burdens
On terrain where equality, dreams and fond promises Meet ceilinged glass
The rhetoric of the powerful And the strategy of the shrewd
The hand of god, Witness the triumph of the trickster
Freedoms and liberties, The laws of grifters
From faulty biology, allusions to race, and sundry nationalisms
History books point to those who heed the conqueror's catechism
But when everything they claim to uphold is written in sand
It's hard to keep things straight when all is goddam lies
More musings on music have been requested (apparently weekly playlists and poems are not enough) so I'm inaugurating an occasional series I'm calling One Track Mind. I'll pick a song, nothing too obvious, and see where the discussion leads.
Chaka Khan announces herself. May God preserve her. Her musical chops are undeniable, she's every singer's favorite singer (Ask Joni). She was recently (finally! belatedly!) inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. She doesn't need more flowers and yet I come to sing her praises.
Beyond that voice, that immaculate voice, that awesome weapon, there's that unerring sense of funk. You've seen those videos of her drumming, right?
Chaka Khan also has impeccable taste. The story goes that she told Stevie Wonder that she wasn't feeling the song he'd written for her and that he should go back and try better. (This was 1974-vintage Stevie, the greatest songwriter in his prime period)
Of course he then wrote Tell me Something Good
The point being that Chaka Khan has exceedingly high standards.
By this stage in her career - 1988, she had nothing to prove to anyone. Every project she took on was an all-star affair, akin to a Minnie Riperton album - an event, and everyone scrambles to get in on it. The voice and talent are so compelling that you want to throw your hand in.
The sessions for the C.K. album were no different. The A-side is an embarrasment of riches.
First, a cover of Stevie Wonder's Signed Sealed Delivered featuring the man himself on harmonica reprising his guest appearance on I Feel For You
Soul Talkin' is next, written by the peerless Brenda Russell who also supplies background vocals. Bobby McFerrin joins in the fun, channeling the sound of a saxophone with his own vocals.
It's my Party brings the joyous sounds of Womack & Womack to the table. This was the first single of the album.
And then Prince supplies Sticky Wicked (featuring Miles Davis, Eric Leeds and Atlanta Bliss) a nouveau funk affair, and then offers Eternity one of his effortless ballads (Chaka and David Frank produce the latter)
On the B-side, she continues her jazz explorations paying homage to Billie Holiday with The End of a Love Affair and I'll Be Around again bringing in inspired collaborators: George Benson, Marcus Miller, Dave Grusin, Steve Ferrone and Miles Davis again.
Chris Jasper of the Isley Brothers also crafts a tune, Make it Last. Frankly we are spoilt for choice.
And yet Baby Me, the third single, is what we should focus on. Let's have a listen (also on spotify)
A few preliminaries to save you to trip to Wikipedia or Discogs. The legendary Russ Titelman is the producer, Rob Mounsey arranges and plays keyboards. Holly Knight, Billy Steinberg are the songwriters. Chaka Khan, of course, does all the vocal arrangements
Russ Titelman was trying to capture the magic he'd witnessed when he had her and Rufus in the studio during the sessions for the Stompin' at the Savoy album in 1983, especially the performance on Ain't Nobody. You can read some of his memories of the time
Baby me is a deceptively simple love song. The lyrics are of longing, tenderness and vulnerability. After all, who doesn't want to be babied and treated with care? "The world is crazy and sometimes cruel / So baby me and I'll baby you"
(Incidentally, I fully believe in the power of misheard lyrics so I'm serving notice that I'll ignore any stickler who might bring up that "sometimes cruel" is probably not how the line goes. That's what I heard and I'm sticking to it)
It's a keyboard driven song, much like Ain't Nobody, the hit that capped her reunion with Rufus in 1983, and which serves as a kind of blueprint.
It's a fairly restrained affair to start with, bouncing between the keyboards and her voice, and punctuated by Paul Pesco's guitar fills. The lyric in the refrain goes "When you touch me, I come undone", and then carries on asking "Do you do this to every one?"
Then the excitement builds. "Take me in your arms / Rock me tonight"
Observe the way she sells the "Rock me tonight" line.
Then the chorus changes as if to emphasize the mounting infatuation:
"When you touch me I come undone / You better not do that to everyone".
Is this the pleasure principle speaking or resignation at being lost in love?
Then to the bridge, the bridge that un-mans me. For she goes in flight with a little scatting - her voice is an instrument, and then the saxophone comes in. The scatting is cathartic, duelling almost with the saxophone. You realize just how striking her voice is.
"Touch me" she sings. And then she makes you wait - a model of restraint, it's fully 3 minutes 10 seconds in before when she finally winds up and starts wailing. It's a release of the built-up tension. And you, the listener, want to join in.
The genius of this part is that she doesn't keep going, she stays in the pocket. Sure she lets loose, there's a release, but then she retreats. This part confounds me because once you start, you always want to keep it up.
I know that once I've started on my own wailing on Baby Me (in the shower or, as my household have caught me on many occasions), I can't help but adding my adlibs. I just want to sing at the top of my voice. And keep singing.
Patti Labelle or Aretha Franklin would have decimated the end of the song. I fully envision histrionics if Patti were let loose on this song, and perhaps if Chaka ever performed this live, she would go wild. But it works here; she's almost inviting the listener to fill things in.
Chaka Khan, known for her vocal pyrotechnics, is well aware that she could belt this out; but she chooses to be restrained in the arrangement, restrained even when she lets loose. She stays in the cut, in the pocket, in service of the song. And that is her knowing artistry at work.
There are a few remixes that highlight the craft and thought that went into finalizing the song. Rob Mounsey's arrangements were on the mark.
The Big Baby Extended mix emphasizes the keyboards showing how tight the mix is in the released version and the importance of the guitar licks and Warren Hill's saxophone
Compare also to Come 2 my House a decade later, the title track of her album length collaboration with Prince.
The 3cks and a baby remix highlights the scatting and adds a few more improvisations and wailing at the end, hinting at the kind of arrangements that could have been used in the final mix
Soul Talkin' follows a similar formula with Bobby McFerrin supplying the vocal solo in lieu of the saxophone. (My long overdue Brenda Russell appreciation piece will be forthcoming).
Here's some more Chaka Khan drumming (you're welcome). Again, she stays in the pocket instead of being flashy
I'll also throw in Eternity which bears the fingerprints of Prince.
Spotify doesn't have the remixes but the essential is there
I suppose this is fodder for my contention that 1988 was one of the greatest years in recorded music. But I'll flesh out that provocation another time...
What can I say, the song moves me, the arrangements, the voice - everything about it. I'll leave you with 4:06 minutes of soul perfection:
'Twas a pope in the western tradition who raised the difficulty
In a homily that sought to explicate the muddled references in the liturgy
The Eastern Orthodox tradition would disdain this unholy trinity
The conflation of Mary Magdalene, the unnamed sinner, and Mary of Bethany
From these roots, legends have sprung
And conspiracy theories been long mooted
Angels summoned and demons expelled,
Codes of dishonor, sacraments disputed
A fallen woman anointing with the purest spikenard -
Such an indignity
From martyrs and persecution to miracles and wonder,
The essence of Christianity
Yet this would be the faithful follower on hand at the crucifixion
Indeed, even more crucially, the first witness of the resurrection
Spinning origin stories of the seven deadly sins
The basis of those so-called Magdalene propositions
Elliptical and sensitive, this woman, we owe her a debt
She moved the spirit and troubled the soul as she wept
Leaving her trace on parables that we keep debating
He is risen. A message with the plainest of meanings
Mary Magdalene by Meshell NdegeOcello
Truth be told, Meshell's liquid soul is quietly devastating. I am stopped in my tracks whenever shuffle serendipity features this album, and this song in particular, its heavy mix of longing brings me peace beyond passion.
My original conception was in the vein of a tall tale with conflicting artwork that went from a vision of fallen angels to an admixture of commerce and faith. The muse decided otherwise and what issued forth was the above, but perhaps those stories will come in their own time. The title is so evocative that it continues to fire my synapses.
There is an art to being a great leader
We rightfully celebrate those few examples that we have
Many books and tomes have been written
There is also an art to being a bad leader
These last proliferated throughout history
Indeed, bad seeds are plainly in the majority
Still, despite the appeal of cautionary tales,
Far fewer tales are told about bad leaders
Heroes over zeroes, humanity prefers redemption stories
Ever the optimists, we celebrate triumphs rather than failure
Perverse incentives carried over from our antecedents in the savanna
The pathology of groups outlined in crass social behavior
Paradoxically, we reward bad leaders in equal measure as good leaders
Some contend it's even worse in the modern corporation
Namely, that we reward bad managers out of routine dysfunction
Call it the Peter Principle or what have you, they tend to fail upwards
Borne on the deep seated human need to be appreciated
Monkey dey work, baboon dey chop
The fear of being shunned
To be laughed at for being mistaken or ridiculous
The importance of grooming, the appeal of approval ratings
Fragility, we accommodate rogues for fear of shame
Ignorance is bliss, we blindly obey the rules
And stay quiet, lest our competence be impugned
The banality and burden of following the orders
The ever looming specter of the conqueror
Striving simians we are, not far removed from the savanna
Back in June 2020, we refinanced our mortgage to take advantage of lower interest rates - never let a crisis go to waste and all that. For what it's worth, we went from a 4.5% 30 year mortgage to a 2.5% 15 year loan, saving something like $200,000 in interest payments.
This being America, perhaps with the savings we've made, one of our children will be able to afford a year of university when the time comes - or hopefully a semester, one can always dream (stay on topic, man, tackle spiraling higher education costs another time).
This was at the height of the pandemic and although lockdowns were lifting, vaccines were not in sight, the whole world was in upheaval. Luckily, The Wife and I still had jobs and were working from home - albeit I had taken a 20 percent salary deferral as The Company sought to preserve cash and cancelled all chip orders and such, snarling up the supply chain in the process (but I digress yet again - car company executives are not often lionized for their financial savvy, call it herd mentality in a time when we were all seeking herd immunity).
Anyway... we saw interest rates at historic lows and tried to act.
Sidenote: I had never seen a faster reaction than that of my previous mortgage broker at my "Looking to refinance" email. Left to him, we'd have sealed the deal that very day. He was hungry for my business; the global pause had brought about a great financial shock, it really seemed to be a buyer's market.
There were a few glitches, however, and where there are glitches, there is toli...
A Live Human
The first issue we encounted was when the mortgage company wanted to verify employment.
I asked my manager and he pointed me to GM's official process for employment and wage verification. As a large company, it employed a vendor to automate this process. I went along and set things up at the vendor, The Work Number, and provided it to the mortgage company.
I got the following response from the broker. Apparently, enough of the 40+ million newly-unemployed Americans had applied for mortgages just after being laid off, that all mortgage underwriting companies were tightening requirements. They were now requiring to speak to a live human to verify things.
"Unfortunately, we can't use automated verifications. The system is not current... meaning up to day to day. So the HR person will just need to verify that you are an active employee 2 days before closing. Again, it's a Covid guideline so we have to make sure you haven't been laid off."
In other words, mortgage fraud was rampant. Mortgage servicers weren't trusting any of the automated systems that were in place. A live human was needed for verification.
This was also one of my first encounter with that felicitous phrase, covid guideline. A phrase that quickly become a catch-all and authoritative, even when said guideline was sometimes questionable. Middle management and frontline staff alike could just allude to a covid guideline and all manner of nuisant rules would manifest themselves.
(Covid Guideline also sounds like the name of an indie band.)
I didn't want to put my supervisor or assigned HR partner on the spot by giving out their contact details to verify employment. That would be wrong and I didn't want to go against The Company's process.
But I was in a bind if all mortgage companies were now wanting to contact a live body in light of the pandemic. I wondered if I should try to find a different mortgage company, if one existed, that would proceed with the automated process. From what I understood however, all other underwriters were in the same boat. I briefly considered feigning cold feet with my broker just to see him sweat a little (so keen was he for my business).
The news reports indicated that this was a widespread issue
‘Flying Blind Into a Credit Storm’: Widespread Deferrals Mean Banks Can’t Tell Who’s Creditworthy
Millions of Americans are out of work and behind on their debts. But, in many cases, the missed payments aren’t reflected in their credit scores, nor are they uniformly recorded on borrowers’ credit reports.
The confusion stems from a provision in the government’s coronavirus stimulus package. The law says lenders that allow borrowers to defer their debt payments can’t report these payments as late to credit-reporting companies.
Lenders that are having a tough time spotting risky loan applicants are approving fewer borrowers for credit cards, auto loans and other consumer debt. They are also hunting for new data sets that could indicate who is in financial trouble and how much they need to set aside to cover soured loans. The Federal Reserve last week said the biggest U.S. banks could be saddled with as much as $700 billion in loan losses in a prolonged downturn.
“Without accurate information, their only option is to pull back on credit,” said Michael Abbott, head of banking for North America at consulting firm Accenture PLC. “Banks don’t know who is going to pay and who isn’t. It’s like flying blind into a credit storm.”
Banks started tightening their underwriting standards in March, when the first wave of coronavirus layoffs began.
A year later in 2021, this low trust environment still persisted
Lenders are calling employers to confirm that the homebuyer will have permission to work remotely when the pandemic ends. Rates are lower for loans on primary residences, and the lender also wants to make sure the borrower actually plans to work after getting the loan.
Luckily for me, after some back and forth between the broker and my employer's human resource department, things worked themselves out. I was able to be verified. Our HR department found itself staffing up virtual call centers to do the work that they had previously paid good money for an automated solution from an external vendor. Live humans were indeed needed.
Attestation
Our closing ceremony was quite eventful as I've previously recounted. Interestingly, a curious document manifested itself during that process - a "Covid-19 attestation" that the notary insisted that we sign. The financial situation of millions was in upheaval; the breakdown in trust across society was complete, and mortgage companies sought to protect themselves by adding whatever they could to the closing process even if of dubious legal standing.
I affirmed that the income documentation (my last paystubs) I had provided was unaffected by "the COVID-19 resulting economic impact, and I am not aware of any future changes in my employment status and/or income that will affect my ability to repay my loan".
As I signed, I questioned how the mortgage company ever hoped to enforce that attestation and what value it would have if indeed my income did change dramatically. Perhaps someone can enlighten me. What actual use is that Covid-19 attestation in legal terms? Force majeure is what it is, attestation notwithstanding.
From what I understood, the majority of fraud in the US during the covid years concerned repayment of covid relief PPP loans. I was a little surprised that even garden variety real estate mortgages were similarly precarious.
I believe things are stabilized four years on, and that there has been a return to the normalcy. The credit environment and the mechanics of the mortgage process have adjusted. Higher interest rates will cool excess exuberance, I suppose. Colleagues that refinanced last year inform me that our company's automated employment verification solution was accepted. The Covid-19 attestation endures however...
...
The New Process
Speak to a live human
And sign the attestation
So go the covid guidelines
Lessons by Eric Roberson
To be a soul man in this era is almost anachronistic, the temptations, and distractions, are many so it's always refreshing to have a musician commit to the form. All this to say that Eric Roberson's Lessons album is the what I need this year.
Apparently he was the father of the soul singer
The evening's main attraction, it was her release party
She was premiering her latest album at Citizen Kofi
But all I would remember was that he was an AFRC member
Fit, even at his age, a tall man in his sixties
Standing there, we were exchanging pleasantries
Accra's finest, we all waited for the artist
Then, unprompted: "I was a member of the AFRC."
Deep breath. He should know better, shouldn't he?
Looked him up and down, you should tread easily
But you couldn't help the now-sharp arch of your eyebrow
You replied, "Those were tough days. We are much freer now."
"Some of us would like to bring those days back."
He really didn't realize that you were taken aback
You lowered your head. Drew on your well of diplomacy
The other two exchanged looks. He repeated: "AFRC"
Armed Forces Revolutionary Council, that blasted acronym
To uphold it as a badge of honor was really quite surprising
For most of us, it meant fear, upheaval, and terror
Blood and arbitrary sin dispensed in equal measure
There was no denying that the present situation was awkward
You kept your counsel, there were so many things that you could have said
But, well, his lot were the ones who gifted us the culture of silence
After inflicting on us a tyrannical reign of relentless violence
If those days were indeed back, no doubt there would be a curfew
We'd be stuck at home listening to martial music on the radio
Back then, the only ones with curfew passes were AFRC members
I guess he was envisioning a smaller event for his daughter
Was he one of the soldiers who raided houses in the evening?
Or was he rather one of the ones that ordered the beatings?
Still, the name didn't ring a bell, he didn't look familiar
Was he one of the intellectuals who gave them cover?
Revolution, they said, his cohort of murderous cronies
Destroying all nightlife, culture, and much economic activity
It has taken thirty years to recover from their disruption
And, even now, the soul of our society is a pale imitation
My cousin smiled stoically, reveling in the silence as she observed the man
Next to her stood my uncle, same age perhaps, a worldly businessman
He nodded, at a rare loss for words, for even with his smoothness, he couldn't deal
Never mentioned that they'd been forced into exile by this crew, forced to rebuild
The amnesty they gave themselves is the only reason this guy wouldn't be in a jail cell
Instead of standing there expounding blithely, as he was, full of himself
It was hard to take, those years when all we could do was bear witness
We're freer now but we still bite our tongue out of simian politeness
So: "I'm a big fan, you must be proud, she's done well, your daughter"
There was nothing left to say, we moved on amidst the nervous laughter
Later, she came and sang a short set, her voice ever delicate and tender
But all I would remember of that night was that he was an AFRC member
His was a belated conversion narrative, Adequate perhaps, and seemingly benign
But it rather belied the question, Was the structural adjustment genuine?
For the jury was still out Amidst this veritable parade of hand wringing
To the keen eye, the pose of faux humility appeared to be opportunism
Not so long ago he was so adept at using the bully pulpit
To tar many others with the broad brush of cowardice
The charge was, variously, weak wills and muddled thinking
War was justified, to oppose it was to be a quisling
With ivory tower bonafides, his credentials could not be questioned
He'd write odes to manifest destiny and similarly well-crafted paeans
Loud and obnoxious, spouting claptrap and cheerleading all the way
His world-historic, record breaking hubris prominently on display
Now he tells us, witness the tears of a gremlin
Finally recognizing the "unfolding catastrophe"
That others pointed out was bound to happen
And the concerns raised that he dismissed so easily
Now he tells us, And only after flirting with a debased reputation
Pray tell, which of his previous bromides does he now disclaim?
That he was gloriously wrong in every way, Witness the horrific death toll
Let alone the huge amount of money squandered In the wartime black hole
No one seeks a public flogging Or the penance of ashes and sackcloth
But it bears saying that his tribe Were the ones who got all the rewards
We should assign responsibility and blame accordingly - That is the path of honor
Instead it's manifest destiny revisited as farce. A savaging is still in order.
Like others I wasn't impressed by the immediate fit of buyer's remorse. If I recall correctly I was even moved to write letters to the editor. Somehow the muse has deemed that verse might be a more lasting contribution.
Head on over to read it from the source. As usual, I have some commentary.
Talking Drums may have been billed as the West African news magazine but it covered the entire continent. Indeed there was something about South Africa in almost every issue. And not merely talk of boycotts, sanctions, or ritual denunciations. It reflected African opinions on the matter.
The two issues on which all African states agreed in the eighties were the resistance to the apartheid regime in South Africa and the demand for independence in Namibia. While some states favored opening up dialog, all were in favor of sanctions, and many actively supported the liberation movements even with arms.
(Western Sahara caused rifts - Morocco would leave the OAU over the matter; and most other issues were contested, after all, this was the height of the cold war and great games were playing out. African countries were highly fraught terrain - grass, elephants, pick your metaphors)
On the ground, there was a quite visceral reaction to the continued support of the South African regime by the US, West Germany and the UK (and Israel to someextent). Throughout those years, there was continued and increasing pressure for boycott, sanctions and an end to the apartheid policies of Pretoria
Ronald Reagan and MargaretThatcher'sdisgraceful legacies speak for themselves, standing as they did on the wrong side of history propping up institutionalised racial discrimination. Not for nothing would Fela immortalize them as Beasts of no Nation when he got out of jail.
There were the daily atrocities of apartheid in everyday life and then the lowlights, say the Langa massacre at Uitenhage in 1985. The National Party would undertake cross border raids bombing of its neighbors ostensibly to harrass the African National Congress whose local leaders were mostly in jails.
Cubans would commit troops to the fight in Angola and Mozambique. Cuito Cuanavale (1987-1988) would be the eventual tipping point but the early 80s were a hard slog. Especially since the US was actively involved propping up South Africa.
Bishop Desmond Tutu would receive the Nobel Prize, piling on the international pressure from the moral high ground albeit, some readers urged him to reject the prize. The apartheid regime, however, was long used to being a pariah.
(The Pope expressed "deep sadness" over South Africa, and who could blame him; the regime was unrepentant and bloody minded)
The efficacy of sanctions was debated at length - some called for military action in its stead. But inaction was intolerable. In the hundreds of references in the archive, I couldn't find any non-commital opinion.
Whenever there are sanctions, there are also attempts to evade them. Cue the Salem, the Liberian registered tanker affair: "scuttling the 214,000 ton Liberian tanker... after embezzling its oil cargo, owned by Shell, and selling it secretly to South Africa for $45 million." South Africa tried everything in this respect in its sanction-avoidance efforts.
But the pressure was felt and applied on many fronts. Campus activism urged divestment and boycotts. Sample headlines:
President Abdou Diouf of Senegal was an eloquent advocate of sanctions and embargos, holding western governments to their stated values.
President Abdou Diouf for his part issued an appeal to Western countries to strengthen their economic sanctions against the Pretoria regime. He said, "with the system of apartheid one cannot even speak of violations of human rights, it is a question of their being purely and simply negated. This is the reason that African public opinion is less and less able to understand the passivity of certain Western governments, who are normally so sensitive to human rights' issues, in the face of what has become a real genocide of the black South African people today."
Beyond the grocery store boycotts of produce, there was real teeth to the resistance. The frontline states paid a price but persisted. It is easily to criticize the authoritarian tendencies and domestic policies of Kaunda and Nyerere but on South Africa they actively fought the good fight.
The boycotts of cultural exchange added to the isolation. It wasn't just music and arts, South Africa post-1994 would race to see what they were missing. Sports mattered a lot to the country's psyche. A few countries boycotted the 1984 Olympic games citing South Africa. Generally the boycotts hurt.
(Think of Israel currently facing worldwide opprobrium but proceeding without heed. Would Fifa, UEFA or similar organizations weigh in denying the Israelis their own creature comforts?)
When Thomas Sankara proclaimed Jamahiriyah(!) in Burkina Faso, following Gaddafi's lead, it also came with a pledge "to make 1986 a year of the final attack against apartheid, and of the proclamation of a democratic, free and independent state in South Africa."
Talking Drums would cover it all (even a bloodthirsty Mengistu of Ethiopia taking a break from killing at home to roundly denouce the South Africans when he assumed chairmanship of the OAU!!). The magazine would highlight the ironies and the twists and turns of the liberation struggle.
I compiled 70 or so pieces from the archive for this feature but there's much more. Read for yourself...
For good measures here's a soundtrack for this note.
Some Fela, Dudu Pukwana, Mahotella Queens, Ladysmith Black Mambazo and Soweto street jive that was reviewed in the magazine. Five hours of listening. Enjoy...
First comes shame, that old friend, ever reminding of inadequacy
It's never enough, however, for it merely highlights the unspoken
Then comes fear, primal, with its forcing function
Fear prompts action, a movement to self preservation
The moral pivot requires fleetness of execution
The Friday night news dump is a long established tradition
To bury consequential events, bad news and policy shifts
Not everyone can erase history but you can attempt a face lift
For grifters are highly attuned to the attitudes of their marks
Their sixth sense is in identifying a losing play, a bad hand of cards
Almost as if on autopilot, they make course adjustments
The idea is to stay in the game, the shell game that is
Public relation consultants advise a short apology
The content doesn't matter as much as its visibility
After all, you never know, that's the thing about human beliefs
You might still be able to salvage some unearned cash from the deal
For sure, some appreciate a serious expression of contrition
But don't mistake buyer's remorse for actual misdirection
Self-criticism is a bridge too far in the rectification of errors
More preferable is the prompt application of the reverse ferret
After observing the NFL owners' Come to Jesus moment in light of the George Floyd protests, my long gestating series on Shell Games gained a very au courant hook. As an example of a course adjustment, it was a clarifying case study. Indeed, the headlineswererevelatory
In the same vein, an older more classical take on the malleability of opinion and policy is The Vicar of Bray.
...
This fit of buyer's remorse is part of the Shell Games suite.
The bride still wore white, standing there on the porch
Over the fence, we made sure she got a round of applause
The sole entertainment we'd had in this era of lockdowns
A porch wedding, how thrilling, over there in the backyard
It had been rare, months even, to see so many people gathering
More than fifteen would seem to run counter to the restrictions
In a circle on the porch, paying lip service to social distancing
The pandemic improvised a new kind of destination wedding
Earlier, it was the sound of highlife and afrobeat
That attracted our attention. Really? How could it be?
First Alhaji K. Frimpong's grooves, then Fela Kuti's
Not what you'd expect to hear on Austin Texas streets
We'd seen something like an advance party the previous day
Must have been a sister or bridesmaid trying to spruce things up
Putting up a few sparkly decorations, some balloons on display
Frankly, however, it seemed that their very presence was enough
In such times, you find out what is truly essential
And love finds its way even during times of turmoil
Life goes on, we all seek some semblance of normalcy
Even when stuck at home, bound together in close proximity
A stripped down affair: bride, groom and a few friends
A zoom feed set up, a live stream for their parents
Touching, the exchange of vows in this intimate setting
Still, a leap of faith, over the fence, this porch wedding
The happy couple happily posed for the sole guest, the photographer
A few speeches, then confetti and, (what's that?) face masks tossed up
As they beamed, we whooped and cheered and filled the air with laughter
"Congratulations. You saved a lot of money. Enjoy your life together"
The soundtrack that announced the wedding was what first drove notice. It was rather unexpected to hear the sound of highlife and afrobeat in our backyard. We took a closer look at these neighbors that we hadn't spoken to since they'd moved in six months earlier. Great taste all around. (spotify version)
Sensualist by avocation
Every touch is significant
Leading, probing, teasing, lingering
Every look weighted with flirtation
Promises of escape and fulfillment
A prelude to restless joy
Paying close attention to the sounds
The sound of names, repeated
Names, again and again
Effortless this mantra
Then a high note punctuates the trance
So good, so good, repetition
Together, surrounded by pleasure
Together, covered by a blanket of soul
Singing softly, we compose a new song
Look, listen, feel, dream
Breathless, the sensations
A momentary taste of paradise
All that remains is the heat
Starting at the middle of the year, June 1978 was the music issue.
On the cover, The Hottest of the Hot Groups in all their glory:
Rufus & Chaka Khan
Maurice White, Earth Wind & Fire
Bootsy Collins, Bootsy's Rubber Band
The lead article actually focuses on five of the top groups then making waves
Would have thought The Commodores would be sure to feature, what with Lionel Richie and their origin story (meeting as freshmen at Tuskegee University). Ebony bait if there ever was such a thing. (they do get an inside photo)
Bootsy Collins was stretching out the funk with his Rubber Band. They had a great live reputation
Note the assertion in the ad: "Jamaica is more than a beach. It's a country". When you market yourself to black Americans, there's less of an emphasis on Jamaica as bacchanalia.
I note the interesting editorial decision that the body of the text discusses Parliament/Funkadelic and quotes George Clinton extensively, but they doesn't print any photos of them. Methinks P-Funk were too edgy for the straightlaced Johnson publishers.
Maurice White and Earth Wind & Fire were more wholesome and perhaps at their artistic peak. They released The Best Of Earth, Wind & Fire during the year. Mics were dropped.
This is Ebony so they only cover mainstream groups - no mention of say Cameo, Ohio Players, Brass Construction, Con Funk Shun, Bar-Kays, War, Mandrill or even Kool & The Gang even though all of them were in the mix in 1978.
The specter of disco is not mentioned here, the focus is on the bands with a reputation for their live shows and instrumentation. Albeit, Donna Summer had her Ebony cover the previous year. In 1978, she was working on Bad Girls. Hot Stuff and all that.
Earlier in 1978, the January cover was Richard Pryor. Sidenote: the more interesting feature is about "Black women - white men, the 'other' mixed marriage". Loving v. Virginia was only a decade in the past.
Hey! Cars of 1978 (disclaimer I now work at a car company so I've started to pay more attention to such things)
One of the pleasures of reading Ebony in those years was just how big the magazine was. The full tactile sensation turning those pages was unmatched. Typical issues were 160 pages, packed with advertisements, the style, the hair products etc. Call it the bourgeois id of black America.
March 1978 asked: Who is the greatest heavyweight champion of all time? Muhammad Ali or Jack Johnson? Ali was an evergreen topic for all media outlets throughout his life; any mentions boosted circulation.
The US Army was a big advertiser (after the final draft in 1972 as the Vietnam war wound down), the black community was heavily recruited by the military. All branches of the military placed enticing ads. (opposite The Pips)
March 1978 - readers respond to the Ebony class and style poll
The usual suspects win: Lena Horne, Sidney Poitier, Count Basie, Bill Cosby and Harry Belafonte. Black royalty.
Winners of the style poll: Stevie Wonder, Ray Charles, Richard Pryor, O.J. Simpson, Redd Foxx, Aretha Franklin, Billy Dee Williams, Rev. Jesse Jackson, Eartha Kitt and Ben Vereen (of Jesus Christ Superstar fame).
Note: the special report on "Detroit - Motor City makes a comeback" seemed a bit premature. How many comebacks has Detroit made?
Andrew Young had been made UN Ambassador under Jimmy Carter's administration. Great in prestige but still a servant to power. I wonder how say Linda Thomas-Greenfield's reputation will fare after the display of the past year shielding Israeli warmongering.
Natalie Cole was luminous as ever (May 1978 cover). Not quite sure that the feature about Older women - young men applied to her. Interesting juxtaposition though.
June 1978 focues on What's Happening!! the teenage comedy that was a big tv success, drawing on Cooley High
The fashion fair issue includes a spread: dress up for summer evenings. I can see my mother's flowing robes
Ebony July 1978 considers the new generation. I do wonder, did they leave a mark?
Ebony July 1978 sports a feature on Soul Train, The Outrageous Waack Dancers, Kirt Washington, Tyrone Procter, Cleveland Moses Jr, Jeffrey Daniel, Jody Watley, and others. The latter two spawned Shalamar
Sidenote the second: the ads for mentol cigarettes and liquor are some of the more inventive
Ebony October 1978. Hollywood - how to survive between gigs. The feast and famine of creative types endures. It's the same old story
Ebony November 1978 Diana Ross debuts The Wiz (no mention of Michael Jackson who would steal the show). All I remember of her album of that year was the cigarette cover and, I guess, Reach out I'll be there. Nothing else stuck
Finally, Ebony December 1978 asked: is it true what they say about twins? Inquiring minds want to know
Going back to the first image, Ebony did hit on some touchstones in 1978:
Earth, Wind & Fire released their greatest hits album and unleashed September. There were showing off by this stage
Chaka Khan released her debut album although she wasn't done with Rufus by any means. She said it all with her anthem: I'm every Woman
Bootsy Collins continued to made hay, touring on the strength of Ahh...The Name Is Bootsy, Baby!
The Commodores came out with Natural High, Lionel Richie gifted us Three Times a Lady
Parliament released Motor-Booty Affair and their live shows were the stuff of legend
I did mention the specter of disco that would decimate the funk bands in short order. Some adapted, but many didn't. e.g. Boogie Wonderland was a success, but James Brown didn't handle the transition. Indeed 1978 was the first time that JB didn't have a response to the music that was in the mix.
Not to be too reflective, but I should note that 1978 would mark a high-water mark for blacks and much of the working class in the US for a generation. They might have been grooving to Good Times by Chic or Y.M.C.A. by The Village People but the Reagan retrenchment was just around the corner. Eyes wide open.
The relative leveling of society and the real economic and civil rights gains would take a back seat. The gains that accrued over the next 40 years were unevenly distributed to say the least. It was Baby Huey's Hard Times or Gil Scott-Heron's Winter in America that ensued. But I digress.
And for good measure, here's a massive playlist - the music of 1978. My own albums of the year were Golden Time of Day by Maze, Cool Ruler by Gregory Isaacs and Social Living by Burning Spear. Your mileage may vary...
