“the most potent weapon in the hands of the oppressor is the mind of the oppressed”
“A bullet from the back of a bush
Took Medgar Evers’ blood
A finger fired the trigger to his name
A handle hid out in the dark
A hand set the spark
Two eyes took the aim
Behind a man’s brain
But he can’t be blamed
He’s only a pawn in their game
A South politician preaches to the poor white man
”You got more than the blacks, don’t complain
You’re better than them, you been born with white skin, “ they explain
And the Negro’s name
Is used, it is plain
For the politician’s gain
As he rises to fame
And the poor white remains
On the caboose of the train
But it ain’t him to blame
He’s only a pawn in their game
The deputy sheriffs, the soldiers, the governors get paid
And the marshals and cops get the same
But the poor white man’s used in the hands of them all like a tool
He’s taught in his school
From the start by the rule
That the laws are with him
To protect his white skin
To keep up his hate
So he never thinks straight
’Bout the shape that he’s in
But it ain’t him to blame
He’s only a pawn in their game
From the poverty shacks, he looks from the cracks to the tracks
And the hoofbeats pound in his brain
And he’s taught how to walk in a pack
Shoot in the back
With his fist in a clinch
To hang and to lynch
To hide ‘neath the hood
To kill with no pain
Like a dog on a chain
He ain’t got no name
But it ain’t him to blame
He’s only a pawn in their game
Today, Medgar Evers was buried from the bullet he caught
They lowered him down as a king
But when the shadowy sun sets on the one
That fired the gun
He’ll see by his grave
On the stone that remains
Carved next to his name
His epitaph plain
Only a pawn in their game”
Andy Goldsworthy
“In this town you’ve got to see their light
In this town you’ve got help them fight
In this town you’ve got to own their pain
In this town you feel
In this town you batten down your doors
In this town you stand and defend your shores
In this town you better know you’re sure
In this town you die
You can parade in the shadow of mediocrity
Chase the light of day with your fantasies
Don’t take this as a joke or even parody
In this town you’re owned
You better know your friend and know your foe
You better test the water with your toe
You’d better realise one day you’ll go
What was it really for?
The time you have it just spins and spins
From a faucet that reveals its sins
You’ll be angry when it all sinks in
This town took your soul
You can parade in the shadow of mediocrity
Chase the light of day with your fantasies
Don’t take this as a joke or even parody
In this town you’re owned”
“Sounds of Liberation – New Horizons
Let us talk about Dogtown.
There are many of them. Most are doggie daycare services. Some are dog parks. One is an area in Santa Monica that has inspired media representation for decades. In this place, a ragtag group of young surfers overcame all odds and rose to stardom, changing skateboarding culture forever. And at the intersection of Gloucester and Rockport Massachusetts lies roughly 3,000 acres of forested landscape that has a strange and rumored past to have been overrun by dogs, vagabonds and suspected witches in the 1800s.
The Dogtown that we speak of is an area in the Germantown section of Philadelphia that spawned a small independent label, Dogtown Records in the early 70’s.
Dogtown Records released just three recordings in its short life. The first in 1972, New Horizons, consisted of Three Hundred copies of a studio album that featured the Sounds of Liberation and its seven Philadelphians: Byard Lancaster, alto sax, Monnette Sudler, guitar, Rashid Salim, congas, Omar Hill, percussion, Khan Jamal, vibraphone, Bill Mills, bass, and Dwight James, drums. The group mixed some funk with free and spiritual jazz. Unbeknownst to me, they played at the 6th Annual Miss Black America pageant alongside Kool and the Gang in 1974. I was one of the fortunate few to purchase a copy.
The recording was rediscovered and released in a limited edition by Porter Records in 2010 and in 2019 by Brewerytown Records, a shop and label from a neighborhood of the same name. Both editions quickly sold out.
Clifford Allen in a 2010 review of this recording in All About Jazz…
“The holy grail(s) of record collecting rarely live up to the hype that surrounds their existence, but the Sounds of Liberation go well beyond anything that could have been hoped for. This is an absolutely wonderful slice of border-trouncing improvised music from the Philly jazz heyday.”
R.I.P. Khan Jamal (Warren Robert Cheeseman) 1/10/22 Kidney Failure
”
“All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin’d,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose well sav’d, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything”
Today’s post is exploding with the goods, so I’ll give you a stalwart from the above and encourage you to dive in as you see fit!
And finally. I don’t know about the song, but this video is wearing High Top black Converse !