The Dance Revolution

In her book on the story of disco music Alice Echols traces the nurturing of the sound to gay dance clubs. In order for there to have been gay dance clubs, first gay people had to be able to dance, yet same sex close dancing was illegal throughout the US up until the late 60s. In 1969, Echols emphasizes, the government’s policing of same sex closeness was still an active and dispiriting part of LGBT life. Echols believes that the relative freedom experienced at the Stonewall Inn was what opened hearts to the possibility of real escape from oppression rather than hiding and cowering. 

[W]hen the Stonewall Inn opened in the spring of 1967, management and customers alike behaved as if the dance floor had been won. The unlicensed bar was a firetrap that doled out watered-down drinks in dirty glasses, but it quickly developed a loyal clientele because it was the only gay bar in New York City that as a matter of course permitted dancing between men. In contrast to another gay bar, the Tenth of Always, where ‘you knew that when the chandelier would flick on, you’d have to sit down,’ at the Stonewall ‘you were never told not to dance.’ Indeed, the only time the dancing came to a halt was when the police arrived. … [The raid that sparked the Stonewall riots] was hardly the first time that the police hit the Stonewall, but it was the first time they had not given notice to the management. And it was the first time that gays, angry about being treated like scum, fought back. 

The dance floor, Echols is saying, became a site of the transformation of consciousness, where emancipation of the public body allowed a change in how gay men saw themselves and each other — and how, in a new solidarity, they saw the non-gay world. Dancers, no longer threatened by the paddy wagon, could enjoy themselves without looking over their shoulders. 

It wasn’t just that the music’s volume and relentlessness encouraged physical intimacy and greater sexual straightforwardness between men. Disco’s sonics, with its thunderous bass and its bass drum kick, operated like an ‘audio orgasmatron’ … The music and the drugs pretty well obliterated any lingering sexual shyness. Moreover, the sweatbox quality of many gay discos made stripping to the waist all but necessary, which in turn made working out practically obligatory. … ‘Within a short five years, sculptured pectoral muscles had become one of the main attributes of gay male desirability.’ … Worked-out pecs came to be called ‘disco-tits.’ … [G]ay men rather than heterosexual men became the embodiment of masculinity and the fantasized object of desire for each other. … ‘We’re the men we’ve been looking for,’ as the protagonist of [novelist Edmund] White’s The Farewell Symphony put it.

I like recreational drugs. I like club music. But my body is not so into either. I’m not one who could go clubbing regularly because my body would just crash. Too many migraines, too many body aches, too little sleep. Besides, the drugs are too expensive, the music ultimately monotonous. As to ever having disco tits — I actually like working out, but my body that doesn’t. That sounds weird to everyone I’ve ever said it to. Still, it’s true. I can’t ramp up my work out routine to get those pretty muscles because my body basically says, nope, and sends me to bed for three days. 

I always kind of envied club kids, their energy, their active social lives, the sex. But it’s not a lifestyle I could participate in, other than briefly and at a remove. But if we credit Alice Echols’ argument, the club was where gay liberation really began, so good for them! Dance the revolution!  

source: 

Hot Stuff: disco and the remaking of American culture

by Alice Echols

2010. W. W. Norton & Co., New York

“Need You Tonight” by INXS

This was the song that turned me on to INXS. The video is pretty great, too. It’s just the band playing, but they’re being playful, and the visual effects, the musicians sliding into and out of the frame in collage-like isolation, holds one's attention. 

The album featuring “Need You Tonight,” Kick, was on my Christmas list. We always put a few things on the Christmas list — so we could be surprised but still get what we wanted — “Oh! You got me that one!” I don’t remember what I didn’t get in lieu of Kick. I was happy to get Kick!

I felt like I was on the cutting edge, man. 

“Need You Tonight” was one of those songs that I would rush to the record player to repeat, picking up the needle, eyeing the shiny line between songs, and settling the needle back to where it would pick up those opening clicks. It’s just that light percussion for the first several seconds, then Michael Hutchence stage-whispers, “Come over here.” 

Seductive! Michael Hutchence is pretty! I would have come to his command. Of the other band members, Tim Farriss, who appears in the video in a black baseball cap, always caught my eye. Those dark brows and big eyes. 

Finally, a guitar strums, sharp and jangly, at 20 seconds. The riff is repeated. A few seconds later the warm throb of the rest of the music bumps up and carries you along through the rest of the song. “All you’ve got is this moment,” Hutchence says, though, as I often do, I had trouble picking out the words. Something about a garden? “The twenty-first century's yesterday.” It is? Well, I like lyrics that are a little odd. 

While I want the lyrics of a song to please me, the lyrics are rarely what first get into my ear. If I don’t groove to the music, I don’t much care what they’re saying. Sadly, you’ll have to forgive me in regards to critical analysis of music. Beyond the lyrics my analysis isn’t much better than the old American Bandstand rate-a-record standby, “It’s got a good beat. You can dance to it.” And “Need You Tonight” passes that test!

When Hutchence gets to “Slide over here / And give me a moment,” I’m ready, I’m dancing, I’ve been dancing, what? does he want me to stop dancing? But it’s the refrain, “You’re one of my kind,” that stuck with me. As one searching for his kind, it’s something I wanted to be able to say. Not to mention, “I’m lonely.” As an intermittent insomniac, I identified with “I’m not sleeping, whether or not it was because I was really hot for somebody.

I like the question / answer part of the lyrics, especially the answer to “Whatcha gonna do?” “Gonna live my life!”

Yes, Hutchence is addressing this to a “girl,” but the best those of us with same sex yearnings could hope for in pop music (until very recently) was a genderless “you.” And, you know, “girl” just becomes punctuation after a while. “I need you tonight,” I sang along. “I need you tonight.”

source: Live 105's Cool 105.3 for 1987

“Why Can’t I Be You?” by The Cure

“Why Can’t I Be You?” was the song that turned me on to The Cure. It was so weird and so catchy, blaring horns, Robert Smith’s whiny/screechy vocals, that stomping beat, loud, giddy, comically lascivious, gender-neutral. 

I kept an eye out for a used copy of “Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me,” The Cure album on which “Why Can’t I Be You?” appeared. Being a double album, even used it was more expensive than most of my purchases. 

I loved to put “Why Can’t I Be You?” on the stereo and crank it up and whirl and thrash around the room. It was a song to lose it to. 

The lyrics are not your usual love stuff. Why can’t I be you? Is that envy? A desire so fervid the lover wants to become the beloved? It’s kind of trans — transformational, transgender (perhaps). Were the beloved of the same sex the plaint could include envy (you’re so much prettier than me); why can’t I be more like you? Why can’t I be just like you? I want to be you! 

I love the line, “I'll kiss you from your feet to where your head begins.” The kissing starts with the feet and goes up to another beginning. There’s a little bit of dissonance with that head, too — it begins at the top, right?, but it could also begin on the way up, at the chin or nape. The underside of the head would be where the head would begin for one working their way up from the feet. I like the instability of that. Where the head begins, where the head ends. Then there’s the other head. The head of the cock. How high up does the singer climb?

The singer sees everything “you do [as] kissable.” Not every part of you, but everything “you do.” The beloved actions are kissable. The lover is so besotted, they are full of action, “run[ning] around until … out of breath,” the actions even becoming violent, “hug you to death,” and, boy, that appetite is worked up and yet the lover is feeling “bitten … cooked.” It’s a messy song lyrically. And the way the words are shouted, crooned, whined, yowled … the messiness of the lyrics seems right.  

There were other songs on the album that I grew fonder of. “Just Like Heaven” and “Catch” are much sweeter and catchy and easy to like. “Why Can’t I Be You?” can get grating, and I stopped playing it for a while. But in the right mood it drives you the kind of crazy you need.

I think this is the first time I’ve seen the video. I often like videos. But sometimes they detract. I’m not sorry the images in this video weren’t a major part of my experience of the song. Still, it’s goofy fun. I like Smith’s blobby fur suit. 

source: Live 105's Cool 105.3 for 1987

Live 105's Cool 105.3 for 1987

 

When I was growing up I didn’t hear much I liked on the radio. And I disliked so much of what I did hear that I preferred not to have the radio on. 

Buying music was also tricky. You couldn’t listen to records before buying them in our small town music store. And if you had been allowed to, I probably would have felt too self-conscious. Suppose you try a few records — and you don’t like any of them? The music store is in business. They want you to buy stuff. I couldn’t afford to buy more than one record every few months. Besides, there would have been other people — other kids, probably — who would have been waiting to use any listening station. 

In any case, there wasn’t a listening station. So my brother and I had to judge music by the album covers. Our eyes were caught by the sci fi style of Boston, for instance. Actually spinning the record once it was home — no. I kind of liked parts of Boston songs, but the music had nothing on the guitar spaceships album art. When I did find an artist I liked, it made sense to buy more by them. A buddy turned us on to ABBA and to ELO. Over time I lost interest in ELO — not that there isn’t ELO I still like. ABBA wore a groove in my head. Yet there had to be a world beyond ABBA. 

My brother David made friends who listened to stuff a bit outside the late-70s mainstream. Thus he brought home Talking Heads, whose music intrigued and irritated me in equal measure. David Bowie, ditto. 

I remember in a class in high school (1980? 81?) we pushed our chairs into a circle and did a get-to-know-you intro. You were supposed to say a couple things about yourself, like what music you liked. When my turn came around I said, “I don’t like music.” This drew shocked reactions and some protests. I hadn’t liked any of the music my classmates named. In my experience there was no genre that made me happy. I liked individual songs, whatever boxes they were supposed to fit in. I liked my mother’s folk songs — but not all of them, that’s for sure. I liked very little country music, very little disco, very little rock. 

If you put those little bits all together maybe you’d get a decent mix tape or two. Which would have been a nice thing to be able to do. 

There were San Francisco radio stations that probably would have interested my ears, but their signals weren’t strong enough to be received in Sebastopol. MTV launched in 1981. We couldn’t afford to subscribe. 

I stayed up late to watch some video compilation shows on broadcast television and finally in New Wave found a genre that didn’t annoy more frequently than it pleased. 

By the time I was attending junior college, SF’s KITS had switched its format from Top 40 to “Modern Rock,” or New Wave / Post Punk, synths, jangly guitars. I would listen while doing my homework. And I was regularly going to Santa Rosa where there was a good record store called, helpfully, The Last Record Store. The Last Record Store featured used records, and a lot of the used records were recent. So, without breaking the bank, I could try out artists I knew by only a song or two. 

KITS (now calling itself LIVE 105) offered listeners an opportunity to get their playlist. I sent a self-addressed stamped envelope and got what you see above. 

Clearing out a box of papers during the covid-19 shutdown I unfolded the playlist and smoothed it out. Yes, I recognized most of the songs. Some I loved. But even those I didn’t care for didn’t make me want to rush to turn off the radio. 

The accessibility of music these days is entirely different from when I was a kid. Pretty cool that I can do quick internet searches and turn up any song on this list. What I loved back then, I followed up on back then. Other songs have provided a hit of nostalgia, without my wanting to add them to my music library. “The Great Commandment” by Camouflage; “Voyage Voyage” by Desireless. But I could now! If I wanted.

your reward

Gary Panter is best known for designing the set for PeeWee’s Playhouse. He’s also a comics artist (think surrealism rather than superheroes) and a musician. 

In an interview with Aaron Cometbus about comics, Gary Panter mentions money. Cometbus flinches.

Cometbus: Every interview seems to veer into a discussion about money …

Panter: … I get approached by young people all the time. ‘How can I have a career in art? How can I have a career in comics?’ Well, if you did the drawing, that’s your career. That’s it, your reward. You did the drawing, you got to do it, you were alive.

In other words, you better have a day job.

Still, there’s nothing fresh about saying that, and I would pass over yet another enjoinder not to depend on your art to pay your bills — because what’s to say? — except I actually find a little poignant Panter’s “you got to do it, you were alive.” Because doing these things for love, the art, that’s experiencing life. You get to be alive. 

source:

Cometbus #57 

by Aaron Cometbus

2016. 

M&Ms … or salmon …

I’ve heard of various seemingly fussy contract stipulations that rock stars require at a show, like a bowl of m&ms — but there must be no brown ones. On the surface this just sounds eccentric — or arrogant — but I remember reading that one of the reasons for weird stipulations that are easy to check is that, if those are conscientiously followed through on, then less obvious details are probably taken care of too (things that might affect the quality of the sound, say). 

Maori musical artist Mihirangi says she includes an interesting (and heartwarming) requirement in her contract.

“Whenever she performs abroad, [her] contract stipulates that the organisers must facilitate a meeting with local indigenous groups, to learn about their culture and land and to request permission to perform on that land. ‘I actually can’t perform unless I meet with the local indigenous elders. It’s a cultural thing for me, it’s who I am, it’s my spirituality. It’s really empowering, when you go on stage you feel like you’re becoming part of the local family and that you have a right to be there. You’re connected through the family you’ve met who’ve supported you and nurtured you by opening this space for you. I suggest everyone do that, not just indigenous people.’ … One of [Mihirangi’s] first such experiences came from a meeting at a festival in Canada. ‘The local indigenous people had never had that sort of meeting happen before. They were so honored by it that they came to the festival and caught salmon in the local river and fed the entire festival. … Just that little act alone gave them responsibility, gave them a sense of purpose and empowerment of their own culture, of their own land.’

source: 

“The Power of Language” by Jim Hickson

Songlines

#155, March 2020

Title to Indian Land, part three

I sold it. 

The deadline for getting in the paperwork was July 31. I got the deed notarized on July 20 and mailed the next day. 

The offer letter came this spring. Just before the covid-19 shutdown. Originally the deadline for taking the offer was May 8. The offer letter explains:

We are pleased to include you in the Land Buy-Back Program for Tribal Nations, which is part of the Class Action Settlement Agreement often referred to as the Cobell Settlement. The intent of the Buy-Back Program is to consolidate highly fractionated tracts of Indian land, allowing for better utilization of the land for social, economic or cultural purposes benefitting the tribal community. Interests purchased under the Buy-Back Program will be transferred to the Tribe in trust.

I had fractionated interest in four tracts, or about 17 acres. This is pastureland. The offer letter proposed the following purchase amounts:

Tract #1 … $2.24

Tract #2 … $1.58

Tract #3 … $9.94

Tract #4 … $104. 35

That totals $118.11, though they throw in $75 for filling out the paperwork. Which is nice of them. 

After the covid-19 shutdown the deadline was extended to July 31. So I made it. I think. I haven’t heard back yet. “Allow at least 60 calendars days for approval of the sale and processing of your payment,” says the letter. 

The heirs to this land are multitudinous. “Fractionated,” that’s no joke. One of the tracts has 116 owners. The others 109, 29, and — this is not reasonable either but only seems so in contrast — 15!

My favorite part of the deal isn’t the money. It’s that I got the names of ancestors: Marie Kempton, Sarah A. Kempton, Bernard E. Kempton, and Bernice Kempton. 

And aerial photos of the land, like this:

Indian land, part one and part two