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How Long Will That Take in Old-Dog Years?

Posted by :James Howden On : August 20, 2006
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Category: At First Glance

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In the spirit of The Revolution Starts…Now, Steve Earle’s Grammy-winning 2004 album, I proposed, back in the spring, a more selfish and less significant transformation. I decided, well, I planned, um, hoped, okay, speculated idly about the possibility of maybe learning to play guitar. (You can read the whole messy rationale for this new project here. It’s in On Second Thought.) You know, the revolution starts…someday. And [gulp] today’s the day.

I’ve paid attention to guitar players closely for a long time, starting with Chicago’s Terry Kath, who was the gritty soul of their brilliant first two albums. (My rabid teenaged fandom, I have found in my (relative) maturity, was not as embarrassing as I’d feared. They turned to Peter Cetera pop pap, but they started out as a real rock band with horns. Lyrically, they were never a powerhouse, though Robert Lamm had his moments, and their early years were infused with the peaceful and transformational spirit of the anti-Vietnam age. We dedicate ourselves to the revolution in all its forms, unfortunately, had morphed into Sweet sixteen, mighty fine in your tight blue jeans before the seventies were out. Don’t get me started about Chicago, though.) Some Walsh, some early Santana, a little Clapton and Page, Byrne and Strummer, and any number of blues players headed up by the lamented and incomparable Roy Buchanan. (Kath and Buchanan: tawdry and ridiculous deaths. I love their picking, not their choices.)

I do go on, but here’s the thing. I’ve decided the revolution does start now, and it scares me to death. And you get to follow along, kiddies, if you have the taste for it. I’m going to get a guitar. I’m going to get some guidance. I’m going to play every day for a year. Tomorrow is the launch, and my pad is the pad. If music or learning interest you, if the midlife twists of an old dog trying to learn a new trick strike any chords, you may want to follow along. I’m going to post this pilgrim’s progress in On Second Thought daily. (It’s mostly for longer finished pieces, but they’ll be easily found in the archives, if you’ve become addicted to Howdenilia.) They’ll be short takes, and they’ll have some distinguishing mark so you can read it preferentially or avoid it like the bird flu. This should be fun, but I think it’ll be frustrating as hell. I expect all of you to hold me to this slightly ridiculous vow.

The ongoing account of my mid-life quest for guitar glory begins here.

Learning Steve Earle

Posted by :James Howden On : August 19, 2006
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Category: At First Glance

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Folk festival patrons, at least in my city, are pretty responsible about their beer, tougher than the weather, radically considerate and likely to be sporting some grey. (Or if not, more hair than generally goes well with a power suit.) So I’d have known, even without paying attention to the program, that Steve Earle was about to take the Ottawa stage. The flushed posse of X- and Y-types – generations, not chromosomes – filed in front of my carefully selected, four-hours-earned, low-slung chaired location. They’d been in hiding, I guess, in the beer tents until the no-names had gotten out of the way. They strode, boldly and without fear of offence, to stand in front of us and help good ol’ Steve with his performance.

I’m a great believer in lost or long-shot causes, but I wasn’t going to wait for them to sit down. So I stood shoulder to beery shoulder with my new best friends. I learned some things; a few of them actually knew his more recent stuff, including The Revolution Starts…Now (and hey, it won a Grammy, I learned that) and not just “Guitar Town” and “Hillbilly Highway” from his 1980s hit-single days. (Lord knows, a lot of water and whisky and such under the bridge since then. And a lot of music, too, especially in the last 10 years.) And there was the man, with two roadies but no band, and caring little enough for stage-craft and slickness that he wore glasses, no hat for his balding head and a bit of paunch under the untucked plaid. Sure, he sang “I Ain’t Ever Satisfied” early in the proceedings, and closed with “Copperhead Road”. But in between, he determinedly sang what he wanted to, leaving power chords and drumbeats behind (at least on this trip).

It was a soulful, uncluttered performance. He’s a real songwriter, better than I’d thought, and he dealt ‘em out without much fanfare. The bellowed requests from the bar-crowd slowed down after he drawled, “You know, this is kinda like my job. I think I remember the playlist…” Was he going through the motions? I don’t think so, but I’ve never seen him live before. Certainly there was some discontent about the low-key individuality of the show, but not from the majority folkies. They were there to listen, I guess, more than to dance, and they were generally more receptive to the angry politics of “Rich Man’s War”, for example, or to the rambling introduction to a song Earle dedicated to his mentor, Townes Van Zandt, “the best I ever saw”. Because he was noodling along on guitar while telling the Townes story, one of the younger rebels-without-a-clue roared, embarrassingly, “This f—in’ song sucks!” Earle managed to ignore him. Whether through serenity or fatigue, I don’t know, but while I would’ve enjoyed a band and some rocking, I found it a better roster of songs than the 20th Century Masters sale-rack collection had led me to believe. Nice. Simple, strong, lonely and angry.

So I know Earle’s work a little better now. I have a better anecdote than repeating this deliciously nasty comment he’s said to have muttered about one of the heirs to his Alt-Country legacy, Shania Twain: “she’s the best-paid lap dancer in America”. (He’ll bite the machine that feeds him.) He’s lived and suffered and fought (not always very wisely, though he’s beaten his drug demons). He stands for causes bigger than record sales. And what might have been most most impressive, in hindsight, is that he didn’t let the show be stolen by the Canucks that preceded him on stage.

Dawn Tyler Watson and Paul Deslauriers are a superb blend: gospel/blues and the rocking kind, black woman and white man, one engaging voice and two nimble guitar hands. And just ahead of them was another eclectic pair: the young cellist Anne Davison accompanying an ukulele virtuoso – and now I believe it, there IS such a thing! – James Hill. I was astonished, my head reeling from a friggin’ cello/ukulele duo! Incredible technique and passion burst from one tiny instrument (and one chubby one) and two musicians who looked like underfed grad students. (One is — a student, that is.) I couldn’t even figure out how Hill was making those intricate and searing sounds, but at least I had a great look. My new best friends (and their good buddy Steve) hadn’t moved into the neighbourhood yet.

Paradise by the Carney Lights

Posted by :James Howden On : August 18, 2006
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Category: At First Glance

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Well, maybe not paradise, exactly, but I found a small flood of spirit in the midst of Mammon last night. The Ottawa SuperEx was opening in all its sticky-fingered, gut-heaving glory. The girls had layered on the mascara extra-thick, the boys were gelled and bare of arm, and the same classic rock was blaring from (mostly) the same rides. And I swear that the exact same guys were trying to extract money from my pocket as when I was a flat-bellied kid trying hard to impersonate a Man at the county fair. Can’t win if you don’t spin.

But weirdly enough, just next to the BMX Oooh-Factor Bike Ramp – not its real name – was a stage preparing for a “Joy of Faith” concert. Prayer and proclamation facing down snowcones and kewpie dolls. Hymns and dancing and spoken Word versus the Ferris wheel. It was an odd conjunction but a rather sweet one. The Hindu and Jewish community choirs were in full voice, as were a Mormon crooner and a Muslim rapper who mixed gangsta sounds with between-takes appeals for peace and understanding. The Jain and Sikh communities delighted with colour and dance, and a thundering band of evangelical Christians blended power chords with the Book of Revelations. Bahá’í youth sang and spoke and played in French, English and Gypsy Swing. (Django Reinhardt at the corner of Faith and the Fair! That was better than fun.)

Beside the contrast between the midway and the spirit way, there was an ethic of appreciation for the different ways in which communities express devotion. Some groups were clearly more comfortable than others with this concept of a shared spiritual heritage, seeing unity within religious diversity. But they all came to the table, and they carried something more than caramel corn. I liked it.

Buddhism for Smarties

Posted by :James Howden On : August 15, 2006
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Category: At First Glance

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I caught Tibet: A Buddhist Trilogy last night at my local Pointy-Head Movie House. (Friends left me on my own for this one. I have such wise friends.) There was a decent Monday night audience for this documentary, which had been a four-and-a-half hour series and has been re-edited to 134 minutes. It’s a loving portrait of the practices of Tibetan Buddhism – and not the historical survey that I must have been hoping for – and I’d have had to be better rested than I was not to experience the film as a desperate clutching to consciousness. (And not the pure and higher reality of the Buddha Amitabha. I mean staying awake. And I never snooze in front of a video display. (Almost.))

This is s-l-o-w. It makes Iranian cinema look manic. Great swatches of the film are simply shot records of monastic rituals that outsiders, including Tibetans not in the priestly castes, have likely never seen. It’s a wonderful ethnological and religious studies archive, but as a moving picture, well, not much moves. (The rather chubby chief priest of one of the monasteries endeared himself to me not only by sudden little smiles but also by evident difficulty in keeping his eyes open at times. I empathized.) As a primer on Buddhism it’ll be opaque to many people. The endless subtitled translations of the moaning chants began to blur together for me, and I’m someone with an interest in sacred scriptures. I’d have been very apprehensive, after about half an hour, if any of my Movie Night invitees had shown up.

And yet. When I walked out, I felt quite disoriented. Such devotion and unhurried deliberation do move me. This priestly caste, the institution of these specialists in spiritualilty, does strike me as a cultural phenomenon whose usefulness is fading, if not entirely abrogated by social evolution. But there is beauty there, and some of it is even apparent to a sleepy-headed Westerner like me.

“Those Animals Over There!”

Posted by :James Howden On : August 9, 2006
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Category: At First Glance

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There’s a curious new pastime being developed in Caledonia, Ontario. Every once in awhile, but mainly as the feature attraction of a long holiday weekend, two groups of people get together for a not-so-sporting competition. In other times and places, it might have been a game of lawn darts or horse shoes. To be thoroughly contemporary, it ought to be beach volleyball with lots of photogenic young bodies and extremely happy beverages. But nobody’s selling beer with these recent, bitter small-town scenes.

Another long weekend brought another long staredown between Caledonia citizens and their counterparts from the Six Nations reserve. (And on both sides, no doubt, were some “ringers” who don’t get enough front-line action! in their own communities.) The Aboriginal protesters insist they’ll be camped on that proposed subdivision until land claims negotiations are complete. Townsfolk are tired of having their sleepy ‘burbs disturbed. And now a judge is rattling the windows: Hey, I made a ruling. Why isn’t anybody doing anything about it?

And another line has been crossed. Not that it hasn’t been muttered before. Not that it wasn’t probably among the verbal grenades lobbed on Monday, but I don’t think anyone in town had yet offered up such an Ideal Soundbite for Canadians to digest with their breakfast cereal. Something’s got to be done! is the essence of the cry from all sides. One good citizen of Caledonia, though, living too near the confrontation to stay entirely sane, has flavoured the stew with this morning’s radio rant about “those animals over there!” Oh, my. Those animals.

How many of these statements would our blustering friend (my former neighbour) agree with? Indians are not human beings. We should just round ‘em all up and throw them in the pound. (Er, jail.) I don’t care what they’re complaining about, I have the right to rising property values. I have the right to choose the kind of people I want for neighbours. I am proud that my children know how I feel about these freakin’ savages. I want something done NOW, and I don’t give a shit about the consequences…

He’s frustrated, and may already regret his words. It’s not an easy time for any of the players in this sad spectacle. I lived in that town for much of my life, and I’m no stranger to impatience. (Consider the ironies, though. The contenders — and I’ll say it again, there are many more sides than two there — all consider this a matter of the law. The contest is played out by people who had nothing to do with creating the centuries-old problem. And now the townsfolk are being made to endure just a taste – slowness, intractability, the feeling of one’s home under siege – of what Aboriginal people have known for decades upon generations…)

But the mutual taunting, the racial one-downsmanship, and the lust for battle that parts of the crowd demonstrate? The eagerness for any kind of satisfaction, no matter how trivial or temporary? It all forgets one essential thing. It’s what Mr. Lawrence, one of the wise old heads of the community, knows. He shook his head at the silly, scary playing of the long weekend Blame Game back in May, and told me this: We have to remember one thing. No matter what happens here, no matter how people behave, Caledonia and Six Nations are still going to be neighbours when this is over. In an ever-smaller world, so are we all.

Learning About Islam III

Posted by :James Howden On : August 8, 2006
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Category: At First Glance

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Two final points that I took home from a Saturday with an Islamic scholar, Dr. Todd Lawson. We were asked to define “Islam”, and some of us were able to come up with the standard World Religions course meaning: “submission to the will of God”. Dr. Lawson went farther. (I won’t trouble you with the Arabic explanations, which I’d be sure to butcher anyway.) On a personal level, adherence to Islam can be defined as the opposite of those who were (or are) “ungrateful”. Therefore, it signifies a grateful commitment to divine teachings as given by Muhammad. On a societal level, Islam defines itself as the opposite of the ignorance that produces savagery and barbarism and mercilessness. Even today, a genuine understanding of Islam defines it as civilization, enlightenment and peace.

So why do we speak of the “clash of civilizations”? Why does the “war on terror” so easily come to appear as a “war on Islam”? Dr. Lawson was emphatic: “There is a widespread, nearly universal belief among the powers-that-be in the West that we have nothing to learn from Islam and Islamic peoples.” That cultural arrogance, he believes, must be eroded in order for understanding to be created. He reminded us that “certitude – about faith, about the spiritual life – is one of the great enduring treasures of the legacy of Islam.” Such confidence about life’s meaning, at the very least, is one of the things we can learn.

As is this: it was the Qur’án, among sacred scriptures, that first spoke of the concept of humanity, of the commonality of human beings living in a shared world. It also accounts for why the world was made with different communities and peoples rather than united from the start: “that they might know one another,” in the sense of mutual experience and understanding. How modern is that? In a world such as ours, in a country like mine, these encounters happen constantly. We’re learning from Islam, whether we want to or not. We should try to learn the right stuff. Fast.

Learning About Islam II

Posted by :James Howden On : August 7, 2006
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Here are a few more of the things I learned (and re-learned) about Islam from Dr. Todd Lawson, Islamic Studies professor at the University of Toronto. I and several dozen of my new best friends spent some weekend hours in retreat along the mighty St. Lawrence. (Retreat? Advance.) Doctor L was one of our tour guides.

• Not only are we Headline News-infected with our talk of the Problems of the Middle East, but we are geographically self-centred. The “Middle East”? In comparison to what? (Not China or India or South Africa, I’m thinking. I wonder what Australian media call the region, far to the north and west of that European outpost.)

• Knocks on Islam I: Treatment of Women. Dr. Lawson was emphatic. The Qur’án is quite clear on gender equality. The holy book calls for modesty for both sexes, while the custom of veiling has been exaggerated by male domination. (And stems, in any case, from pre-Islamic cultural norms of protection for upper-class women in busy trading centres). And he reminded us not to be too smug about the so-called glory of the lives of Western women, and to remember how recent are the freedoms accorded to women in our own society.

• KOI II: Polygamy. The allowance of up to 4 wives (with the main purpose of protection of orphaned or otherwise disadvantaged women) was predicated upon absolutely equal treatment for all, in utterly practical economic ways, in a cultural context dramatically different than today’s.

• KOI III: Conversion by the Sword. This has been much exaggerated by antagonistic Christians trying to win the “my prophet’s better than yours” game. After the ages-old back-and-forth of conquest and loss between the Persian and Greek empires, the peasant populations of a given area were generally relieved by Muslim conquest: they were not forced to convert; there was a relatively just and consistent social order; culture and education became more readily available. Of course the masses of people became Muslims. Life had become better under the spread of Islam.

• KOI IV: Jihád. “Holy War”, it has often been translated, and that idea is certainly propounded by militants and power-seekers. I’ve heard many Muslims translate it, though, as “spiritual struggle” and consider it more of a personal challenge to live up to the standards of their Faith. I hadn’t heard this story, though, which Lawson shared from (I think) the Hadith (traditions) associated with the life of the Prophet. Muhammad, upon returning from a military sortie to protect the “Dar-el-Islam” (the abode, the haven of Islam) from the aggressive surrounding tribes, told His followers, “I have returned from the lesser jihád to the greater jihád.” Mystified, they asked, “Where is this greater jihád?” The Prophet said nothing, but pointed to his heart.

• KOI V: A Religion of the Law. This knock is an odd one, considering that the Dar-el-Islam eventually brought law, order and peace to an enormous number of people across a huge geographical area. It tries to paint Islam as a harsh and judgemental religion compared to that of Jesus Christ (the “Spirit of God” much revered by the Qur’án) and His message of love. (Let’s leave aside the brutal wars and inquisitions undertaken in the name of Christ. They were about as truly Christian in character as suicide bombings are representative of the teachings of Muhammad. Don’t blame the Messengers!) And yet, every single surih of the Qur’án (but one) begins with an invocation of universal love: In the Name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate. Converts to Islam, a thousand years ago and still today, do so not because of compulsion (“we cannot change a community until it changes itself”, says the Qur’án) but because of loving examples and a compassionate social order.

I could go on. (Yes, I know, I already have. But I made such great notes!) More anon.

Another Shot at Understanding: Learning About Islam

Posted by :James Howden On : August 6, 2006
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One of the good Doctor’s opening salvos was this. Imagine if what others knew about Christianity began and ended with Hitler. He was nominally a Christian. His troops stormed into the Sudetenland with the words “God is with us” engraved on their belts…For this, Dr. Lawson argued, is precisely the skewed perspective of Islam that too many of us have swallowed with our supper-hour newscasts. Bombings = Islam. Islam = opposition to progress. Islam = two thirds of the Axis of Evil. (Oh, the curse of speechmaking!)

Lawson is a professor of Islamic Studies at the University of Toronto, and our little family had run away on this weekend of thought and refreshment largely to hear him speak. He wanted us to think about revolution, one of the main casualties of which, no matter how praiseworthy are its aims and programs, is history. And among the histories we may think we know (but emphatically don’t) is that of Islam.

Dr. Lawson argues, for example, that “Europe was precisely defined  (geographically and otherwise) by its defensive and offensive resistance to Islam”. In large measure, this is why Europe was so dark in the Dark Ages, whereas northern Africa and western Asia shone with Muslim civilization. Islam predominated in Spain, for example, for 800 years, more than three times the duration of the United States of America. In addition to co-existing amicably with Jewish and Christian communities, Islamic cities like Cordoba (and, not incidentally, Baghdad) were centres of arts and architecture, medicine, science and commerce.

The European Renaissance can be traced to its eventual increased openness to the scholarly, artistic and other resources of the Islamic culture that surrounded it. Avicenna – the Latinized name of the Persian Ibn-Sina, a gifted astronomer, physician, poet, mathematician and philosopher – was an 11th-century Muslim that Lawson terms “one of the four or five greatest geniuses of world civilization”. We know Leonardo, but we are ignorant of those that preceded and made him possible.

Our tour guide of Islamic culture and contribution debunked the standard criticisms of Muslims: their treatment of women and of apostates, their so-called “conversion by the sword”, their relative cultural decline in recent centuries, the much-muttered but sorely misunderstood concept of jihád. Lawson also emphasized the deep-rooted garrison mentality of the European heritage, in which a more powerful and more advanced Islamic civilization was feared and demonized as the “barbarians at the gates”. Those bogeyman whispers can still be heard in our contemporary public discourse.

Lawson, while not himself a Muslim, argued passionately in defence of Islam. One of the silver linings of the West’s forced encounter with Islam is that understanding is slowly growing. Muslim and other educated voices are raising the image of the Faith of Muhammad around the world. Dr. Lawson pointed out a remarkable irony: members of the Bahá’í community, branded as heretics and victims of persecution in some Muslim countries, are called upon to understand and defend all that is noble and good in Islam.

There was much more, brilliant and fascinating. (And oddly reassuring. This stuff CAN be understood. Okay!) I’ll offer more snippets another day.

When All Else Fails…

Posted by :James Howden On : August 3, 2006
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Category: At First Glance

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If all else fails, lower your expectations!

For a long time, I hated this advice. It came directly from the dark, satanic mills of despair and cynicism. It was an excuse for uselessness. But no more!

In somewhat the same way as some black Americans have re-appropriated the n-word (but without the lingering odour of disgust), or that some gays have embraced their “queer” status (but without the perverse acceptance of marginalization, be it ever so giddy), I am reclaiming this phrase as a healing medicine. Where once it signified the jaded “whatever” of the terminally disappointed, for me it now means something like “do your best to make the world better, but don’t break yourself against the walls”.

The “if all else fails” part is key. To start by giving ourselves only basement-level hopes is crippling and just plain sad. On the other hand, for those of us who chronically expect the near-impossible of others and especially ourselves – not only being all things to all people but trying to be everything we might ever be all at one time – lowering expectations is a balm and a consolation. It doesn’t mean failure and it’s not about giving up on growth. It’s more a case of putting into regular, sustainable practice a less feverish intensity. (Oh, my goodness: it’s about moderation. What a concept!)

And it only took me a couple of decades to figure it out. I’m not very good at it yet, but I fully expect to master it immediately. (Or maybe next week, latest.)

Cohen is Our Man

Posted by :James Howden On : August 1, 2006
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There was a packed house at the ByTowne last night for the new Leonard Cohen documentary. Many grey and greying heads were in the line snaking along Rideau and down Nelson Street – the man is 71 – but our friendly invitation had snared four university types. For me, it was perfect. It was youth by proximity. We were with bright young people, and I was able to make up slightly for a mis-spent adolescence where I wasn’t nearly hip enough to “get” the Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan and Neil Young that Mr. Hill was playing in English class. (I preferred, as he put it, “group noise”. If you couldn’t do basketball warmup drills to it, I wasn’t too interested.) Youth by retroactivity…

I’m Your Man is not a great documentary, but it does feature a great man. Cohen “had an unfair advantage, in a way,” reports Nick Cave. “He can actually write.” This Aussie-centric tribute to the Man and his Words drove one of my dates (the doer/dancer I’m married to) nuts, though. It was everything she has come to scorn  about musicians. Many of the performers were self-absorbed and fairly inarticulate. (Bono and the Edge from U2, and of course Mr. C. himself, were sparkling exceptions, at least to the charge of verbal clumsiness.) Many seemed marginally talented and were jarring to watch (especially if your taste runs to Judy Garland and The Sound of Music.) And there was certainly a surfeit of clanging camera angles and other visual tricks apparently designed to help us forget that we were watching talking head interviews and some B-list concert performers.

Although he, like several other tribute-bearers, found it (annoyingly!) necessary to have the song lyrics in front of him, Rufus Wainwright takes a star turn here, particularly with his version of “Hallelujah”, which he had by heart.. His sister Martha does less well, threatening to swallow the microphone while she flails, and eating way too many of those beautifully crafted words; Kate (their Mom) and Anna McGarrigle made my young friends squirm with a “weird sisters from Macbeth” sort of vibe. (I like ‘em, though. Maybe it’s nostalgia.) But aside from these visiting Canucks (and fellow Montrealers), the performers in this Australian concert were well under my radar. Several were a little hard to watch, the prince being an androgynous and quite spastic singer called Antony. (When I closed my eyes, though, his unusual voice was quite compelling in a Roy Orbison-esque way. His stage presence was Joe Cocker, only less graceful. Very odd.)

The obscurity and limitations of some of the concert participants were pierced by some lovely performances, especially of “Anthem” by two women (unknown to me) who know and deliver that marvellous song. There were also segments that seemed to come from another film altogether: a sweet little (lip-synched?) performance of “I’m Your Man” by Leonard Cohen with U2 in New York, and quickie hallway testimonials from the Edge and Bono. Huge fans both, they teetered constantly on the cliff of outright worship, particularly Edge with his comments about Leonard “coming down from the mountain carrying the tablets of stone”. They placed his career in a broad and intelligent context, though, and their reverence was nicely cut by Cohen’s own self-deprecation and humour. For only one example, he reads to the interviewer (presumably the director, Lian Lunson) his recent introduction to the Chinese version of his 1960s novel Beautiful Losers, and this address to his readers is a triumph of humility, respect, gentle engagement and rich humour.

If you’re already a fan, I’m Your Man will probably work for you, too. And if you’re open to a little weirdness in your musical life, this might be a fine introduction to the work of Leonard Cohen. It’s worth the two hours, though surveys show that only half the people in my marriage would agree.

[I wrote on another Cohen interview, and songwriting honours for him, here.]