Michael Franti

Lost for age

I guess it hasn't ended yet. That I was foolish for even thinking it would be like some barrier I'd pass through and then everything would be just fine. This must be what comes of listening to a narrative that's made for cattle, for crowded milk-mothers and pieces of tenderloin roasted up for the finest dinner hour running every night, for the rulers of a more tightly managed ranch, one that keeps on gobbling up every piece of land that's usable for their instatiable appetites and desires. And then feed these cattle with the bits and bones of their own bodies until their mind rebell at the very stench into senility.

The regret of memory realized wrong. The impassable barrier of time. The realization that what was spoken was as idle as the wise fool home after finally learning something; but as every hand knows is

Chiaroscuro

"One small pizza with mushrooms, please.", originally uploaded by MyLastSigh.

the wonder that two thousand years ago one heard that sound in the same way. How could it be in there?

before science started hogging the description.

Kristen Marie LaVange

I spent the most delicious time with my baby sister. It's difficult for me to describe my feelings for her. She is both the most innocent and the most experienced of my siblings. She lives in Maine, has raised a brood of interesting children, built a house on rock on a mountain, lived with goats, served up goats as food, and continues to surprise and delight me.

Here's a lifted martini glass to my dearest baby sister: Kristen Marie.

Some day I hope she finds her daughter: raised by lds folks in virginia: that's all we know.

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Laura Hamblin

Today I helped Laura create a new blog. It's located at: http://womeninthedesert.blogspot.com. She's been awarded the Center for the Study of Ethics Research award.

Play That Song For Me

I'm listening to some of that americana music, the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band doing "I Find Jesus" . It's interesting to me how this music has been appropriated in light of the traditional schism that is supposed to exist between my generation and that we were born to. I'm talking about the anger that rose when Johnny Cash, Ray Charles, Gram Parsons appropriated "christian" music (it also happened to Nusrat Fateh Ali Kahn when he appropriated Quawalli music). Two observations seem relevant-- the music that sounds the most "authentic" is played by people who grew up in a context where that music was familiar. For some that turned into a nostalgia or an ironic gesture of beauty. Some of them live very Americana lifestyles - I saw a YouTube interview with Chris Hillman and David Crosby, two of the founding Byrd members. The he's-your-neighbor quality of Hillman, who talks about the value of a judeo-christian lifestyle and sports a cross on his latest album contrasts the been-around-the-block one of Crosby's. But even more it reminds me of the contrast with one of my favorite singers: Richey Furay. If you listened to Furay, from that first "Kind Woman" with the Springfield to the final ecstasy of Poco, you knew how he could channel that purity into an intensely feel-good song.

I'm listening to Furay again, I listen in to a station on Pandora/ I call Byrds, Buffallo Springfield and CSNY. Richey's released a new album called Heartbeat of Love. This album represents the most cross-over attempt than he's done since Legacy.

Furay's earnestness can dive into trying-to-save you at any moment, but here I get some of what he's poured into Jesus without standing on the pulpit. I especially enjoyed the somewhat syrupy "Dean's Bar-B-Que", it's that same down home-sy locus I sense in Hillman, who's relaxed joy reminds me of how the mandoline player turned bassist overnight (can you say Paul McCartney? One wonders if there was a conversation pre-byrds with McGuin saying, "it doesn't matter if you can't play bass, that's what gives the Beatles their unique sound" and he was right -- slid that bass note confidently in Tambourine Man.