People keep asking me, "what's it like, being done with the degree and not working?" They ask this with a smile on their faces, which always prompts a wise-ass response (but hey, better a wise-ass than a dumb-ass, I always say.) But the truth is, it's like falling off a cliff.

It's a pretty cliff, mind you. I don't hate the feeling of falling or anything. And the view from here is stunning. It's just that I don't know what's down there, racing towards me ever faster. Frankly, it could be anything.

So that's when my mind starts spinning and I get dizzy and don't know up from down or day from night.

See, I could go back to radio. I have great pipes and a good resume. I could do voice overs, once I get a CD together for the agencies. I could do freelance journalism, or write press releases for a non-profit, or do standup comedy or tend bar or anything at all, really. And that's the problem.

One of my favorite songs from the 1980's was Joe Jackson's "It's All Too Much", in which he sings "they say that choice is freedom; I'm so free it drives me to the brink." My problem is narrowing the choices.

So I have decided not to decide. Not yet. I think it's time to enjoy the luxury of not really needing to decide.

Besides, I already have a business that needs my attention. I think the best plan is to reinvigorate the glass beadmaking business (Firebrand Beads) and work on getting more gigs writing about glass. I hate to really do that, work for myself, because I am only truly self-less and motivated when working for someone else. But discipline "begins at home," right?

So if you need me, I'll be at the torch this week. And next week. And the week after that. Because I can't see what's at the bottom of the cliff yet; I can't tell what's on the other side of the flame.

I'm in Accra Ghana, winding up a college program, and have a paper due. I did the last one freehand, but short deadlines prompted me to use my blog as a drawing board. Now you can see what I'm doing for fun and credit in West Africa.

Searching for Highlife in Modern-day Ghana

Recent releases of 1970's funk and Highlife from Ghana and other parts of West Africa have caught my ear, lately: Ghana Sounz 1 and 2, released in 2002 and 2004 respectively are great compilations from Miles Cleret at Soundway records in Great Britian. Some of these are rare cuts, not even released in Ghana. Ten years or so earlier, the collection Booniay!! West African Funk, on the Afrodisiac label sent me back to my old vinyl collection to dig out records by folks like Prince Nico Mbarga ("Sweet Mother" is his classic Highlife cut), Edikanfo, and the African Brothers Band. These bands were actively mixing the old Ghanaian-style of Highlife with American jazz, soul and funk for a fresh sound that is now enjoying a retro-revival in the United States. My ear, raised on rock, Southern soul and good greasy funk is completely enamored of this older material.

Therefore, you can imagine my disappointment upon arriving in Ghana to find tinny American pop, U.S. hip-hop, its Ghanaian cousin Hip-life, Gangsa rap, and the over-synthesized Burgher Highlife blasting from virtually every corner cassette stand and battery-operated radio in Accra. The only other styles of music I am hearing much here are reggae (everywhere) and gospel (which ranges from overdriven organ and guitar bands, with the congregation singing along in heterophony—they come in as they can—to Highlife bands with women singing religious lyrics.) What happened to Highlife? Did musical taste change in Ghana or was it other factors? I have been mulling this question for weeks, and I'm starting to get it now.

Ghanaian musicologist, Dr. Nicholas N. Kofie, writes that the "Ghanaian ear" appreciates certain chords, like what he terms "the mediant chord in a major key, with the third raised a semi-tone", especially if it's approached in contrary motion, with the parts crossing (p.81.) He also points to the Ghanaian’s love of chromatic notes, like the "flattened seventh", which Kofie attributes to Akan traditional music, in which a descending melody always has a flat seventh; it's a "blue note" like we find in American jazz (p.82.) Kofie also points out the Ghanaian tendency to put rhythm first, and melody second (p.88.) All of these aspects are reflected in popular Highlife music, and apparently these elements appeal to more than just Ghanaians.

Perhaps I love Highlife because of its modernity, and its international flavor. A. A. Agordah, another Ghanaian musicologist, notes that Highlife is truly 20th century music, featuring "a blend of Western and African elements, deriving specific tone-colour from their use of Western instruments. The appeal of Afro-American, Caribbean, and Latin American music, which became accessible through gramophone records...can clearly be seen in the growth of this new music" (p.19.)

Highlife has always been open to popular influences. British military bands brought horns, and by the 1920's, the name "Highlife" was coined for those who could afford to dress up and attend dance clubs. Later, American jazz influences secured the position of horn lines in popular Highlife. Caribbean influences were especially strong around WWII, with calypso and mento adding new dance styles. The organ became a popular addition in the 1960's as the inexpensive electric models were imported into West Africa. Guitars have been in the mix ever since Highlife reached rural areas and was played by Palm Wine guitarists (John Collins, West African Pop Roots, p.143.); the popularity of American rock and soul in the 1960's and 1970's led to an electric guitar explosion. Live bands were playing all over Accra in those days. So why did the vibrant music scene collapse in Ghana?

John Collins has the clearest answer I have found so far. Collins reports that Ghana's move toward tinny synth-based pop music like so-called Burgher Highlife of the 1980's, was based on a number of factors, beyond the obvious influence of popular disco music from the U.S. and Europe: he credits economic, political and technological factors for the shift in taste ("The Generational Factor in Ghanaian Music", p.69.)

The economic and political factors go hand-in-hand. 1957's independence, and the socialist government of first President Kwame Nkrumah's CPP party, was very good for the musician's unions in Ghana. But the 1966 coup that removed Nkrumah also killed these unions (Collins, West African Pop Roots, p256.) They did not reappear until 1974, years after another bloodless coup had removed Prime Minister Busia's PP party. Sadly, the economic problems fostered in the First Republic grew worse in the Second; by the late 1970's the government under Lieutenant Colonel Acheampong could not control the effects of a huge rise in oil prices and the lack of foreign trade. With inflation reported at 300%, the musician’s union, MUSIGA, launched a vigil in Accra in 1979 that drew 10,000—culminating in a march on the government by over one thousand musicians, demanding state support for recording studios and copyright protection. The government was listening; but two weeks later, another military coup was launched, (this time by Jerry John Rawlings, who put a civilian in charge.) President Limann was initially sympathetic to some of the music union's demands, but Rawlings overthrew Limann in 1981, imposing a two year curfew that was disastrous to the live music scene (Collins, W. African Pop Roots, p.260.)

Rawlings did institute a "cultural revolution" that brought traditional music to schools, and he offered musicians more copyright protection. But the economy continued to stagnate, and large Highlife bands struggled to survive. Some Ghanaian musicians who'd gone abroad, often to Germany, returned home with a taste for synthesizer and European disco-funk. These guys played what became known as "Burgher Highlife".

The growing taste for synthesizer and drum-machines was due, certainly, to the popularity of imported disco, and the Burgher Highlife stars. But the technology also had a role. Not only were the synths available and affordable, the government had imposed a tax on musical instruments—making it far cheaper to put all the horn parts onto the synthesizer, which could also play the organ parts. One drum machine became cheaper than hiring multiple drummers. And the "spinners", mobile disc jockey sound systems, were even cheaper to hire than real musicians. Spinners soon took over the dance floors of even the nightclubs (Collins, W. African Pop Roots, p. 254.) The remaining Highlife musicians either went to the countryside, to other countries, or to church. The churches are not taxed and have become a haven for larger, guitar-band Highlife players, while the Highlife-influenced gospel music helps draw in more worshipers. It has also led to a marked increase in female singers in Ghana; church music is not as scandalous as club music for young women (or more importantly, for their families.)

For this listener, the synth has done irrevocable damage to Highlife. And apparently, I am not alone. The vibrant Highlife records of the 1950's/60's/70's are no longer popular here, and what is popular in Ghana (Hip-life) is not appealing to listeners in Europe or America. Modern Ghana's techno-sound has been surpassed many times over on the international music charts, as bands from Senegal, Mali and Nigeria--using live drummers--continually sell more records to Americans and Europeans. Collins reported in 2000 that so-called "world" music amounted to 14% of global record sales, and that African music is the fastest-growing segment of the U.S. market, increasing about 40% per year since 1995 ("The Generational Factor in Ghanaian Music" p.72.)

Collins predicts there will be another shift in taste, here, back toward live music and "real" instruments, just as certainly as there will be a new generation of musicians. In fact, I have spoken to a few of these young people since my arrival. Kofi Addo, a disk jockey at Vibe 91.9 FM in Accra, was playing music on his show that I knew was a new release, but sounded like older Highlife. He says the Hip-life and Highlife people are "coming back together"; the record I heard was a remix of older Highlife from a young producer/engineer. Addo says "we are going back to our roots." Similarly, a young man named Richard, who I met through a nephew of Obo Addy, is a music producer, hoping for a retrenchment from the "lip-synchers" in favor of real, live music. Richard also told me that the President of Ghana, John Kufuor, recently lifted the tax on instruments, and that they are getting more affordable. I have seen drum kits for sale by the side of road, although I have only seen three guitars in my seven weeks here in Ghana.

The live music scene in Accra remains sketchy, as of this writing. We hear occasional rumors of live bands, only to have our hopes dashed by yet another Reggae DJ. But I have not given up. And it sounds like some of the young people I have spoken with are not giving up either. After 30 years of "dancing to records in dark discotheques" (Collins, W. African Pop Roots, p. 255), live music, played by real live humans may be the brave new frontier in Accra.


References:

Agordah, A.A. Studies in African Music. New Age Publication, Ho Ghana. (1994)

Collins, John. "The generational factor In Ghanaian music." (p. 60-74) In Playing With Identities in Contemporary Music in Africa, edited by Mai Palmberg and Annemette Kirkegaard. Nordiska Africainstitutet, Uppsala Finland. (2002)

Collins, John. West African Pop Roots. Temple University Press, Philadelphia. (1992)

Kofie, N.N. Contemporary African Music in World Perspectives. Ghana Universities Press, Accra. (1994)

www.ghanaweb.com. Ghana History pages provided some background on political events.

My friend Deb just marked fifteen years of Dead Air, her public radio show in Eugene featuring--you guessed it--the Grateful Dead. It's Mother's Day weekend, so I happened to be in Eugene when the public celebration was scheduled.

What a time bomb! I haven't been in Eugene much over the last few years, so it seems quite sudden that my old cohort has gone grey. Just because I have gathered a few more white hairs doesn't mean I expect them on anyone else. It has been a paradigm shift, thinking of the "old folks" as having once "tuned in, turned on and dropped out."

My usual point of generational reference is my mother, who was born on the leading edge of the Baby Boom. She's not "old", not in any appreciable sense. But my father is 60, now. And he bears the scars. He falls in the trailing edge of the Beat Generation--the Boomer's older, wiser cousin-- a crowd that was far hipper than the square-ish image usually conjured by saying "the '50s." I see men like him in this crowd of Deadheads, grizzled granddads in their XXL tye-dyes, come to commune with the like-minded and pay respects to Deb for bringing them together, virtually speaking, every Sarturday night.

So here I was, in the midst of this crowd, realizing only about half of these people were familiar faces who (like me) look a little older. That's when I remembered the other distinguishing feature of Eugene--it's a college town, and the young faces change out every few years. Some are like four-year tourists; others come here for school or jobs and stay to raise families. I joined my own mother in this crowd, between the grey-haried dancing men and the young moms dancing with their kids. Cosmic Pizza was a nice venue for this shindig.

And I remembered why I used to really love the Grateful Dead, and follow the band on tour, and travel hours or days for just one show. I don't listen to the old tapes much anymore, but listening alone was never the point anyway. The sounds are so much sweeter when shared with friends and family. My Deadhead friends were my "family" for years; many of them are still good for a fond embrace when our paths cross unexpectedly. But my mother remains my best friend, even though I don't call her enough. As she reminded me the other day. ;->

Happy Mother's Day, everybody. Even if you aren't one, you had one.

Ok, this is an acedemic paper on my most recent documentary, but my home computer is SO lame right now that this is the best way for me to get it off to school. I can't even plug one of those cute 'lil flash drives into this old bomb. Woof. Anyone want a compter to use for target practice? This one is so old, it's running "Winders" and ought to be put up on blocks out on the back forty with a gun rack mounted in the back.

Reading "Signs"


The documentary "Signs" is an observational portrait of Justin Riede, one of the youngest working members of the Portland sign painting community. It is a story-within-a-story, with vignettes about Justin's career punctuated by non-verbal narrative sections in which he re-furbishes the "Paola's" sign for the Aladdin Theatre's "Lamp". It was originally intended as a mere "day-in-the-life", but in the end it becomes an argument in favor of apprenticeship, handcraft and local small business.

Portland has a core group of about ten to fifteen people who hand-letter signage. They are members of the group "Letter Heads", a loose coalition of sign painters around the world. They believe theirs is a dying art; members of Letter Heads get together locally and regionally to trade techniques and tips, and this summer a contingent will volunteer to repaint historic brick wall signs in Lodi, California. As more print shops convert to making signs using computer-generated images printed on vinyl sheeting, a spirit of comraderie permeates what is left of the hand-made sign trade. This is far more of a story than I could approach in an eight-minute film. But personalizing the trade with a portrait of Justin got me closer to this story.

I first met Justin at the Oregon Country Fair and was immediately impressed with his work. We have had great sign painters at the Fair before, but Justin (and his filete mentor, Remedios Rapoport) have raised the Country Fair signage to a new level. I knew that Justin would make a good subject for a short documentary, because he is personable, attractive, does brilliant work, and lives close enough to my house that I could devote hours to recording his artwork. While he can be a bit circumspect in interviews, answering even open-ended questions with a "yes" or a "no, not really", he was open to being interviewed repeatedly. This enabled me to get enough statements about Remedios and Pete to patch together some of the stories of how Justin got to where he is today.

In fact, that was my greatest ethical consideration in making "Signs". Justin is a humble guy, and I did not want to produce a documentary that makes it appear that Justin thinks he is the best, or the only, sign painter in Portland. Rather, Justin is clear about the debt he owes to his mentors. I struggled with how to fill in the informational gaps, without resorting to voice-overs. It would have been easy for this old radio hand to slip in a little good-sounding narration, but frankly I saw few expositional documentaries this semester, beyond the black-and-white WPA-era, that "work" for me. I much prefer to help the subjects make their own points. I relied on subtitles to give the extra snippets of information (size, filete and Remedios Rapoport, Pete McKearnan's status in the business, how 6 of 9 shops on one block have his signs) that I felt were needed to clarify the interviews.

Therefore, you could say that this documentary is at least half observational (Nichols, pgs. 109-111), since I recorded many hours of him painting in public places or in his own studio (where pals drop in and he is used to an audience.) However, you could also say it strays into participatory mode (Nichols, pgs. 116-119) during the interview segments. Clearly, Justin and the others who speak here are talking TO someone. However, this filmmaker did not stage or re-create any scenes. Even the most staged-looking shots (the hand reaching into the frame to pick up a brush and the letter "T"; the long brush-stroke of yellow ochre; the part where he's "tapping the leaf into the size") were happy accidents. I just happened to be there, and focused on the right spot, when these events occured spontaneously. I did interrupt Justin tapping the leaf on the metal sign, to hook up a mic to him and ask what he was doing, but he did not change what he was doing. This sense of realism is an ethical consideration for me, as a journalist. I prefer to use only real shots and real sound if possible.

The music choices were in part driven by the events I recorded. I'd been thinking about early jazz or simple rock for the soundtrack, and was very pleased on my first day shooting that Justin selected Django Reinhart's Paris string jazz. It so perfectly fit the work he did that day that I decided to use Django ("Shiek of Araby") as a key part of the sound beds. This also solves a key technical consideration: I was able to use the real sound of the squeaking paint roller in the first "Lamp" section because the music in the background blended with the Django; this would not have worked if he's been listening to rap when he did that task. Then--surprise! Justin pulls out a CD of the Violent Femmes, the other band I was considering for this piece. I found I could use an old technique that film borrowed from Wagnerian opera, and assign a musical theme to the "Lamp" sections. This, in effect, makes the "Lamp" sign a character in a narrative drama about the retrofitting of the "Paola's" sign, and I feel it aids in recognizing that narrative, as it is broken up into pieces--editing maintains the suspense of the narrative (Nichols, pg. 91). I was then freed up to use the modern rock song as the bed for the other commercial sign work.

Another stylistic choice was to use the brush-stroke font for the titles and subtitles. I found I needed to make some of the striped subtitles bigger to be legible with this font, but I didn't like the look of changing fonts to something else in the middle of the piece. I did like how the stripe allowed the titles to be clearly visible, even with a bright and busy background. I also liked how I could alter the background color to harmonize with the dominant colors in the shots.

Finally, there is consideration of the rhetorical argument. As I said above, I had set out to make a portrait. This style is personal and small-scale, not about big social and political issues (Nichols, pgs. 163-167.) However, in popular media today, the personal is often the political. This point comes in subtly, in the Mississippi Avenue section. Here, Linn Goldsby talks in a very personal and emotive fashion about how Justin gave great, personalized service; how the neighborhood works together; and how this teamwork, between the business owners and the sign painter, have created a real sense of community in a newly redeveloped part of town. It is not necessary to vigorously tear down the image of the commercial sign trade to build up the image of the hand trade. It is sufficient to allow Justin's ethics and positive nature to shine through to make this argument by what Nichols (and Aristotle) called "artistic proofs" (pg. 50). And perhaps the biggest, most "artistic" proof of all, so to speak, is the sheer beauty and complexity of the "Lamp" sign itself. In the final moments of the film, the glittering gold of the "Lamp" lettering symbolizes the glittering greatness of human creative potential, and suggests that it can happily co-exist with commerical interests.

The last Funky Planet of the semester... we shut down the radio station during finals. Sigh. Not like I'll have time to do any radio anyway. I have a big project due, a paper to write, and a big glass show (in a week!) to prep for.

The New Orleans Jazz and Heritage festival begins today in NOLA. They managed to hold Mardi Gras, so I have no doubt the city will be able to carry off at least some semblance of a party. I have *always* wanted to go to Jazz and Heritage, especially for the Gospel Tent, where church groups from all over the country belt out the spirituals alongside the groups from the surrounding area. Today, in honor of the festival--and finals week, the time when "prayer in schools" is a given--I brought in a batch of good ol' gospel music. Oh, and some Fela.

When I came in (late, sorry) the computer automation was playing something from Toots and the Maytalls; I decided to stick with that groove for the first few tunes, since I just happened to be carrying a nice LP of rare cuts from Jamaica's Studio One.
MUSIC LIKE DIRT - the Lyrics. This was a Rock Steady band from the late 1960's.
ALWAYS TOGETHER - Bob Andy and Marcia Griffiths, 1968. I have always loved Marcia; here she sounds so young!

Next, we slip down to New Orleans:
IT DO ME GOOD - Cubanismo went to NOLA for the record "Mardi Gras Mambo", and we heard a Cuban horn version of a New Orleans style soul track.
TIPITINA - It doesn't get any more classic than this! Professor Longhair at the piano.
AFRICAN GUMBO - James Booker was the bad boy of NOLA piano. Others thought he was simply insane. Either way he plays the hell out of this!
TEE NAH NAH - Henry Butler, another classic New Orleans piano man.

Then I wanted to get into the gospel... but one of my disks (homemade) has screwy track numbers. Therefore we heard
DOWN IN MISSISSIPPI from Ry Cooder; it wasn't too out of place, though.
LORD PITY US ALL - Wilson Pickett. He's not just a rock and roller. Oops! That's *wasn't*. We just lost Wilson this year, at age 64. So sorry to see him go. He had that gutbucket soul sound that just made you shake your head in wonder.
JOHN THE REVELATOR - finally found this track from Blind Willie Johnson. Classic! Might as well be the blues.
I'VE BEEN WEIGHED - a good gospel rocker from the ever-faithful Dixie Hummingbirds.
LOOSE THAT MAN - Shirley Ceasar. Wow, is she ever a gospel shouter! Accompanied here with a full choir. Yeah you right!

Ok, that's enough for now. Let's visit our patron saint of Funky Planet, Fela Ransome-Kuti. You can tell these are older tracks - at one point, Fela changed his middle name to Anikulapo.
BLACK MAN'S CRY - Live with Ginger Baker
LADY - Manu Dibango doing a Fela song. You can tell it's not Fela because of the over-production. I still like it, tho.
EXPENSIVE SHIT - Back to Fela; this song is about the time the Nigerian government tried to frame him by planting a large quantity of marijuana in his possession. He ate it, and they hauled him off to jail waiting for the evidence to "reappear", so to speak. I think Ginger Baker produced or mixed this one?

Now, back to the modern mix: I like to spend at least part of each show in the confluence of styles.
DAPHNE - this is from "1 Giant Leap". It's a multi-media project by Jamie Catto and Duncan Bridgeman, who recorded some tracks at home in London, then travelled the globe to add in tracks from a broad array of musicians, thinkers, and writers. This track features Edie Reader from Scotland, the Mahotella Queens from South Africa, and a beautiful young woman from India named Revetti something... And Pops Mohammed has a line or two as well.
PYAR - Orchestral World Groove. Took this from the "Rough Guide to Asian Underground".
EGYPTIAN DISCO - DJ Disse. Don't know much about this guy; it's from "Buddah Bar V".
TA MOKO - another track from "1 Giant Leap"; this time featuring Whiri mako Black from New Zealand. She is really amazing.

Back to the gospel groove: I like to play this one, especially, during finals. Who says there's no prayer in schools!
99-1/2 WON'T DO - the great Dorothy Love Coates. Wow, she really powers through a gospel shouter!
99-1/2 - the secular take from the late, great, Wilson Pickett.
BEDSIDE OF A NEIGHBOR - Dixie Hummingbirds, with a nice rockin' jubilee-style.
GETAWAY JORDAN - another hand-clappin' gospel jubilee from Dorothy Love Coates.

And finally...
SAVE ME - Aretha Franklin. Outta the church and into the fire.

Here's hoping finals go smoothly. I will continue to post here on Tribe on occasion. But I might broaden the topics beyond music, now that my "Music and Language" class is over. Could you tell the blog was a class assignment? 'S'okay, I needed to write for myself anyway. ;->